Path of Freedom (6 page)

“Is there anything thee might consider parting with? Did thee pack something extra?”

She stared at him in silence.

“Please, Flora. Help me lighten the load our horse must carry.”

“I packed extra food in case we are detained for some reason.” She looked down at her folded hands. “And lanterns. I don't like the idea of being without light.”

“I'll get the lanterns and take them to Mother,” Irene said.

“The extra food we can leave behind. I plan to hunt game as we need it.”

“Thee brought guns?” Her breath hissed as she swung her head up to gaze at him. “I disapprove of such weapons. Thee cannot.”

“Flora, be reasonable. We have to eat, and we can't carry that much food. Besides, we could be ambushed by criminals, and we must have a means of protecting ourselves.”

“But Quakers don't believe in fighting…or killing.” Concern filled her voice. “Would thee truly shoot another man?”

“I wouldn't want to and one could aim for a limb to stop an attacker, but not mortally wound him.”

“Bruce, thee has surprised me.” She turned away, crossing her arms.

He hated the disappointment in her tone. It made him feel unworthy in her sight. Bruce touched her chin, nudging her to look at him.

“For myself, I wouldn't fight back.” He lowered his voice, “But for thee, I cannot say in all honesty that I would not.”

They said good-bye to their parents and Pastor John an hour later than planned. Irene burst into tears when she hugged Mother good-bye. Flora embraced her next, holding her tight as she closed her eyes and breathed in her lavender scent. “I'll take good care of her,” Flora whispered.

“I know.” She squeezed Flora's shoulders and pulled back. Even in the dim lantern light, Flora could see tears shimmering in her eyes. Her father engulfed them both, one arm draped around each daughter.

Flora witnessed a tender moment between Bruce and his mother. Tears streaked her weathered cheeks, and Bruce kissed each side, promising her he'd be home soon. He shook the hands of his father and his brother before grabbing them in a warm embrace.

Jim assisted Marta into the dark compartment. She lay on her side with the quilt Flora had given her. “I'm ready!” she called. “Jim, come on. I don't wanna be in this dark alone.”

“I'm coming.” He laughed, gave everyone a brief wave, and climbed in beside her. Bruce closed the door and latched the lock as John had shown him. “Don't forget ’bout us now.”

“We won't,” Bruce said. He touched Flora's arm. “Let's go.” She nodded, grabbing Irene's arm.

Hours later, the wagon bumped along an uneven dirt road, jostliong them. Only a sliver of light from the crescent moon guided them on their path toward the Mendenhall plantation in Jamestown. The stars in the sky twinkled like scattered diamonds. As they passed beneath trees, the limbs and branches hid the magnificent view.

Irene yawned, and Flora lifted an arm around her shoulders. Taking it as an invitation, Irene dropped her head on Flora's shoulder. “I'm so tired.” Her words ended on another yawn.

“Go ahead and sleep. It'll be a couple more hours before we reach the station.” Flora patted her sister's arm, hoping to encourage her. Unlike Bruce, she and Irene would need some time to adjust to these hours.

Flora glanced up at Bruce's profile. He stared ahead, with his black hat casting his expression in complete darkness. Earlier, his declaration about protecting her had taken her by such surprise, and she hadn't known what to say. If his intention had been to silence her, he'd succeeded. What had he meant exactly? Did he mean he would fight for any woman who needed protection or was she an exception? The temptation to hope for more nagged at her, and she kept trying to divert her thoughts.

“Thee might want to get some rest as well.” Bruce leaned toward her, his voice more gentle than usual.

What was wrong with him? Was he pretending to be nice to trick her into letting down her defenses? It wasn't like him to be caring and concerned for others—at least not for her—truce or no truce.

“Thanks, but I'm fine.” She stiffened, straightening her spine. The slight movement startled her sister and caused her to stir. Flora rubbed Irene's arm, encouraging her to relax and go back to sleep.

“Perhaps it's best.” Bruce shrugged. “Thee may sleep better after we arrive and daylight comes. Will Saferight told me about thy mother's quilt. May I see it when we stop at the next station?”

“Yes, it's beautiful.” Flora thought of the details of the map her mother had sewn into the quilt. “It's called Midnight Star.”

They fell into an amiable silence and arrived at the Mendenhall station an hour before dawn. Flora was sorry the darkness didn't provide enough light for her to view the place. She had heard a lot about Dr. Mendenhall. He was a well-respected gentleman in the community among both Quakers and non-Quakers.

Bruce pulled the wagon around to the back of the house, which looked like a two-story structure with a wraparound porch on the side. Another large structure came into view, and judging by the shape of the outline, Flora assumed it was the barn. A lantern appeared at the back door. The light moved as if someone carried it toward them.

“Bruce Millikan? Is it thee?” A man's voice floated through the darkness.

“Indeed,” Bruce said. “Where should I pull the wagon?”

“Once we've seen to everyone, we can take it to the barn and care for thy horse.” He cleared his throat. “I'm Richard Mendenhall and this is my wife, Mary. Let's get the cargo into the house where it's safe and comfortable.”

