Path of Freedom (4 page)

Flora woke to beams of light shining through the two windows in her chamber. She groaned, flipping onto her stomach and slamming her pillow over her head.

Throughout the night she'd struggled to sleep, and when she'd finally dozed, a childhood nightmare haunted her—all too similar to her real memories. Her weeping must have awakened Irene, for she came in and tried to comfort her.

Once again Flora was eight, and Bruce Millikan was nine, leading a pack of kids who chased her through a dark forest, calling her Beaver Face. The remnants of the chant pounded against her aching head, deepening the wounds of her scarred heart.

Before the dream ended, Bruce transformed into a man. He folded his arms over his chest and laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “Flora Saferight, thee will always be a Beaver Face.” His taunting voice sliced her to the core. In her dream, she'd touched her mouth and had felt two large teeth hanging over her bottom lip. Tears had blinded her vision, until everything faded.

Was it a sign that she shouldn't go on this mission? She placed her hands over her ears as if to make the memories and dreams disappear, but they remained, threatening her confidence in making a wise, unbiased decision. Fear coiled in the pit of her stomach. Why did she keep worrying about Bruce's opinion of her? This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, and she didn't need Bruce's approval. Pastor John had complete faith in her midwifery skills. Shouldn't the pastor's opinion matter more?

In all honesty, she knew Bruce would do his best to protect her and Irene. He had a reputation to keep if he wanted to continue on these missions. The real challenge would be getting along with him and not allowing his insults to hurt her. She could try to pretend that she was immune to him, but she knew the truth. He affected her in more ways now than he did when they were younger.

An image of Bruce's dangerous smile burned in her brain, charming a path directly to her heart. Her pulse responded by quickening to a rapid pace. Of course, things would be so much easier if he hadn't grown into such a handsome man. A complete distraction, Bruce could rile her with his sharp tongue until she wanted to thrash him, or tip her mind into a daze with a simple glance.

A soft knock echoed through her chamber.

“Come in,” Flora called.

The lock clicked, and Irene poked her head inside. “Mother wanted me to check on thee. It's an hour past dawn and the rest of us have had our breakfast. She made thy favorite—apple butter jam with biscuits.”

“I'm getting up.” Flora yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “I don't want to get behind on my chores for the day.”

“I'll tell her.” Irene closed the door, and the sound of her footsteps carried down the hallway.

With a deep sigh, Flora forced herself from the luxury of her bed and padded over to the window in her bare feet. She fingered the pale yellow curtains. The bright morning sun greeted her, casting a golden glow on her cream-colored walls. A gentle breeze swayed the oak tree branches that barely reached the height of her second-story window. A few leaves had already faded to half green and yellow. Soon they would all be full of brilliant colors, highlighting the fall season.

She shivered and rubbed her arms as she hurried to her armoire and pulled out a simple brown gown. Trembling from the nip in the air, her cold fingers struggled with the buttons once she'd donned the garment. As she washed up using the basin, she cringed from the icy water. That task complete, she grabbed the brush on her dresser. It slipped from her fumbling fingers and tumbled to the hard floor.

Another knock sounded at her door, this one more sturdy. “Flora, is thee all right?” her mother called.

“Yes, come in.” The door opened as she bent to retrieve her brush. “My fingers are so cold, I couldn't hold it.”

“Allow me.” Mother carried a navy blue quilt in her arms and deposited it on Flora's unmade bed. She took the brush from Flora's hands and slid it through her hair, taking her time when she reached the tangles toward the ends.

“Thank thee.” Flora closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of each stroke, as if she was once again a child being soothed by her mother.

“Irene told me about thy difficult night,” Mother said.

“I'm fine.” Flora clenched her jaw, determined to make the words true. If she didn't concentrate on it, perhaps the insecure feelings would dissolve. Eager to find something else to discuss, she glanced at the folded quilt on her bed. “Thee didn't need to bring me another quilt. I have plenty in my trunk.”

