Path of Freedom (9 page)

“Huh!” Irene's sharp intake of breath regained Flora's attention. “I was hardly whining.”

“Indeed,” Flora said. “Irene was merely stating a thought aloud. Think of it this way. Women often voice their thoughts in their journals. It helps us get our feelings and emotions out so we won't be as tempted to complain—or whine, as thee calls it.”

“Well, why didn't thee say so sooner?” Bruce's tone lightened. “A journal
is
something I can do. When we arrive near Lynchburg, I'll ride into town and get thee both a journal and some ink.”

“That won't be necessary,” Flora said. “I don't need a journal.”

“I'm definitely getting thee one,” Bruce said. “I want thee to put all thy feelings down on paper, every bad deed I've ever committed against thee. That way, thee won't be tempted to keep reminding me about them.”

Flora's mouth dropped open, but this time she didn't have a ready reply.

Bruce cut through the underbrush, clearing a path for Irene to follow close behind. He carried a small empty barrel in one hand and his fishing net in the other. The morning sun had already risen, and fresh dew was still on the leaves and foliage around them.

“Help!” Irene called from behind. “I'm stuck.”

With a frustrated sigh, Bruce turned and made his way back to her. He leaned to the left and then to the right. “I don't see anyone or anything holding thee.”

“Something has my skirt.” She tugged at the material, but it didn't move. “See?”

Bruce walked behind her and burst into laughter. “I see, all right. Thee is caught in a briar, naught more.” The wiry plant scaled the back of her gray skirt, digging its claws into the garment.

“It may seem funny to thee, but I'll be heading into Lynchburg for more clothing if my skirt is ripped. Since thee insisted that we leave other clothes behind, we don't have much to spare.”

“I saw Flora with a sewing kit the other day. I'm sure your skirt could be mended.” Bruce gave her a pointed glare. It wasn't that he minded helping Irene out of her predicament, but the underhanded way she tried to dramatize the situation grated on his nerves.

“Oh, I'm sure Flora will be able to patch it up just fine, but the skirt itself will be quite ruined for anything beyond this trip.” Irene glanced over her shoulder and down at the offending briar.

“I meant thee, Irene. Not Flora. Thee can borrow her sewing kit and patch up thy own clothing.” He bent and set the items he carried to the side. “But I'll do my best.”

“Flora's the one with all the sewing talent. I'm only decent with seams, hemming, and replacing buttons. She can sew an entire outfit from scratch.”

Afraid of causing Flora additional work, Bruce plucked out the briars with care. He wished Flora's knee had been well enough for her to make the trip to the river with him. She wouldn't have dallied about or whined over a simple briar.

“I believe that should do it.” He rubbed his chilled hands together and blew warmth on them before picking his items back up.

“Thank thee.” Irene whirled with a bright smile, staring down at him. The innocence in her wide eyes shifted his irritation to discomfort. Flora was right. She was young and innocent of so many things. It wasn't fair to compare the two sisters—even if only in his mind. Besides, any woman he'd ever mentally compared to Flora came up quite lacking in his estimation.

Irene crossed her arms and stared down at him at an angle, tilting her head as if studying him in close scrutiny. Bruce tried to ignore her as he gathered his things and stood to his full height. She lifted her finger to her chin in thoughtful silence as she continued to stare at him. Bruce shifted his weight to his other foot.

“What?” The single word came out more harshly than he'd intended.

“Nothing.” She turned on her heel and started walking. “It's just that I was thinking that perhaps Flora is wrong about thee.”

Stunned, Bruce lurched into motion and caught up with her. “What did Flora say about me?”

“Lots of things.” She shrugged, adjusting her purple cloak. “Most of which thee would probably rather not know.”

Disappointment sagged in his chest. “I'm quite aware of how much Flora loathes me, but I had hoped we'd made some headway over the last few weeks, or at least come to an understanding.” He concentrated on the woods ahead, where the sun brightened in an opening. “What was she wrong about?”

“That perhaps there is a gentle heart somewhere inside thee in spite of all the mean things thee has done, especially if thee truly has a calling to serve the abolitionist movement.”

“I was a boy back then.” Frustration edged his tone. “When will she realize that we've all grown up? Some childhood memories are meant to be forgotten—forever.” Bruce walked along the bank looking for the best place to cast his net. He needed a good current to catch the most fish.

