Path of Freedom (16 page)

“Why don't they all stay? Through the whole winter.” Daniel waved a hand in the air, a broad grin on his face. “Then I'd have three chums to pal around with.”

Belinda rolled her eyes at her brother and gave a dramatic sigh.

“Daniel, this is serious.” Jeremiah's firm tone sliced through the room.

“Of course it is, Father.” Daniel blinked brown eyes in feigned innocence. “It will solve all the problems and make things more lively and interesting around here.”

“I'll go with what Bruce has suggested,” Flora said. “I trust his judgment.”

“Really?” Irene slid to the edge of her seat in her excitement. “I can't believe it. We'll finally get a chance to travel by train!”

Flora turned her gaze to Bruce. “I must admit traveling home in the comfort and warmth of the train is inviting, but I worry about thee being out there all alone. Why not leave thy wagon here? Thee will not be making more trips through the winter and thee could return for it in the spring.”

“Flora, if it was my wagon, I wouldn't hesitate, but I feel obligated to return it to Pastor John. I don't want to betray his trust in me.”

“I don't like it, but I understand.” A wistful smile crossed her face. “In fact, I'm almost sorry the mission is over. I believe I'd like to go on more.” Her gaze met his with intense purpose. Bruce held his breath, hoping she meant with him. Did this mean she was still considering his proposal?

E
xcitement bubbled inside Flora as she placed her hand in Clint's outstretched palm and descended the small steps of his black carriage. He had invited her to accompany him on a house call to a family in the neighborhood. The honor thrilled her. While women were still confined to nursing and midwifery, she dreamed of a day when they could be doctors.

Together they climbed the steps to the white two-story home. Clint lifted the brass knocker and rapped it against the door. A few moments later, footsteps sounded on the other side. The heavy door opened to reveal a stern-faced man with a dark brown mustache. His black formal attire made Flora assume he was the household butler.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“I'm Dr. Clint Roberts, and this is my assistant, Miss Flora Saferight.” Clint gestured to Flora standing beside him. She offered a friendly smile.

“Yes, we've been expecting you.” The butler stepped back and opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”

Flora followed Clint into the foyer. The wood floor sparkled under the lit crystal chandelier above them. A mirror with a gilded frame hung on the wall to the left. Flora imagined it was used by the ladies of the house to make last-minute adjustments to their hats and bonnets before they left the house.

“You may leave your coat and hat there. I'll announce your arrival to Mrs. Crouch.” The butler pointed to a cherrywood hat-and-coat rack in the corner behind them.

Clint shrugged out of his black overcoat and set it on one of the arms of the rack, while Flora unfastened her gray cloak and did the same. Next he pulled his hat off his head and placed it over his coat. He stood holding the double handles of his black doctor bag in front of him and looked over at Flora with a curious glint in his gray eyes.

“Is thee uncomfortable? Thee didn't take off thy bonnet.”

Flora touched her head, feeling for her white bonnet. “Oh, I forgot.” She untied the strings and set the bonnet on her cloak. “Their house seems so fancy,” she whispered. “I was just noticing the pretty colors.” She pointed at the wallpaper decorated with strange designs of blue and gold. Quakers rarely used colorful wallpaper.

A woman appeared wearing a gorgeous wine-colored gown with a net of lace lining the neckline. The sleeves extended an inch beyond the wrists, coming to a peak over the hand. Muslin and petticoats swished as she walked toward them, an expression of concern filling her swollen eyes.

“Thank you for coming.” Her tense shoulders relaxed in relief, and her lips trembled into a forced smile. “My boy got a simple cold about a week ago, but then he started running a fever two days past. His breathing is labored, and he's hardly spoken a coherent word since.”

“How old is the lad?” Clint asked.

“Five.” A pool of liquid filled her dark eyes. “He's so small and frail.”

“May we see him?” Clint tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Of course.” The woman turned and led them to the staircase in the hallway. She held onto the rail as if she needed the support, while using her free hand to lift her gown to climb the stairs. Her weary shoulders bent forward in obvious exhaustion. Compassion filled Flora as she followed.

