Path of Freedom (8 page)

She didn't want to choke him and moved her hands to his shoulders. His strong muscles rippled through his wet shirt beneath her cold fingertips. The strength he exuded impressed her, but not as much as his gentle heart. She had expected him to rant at her over how she had almost ruined the mission. He could have criticized her choices, but he did none of those things. Bruce Millikan had seemed more concerned with having found her alive and the state of her health than anything.

His reaction broke the chain of all her childhood memories of them together, leaving her uncertain and vulnerable. Was it possible that Bruce Millikan had grown into a different man than she'd thought? The idea both pleased and frightened her.

His labored breathing came hard as he reached shallow water now that they'd crossed the river. He stood and patted her hand. “Is thee…all right?” He paused to catch his breath, turning to look at her, his gaze carefully assessing her.

“Yes.” She nodded. “But I'm not the one who just swam across the river hauling a heavy woman on my back.” She touched his arm in concern. “Bruce, thanks.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and then he turned from her. “We've got to get thee to a warm fire and into some dry clothes. I still don't know what wounds thee may have suffered.”

“I told thee. I'm fine.” She took a step to follow him, but her sore knee gave out on her. She stumbled, splashing water around her.

Bruce turned. “Fine, huh?” He bent and swept her up into his arms. “It isn't like thee to lie, Flora Saferight.”

“I didn't lie!”

He enveloped her against his hard chest. She listened to his fast-beating heart where she had laid her head. For now she would behave. She had caused the poor man enough hardship. “My legs may be sturdy on dry ground.”

He didn't answer as he stepped from the water and climbed the muddy bank. He slipped once, but kept a steady hold on her. He readjusted her in his arms after regaining his balance.

“Thee is bleeding again,” he said, glancing down at her exposed knee, where red blood bubbled and made a zigzagging trail down her leg. “I believe it will need stitching. Irene will have to sew it up.”

She gasped and tried to cover her leg.

“Stop wiggling before I drop thee,” he snapped, irritation straining his voice. “The last thing we need is more injuries. Now, be still.” His tone softened as he glanced down at her and their eyes met.

His green gaze penetrated her heart and stirred her senses as warmth filled her flesh. His reddish-blond hair now looked a shade darker wet, and stood on end all over his head. Water dripped down his forehead and into his eyes. He blinked. Flora reached up and wiped her fingertip across his brows to prevent more water from slipping into his vision. Her finger tingled.

“Thee will be the death of me before it's over.” He stared at her with a serious expression she couldn't fathom. Was he angry?

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I only meant to keep the water from thy eyes.”

“I know.” His voice was low. “But there was a time when thee wouldn't have cared.”

“We're grown now. We can be civilized—at least.” She gestured down. “Let me see if I can stand on solid ground.”

He lowered her with gentle ease. Flora held onto his arm as she attempted her weight on her injured leg. Pain sliced through all the nerves in her knee, causing her to wince.

“Let me…” Bruce tightened his grip on her.

“No.” She shook her head. “Just allow me to lean on thee. I can make it.” Flora glanced around, seeing no horse or wagon. “How are we getting back?”

“I brought the horse,” Bruce said. “We can make better time if thee would allow me to carry thee.”

“I can do this.” She took another unsteady step.

“At this rate it will be nightfall before we reach the others.”

Flora glared at him. He twisted his lips in an attempt to keep from smiling, but failed. A half-grin lit his expression.

“I never thought anyone could be more stubborn or determined than I, but I believe thee has proven me wrong.” He shook his head in disbelief, his arm brushing against hers. “I don't want to be gone too long. We need to get back to the others.”

“Thee always was a bully,” Flora teased. “Always making people do things thy way.”

“Well, if I was such a bully, I wouldn't have ever set thee down. We'd be on the horse by now almost to camp.” He shrugged, risking a quick glance in her direction. “I thought thee would be eager to see how Marta is doing after all the stress she's endured.”

Alarm slammed through Flora's brain, and she paused. “I thought thee said she was back at camp? What happened?”

“She is, but I certainly didn't have time to question her. I left right away to find thee.” He ran a hand through his short, damp hair, combing it back. It wasn't often Flora saw him without his black hat. His round head gave him a boyish look that she found endearing.