“This is a special quilt. It doesn't belong with the others.” Mother twisted her hair and coiled it around Flora's head, slipping in pins to hold it in place. “There, that should do.” She patted the side of Flora's head.

“Special? How?” Flora walked to her bed and lifted the quilt, studying it more carefully. “I don't believe I've ever seen this one. When did thee make it?”

“When thee was a little girl. Let's open it all the way up. I have something I want to show thee.” Mother helped her unfold the quilt and they spread it out over the bulk of her existing bedcovers.

“It's beautiful!” Flora stared at it, noting how this quilt didn't contain her mother's usual abstract patterns. “Thee stitched a road with several houses and a star by each one.” She fingered the stitched star over the first house. “What does it mean? I bet it represents how all the towns and villages are somehow connected through the path of life.” A wistful mood came over her, as she traced the detailed stitching with her fingers.

“Not exactly.” Mother shook her dark brown head and glanced over at Flora, who had the same heart-shaped face as Irene. At forty-two, her mother still showed signs of beauty, with smooth skin, intelligent gray eyes, and a small mole at her right eyebrow that gave her a distinguished look. “I stitched this quilt after thy father and I went on our last mission. It's a secret map to thy cousins in Charlottesville, Virginia.”

“Are they part of the Underground Railroad as well?” Flora searched the quilt for their house.

“Indeed. They've been helping slaves escape these many years even after we stopped going.” Mother sat on the edge of the bed. “Each star represents a station, a safe home where thee may stay, eat, and hide. The trees along the road are where thee will need to camp. I've included towns on the side of the path in case thee needs to find food, temporary shelter or a doctor, but there are no stations in these places. Thee will need to be very careful and hide the runaways in the woods if thee must go to one of these towns.”

“Mother, this is brilliant,” Flora said. “I've never seen anything like it.”

“Listen, Flora, we've kept this secret because it must stay secret. Not all Quakers believe as we do. Some feel harboring slaves and helping them to freedom is breaking the law and causes us to lie in order to protect them. Do not trust anyone, no matter if they are Quaker, unless they are at one of these stations.”

“I understand.” Sudden fear stabbed her chest at the serious expression on her mother's face.

“Here is our house.” Mother pointed to a white house at the bottom of the quilt. “And this is Jamestown, thy first stop. It's called the Mendenhall Station. The next one is New Garden.” Her mother paused, looking at her. “After New Garden thee will enter into the wilderness and cross into Danville, Virginia, here.” She pointed to the next house. “Thee will camp for a while until thee reaches Lynchburg, then Charlottesville.”

The map came to an end, and Flora worried her bottom lip. “But Pastor John said this mission will go all the way to Harrisonburg and end in Charles Town, Pennsylvania. Do we not have a map for the rest of the trip?”

“Thy cousins will give thee instructions when thee reaches Charlottesville.” Her mother cupped her cheek. “Don't worry. We'll give thee all we can to make this a successful mission.”

Relief flooded Flora as she stared again at the quilt. “Thee has named all thy other quilts. What is this one called?”

“Midnight Star, since thee must travel at night and follow the stars.” Mother folded the quilt and patted the bed beside her. “There is more I must tell thee.”

Flora swallowed, the responsibility of what they wanted her to do weighing upon her. She looked up at her mother with so much love and respect, waiting.

“When thee is talking about an Underground Railroad mission in front of others, thee must refer to the safe houses as stations. The special wagon thee will be using is called a train. Bruce will be referred to as the conductor since he will be the main driver. The runaways are referred to as baggage or cargo.”

“But that seems demeaning.” Flora frowned, trying to understand why they would go to this much trouble to free people and treat them as equals if they were to be treated in such a way.

“It's only to protect them, I assure thee.” Mother laid a hand on her arm. “We had to come up with terms that others wouldn't recognize. If caught, the runaways could die and thee, Bruce, and Irene could go to prison. Thee must keep the code words. I've already talked to Irene this morning while thee slept.”

“I understand.” Flora nodded.

