Path of Freedom (5 page)

“On that score, I believe I can put thy mind at ease.” Flora gave her hand a reassuring pat. “I'll make sure he eats plenty.”

Bruce and Silas walked up and greeted them with wide grins. Bruce walked with assurance and Silas with a nonchalant swagger.

“We were thinking of calling on thee,” Silas said. “Perhaps this afternoon will do? The weather is perfect for a buggy ride after the midday meal.”

“I promised Mother I'd help her cook the midday meal and then we must can some of the vegetables for winter.” Flora glanced at her sister, who was gazing up at Silas with wide, admiring eyes. “I thank thee, but perhaps Irene would?”

“I'd love to,” Irene said, her face flushing a pink as bright as their spring garden roses.

“Friend Bruce, may I speak with thee about the mission?” Flora asked, pinning her gaze upon him before she lost her newfound courage.

His eyebrows rose and his lips dropped into a frown.

“In private?” Her chest beat like a drum against her ribcage. “Please?”

“Excuse me.” He nodded to the others and stepped away with her.

They walked down the road side by side. As the silence lengthened, their arms grazed. Warmth flooded her. She imagined her face turning the same color as Irene's had a moment earlier.

“Flora, I know thee didn't want to go on a stroll. What's on thy mind?”

His tone wasn't unkind, but it was inquisitive. She took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. I just wasn't sure where to begin.” She stopped and glanced up into his green eyes. His reddish-blond hair was combed gently over to the side of his forehead beneath his black hat. His oblong face now fitted his man's frame very nicely. Irene was right. Bruce Millikan had turned out to be very handsome indeed.

“Flora?” He leaned forward, his gaze searching hers in concern.

“I'm sorry…for not forgiving thee as I should.” She scratched her eyebrow and brushed a strand of hair aside. Her fingers trembled, and she hoped he hadn't noticed. “When I heard the scripture this morning, I realized I don't want to be a grudge holder or have unforgiving thoughts linger in my heart. I want to be obedient to the Lord. Please know that I forgive thee and will not begrudge thee for thy past.”

“I'm sorry, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the ground. “I was hoping we could come to some kind of truce for the success of this mission. In spite of what thee must think of me, I've a sincere desire to serve the Lord and see slavery abolished, and I'll do anything in my power to help the cause of freedom.”

“That's why I've come to admire thee so much.” She offered a smile, hoping she wouldn't come to regret those words.

“Does this mean thee is willing to follow my lead in the wilderness? I don't want thee feeling like I'm bossy, but I need to know I can depend on thee.”

“Bruce Millikan, I'll always speak my mind. If I don't agree with thee, I'll tell thee. I do not blindly follow any man.” She took another deep breath. “But I promise to consider thy viewpoint if I'm tempted to defy thee.”

A week later, Bruce rode up to Pastor John's house. The slave couple, Marta and Jim, had arrived with a Quaker from South Carolina on his way to market. Unable to stay, the man dropped them off and headed back south.

Bruce tethered his horse to a tree in the front yard. The Saferight's wagon was also parked out front. He walked around the side of the house toward the brown barn, where he heard voices. Flora laughed at something. The hearty sound lifted his mood. He hadn't known what to expect the next time he saw her. After her genuine confession at Meeting on Sunday, he couldn't help wondering if she would change her mind once she had more time to reflect on her decision.

His respect for her had risen a notch. He still wasn't convinced that she was the most experienced midwife for this mission, but it seemed he had been overruled on that matter. Now he would just have to make the best of it, and he had no doubt he could do so with the Lord's assistance.

Shadow barked, running out to greet him. Bruce smiled and bent to rub the dog between the ears. The excited animal circled him, shaking his tail in approval.

“Good to see thee.” Pastor John stepped out from the shade of the barn entrance and extended his hand. Flora followed with her sister, Irene, and both her parents. They all nodded with greeting smiles. Bruce took John's hand in a firm grip and then shook Will Saferight's hand.

“Allow me to introduce thee to Marta and Jim. They arrived last night,” John said, stepping aside and gesturing to a young black couple.