Her wet garments were heavy and scratched against her sensitive skin as she moved. She was so busy adjusting the collar of her blouse that she didn't see a root and stumbled into Bruce.

He turned and caught her in time. “That's it.” He slipped an arm around her waist and one under her knees and lifted her up.

“I didn't do that so thee would carry me.” Flora slid her arms around his neck to hang on as he jostled her along.

“Of course not.” A look of irritation crossed his face as he sighed and set his jaw at an angle and stared ahead. “For we both know that if thee could, thee would avoid me for the rest of thy life.”

Flora swallowed in discomfort. Perhaps that was once true, but no longer. Today he had eased her fears and given her a sense of trust in him. Once he'd arrived, her loneliness disappeared. His gentle care had been most unexpected, but appreciated.

Rather than arguing further, Flora laid her head on his shoulder, reveling in the strong feel of his arms wrapped around her—protecting her—if only for this short, temporary walk.

B
ruce arrived back at camp and lifted Flora off the horse. Thankful she didn't protest, he carried her to the wagon. He knew she had to be in pain, but she didn't complain. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck as if she feared being separated.

Irene wept with relief while she assisted Flora into dry clothes. Even with Flora's instructions, Irene proved to be too unsteady with a needle to sew up Flora's knee. In the end, Bruce took care of the task, casting propriety aside out of necessity.

Flora gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, but never cried out in pain—only wincing and groaning. She refused the laudanum he offered, saying Marta may later have need of it. He couldn't fathom how she managed not to jerk on reflex as he pulled the needle and thread through her skin. Bruce tried to keep his tone, as well as his touch, gentle and soothing.

He hoped his nerves didn't show. If ever he needed to be a pillar of strength and comfort for her, it was now. Once he tied off the last stitch, he breathed a sigh of relief, glad the ordeal was over. He risked a quick glance in her direction, worried he'd hurt her too much.

She sat very still, her eyes remaining closed.

“Flora, it's over,” he said. “I'm sorry if I hurt thee.”

“Bruce, I'm very grateful.” Flora met his gaze as she lowered her voice to a whisper, “I know she meant well, but Irene was killing me.”

The tension inside him eased, and he grinned, holding out his hand. “Come on. Let's get some food. That might make thee feel better.”

An hour later, Flora left half her plate of beans uneaten.

“I suppose three meals of plain beans are enough to make anyone lose their appetite,” Bruce said. “I thought thee wouldn't want any fish after spending so much time in the river today, but tomorrow I'll go fishing for all of us.” Bruce sipped from his cup of water, pleased with his idea. He was quite tired of beans as well.

A giggle lifted in the air. Bruce lowered his cup, his gaze shifting from Irene to Flora. Marta had already succumbed to exhaustion earlier, so it had to have been one of them. Irene frowned as she carried the dirty dishes to a pot of water full of soapsuds. Flora beamed with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“If I recall, thee might catch us some baby fish, but thy brother is the one to catch the real meat.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited.

Was Flora Saferight teasing him?

He searched his memory back to a hot summer afternoon when he and his brother had gone fishing. Bruce was twelve and had just started taking notice of Flora. He had hoped to impress her with his fishing skills, but all he'd managed was two small fish—one for himself and one for Flora. Silas had caught eight strapping trout. Both Flora and Irene had eaten from his brother's pile. Bruce had suffered the humiliation of being bested by his little brother.

“That's right. I forgot. Thee prefers a fine catch from my brother's hand.” Sudden irritation assailed him. He tipped his cup and gulped the last of his water, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“Well, today thee accomplished an even bigger feat. Christ tells us to be fishermen of men.” Flora gestured to herself. “Friend Bruce, thee fished me out of the river, and I'm very grateful. I hope thee isn't too disappointed I wasn't a rainbow trout.”

Jim chuckled, listening to their banter. “So, Friend Bruce done become a fisherman of women instead of men.”

“We Quakers often believe that general references to man in the Bible are often meant for all mankind, men and women alike.” Flora straightened her back, ready to go into teaching mode. Bruce had seen it often in the last few weeks, especially with Marta.