“Patience is key. If anything unexpected happens, wait. Thee will travel mostly at night and hide and sleep during the day. Remember, if anyone tries to track thee, water will make the dogs lose their scent. That's why I've included rivers on the quilt.” Mother leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I love thee, and I'm so proud of thee and Irene.”

Her mother spoke as if the matter was settled. How could she back out now? The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint everyone when so many were counting on her. She would be responsible for denying a young pregnant couple a chance at freedom if she refused to go. The thought filled her soul with too much guilt. Most of all, she didn't want to disappoint God. Long ago she had made the commitment to sacrifice her personal wants and serve God's will and the needs and desires of his people. This mission would be that very thing. It was the right thing to do.

“We'll do our best, Mother.” There, the words were said. She had made a verbal commitment.

B
ruce shook off his mounting frustration as he closed the side door to the kitchen and bounded down the wooden steps. No one understood his current predicament with Flora, least of all his charismatic brother, who had a way of winning women's affections. Bruce had an undeniable past of teasing Flora. He enjoyed watching her get riled up and unleashing her angry wit. Their sparring debates were interesting, challenging. No other girls ever compared.

His most dangerous flaw was the fact that he didn't like to lose. He shook his head at himself, remembering back to how prideful he was, especially when he feared being bested by a girl and possibly losing Flora's respect and admiration. Now he realized, perhaps too late, that his vicious behavior had ended up pushing her further away.

Morning fog still clung to the landscape. The rising sun cast beams of light through scattered tree branches, glistening upon the sprinkled dew. He breathed deep, smelling the drifting smoke from the woodstove pumping through the chimney above the house. Several robins whistled and sang, fluttering from limb to limb. “Lord, sometimes I wonder if thou created the mornings just for me.”

He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and headed toward the arched stables to the left. Cattle called from the distant pasture. Bruce grinned, feeling peace ease back into his soul. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he approached the wide threshold. His feet pressed into the packed dirt of the stable yard.

If he was truthful with himself, he didn't like the idea of Flora being with some doctor in Virginia, and the thought of another man leading them on the mission had turned his stomach into knots. A jolt of realization seized him, and he paused, peering into the shadows of the rows of stalls on each side. If he craved Flora's affection for himself, he was doomed to disappointment. She hated him. Cold fear slithered up his spine, his momentary peace gone with one simple thought.

One of the horses neighed and flicked his tail. Bruce set about refilling the feed at each stall and pouring fresh water. Once the chore of feeding the horses was complete, he lit a lantern and approached the final stall on the left, where his new machine was stored. He hung the lantern on a nearby peg and looked over the field reaper machine he'd been working on since his last mission.

“Son, I think I know why thee doesn't want Silas to go with thee.” Eli's voice echoed through the barn.

Bruce glanced around the stall wall. His father strolled toward him. He walked with a determined gait, an expression of fatherly concern in his wise hazel eyes. Eli Millikan stroked his gray beard in thoughtful contemplation, a look Bruce had come to recognize as a sign he was about to be questioned.

“I might have overreacted. He can come along if he wants.” Bruce hoped his quick agreement would end the subject.

“Why does thee struggle with getting along with Flora?” Father angled his head and met Bruce's gaze. “The Saferights are a good and respectable family. Flora and Irene have been raised well and are fine young ladies. It may be that God's will for thee and Flora is to put thy past aside and start a fresh new relationship with complete forgiveness and acceptance.”

“I'd like that. Really, I would.” Bruce walked around the reaper and bent to access the bottom rollers. “She says a doctor in Virginia wants her to come work with him as a midwife and be his helper.”

“A doctor?”

“Yes, she has her sights on some doctor who lives near her cousins in Charlottesville. I don't think she's planning on staying in Greensboro to be an asset around here.”

“And that upsets thee?”

“No.” Why did his father always have to be so direct? Bruce sighed. “It will seem strange here without her. And what if she doesn't like it there?” Bruce gripped the iron jaws that gathered hay and wiggled them—sturdy with no breaks. Then he checked the chain on the pulley. One of the links was rusted. Maybe that was the reason it kept getting stuck.