“What happened?” Irene said, waking with a start, a slight gasp escaping her lips. She bolted upright to a sitting position.

“Nothing.” Flora gently squeezed her arm in an attempt to ease her fear. “We've arrived. That's all.”

“I thought the cargo would stay in the barn?” Bruce tilted his head, only his outline visible. “Considering the danger.”

“We have a basement under the house where they'll have a warm fire in the hearth and a decent bed,” Richard said. “It's the least we could do under the circumstances.”

“That sounds even better.” Flora scooted to the edge of her seat as Bruce set the brake. “Marta could use the rest. I can't imagine what she must be enduring in those cramped quarters with all the bumps along the road—especially in her condition.”

“Yes, I heard she's expecting,” Mary said, stepping forward, her voice a gentle whisper. “I have some warm goat's milk waiting in anticipation of thy arrival, and some buttered bread with a slab of ham.”

“That sounds divine.” Irene perked up at the mention of food.

“Let's get them out of there,” Richard said to Bruce, who hopped down and joined him at the back.

Irene rubbed her sleepy eyes as she peered down, then she crawled over the side. Flora followed as the door latch popped open. Jim emerged first and leaned back inside to assist Marta. Her labored breathing concerned Flora. She groaned in pain as she stepped out and tried to stand, clutching her back.

“Marta, is thee all right?” Flora rushed to her. “Where does it hurt the most?”

Marta grabbed her arm and squeezed until Flora feared the blood flow would stop in her veins. “I hurt everywhere, but we got to keep going.” She forced the words through her teeth and paused as she winced, leaning further on Flora. “You hear me? Don't let Jim stop ’cause o’ me.”

“Let's get thee inside.” Flora braced herself to bear Marta's weight, but Jim rushed over and swept Marta into his arms.

“I got her.” His large frame cradled her as if all his hope in life depended on Marta. Tears swam in his dark eyes, red-rimmed from a lack of sleep and consumed with worry. “I ain't gonna let nothing happen to her.” He looked down at Marta, his voice breaking into a whisper, “It can't.”

Flora's heart melted with compassion as an ache welled up in the back of her throat. She couldn't give him false hope. All she could do was her best. She tried to swallow so she could respond, but her vocal cords constricted.

“Jim, we'll pray for both Marta and the baby.” Bruce laid a hand on Jim's shoulder. “When things are beyond our control, that's when we must turn to God.”

“Follow me,” Mary said, her voice floating through the air. Gray peeked through the morning sky revealing her silhouette, which hadn't been visible a moment ago.

Once inside, Jim settled Marta on a simple wood-framed bed in the basement. He built a fire while Flora tucked her in and sat on the edge to talk to her about her pains. The others went upstairs to the kitchen to have breakfast.

After Flora sent Jim out of the room, Mary brought some warm goat's milk and a ham biscuit for Marta. She sipped the liquid with hesitation as if forcing it down.

“What's wrong?” Flora asked.

“I should be starvin, but I'm not very hungry right now.”

“That's all right,” Flora said. “It may be that thy body needs sleep more than nourishment. Try to eat what thee can and then rest.”

“I never knew white people can be so kind. Not ’til I met the Quakers.” Emotion swirled in Marta's innocent voice. Tears filled her hazel eyes as she looked up. “Not even my own father thought enough o’ me to treat me with kindness.”

“Thy father was white?” Flora asked, realizing why Marta's eye color was different and her skin much lighter than most blacks she'd seen.

“Yes'm. My mother was his slave, and he raped her.” Marta paused to swallow a bite of her ham biscuit. “The mistress must have known, but she pretended not to.”

“Well, thee will soon be free.” Taking a deep breath, Flora touched her arm. “Keep thinking on that.”

“And my baby.” Marta's face lit with a bright smile that momentarily masked her fatigue. “My baby'll be born free. That's all that matters.”

A fierce determination filled Flora. In spite of the fact that Marta was seven months pregnant, showing signs of the baby coming early, and despite the difficult road ahead of them, Flora vowed she would do everything in her power to help Marta's dream come true.

“Lord, help me make it so,” Flora whispered as she followed Mary upstairs.

B
ruce stared outside the window as beads of rain pelted the glass and slid down the pane. Last night when they had left the Mendenhalls in Jamestown, he wondered if Marta needed more rest, but she had seemed to recover and her pains subsided by the time they arrived at his sister's house in north Greensboro. He slept through most of the morning until a clap of thunder woke him. Now he worried it wouldn't slack off before they had to leave that evening.

Steady footsteps passed by his open door. They stopped. Deborah, his sister, leaned against the door frame with a raised eyebrow. “I thought thee was asleep.”

Even though she was eight years his senior and the mother of two small children, his sister looked much younger. She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear, where it had fallen from its coil.

“The storm.” He gestured toward the window as two quick flashes of lightning lit his chamber. “How are the others? Have they been able to sleep through this?”

“Marta and Jim haven't stirred from their attic chamber. Irene slept all morning.” She crossed her arms with a sigh. “Flora slept in her chamber until little Karen toddled in and woke her. Jack was supposed to be watching her since he can't do much on the farm during the storm, but he got distracted by Elias wanting to play a game.”