“How come yous don't believe it says exactly what it says?” Jim angled his head, a look of confusion on his face as he scratched the side of his head.

“We do, but every piece of the Bible must be read in context with other pieces of the Bible.” Flora leaned toward him, eager to help Jim understand her faith. Bruce smiled, admiring her. “For instance, if I ask thee for some water, thee wouldn't know how much water or what I'd want it for, right?”

“Yeah, a cup to drink.” Jim nodded.

“But thee assumed. What if I wanted a bucket of water for a bath or a cup of water to give to someone else?” Flora asked. “But thee wouldn't know if thee didn't read beyond that statement to discover more of the story.”

“Friend Jim, there is a passage in the Bible that might help thee understand what Flora is trying to tell thee. It will also sum up why we Quakers believe men and women are equal, as well as blacks and whites.” Bruce went to get his small Bible from his pack and brought it and a lantern back. He flipped to the section in Galatians and found chapter three. “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.”

Jim sat in silence, staring at the ground. After a few moments, he looked up at Bruce and then at Flora. “I don't remember my master's preacher ever giving that verse.”

“It's also one of the reasons some Quakers allow women pastors,” Flora said. “We're very different than other Christian religions, but the same in that we believe Jesus Christ came in the form of a man and died on the cross as the Son of God to save us from our sins.”

“That part sounds like what we believe. I likes yous Quakers.” Jim smiled, his yellow teeth glowing in the firelight as he stood and stretched. “I'll go check on Marta. She's been sleeping for a while now.”

Beside the wagon by the lantern light, Irene splashed water as she washed the dishes. Flora and Bruce were left alone.

“How does thee feel?” Bruce asked.

“I don't think there is one part of my body not aching, but I'll be fine.” She covered her mouth as she yawned.

“Thee should get some rest. We'll be leaving within the hour,” he said.

Bruce walked to the back of the wagon and reached inside for a quilt. He made a pallet by the fire. “Here, sleep where it's warm. I'll watch over thee while I study thy mother's quilt. I want to make sure we didn't stray too far from course today.”

He half expected her to argue, especially since he'd laid out his own pallet for her, but she limped over in silence. Once she was settled, he laid the quilt over her. She yawned again, snuggling inside the thick pallet.

“Why couldn't thee have been this kind when we were children?” Her sleepy voice floated between them.

It was a simple question and direct. How could mere words lance him with renewed guilt? What could he say that would erase all the pain he'd caused her? He cleared his throat. “I was just a silly boy, Flora. I hope thee can forgive me.”

“I've already forgiven the boy in thee.” She smiled and rolled over onto her side, closing her eyes. “It's the man in thee that I'm trying to figure out if I can trust or not.”

“Flora, it's time to go.” Irene's gentle voice broke through Flora's groggy state. “Bruce says we must go.”

She forced her eyes open to see Irene's dark form towering over her. The fire had fizzled to tiny embers. Beyond the tree branches above, white stars twinkled against the black sky. With a tired sigh, Flora rubbed her eyes and raised up on an elbow. Her body screamed in protest, still aching all over. She brushed strands of hair from her face, annoyed they had fallen from her braided coil.

Bruce poured water on the remaining embers. They sizzled until the drenched pile swam in a puddle. The smell of lingering smoke drifted in the air.

“How is thee feeling?” Irene asked.

“Sore, but I'll manage.” Flora's voice cracked with recent sleep. She shivered as she threw the quilt aside and tried to rise without wounding her knee further.

“Here, let me help thee.” Irene took her elbow and tried to help lift her up but staggered under the extra weight.

“I've got her.” Bruce appeared beside them, taking a steady hold on Flora. “Will thee see to dusting off the quilts and folding them?” He looked down at Irene.

Irene nodded.

“Easy.” Bruce placed a strong arm around Flora's waist and hoisted her against his side, using his body as an anchor. The scent of burning smoke from the campfire had settled in his clothes, mingling with a mixture of fresh cedar from their cedar chests. She found the unexpected aroma endearing.

“Thanks,” she murmured, trying to steady herself. “I can walk.”