“Scars are constant reminders. Perhaps if thee hadn't scarred her with so many unpleasant memories, Flora would find it easier to forget them.” Irene dropped to her knees. “This looks like a good place to fill the barrel.”

“I realize my mistakes, but I refuse to live in the past. I won't tolerate being reminded of it constantly.” Bruce bent to hand her the barrel. A hawk squawked overhead. The wind blew and yellow leaves flew into the river and floated down the stream.

“Friend Bruce, if thee would really like to erase all the bad memories Flora has of thee, then I would suggest thee create new memories, filled with happiness.”

Bruce paused, staring at her in surprise. “That's a very wise suggestion for someone at thy age.”

Irene smiled, her blue eyes shining bright. Her blond hair framed her face beneath a white bonnet. Her smooth skin and heart-shaped face made her delicate and pretty in her own way, but it was blue-gray eyes and a square face framed with coffee-colored hair that consumed his mind.

“Well, I must confess that I borrowed it from Mother. She has the best advice of anyone I know. I distinctly remember her saying something of the sort to Flora when she discovered thee would be escorting us on this mission.”

“I see,” Bruce said. “And what was Flora's response?”

“That isn't important.” Irene waved her hand. “She came, didn't she?”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “I think I'll take thee up on the advice and start with catching us all some good-tasting fish for breakfast.” It was time Flora knew how well he could catch fish now that he was a man.

W
hile Bruce went fishing and Irene went with him to retrieve more water, Jim paced as Flora examined Marta in the privacy of the covered wagon.

“Don't know why I couldn't go with Bruce. We'd catch a lot more fish and do it faster with the two of us.” Jim's irritated voice drifted inside.

“That's my Jim.” Marta grinned between spasms of pain. “Always wanting to be useful and important.”

“Just be on the lookout for any strangers,” Flora called, loudly enough for him to hear. “That's what I need thee to do right now.”

“Listen, Miz Flora, I don't want Jim to be fretting over me.” Marta held her stomach in a protective manner as she leaned against a trunk. “But I hurt for a while last night.”

“Was the pain constant without ceasing, or did it come in spurts?”

“Mostly in spurts.” Marta shook her head. “But my back ached something awful, it sure enough did.”

“Did thee manage to get any sleep?” Flora felt her forehead with the back of her fingers, but it was cool to the touch.

“A little. I feel better on my side. He's got good legs. Jim could feel him kick.” Marta rubbed her belly, a fond expression on her smiling face. “But those other pains…they's bad.”

“Show me where.” Flora adjusted the lantern light. Marta moved her hand below the round part of her swollen stomach. Low…too low for Flora's comfort.

By the time she finished Marta's examination, Flora was convinced Marta had started the early stages of labor. Hoping she was wrong, Flora gave Marta her own pallet in the comfort of the covered wagon, rather than the hard, dark compartment she'd been staying in with Jim.

“How's she?” Jim stopped short as she emerged.

“She's resting. I gave her my pallet so she'll be more comfortable.” Flora held out her hand, struggling with her sore knee. “Help me, please?”

“Yes'm.” Jim sprang into action, stretching out his long arm and offering his support.

Flora swung her leg over the back of the wagon in awkward discomfort. Her skirt slipped up to her knee. She shoved it down with her other hand, grunting with the effort.

“I'm gotcha.”

Strong hands reached around her waist and swung her down. Flora yelped in surprise, but didn't have time to argue as her feet landed on solid ground. She brushed her hair from her face—it was unkempt because she hadn't had time to redo it.

“Tell me the truth. Is the baby coming early?” He lowered his worried voice. “Will Marta be okay?”

“I'm going to do my best, Jim. That's all I can offer thee.”

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling on her elbow to lead her away from the wagon. “This may sound bad, but if it comes down to it, Marta has to live. She can have other babies when we're safe and free.”

Rebecca had warned Flora that a situation such as this might occur. Men often saw things differently than women. The thought of losing a child they'd never seen or gotten to know didn't put as much fear in them as losing a wife they'd come to love and know. Still, the outcome wasn't in her hands, but God's.

“Jim, it's too soon to be thinking like that. Both Marta and the baby may be just fine when the time comes. The best thing thee can do right now is pray and make sure that she eats and gets plenty of rest.”

