Path of Freedom (3 page)

After Flora and Irene said their good-byes and disappeared down the lane, Bruce slipped his thumbs through his suspenders and leaned against the porch column. “John, may I speak with thee a moment?”

“I was hoping thee would.” John turned to assess him in the lantern light hanging above them.

Moths flew around the lamp as crickets chirped nearby. The lower evening temperature gave a slight glimpse into how much cooler the days would soon become.

“Have a seat.” John stepped down, sat on the top step, and patted the area beside him. Shadow nudged his hand and flopped down, settling on the step below him. He scratched the dog's ears.

Bruce lowered himself beside John and leaned his elbows on his knees, linking his hands. Where should he start? “Flora Saferight hates me.” He blurted the statement before he realized what he intended to say.

“I doubt it's that bad.” John chuckled. “But the tension is hard to miss. What's the story?”

“There isn't a story, other than she hasn't forgiven me for some childhood taunts.” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, unsure when the uncomfortable ache had begun. “I don't really think she ever will.”

“It may not be that she hasn't forgiven thee as much as she doesn't feel she can trust thee,” John said.

“Which is why we shouldn't go on this mission together,” Bruce pointed out. “Trust is critical on a dangerous mission like this. And besides, I'm not convinced she's mature enough. Her behavior is too erratic—at least where I'm concerned.”

John rubbed his chin as silence lengthened between them. After a few moments, he gave Bruce a sideways glance. “I want the honest truth. Does thee believe Flora could do this if someone else besides thee was to escort them?”

The thought of another man escorting them, spending each day in Flora's company in such close proximity, soured his gut. He rubbed his irritated stomach and turned his head to cough, his throat suddenly dry. Instead of answering, he asked, “Even though I'm the one who's experienced, thee would replace me instead of the Saferights?”

“The mission is tough on anyone in excellent health, but especially burdensome on a pregnant woman. I'm told she may not last until the end of the trip before she goes into labor. Flora has to be there. I don't know any other midwife young and healthy enough to make the grueling trip.”

“I see.” Bruce stood and leaned over the rail.

“Don't get me wrong, Bruce,” John said. “Thee is my first choice as a guide, but Flora is my first choice as a midwife. I prayed about this, and I believe I've chosen the right people.”

“She'll fight me every step of the way. If I decide something, she'll go against me just to spite me.” Bruce dropped his head back and gazed up at the stars. “As much as I hate to admit it, Flora would probably do fine with anyone else guiding them.” He glanced down at John's dark head. “Who does thee have in mind?”

“Thee—and that's the problem. Each time I prayed over the matter, thy face is the only one that kept coming to mind.” John shook his head and linked his fingers around his bent knee. “That's why I'm so baffled by thy reaction—and hers.”

“Believe me, everything concerning Flora Saferight
is
baffling.” Bruce allowed sarcasm to creep into his tone. “I've done everything I know to do. I've apologized—although I'm not sure of all the misdeeds I've committed to apologize for. The woman can hold a grudge and has a memory that will forever haunt a man.”

“Has thee tried talking to her?” John asked. “Just to get everything out in the open and to air the peace.”

Bruce chuckled, thinking how quickly and smoothly she could twist his words to justify her behavior. He took a couple of steps closer to John and squatted down on his haunches.

“Flora won't stay in my company long enough for a decent conversation, and if she did, I'd manage to offend her before we'd get that far.” Bruce rubbed his face, his eyes suddenly heavy and tired. “Yet I can't think of another soul I'd trust to do the job.”

“What about Bob Blankenship? He's trustworthy.” John scratched the side of his head.

“Yes, but temperamental.” Bruce shook his head. “The first time Flora flared up at him, he might lose patience.”

“There's George McGee—he's a good fellow,” John suggested.

“Last year I saw him staggering out of a tavern with a wench hanging on his arm. He doesn't do it often, but I'm afraid the girls wouldn't be safe with him.” Bruce folded his arms and paced across the porch. His boot heels clicked against the wood.