Marta didn't look much older than fourteen or fifteen. She gazed up at him with hazel eyes, a mixture of hope and trepidation lingering in her expression. He imagined she didn't trust people very easily. Her round belly protruded from a thin, malnourished frame in a ragged gray dress. Bruce swallowed in discomfort, wondering how she'd made it this far. Her frizzy black hair had escaped a single braid as if she had been through a difficult trip.

Blinking back a bit of moisture and swallowing his compassion, he offered a smile. “Glad to meet thee, Marta. I'm looking forward to helping thee.”

Next, he glanced at the man standing beside her. His skin was much darker than Marta's, and he stood a few inches taller than Bruce. His dark eyes held a hard glint as he assessed Bruce, looking him up and down.

“Glad to meet thee as well, Jim.” Bruce offered his hand.

Jim stared as if he wasn't sure he wanted to touch it. He scratched the side of his head, covered with bushy hair. Something flickered in his eyes, and he tilted his long face, giving Bruce a better view of his wide nose and full lips.

In an awkward silence, Bruce started to pull his hand back when Jim finally extended his in a sure handshake. That's when Bruce noticed that a “W” had been branded into the skin rippling over a muscular upper arm. He followed Bruce's gaze and grinned.

“A gift from my mastah, Mr. Wheaton. He brands all his property.”

Bruce swallowed the rising lump in his throat and nodded. “I've seen similar things before, but remember, thee belongs to no one but God.”

“That's why I'm determined to have my baby in freedom,” Marta said, a fierce light shining in her eyes. She reached out and touched Flora's arm. “An’ this sweet lady's going to help me.”

“Indeed, I'll do my best,” Flora said, meeting Bruce's gaze. “If it would be all right with everyone, I'd like to go into the house and examine Marta and ask her a few questions. It appears she's much farther along in her pregnancy than I'd anticipated.”

“Of course,” Pastor John said, nodding. “The guest chamber is on the west side of the house. It's a bit smaller than the master chamber, so if that won't suit thy purpose, feel free to use mine.”

“No, the guest chamber should be fine.” Flora glanced up at her mother. “Would thee please accompany me?”

“I'll come as well,” Irene offered.

“Very well, I'll no doubt need thy help on this mission.” Flora glanced at Bruce. “It's good to see thee again.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she looped her arm through Marta's and they traipsed off toward the house.

Unexpected pleasure filled Bruce as he rubbed his chin. The woman confounded him. Was she sincere or would she turn on him the moment they pulled out of the presence of Pastor John and her parents? As soon as the question arose, a brief memory of her gentle refusal of his brother's offer of a buggy ride filled Bruce with satisfaction. Flora Saferight was the only female who had never fallen for Silas's charms. Her affections wouldn't be easily won. The thought sent a jolt of realization reeling through his system. His father had suggested he view this trip as a chance to gain her trust, but if he was honest with himself, he hoped for much more.

“Uh, Bruce?” Pastor John cleared his throat.

Still staring after the ladies, Bruce scratched his sideburn, knowing his face burned with embarrassment. What must her father be thinking of his besotted behavior? He'd have to be less obvious if he wanted to carry out this mission with success and earn their respect.

“I was just wondering if we'll be able to make it before she goes into labor,” Bruce said, speaking his other thoughts aloud, hoping to distract the others from suspecting his interest in Flora.

“Yes, that was a concern of mine as well. I'm eager to hear Flora's thoughts on the matter, which is another reason I'm glad she'll be going with thee,” John said, walking into the barn. “I wanted to show thee the special wagon we've built specifically for this kind of mission.”

He led them to a green wagon with a canvas covering. The spoked wheels were tall and sturdy for uneven ground and long travel. Upon first glance, the wagon appeared like any other. John walked toward the back. He bent and slipped his hand underneath. The sound of a lock sliding back caught Bruce's attention as he leaned forward to get a better look. A door popped open, revealing a false bottom under the wagon frame. Grinning, Bruce squatted on his haunches and peered inside a dark compartment, long and wide enough to carry two people lying down beside each other. The conditions would no doubt be cramped, but Bruce knew it would be worth it if the method led them safely to freedom.

“Very clever. I've heard of such wagons, but I've never seen one,” Bruce said.