“Indeed.” He didn't let go of her. “But can thee climb upon the wagon by thyself?”

She hadn't thought that far ahead. As Flora took a step, the stitches in her knee were tight, pulling against her skin. What a horrible place to need binding.

Flora tried to keep her leg straight, bending it as little as possible when walking. Pain pierced her bruised bones as her muscles contracted and expanded in spite of her efforts to still them. She gritted her teeth to keep Bruce from noticing her discomfort. The pressure of her weight upon her leg caused her to limp—that she couldn't hide.

“I need to check on Marta.” They reached the back of the wagon, where she paused.

“I already did, right before Irene woke thee,” Bruce said. “Jim assured me that she's sleeping soundly, which is more than I can say for thee. Thy snoring was quite profound.”

Embarrassment heated her neck and face to the roots of her hair. The sensation tingled all over her head. “Is this another cruel attempt to tease me?”

Even if she had snored, a gentleman would have kept the matter to himself out of respect for her feelings. Flora eyed him with disdain. One thing was certain: Bruce Millikan may be dependable in a crisis, and a tender charmer when he chose, but he still delighted in vexing her. “I suppose thee hasn't changed as much as thee would like me to believe.”

Flora tried to jerk free of his hold, but he kept a firm grip on her and chuckled. “Wait a minute! If thee were to fall, I suppose I would be blamed for that as well.”

She hobbled toward the front of the wagon, eager to be free of his assistance. If he had been anyone else to witness her humiliation, the sting to her pride might not have been so fierce. Her snoring was inappropriate and not ladylike. What must he think of her now? She knew she needed to cast down her pride, since it was a sin, but she needed more time to deal with her wayward emotions.

“I don't snore,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I beg to differ.” He chuckled again. “Ask Irene.” Bruce tilted his head and gestured at her sister following close behind with a folded quilt in her arms. Flora met her sister's gaze, but Irene dropped her eyes to stare at the ground, unable to hold Flora's gaze. The simple action confirmed the truth. Another wave of humiliation spread throughout Flora, overheating her limbs in spite of the cool temperature.

She said nothing as Bruce helped her climb into the wagon. His hands were a steady comfort around her slender waist. To her mortification, she had come to depend on him more than she should. As Flora leaned forward, she wondered if he was disgusted that her behind was in such close proximity to his face. She closed her eyes, feeling for the seat, and managed to twist around and settle on the bench without bending or hurting her knee.

Irene climbed up from the other side to sit in the middle so Flora could stretch out her leg over the edge of the wagon. This arrangement suited her just fine. At least it would give her a reprieve from being so close to Bruce. If only she could make herself not care one bit what he thought of her.

They rode for the next couple of hours in silence. Flora longed for something to lean her back against. Soon her bottom felt like someone had paddled her with a two-inch thick board.

“My back hurts.” Irene reached behind herself and rubbed her lower back. “I sure wish we had taken the train. I'd be feeling much better right about now.”

Biting her tongue, Flora kept quiet. They were all tired and uncomfortable, but no one had voiced their complaints except Irene.

“Perhaps thee would feel better about thy circumstances if thee would concentrate harder on what thee has to be thankful for.” Irritation laced Bruce's voice. “For instance, thy sister returning to us safely.”

“Of course I'm grateful that Flora is safe with us.” Irene looped her arm through Flora's. “I was quite distraught when I thought she might drown.”

“I know thee was.” Flora patted her sister's hand as an owl hooted in the distance. “Friend Bruce, she's a bit young and everything on this trip is so new to her. At least allow her the liberty to share her discomforts and concerns.”

“Only if it's something of substance,” Bruce said. “A train is something I can't do anything about.”

“No one expects thee to do anything.” Flora leaned around her sister, trying to see his expression. It was no use. A cloud had covered the moon and left them in utter darkness. “I don't know why thee would think any different.”

“I'm a man of solutions. If thee brings me a problem, it's my desire to fix it. I've little tolerance for whining. Time is better spent on solving problems, not basking in them. And that's what I like about thee, Flora. I've yet to hear thee whine about anything, in spite of thy wounds and obvious discomfort.”

Did Bruce Millikan just pay her a compliment?