“Matthew Hunt,” John said. “He's trustworthy, and we'd never find him in a tavern. I feel confident he believes in our cause.”

“Yes, but he's too passive, and any kind of danger could befall them.” Bruce continued to pace as he stroked his chin. No one suitable came to mind.

“Everyone else is getting on in years, Bruce.” John rose with a sigh. “I think thee should pray about this and search thy soul. Why does thee really object to this trip with Flora? Is it truly because thee believes she's too immature, or is there something deeper? No other man seems to meet thy approval.” He laid a hand on Bruce's upper arm. “Son, I'd like thee to try and talk to her. We have lives at stake here. Whatever differences there are, I'm sure thee can work them out to do the will of God.”

F
lora followed her sister into the house and untied her bonnet. She slid it off her head, handing it to Irene, who hung both their bonnets on a wall peg in the foyer.

“Flora? Irene?” Mother's voice called from the living room. “I've been worried. It's getting late.”

The smell of tobacco floated through the air and she knew her father was smoking a pipe. As tobacco farmers, the men in the Saferight family, as well as their neighbors, often indulged in smoking a pipe or rolling a cigar. Flora wrinkled her nose, hating the way the tobacco smoke lingered on her clothes.

“Why didn't thee tell us about thy work in the Underground Railroad?” Irene demanded as she stomped into the living room to confront their parents. Flora followed on her heels, wondering the same thing.

“Why would Pastor John tell thee something like that?” Her father looked up from his newspaper, his spectacles perched low on his nose. The paper rattled as he folded it over and set it on a small table.

“Because he's asked us to go on a mission.” Flora sat in the rocker across from her mother by the empty hearth. “We were both shocked. How did thee hide it from us all these years? Why not trust us?” She glanced from her father's blue-eyed gaze to her mother's gray eyes. Hurt beat in her heart.

Her parents were still quite young, in their midforties. While there was a bit of silver at her mother's temples, most of her hair was still dark brown. Her father's blond locks showed no hint of gray, only a small patch in his long beard and on the tips of his mustache. Was it true they were getting too old for such a mission?

“We didn't want our girls having to bear the burden of lying if questioned.” Father leaned forward, straightening his posture. “Thee and Irene were so young when we went on our last mission. It was easy to plan, as thee stayed with thy grandparents and were well cared for.”

Flora rocked, trying to process everything. She remembered staying with her grandparents, but she'd never suspected a thing.

“Well, I don't want to do it!” Irene flung herself on the couch. “I was so looking forward to the train ride. And besides, the whole thing sounds dangerous.”

“The risk is worth it to save lives and bring others to freedom.” Flora waved her sister's concerns away. “What has me worried is Pastor John wants Bruce Millikan to guide us.”

“Isn't he the one who used to call thee Beaver Face?” Mother tilted her head and wrinkled her nose.

“The very one.” Flora nodded, rubbing her arms as if to ward off a chill. “Why on earth would I want to spend the next two months in his company? Depending on him for protection? I'd rather face a bobcat.”

“Flora, boys do change when they become men. Thee should give him a chance.” Father gave her a pointed stare meant to reprimand her. “Forgive him.”

Fury rippled through her as her face and neck heated. Why did everyone have to defend him? Even her own father took his side over hers. She rocked harder. “I've forgiven him, but that doesn't mean I have to like being around him.” She brushed at a strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes. “Just this morning he called me foolhardy.”

“I was there, and he didn't mean anything by it, Flora.” Irene sat up. “In fact, he was a perfect gentleman all through dinner at Pastor John's house.”

“He was there?” Mother asked, looking from Irene to Flora.

“Yes, and he's quite handsome, too.” Irene smiled as she gazed off into the distance.

“Flora, tell me the details,” Father said. “Exactly what is this mission? Who's involved and where will thee be going?”

She spent the next few minutes retelling their dinner conversation at Pastor John's house. Her parents nodded, asked more questions when they needed something clarified, and often exchanged glances. When she finished, they sat in silence while her father stroked his beard and considered all that she'd told them.