“I stayed with him through the night, but his nurse is now with him so I could oversee tonight's dinner preparations.” She reached the landing and paused. “I feared leaving him even for that short period of time.”

“I understand,” Clint said. “But one of the things I caution parents about is getting enough rest themselves so they have strength for their child. Thee won't be much help or be able to make clear decisions if thee collapses. It's good thee has his nurse to help.”

Rather than joining the conversation, Flora listened and observed. She wanted to comfort Mrs. Crouch, but she had no idea what to say. They stopped at the first door on the right. The hinges groaned as Mrs. Crouch opened the door.

With only a lit lantern burning on a bedside table, the rest of the chamber was shrouded in darkness. A plump woman sat in a wooden rocker by the bed, where she read aloud from a small Bible. She looked up as they entered the room.

“There's been no change.” She spoke in a low voice as she closed the book and set it aside. Pushing to her feet, she stepped to the foot of the bed and folded her hands in front of her.

Mrs. Crouch went to stand next to the nurse. Flora noticed a small rocking horse over in the corner, as well as a ball on the floor. Heavy breathing came from the tiny figure in the bed. Her heart ached for this child she didn't even know.

Clint touched the lad's forehead. “Still feverish. Has he had any hallucinations or visions?”

“No, but he does call for me from time to time.” Mrs. Crouch bit her lip in worry.

“Good. I want thee to keep talking to him when he calls for thee. If he has a nightmare, thy voice will soothe him. I was once very ill as a child, and I can assure thee that I could hear my mother even though I didn't have the energy to open my eyes.”

Clint pulled a stethoscope from his bag. He inserted the two ends into his ears, then listened to the child's chest. After a moment he moved the contraption over his heart.

“Flora, I want thee to come hear this. First, listen to his lungs here and then his heart, here.” She noted where he pointed and nodded as he removed the stethoscope and handed it to her.

Using the device she could hear a slight rattle with each breath. His heart beat in a steady rhythm. Once she had listened, she tried to commit the experience to memory in case she ever needed this knowledge when a doctor wasn't around.

Flora offered the stethoscope back to Clint, but he shook his head and pointed to his bag. She dropped it inside and waited for the verdict.

“He has pneumonia, but the good news is that his heart is beating strong and steady. I wish there was some medicine I could give him, but right now the best thing we can do for him is to make sure he gets plenty of rest and keep giving him water and broth. He must eat to keep up his strength, and to keep his heart strong.”

“Will you bleed him?” Mrs. Crouch tensed, her forehead wrinkling.

“No.” Clint shook his head. “I concur with Dr. Pierre Alexandre Louis, whose studies a few decades ago proved that bloodletting only weakens patients and makes them die faster.”

She relaxed with a nod. “My own mother died years ago after they bled her. As you said, it made her worse.”

She paid Clint for his services, and they took their leave. As they walked back toward the carriage, Flora gave him a sideways glance. “What would thee have done if she had demanded a bloodletting?”

“I would have refused and suggested she call another doctor.” He shook his head. “I can't in good conscience do something I feel would risk a patient's life.”

Flora smiled, pleased with his answer. Today had been a good experience for her, and now she would include the family in her prayers.

Bruce strolled out to the backyard, where Irene was scattering feed for the chickens. They were penned inside a wire fence about three feet tall that surrounded the chicken coop. The construction didn't appear sturdy enough to keep out a sly fox.

“I was hoping to get a moment alone to speak with thee.” Bruce shoved his hands in his coat pockets, waiting for a reaction from Irene. To his disappointment, she spared him no glance as she continued to toss more feed while chickens hustled to gobble up the seeds she sprinkled upon the cold ground.

“And why is that, when we've been traveling for months and thee has had ample opportunity to speak a private word with me?” Irene cut her blue eyes in his direction without giving him a direct stare.