“She can always come back,” Father said, leaning over him.

“I think I found the problem,” Bruce said, changing the subject. “Looks like I'll have to replace this link in the chain with one that isn't so rusted to keep the kinks out of it when the machine pulls it through.”

“I have a suggestion,” Father said.

“Does it involve more humiliation on my part?” Bruce backed out from under the machine and rubbed the muddy rust from his palms.

“No, but is thee too prideful to suffer a little humiliation?” His father stepped back, allowing him room to check other parts on the machine.

“Believe me, Flora has made sure I've had some moments with my share of it. She has a tongue sharp enough for a double-edged sword.” Bruce shook his head with a grin. “She's the only person who can make me lose my head and temper. Yesterday I called her foolhardy, and I don't know why I did it. I only meant to tease her, but I guess it didn't come out that way.”

“I see.” Father chuckled. “I take it she's not too pleased with thee.”

“That's an understatement.” Bruce looked away as heat climbed his neck and face. “She doesn't want to go on the mission because of me.” A dull ache burdened his chest. The knowledge made him feel like he'd already failed the Lord and everyone else.

“She'll come around.” Father patted Bruce's shoulder. “Thee just might have to visit and apologize.”

Apologize?

The thought sent a wave of nausea to Bruce's gut. A rushing headache pierced the back of his head. His apologies hadn't gone so well in the past. Instead of graciously accepting his regret, she'd ended up insulting him out of anger and stomping away.

“I wish it were that simple. Flora is a grudge holder, and I don't know if she'll ever forgive me.”

“Perhaps thee should view this trip as an opportunity to prove thee can be trustworthy again,” Father said. “Just think about it. Guess I'll go on back and leave thee to finish working on thy machine.”

“Hope to have it back up and running by this afternoon.” Bruce rapped his knuckles on the side of his hand-built machine. Once he fixed the link in the chain, he would hook it up to a horse and test it out.

“Good,” his father said while walking away. “Then thee will have time to visit Flora Saferight tomorrow and make things right.”

Bruce took a deep breath, not ready to commit to such a daunting task. “I think I'll wait till Sunday. She might be in a better mood at Meeting after prayer and meditation on God's word.”

He hoped.

Sunday morning Flora sat on the hard wooden benches on the fifth row beside her mother and Irene at Centre Friends Meeting. Her father had settled on the opposite side of the aisle with the men.

She loved Sunday meetings, where she got a chance to see and talk to friends she couldn't visit with during the week. It was a time to reflect on God's word, pray, and fellowship with friends.

Pastor John Allred walked down the center aisle toward the front, where a long table sat against the pine wall. In the middle of the simple oak table stood a hand-carved wooden cross with two lit candles on each side. At the far right side of the table sat Elizabeth Osbourne with a feather quill in hand and a bottle of ink next to her book of recordings. Throughout the Meeting, she would record all the discussions. The sanctuary grew silent out of respect as all eyes turned toward the front.

“I would like to read a scripture from Leviticus 19:18,” Pastor John said. “Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”

He paused, allowing them to meditate on the scripture he'd read. Flora contemplated the word
grudge.
Forgiveness was something she had learned to give as a young girl, but she didn't see the point in putting herself back into the clutches of a friend who couldn't be trusted. An image of Bruce Millikan came to mind. She didn't dare look over her shoulder. Earlier she had seen him arrive with his family and had tried to avoid eye contact.

Even if she had forgiven him for his past deeds, she hadn't forgotten them. Resentment filled her heart at the thought of him. Did that mean she still harbored a grudge against Bruce Millikan?

Lord, please forgive me.

It was a sin from the heart. Tears of guilt stung Flora's eyes. The last thing she wanted was to be disobedient to God. Her dislike of Bruce had almost cost her the chance to do the Lord's work on this mission. She didn't want anything holding her back from doing God's will and helping others.