“Just because they need a midwife doesn't mean I have to go,” Irene said, her tone a lingering pout.

“If thy sister decides to do this,” Mother said, “she can't go alone with a man. It wouldn't be proper. No one will know the slaves are with them and it will appear as if she's traveling alone with Bruce Millikan. Thy presence is required for propriety's sake.”

“So this whole thing will be Flora's decision? I don't have a say-so?” Irene's lower lip quivered.

“Irene and Flora, I want thee to stop thinking about thyselves and consider the Lord's will in this and the lives at stake,” Father said. He turned his attention to Flora. “If I was going instead of Bruce Millikan, would thee do this?”

Flora gulped and stopped rocking. She imagined an anxious couple, a woman desperate to save her unborn child, and conviction shamed her selfish pride. Dropping her head, she whispered a silent prayer in her heart:
Lord, please forgive me for being so inconsiderate.

“I would.” She took a deep breath and met her father's gaze.

“Then thee must do what is right.” Father gave her a nod of approval and sat back in his chair, settling the matter.

The rooster crowed. Bruce bolted straight up in bed, the air whooshing out of him. Disoriented, he rubbed his eyes, still swollen from sleep.

“That bird sounds like he's standing on my window sill.” His hoarse voice cracked through the nip in the air. It was cold enough to start a fire this morning. He rubbed his hands together and blew his warm breath on them.

He glanced at the window, where the curtains left a slight opening. Darkness still lined the edges of the skyline above the trees. Blinking, he tried to push the sleep from his eyes. Bruce flipped the cover to the side and grimaced as the cold prickled his legs and arms. A chill raced up his spine, and he shivered as he swung his feet over the side and stepped onto the cold wooden floor.

Footsteps passed by his door. His brother would beat him downstairs this morning—a rare occurrence. He squinted in the dark to make out the shadows of his dresser and trunk at the foot of the bed. He bent, feeling for the latch, and raised the lid. The hinges creaked.

Bruce pulled out a pair of clean pants and a button shirt. He dressed and went to the wash basin to clean his hands and face. The cold water jarred him awake as he groaned from the impact.

If he hadn't spent so much time pondering how he was going to approach Flora Saferight, he might have gotten more sleep. The girl, no, woman—the woman had a way of paralyzing his nerves. He had once thought of her as a girl, but after spending time in her company last night, he would never be able to think of her as a girl again. She cooked as well as his mother and had tried to argue her way out of going by highlighting his good qualities when she could have chosen to use his flaws against him. If only he'd been as considerate to her over the years. He grabbed a towel to dry his face and neck.

Then there were the physical changes in Flora. Her coffee-colored hair now contained sandy highlights, and wisps of it kept falling from her bun and framing her square face. As a child her face had seemed too wide, but as a woman her features had softened. The freckles he remembered had smoothed into her skin and her wide nose seemed smaller.

Her blue-gray eyes were bright and full of intelligence when she assessed him, claiming his attention almost to the point of distraction. Each time she had glanced at him, he had lost his thoughts on the conversation. He had kept quiet so it wouldn't be so obvious.

The worst part had been when she had stood and walked from the table. No plain clothes could hide the curves of her figure as her skirts swayed when she glided into the living room. Once again Bruce had lost his tongue. Flora Saferight was no longer the annoying brat he remembered, but a woman with a power she didn't yet understand—an attraction that tugged at him like the current in a raging river.

Bruce left his room and made his way downstairs, his footfalls resounding on each wooden step, announcing his arrival. The aroma of fresh-baked biscuits and sausage milk gravy drifted through the air as he made his way to the kitchen. Low voices rumbled in conversation.

The warmth of the kitchen welcomed him, as did the smiling faces of his family as they paused in conversation to look up and greet him. Silas shoved in a huge bite, while his father pushed his empty plate aside and sipped his coffee.

“Just in time for a fresh plate of warm biscuits and gravy.” His mother poured two large spoonfuls over steaming biscuits.

“There's coffee left in the pot and some cool milk in a pitcher.” Father nodded his head toward the gray container on the table.