“True enough,” Bruce conceded, not wanting to waste any time while Flora was away with Clint and one of the others could appear at any given moment. “Let me be frank with my question. Does thee think Clint Roberts is the right man for Flora as everyone else seems to believe?”

“We've talked about this before. To be honest, I don't know.” Irene shrugged.

“Does thee want her to move away?” Bruce forced a neutral voice. “Thee would hardly get to see her.”

“What would thee have me do?” Irene threw a hand on her hip, turning to gaze up at him. “Besides, Clint talks as if he might be willing to move to North Carolina.”

“What if he changes his mind?” He rubbed his chin, wondering how much he could trust her. He couldn't be sure that Irene would be an ally, yet there was no doubt that she held some sway over her sister. “First, let me ask thee this, does thee truly want thy sister to be happy?”

“Of course.” A look of irritation crossed her face. Then a glint of suspicion narrowed her eyes. “What is this about? Is thee jealous?”

Several chickens bucked and flapped their wings. A slight breeze stirred the empty tree branches around them. Up the hill sheep bleated and grazed.

“Flora believes wedding a doctor would suit her because she has an interest in the medical field and wants to be a midwife.” He paused, unsure how to continue without sounding selfish. He closed his eyes and rubbed both hands over his face. “Let's just say that I believe a profession isn't a reason to choose a spouse. I've not heard either of them declare a love for one another.”

“That doesn't mean they haven't declared their love to each other in private.” Irene tossed the rest of the feed and dusted her hands with a sigh. “If thee wants to know if she's confessed anything to me, I can tell thee that she has not.”

They walked toward the hill where the sheep roamed. The mid-morning sun cast angled light across the faded winter grass, melting the white frost except in areas hidden by the shade.

“Bruce, thee forgets that I've known thee almost as long as Flora has.” She squeezed his arm and blinked with an innocent smile. “I'm not blind or stupid.”

“What?”

“I know thee kissed her the night of thy argument.” Irene lifted an eyebrow. “And my sister hasn't been quite the same since.”

“Different? How?” Bruce looked out over the fields, hating the tension rising inside him. He tried to relax as they walked. Irene could be toying with him. She was childish and enjoyed playing games.

“I don't know how to explain it. Don't worry.” Irene patted the top of his hand with a reassuring smile. “Things will work out the way they're meant to. Look at me, for instance. I've been praying to travel by train, and in a fortnight, my prayers will finally be answered.”

Bruce rubbed his eyebrows, trying to hide his frustration. How she could compare a train ride to his life with or without Flora? The silly girl gave him a headache. The only thing he'd managed to learn from this conversation was that Flora hadn't confided in her sister—and no wonder.

“Irene and Bruce!” Flora waved at them from the back porch. “We're back, and I have so much to tell thee!”

The bright excitement on her face filled Bruce with trepidation. Clint stepped out behind her, and she turned to give him a look of admiration. Bruce froze. His feet stalled. If she was about to announce their engagement, he couldn't hear it. His heart dropped to his gut.

Flora held out her frozen fingers to the blazing fire in the living room. While out with Clint, she had forgotten to bring her mittens, and her poor hands had suffered for it.

Footsteps brought her head around. Both Irene and Bruce came in with rosy cheeks. Seeing them walking arm-in-arm had been a surprise. What were the two of them discussing?

Belinda sat in a chair already working on the day's sewing. Uncle Jeremiah had taken Aunt Abigail into town on some errands. Flora turned to warm her backside while she gave them a secretive smile and linked her hands in front of her.

Bruce glanced around the room. His gaze paused on Belinda and then turned back up at her. “Where's Clint?”

“He went off with Daniel to park the carriage in the barn. I think the two of them might go horseback riding.” She paused and tilted her head, realizing he might have felt slighted being left there among the ladies. “Did thee wish to go with them?”

“No, of course not.” He shook his head and took off his hat and then his coat before carrying them to the rack in the hall. A moment later, he returned and settled into a chair. “I'm ready.”

Irene kept her coat on as she crept toward the fire. Flora moved to the side, allowing her sister to warm herself.