“This one is used often for the Ohio and Indiana missions. It was built like the one Levi Coffin used about thirty years ago—with a few minor improvements.”

“Such as?” Bruce raised an eyebrow as he stood, glancing from Will Saferight to Pastor John and then to Jim.

“I've drilled a few holes from the bottom to give them more fresh air, and it's a couple of inches wider,” John said.

“What about Marta? Will it be wide enough for a pregnant woman?” Bruce asked, folding his arms.

“It'll have to be.” John sighed, shaking his head and rubbing his neck. “It's the best we've got.”

F
lora folded a quilt and laid it on top of the others in the trunk. She wanted to be sure to pack enough for all of them when the cold weather set in, as well as for Marta and Jim. Irene packed another trunk full of cooking pots and utensils. Their mother checked off a list she held in her hand.

“I still wish we were going by train.” Irene closed the lid and slid the lock in place. “This one's packed.”

“Thee will get over thy disappointment soon enough.” Mother removed her spectacles from her nose and waved them in the air. “I'm beginning to worry about thy priorities, Irene. Should I be concerned?”

“Of course not!” Irene sat on top of her trunk. “I'm only disappointed, is all.”

“She's still young, Sarah.” Father folded his paper and set it on the end table by his cushioned chair. “There's plenty of time for her to develop a conscience about such things.”

“Young and fanciful.” Mother walked to the couch and sank upon it, turning to gaze out the living room window.

“We'll have plenty of other opportunities to travel by train,” Flora said, laying her folded cloak in the trunk. “I must admit, I'm a little disappointed as well, but after meeting Marta and Jim, I'd much rather be helping them. I can't bear the thought of them or their newborn living in slavery.”

“Someone is coming up the drive.” Mother leaned over the back of the couch and squinted. “It looks like Rebecca Williams. Flora, was thee expecting a visit from the midwife?” Mother met her gaze.

“Not that I can recall.” Flora shook her head and shrugged. “Perhaps Rebecca heard of our mission and has come to deliver some parting advice. I must confess, it would be most welcome. I'm afraid Marta will go into labor before we cross the border into Pennsylvania.”

“Pastor John took thy concerns to heart,” Father said. “He may have taken it upon himself to confide in her.” He stood and stretched his arms above his head. “I think I'll take myself off to the barn so thee may talk about birthing as needed.”

“And I shall make us some tea and forage for some refreshment to serve.” Mother rose and hurried to the kitchen.

Father opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch to greet their guest. Flora and Irene both followed.

Once the carriage pulled to a stop, the door opened and out peered Rebecca's gray head, covered with a white bonnet. Father bounced down the steps and went to assist her. She wore a white blouse tucked into a charcoal-colored skirt. Her sturdy black boots stepped upon the pebbled drive that circled the front of their white two-story house.

“Good day, Friend Will. I hope thee is doing well?” She glanced up at Father with a curious smile, her gaze sliding to Flora and Irene standing on the porch. She winked and Flora couldn't suppress a grin at the woman who had taught her so much. “I came to see thy girls. Pastor John paid me a visit and told me about their upcoming mission. I confess, I'm a bit jealous. Wish I were young enough to go. It's such a bold and noble cause.”

“Indeed, it's their inexperience that gives me cause for concern.” He held out his hand. She accepted it as she stepped down, moving much slower than Flora remembered. “But I trust that this is the Lord's will, so I won't get in the way,” Father said.

“Good.” She patted his arm and pointed above her carriage. “Would thee be so kind as to bring in my trunk? I've brought some supplies for Flora that may be helpful should the slave girl go into labor.”

While her father retrieved the trunk, Flora went to Rebecca and wrapped her in a warm hug. “Thee didn't have to go to such trouble.”

“Nonsense.” Rebecca waved a hand and lifted her skirts to climb the porch steps. “It was no trouble at all.” She paused beside Irene. “And how is thee? Excited about this important mission?”

“I was when I thought we were going by train.” Irene dropped her gaze and stepped to the side to let Rebecca pass through the threshold.

“I see.” Rebecca chuckled as she swept into the house. “Just think about all the tales thee might have to share with thy future husband and children, even thy grandchildren. I'm sure thee will come upon some special adventures thee might not experience on a train.”