Flora bowed her head and concentrated on her plight. She could let go of past wrongs, but feared letting her guard down and being caught unaware by new hurts. How could she trust a man who had just called her foolhardy only a few days ago? It wasn't a childhood jibe. She truly believed that Bruce Millikan thought her foolish.

Pastor John's voice broke the silence. He prayed aloud for their community. Flora let his voice fade into the background as she whispered a silent prayer of her own.

One by one other friends prayed aloud or shared an enlightening experience as they felt led. Afterwards the congregation received a new family who had transferred from another Virginia Quaker church. A woman was disowned for marrying outside the Quaker faith. Friend Elizabeth dipped her quill. It scratched against the paper as she raced to record all the details.

Pastor John announced a wedding that would take place in three months and informed the congregation that Widow Hodgson had suffered a stroke and could use some assistance around her house. Once his announcements were finished, he bowed in closing prayer and dismissed everyone with a brief nod and smile.

Conversations buzzed around them, and people stood. Some lingered in further discussions while others filed into the aisle and out of the building.

“That was quite refreshing,” Mother said with a contented sigh. “Now I believe the afternoon meal will do us all some good.”

“I agree.” Irene touched her middle. “My stomach rumbled so loud I thought for sure everyone would hear it.”

“If thee had taken time to break thy fast, then thee might not feel so famished.” Mother glanced over her shoulder, her gaze drifting past Flora to Irene.

“I only wanted to look presentable,” Irene said, lowering her voice, drawing out each syllable as if she were tempted to whine.

“Thy vanity is starting to concern me,” Mother said. “I believe this trip will do thee some good. Nothing like a little humbleness and a charitable deed for someone else to bring one back to reality.”

They stepped into the aisle, smiling and greeting others, inching their way to the back door leading outside. A few moments later, bright sunshine greeted them along with a slight breeze that Flora welcomed. With the church building located on a hill, they were able to view the other families in various conversational groups or making their way to their country wagons and black carriages.

“Where could thy father have gone?” Mother shielded her eyes. “I see him. He's over by the graveyard. Visiting our three babies, no doubt.”

“Go on and join him.” Flora touched her mother's arm. “I need to speak with someone.”

“I believe I shall.” Mother patted her hand and moved off in that direction.

“What about me?” Irene asked.

“Thee is welcome to come witness me humble myself or thee can go visit with one of thy school friends.”

“I believe thy humbleness will be much more entertaining.” Irene's lips twitched.

“I figured thee would see it that way.” Flora nodded in the opposite direction. “Come on.”

With her heart outpacing her, Flora set off down the hill to where the Millikans were preparing their carriage on the side of the dirt road. Eli Millikan adjusted the harness and reins around the family's two horses. Holly Millikan was the first to notice their approach. A smile lit her face, and she hurried toward them, her hands outstretched in greeting.

Nearing sixty, Friend Holly's silver hair framed her face beneath her black bonnet. Her brown eyes held a deep regard and warmth that gave Flora encouragement. Thin lines etched her eyes and mouth without detracting from her looks, but rather enhancing her years of wisdom. Hers was a comforting expression that made one want to confide in her.

Warm hands gripped Flora's and then reached out to welcome Irene as well. “Good to see thee this morning. I'm so glad I got a chance to greet thee both.” She squeezed Flora's hand in emphasis.

“Indeed,” Flora nodded. “I hope thee is doing well?”

“I am.” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “Although I had hoped to have my Bruce home a little longer before he set out on one of those dangerous missions again. I've put him in the Lord's hands, but a mother still worries.” She lowered her eyes and shook her head as if ashamed that she couldn't help worrying.

“I understand.” Flora's heart filled with compassion, and she rubbed Holly's arm. “If I had a son, I'd feel the same way.”

“Oh, Friend Flora, now I shall worry about thee as well. And thee, too, Irene.” She glanced from her to Irene. “But I do have one small favor to ask.”

“Anything,” Flora said, nodding.

“Will thee make sure my Bruce eats well? I fear he lost too much weight on his last mission and there weren't two nice young ladies such as thyselves to feed him.”