“I'll take the coffee.” Bruce walked over to the counter, grabbed a clean cup, and poured the hot brew. “Everything smells delicious.”

“Then eat all of it.” His mother beamed as she handed him his plate. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. He grinned and took his place at the square oak table. Bowing his head, Bruce prayed over his food. He cut into his biscuit and speared his first bite.

“I told thy mother what Pastor John asked of thee last night.” His father raised a gray eyebrow. “Has thee made a decision on what to do?”

To keep from answering right away, Bruce shoveled in his food and enjoyed the savory taste of his mother's good cooking. The soft milk gravy and buttery flakes of bread softened the sting of the spicy sausage, giving it a nice flavor. He swallowed, well aware of his father's hazel eyes watching him, waiting in patience.

“Eli, let the boy eat,” Mother said. “He just sat down.”

“Sure is good,” Silas paused long enough to say. “Think I'll have another plate.” He winked at Mother, standing up to help himself.

A year younger than Bruce, Silas had dark brown eyes and sandy brown hair. With an oval face and an olive complexion that was darker than Bruce's, he was the real charmer in the family. He favored their older sister, Deborah, while Bruce, with his reddish-blond locks and green eyes, took after their two older brothers.

Bruce picked up his black coffee and sipped the warm beverage, enjoying the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. After a few moments, he cleared his throat. He couldn't avoid answering his father forever.

“I hope I don't live to regret it, but I've decided to try and talk some sense into Flora Saferight. Pastor John seems convinced he needs her midwifery skills and there isn't another midwife young enough for the rough travel. Maybe I'll approach her next Sunday at Meeting.”

“That's very sensible.” Father nodded. “I'm proud of the decision thee made, son. I know things have been difficult with Flora in the past, but thee must admit that part of the blame falls with thee.”

He didn't need reminding.

“Yes, all the times thee called her Beaver Face kind of branded her among all the kids.” Silas sat down with another plate piled high. Bruce wondered how his brother managed to stay so thin. “Thee even had the other girls calling her that.”

Setting his coffee down, Bruce rubbed his eyebrows, a sudden headache coming on. “If only that was all I was guilty of. Yesterday morning I called her foolhardy.” Bruce rubbed his temples. “How could I help it? Before I went on my last mission, I caught her walking in the snow without a proper cloak. If I hadn't given her a ride to shorten her trip, she would have frozen to death.”

“Bruce, she told thee it was an emergency. Irene had borrowed her cloak and she couldn't find it.” Mother shook her head. “If she hadn't returned with the doctor when she did, her mother may not have made it through that spell of pneumonia.”

“Still, she should have done something to protect herself.” Bruce stabbed his fork into his gravy biscuit. “To me, that is foolish behavior and it makes me question if she's the right one for this mission.”

“That's between Flora, the pastor, and God,” Father said. “For thy part, thee needs to apologize to Flora for past wrongs and set her mind at peace that thee won't provoke her on this mission.”

What if she provokes me?

“Why not go over there today?” Silas asked. “I could come along.”

“What for?” Bruce turned to assess his brother, irritation gnawing at the back of his neck. All he needed was further distraction. Silas had a way of turning everything into a game, not to mention his flirting habits with the ladies. Flora had never seemed affected by his brother's charm, but how would she react now that she'd changed so much? No, he needed complete concentration when next he approached her. And today, he wasn't in that frame of mind.

“The only time I ever get to see them is at Meeting, and most of the time that's across the room, since the men and women sit on separate sides. I miss our school days. Now we can hardly talk to a young lady without someone assuming we're courting. We belong to The Society of Friends—why must it be more than that with a woman friend?” Silas glared at Bruce across the table, a rare expression on his usually joyful face. “That is…we would still be good friends if thee wasn't always taunting and arguing with Flora.”

Bruce could feel his skin turning a shade darker. “That was a long time ago.” He took another drink of his coffee and stood, pointing at Silas. “Not today. It's a bad idea. I'm going out to the barn to get a head start on the chores.”