“Like what?” Irene followed Rebecca as she found a seat in the first chair she came to and plopped down with a weary sigh.

“Let's see…bobcats, tracking hounds, bounty hunters.”

Irene's eyes widened, and she turned to Flora, the first suspicion of fear flickering in her blue eyes. A blond eyebrow rose in a question as her mouth dropped open without a sound.

“Friend Rebecca, has thee come to scare my sister?” Flora walked over to Irene and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “She's only trying to instill a bit of excitement in thee. Cheer up!”

“But such things are a possibility.” Rebecca lifted a finger in warning.

“Here's thy trunk.” Father hoisted her brown trunk up over his shoulder and set it next to the one Flora had been packing. Relief flooded Flora at the brief interruption. Perhaps now Irene would forget about what Friend Rebecca had said. The trunk thumped against the hardwood floor and something rattled inside. “Hope there aren't any breakables in there.”

“No, not at all,” Rebecca said. “I thank thee, Friend Will.”

“Well, I'm off to the barn.” Father made a quick escape.

“I've brought some tea and biscuits.” Mother had appeared with a tray. Saucers and cups were stacked with a teapot on one side and a plate of homemade biscuits with jam, honey, and a slab of butter on the other side. Flora could almost taste the warm flakes and the sweet buttery flavor.

“How delightful.” Rebecca scooted to the edge of her chair. “I brought a few supplies that will be helpful to Flora on this mission.” She nodded toward the trunk.

“We're most appreciative.” Mother followed her gaze and smiled. “I've been in fervent prayer for the girls and this whole mission ever since I've heard about it.” Mother poured a cup of tea and handed it to Rebecca.

“I imagine thee has.” Rebecca sipped her tea as her gaze lingered in Irene's direction. She swallowed. “Has Irene ever been in a birthing room? Flora may very well need her assistance.”

“No, she hasn't.” Mother dropped her gaze, and for the first time Flora realized how concerned her mother was in letting Irene go. “Irene is only ten and six. It has been so long since I lost my little ones. She doesn't have an interest in midwifery like Flora.”

“No matter. There may come a time when she'll be needed out of necessity. We must prepare her as best as we can.” Rebecca's brown gaze met Flora's. “Of course, I hear that handsome young man Bruce Millikan will be escorting thee. He's very capable. Few know this, but a year ago he patched up a slave with a gunshot wound on a mission. He isn't afraid of blood and will know how best to stop the bleeding if there are complications. Out in the wilderness, thee must forget about protocol. It doesn't matter that he's a man and not a doctor. Ask for his help if thee must. Survival comes first.”

Bruce shoved his fists against his sides and stared at all the trunks Flora and Irene expected to take on the trip. He couldn't stop his jaw from dropping open in acute shock.

“What's wrong?” Flora demanded as she strolled to a stop beside him, her arms folded across her chest in defiance.

“This!” He gestured toward their loaded wagon. “We're not going on a pleasurable trip. We need to take as little as possible.”

“I only packed what was necessary,” she said through tight lips.

Disappointment plowed through him as he pivoted back on his foot and rubbed his shaved jaw. He should have expected this. Hadn't he been concerned that she was too immature for such a mission? Here was the proof stacked before him. What had her parents been thinking to let her pack this much?

He glanced over at the Saferights and Millikans, talking to Pastor John by the barn. Why weren't they helping him manage Flora?

They were expected to leave within the hour, but now he realized it wouldn't happen. The Saferights' wagon still needed to be unloaded and transferred to the special wagon, but first he'd have to convince Flora and Irene to leave some things behind.

It was almost dusk, and cooler temperatures hugged his body, causing his skin to rise with goose pimples. He wasn't sure if it was due to the cool air or the idea of another confrontation with Flora—so soon after their recent truce.

Silas walked up beside him with his hands in his pockets, a sharp whistle upon his lips as he shook his head in disbelief. “Looks like thee will have thy hands full on this trip.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Flora leaned around Bruce, and the fragrance of cedar teased his nose. Her eyes pierced his brother. Any other time, Bruce would have found the situation humorous, but right now they were losing daylight. The last thing he needed was Silas antagonizing her.