“I can do that.” He pumped his dark head up and down and backed away. “Mr. Bruce done give me a Bible and started learning me how to read. I'll practice while Marta sleeps.”

“That's a splendid idea.” Flora smiled, wondering when Bruce had done that. The gesture not only pleased her, but once again improved her opinion of the man himself. “If thee should need any help with the words, just let me know. I'll be right over there building a small fire and making some coffee.” She pointed to a flat spot Bruce had cleared before he left.

“Yes'm.” He went over and sat on a log. With his elbows propped on his knees, he opened the small Bible and began sounding out the words in a whisper.

Once the fire was built and the coffee made, Flora paced in a semicircle around the fire. Shouldn't Bruce and Irene be back by now? The morning sun now shone bright through the trees surrounding them. Colorful leaves fell in a graceful rhythm with the slight breeze. Those that fell in the fire were consumed with a quick sizzle.

Mumbled voices pricked her ears. She rushed over, following the sound. Movement caught her attention, and she recognized the outline of Bruce's black hat and jacket. In one hand he carried a small barrel that she assumed was full of water. He walked at an angle, his other hand hauling something else.

Flora gathered her shawl close around her neck. A moment later, she saw her sister's purple cloak maneuvering around something behind Bruce. A sigh of relief escaped Flora. “Thank you, God,” she whispered.

As they drew closer, she realized Bruce and Irene were each carrying one end of a stick with a full net of fish hanging from it. Flora pinched her nose as the stench reached her nostrils, realizing why her sister wore a frown of disgust.

“I wondered how thee planned to fish without a pole.” Flora followed them as Bruce gave her a proud grin, his green eyes shining with triumph.

“I gave up useless poles a long time ago.” Bruce and Irene hung the net on some hooks on the back of the wagon.

“That's so disgusting!” Irene wiped her hand on her skirt as if she'd been carrying the fish right in her hand.

“One evening when I was reading how the disciples cast their nets into the sea,” Bruce turned to Flora with a shrug, “I realized I'd been going about fishing the wrong way. That's when I got the idea to build my own net and cast it in a good, flowing stream.”

“Bruce Millikan, thee definitely has thy own way of doing things.” Flora laughed, then wrinkled her nose. “Now thee must invent a way to get rid of the smell.”

Bruce's broad smile faltered. He looked down at himself and sniffed. “Indeed, what would thee suggest?” He raised a red-gold eyebrow, watching her reaction.

Gold whiskers had started filling out over his jaw and his upper lip. It made him look older, more distinguished. Warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach, and a light-headed sensation washed over her. She let her lips curl into a playful smile. “Perhaps a long bath in a cold river?”

He leaned forward, his warm breath caressing her ear. “This time I caught more than enough for thee…and everyone else.”

Bruce woke with a start. Movement caught his attention a short distance away, in the nearby woods. He blinked and rubbed his face, rising with caution where he'd been dozing against the trunk of a tree.

He glanced to the right. Jim still snored, leaning back against another tree. Irene and Marta had retired inside the wagon. Rather than climbing back in and out with her wounded knee, Flora had elected to sleep on a pallet near where they had cooked their breakfast earlier. He peered over at the empty spot and rolled his eyes. Where had she gone?

A quick scan under the wagon told him she wasn't anywhere near where she should be. Inching toward the direction of the noise he'd heard a moment ago, Bruce took quiet steps on the fallen leaves to keep from announcing his presence.

He paused to listen. A feminine gasp bounced in the forest, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Had she hurt herself? He rushed toward the noise. A moment later a stick came hurling at his head. He ducked.

“Bruce!” Flora slammed her hand to her chest, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping in shock. “Thee scared me. Why is thee prowling around in the woods?”

“I could ask thee the same question, Flora.” He swallowed, shoving a hand through his hair. He'd been so worried, he'd forgotten his hat—again.

“I could have hit thee in the head.” Her hand trembled as she gathered her cloak tightly around her neck.

“Whatever happened to the fact that thee doesn't believe in violence?” Bruce quirked his lips into a twisted grin, taunting her.

“Thee frightened me.” Her gaze faltered from his. “I had no idea I would react like that.”

“Which is why thee shouldn't be here in the woods all alone. I thought we agreed on that the last time thee and Marta were nearly discovered?” He stepped closer. She backed away, but the acute pain in her eyes wasn't something she could hide. He could also tell she was in pain by the way she braced her whole body when she stepped on her injured leg and by her wrinkled forehead.