“I could leave behind a dress and a few more pots,” Irene offered as she leaned over the side of the wagon. “And maybe a quilt.”

“No!” Flora glared at her sister. “We need all the quilts we've brought.”

“Like I said, thee will have thy hands full.” Silas shook his head and slapped Bruce on his shoulder. “I'm glad it's thee and not me.”

“Silas,” Bruce's voice sliced through the air, “thee isn't being helpful.”

“And neither is thee, Bruce Millikan.” Flora pursed her pink lips. “We went to great pains trying to determine what to bring. In spite of what thee must think, we put many things back.”

“Flora, I appreciate all thee has done to prepare for this mission, but we only have one horse available.” He pointed to the animal hitched to the green wagon beside them. “This is too much weight. We'll kill the poor horse. The special wagon isn't designed for two animals even if we wanted to hitch another one.”

Without waiting for a response, Bruce unlatched the back, pulled it down, and hopped up onto the bed. He opened the first trunk as the lid squeaked. “Silas, bring me a lantern.”

“Stop!” Flora scrambled to climb into the wagon. Her long skirts tripped her, and she fell to her knees and crawled toward him. “Those are our personal things.”

Worried she would hurt herself, he reached down to assist her, but she jerked her elbow away. “Don't touch me.”

He hated the hissing tone she used. Dread pooled in his stomach. With a sigh, he turned from her and bent toward the trunk. “These are hardly personal.” Bruce lifted a stack of four pots. “Two will be sufficient.” He separated them, making two stacks.

Glowing light appeared, swaying toward them. Crickets sang all around them. The skyline dimmed to a pink line over the trees. A crescent moon brightened against the charcoal sky as tiny white stars dotted the heavens.

“Here's the light thee wanted.” Silas held up the lantern.

“Thanks.” Bruce accepted it, catching a glimpse of Flora's angry glare now that she had righted herself on her feet. She blinked and an unexpected flicker of fear shadowed her glistening eyes. A sudden urge to stroke her cheek in an attempt to comfort her stilled him.

“Why is thee looking at me like that?” She shifted in discomfort and looked down. “A couple of those trunks have some unmentionables in them.”

An owl hooted in the distance, mocking him as understanding dawned. “I'm sorry. I should have realized thy concern, but we still have to leave more things behind.”

“We don't need these.” He turned and lifted eight tin cups. “I packed five for us, as well as plates.”

“Forgive me for not imagining thee as the cooking type.” Flora's dry tone dripped in sarcasm. “What about utensils?”

“I have them.” Bruce dug deeper into the trunk and pulled out other containers they didn't need.

“My brother is quite resourceful, Flora Saferight.” Silas leaned over the side of the wagon next to Irene. “He thinks of the little details that most of us men would never consider. I'm sure thee will find him to be a great blessing on this mission.”

“I've no doubt of his attributes, but it appears that he has a great deal of doubt about mine.” Her voice lowered. “I suppose some things will never change.”

Bruce paused, disliking the hurt in her tone. “We should have given each other a list of what we planned to bring. I'm sorry I didn't consider it before now.”

“No matter. We need a solution before it gets too late.” Flora moved toward him and dropped to her knees. “Finish going through this trunk and pull out anything that duplicates what thee has packed. Since Irene and I will be doing most of the cooking, we'll keep the food we brought and leave behind any food thee has brought.” She pointed to a trunk behind her. “These two trunks contain quilts, dresses, shawls, bonnets, cloaks, and personal items. We won't part with anything in them.”

“Good idea. I'll go to the other wagon and pull out the extra food supplies we brought,” Silas said.

“What about that one?” Bruce pointed to another trunk.

“It's my midwifery supplies. If Marta goes into labor, and I believe she will, I'll need everything in that trunk to pull her through it. I've also brought some diapers for the baby.”

Impressed with her ability to shift from a victim of insult to a problem solver, Bruce stared at her reflection in the lantern light as darkness increased around them. Her silhouette showed a chin set in determination; she was a woman who wouldn't be easily deterred by persuasion, but only by reason.