“What's wrong?” He stepped closer.

“Nothing.” She half-turned from him, her shoulders stiffening. “I needed some privacy and didn't see any reason to wake Marta or Irene. That's all.”

“Look at me.” He meant to speak the words in a softer manner, but they came out sounding like an order. Her lips thinned in defiance. “Flora, I need thee to trust me.”

“Never.” She shook her head. “I realize thee helped me the other day, and for that I'm grateful, but I don't want to be dependent on thee.” Flora shivered and rubbed her upper arms as if to ward off the chill. “That would be a very bad habit and quite unwise on my part.” Her voice lowered at the end, almost to a mumble.

Bruce scratched the side of his head. “I'm sorry that my assistance seems so abhorrent to thee.” He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. “Nevertheless, I'm all thee has at the moment. Come, let's go back where it's safe.”

She stared at his outstretched hand but didn't take it.

“After what almost happened the other day, I refuse to leave thee here alone.” He stepped forward. This time she stood her ground and lifted her gaze to his, her chin set at an angry angle. “Flora…please.” He rubbed his eyebrows and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, I have a personal matter that needs tending to. Please go away.”

Bruce hesitated. Was he being insensitive? With an elder sister, he was quite aware of a woman's personal needs, especially during their monthly courses. Could he be intruding in that regard? Heat flooded his face. He stepped back, uncertain.

“I'll wait over here, within shouting distance.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. His throat constricted, almost choking him. “Or perhaps I could go back and get Irene?”

“No! She'll just faint at the sight of blood.”

“How is that?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Doesn't she have the same…condition?” He said the last word so low it sounded like a whisper. Discomfort shifted through him in a wave of mixed emotions as Flora's skin turned a crimson shade, and he realized he'd been mistaken.

His gut instinct made him walk toward her. She backed away and tripped over something. He reached out to steady her, his hand gripping her elbow as he pulled her toward him. She landed against his chest with her hands pressed over his heart. They both paused, gazing at each other in awkward silence.

As before, a fresh scent of cedar drifted to his nose from her clothes having been folded away in her chest. Blue-gray eyes gazed up at him in a sea of confusion. Lost from the impact of his own frayed nerves, Bruce held her rather than releasing her as he should have done. It was just like the other day. He enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. How could he help it? Flora challenged and disturbed him in ways no other woman ever had.

She blinked. Her eyes shifted to blue ice and her mouth twisted into disgust. He held his breath, waiting for the blow, but instead she shoved away from him.

“Don't hold me like that.” She hugged herself as she trembled. “Bruce Millikan, thee should know better. I'm ashamed of you.” She looked away, avoiding his gaze. “I always thought thee would be revolted at being anywhere near me.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed the cotton that had suddenly swelled up in the back of his throat. He missed the warmth of her body next to his, the scent of her being so close. It was as if that one brief moment had given him a taste of what he craved, and he wanted more. “Things change.”

“Not for me…please leave.”

A deep ache pierced his chest at the rejection. Is this how he'd made her feel so long ago? If so, he deserved it. But he wouldn't leave.

“No.”

“I hate thee.” She whirled from him, but not before he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. Flora limped away from him. The movement revealed a small brown box that her skirt had been covering.

“What's this?” He stooped to retrieve it.

“That's mine!” She gasped, hurrying back toward him. “I'd forgotten about it. Thanks to thy interruption.”

“It's what thee tripped over, wasn't it?” He twisted to the side, holding the box high over her head. Now he would discover why she was so eager to be rid of him.

“Bruce Millikan, I'm warning thee…” Her hands clenched at her sides as she tightened her jaw. “Give it back.”

“What have I got to lose? Thee already hates me.” He winked at her before popping the lock and lifting the lid. Needles, thread, small scissors, laudanum, and other medical supplies were tucked inside. His heart beat with trepidation. “Flora, what has thee done?”

“I busted my stitches and it hurts like the blazes, but I'm having to stand here and argue with thee rather than take care of it like I should.” She blinked back tears and swallowed. Then he realized her red nose might not be from the cold.

“Why hide it? I could have taken care of it for thee. I'm not so much of a brute as all that.” He pointed to the ground. “Sit down.”