Bruce grinned at the thought of his two-year-old niece waking Flora. He rolled his shoulders back and stretched out his arms. “Well, I suppose I can keep Karen occupied for a few hours, while Flora gets some rest.”

“Go ahead and try.” Deborah grinned, stepping out into the hallway, where he joined her. “Karen has formed an attachment to her. Flora made her a new doll out of some fabric scraps, and Karen is quite enamored.”

“But I gave her a real doll last Christmas.” As they entered the living room, Bruce wondered how Flora's doll of scraps could have become Karen's favorite. Before Deborah could reply, Karen ran to him and wrapped her small arms around his legs.

“Look, my dolly!” Karen chimed as she held up a creative-looking doll made of woven fabrics in the shape of a human. The arms and legs flapped in no particular direction.

“What happened to thy other doll?” He bent to peer into Karen's bright eyes.

“Goodness, Bruce. One would think thee is jealous of a doll.” Deborah stepped around him. “I'm going to the kitchen to see what we might have for dinner.”

“Too hard.” Karen scrunched up her nose. “I hug this dolly.” She slammed her prized possession against her chest and squeezed it in a fierce embrace.

A feminine chuckle brought his gaze up. Sitting on the floor by the burning hearth, Flora covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to suppress her grin. Her blue-gray eyes glistened with mirth, and her dark hair hung in waves around her shoulders, highlighted by the fire behind her. She looked as if a halo surrounded her.

Not since they were children had he seen her hair down, but now his reaction was much different. Then, he hadn't paid much attention. Now, he couldn't stop gazing at her with his mouth dropped open like a simpleton. Fluid emotions pooled in his chest, drawing him to her. He wanted to be near her—to touch her and feel if she was real.

Was this the Flora Saferight he'd known all his life? Since when had she become so alluring? She wore a simple gray gown that fanned about her legs like a blanket but that accentuated her tiny waist. He blinked. Flora did nothing to make him think of her like this. What was wrong with him? He rubbed his face with his hand.

“Bruce?” Flora's smile faded into a frown. “Why is thee staring at me like that? What's wrong with me?”

His voice failed him as he groped for a reasonable excuse for his odd behavior.

She glanced down at her gown, felt around her chest and shoulders, and then touched her face. When her long hair fell into her eyes, she gasped. “Oh, it must be my wild hair.” She patted her head as her cheeks turned crimson. “Thy niece pulled the pins out of my hair, and I'd completely forgotten about it. I'll go attend to it.”

“No, it's fine. Really. There's no need.” He swept his niece up into his arms. She giggled and wrapped him in a warm hug. He savored the moment as he stepped toward Flora and lowered himself beside her.

She trembled in awkward silence as she moved to her knees in an attempt to rise. Fearing he'd made her uncomfortable, Bruce clasped her arm with his free hand.

“Don't go because of me. In spite of what everyone says, there's nothing improper about a woman letting down her hair.”

“Thy expression would indicate otherwise.” Flora jerked away from him, her voice hardening, “I've always known my plain looks to be unappealing, but I try to console myself that I fit in better with the Quaker way of life. Women like Irene and Kimberly Coltrane have to work much harder than I do at appearing plain. But I never actually thought of myself as being repulsive—until now.”

“Repulsive?” Bruce wrinkled his brows in shock. “Is that what thee believes I was thinking?”

Flora stood, moving away from him. His chest constricted as he scrambled to set Karen aside, hoping to stop Flora before she left the living room.

“Deborah sent us from the kitchen. She caught us eating a snack before dinner.” Jack walked in and sat down in his favorite chair by the fire with his son, Elias, on his heels.

“Uncle Bruce! We can play a game. Father says he's tired of games.” Six-year-old Elias gazed up at Bruce with hopeful eyes.

“As soon as I finish a discussion I'm having with Friend Flora.” Bruce rubbed the top of the boy's brown head.

“Our discussion is over, Friend Bruce.” Flora forced a smile as she emphasized his name. “I'm going to go rest for a while, and then I'll make myself presentable for dinner.” She strode toward the hallway.

“But I'm not finished,” Bruce said, following her.

“Yes, thee is.” Flora increased her pace. “I'm heading to my chamber. I'm certain that Jack and Elias will provide thee with ample entertainment. And don't forget to watch Karen.”

Bruce clenched his jaw in determination. She would not win this one.

“Does thee intend to follow Flora to her chamber?” Jack chuckled.

Bruce paused in midstride. Sighing, he slowly turned. “I suppose not, but for a moment, the thought did have merit.” He attempted a teasing grin for his brother-in-law's benefit, but inside, his heart ached at the thought that Flora believed he could find her repulsive. Impossible!

After they left Deborah's house, they traveled most of the distance in silence, bumping along the dark road. Only the sound of a coyote howling and an occasional bird flitting among the tree branches rose over the sound of the wagon wheels as they crunched over the dirt road. They had passed one rider on horseback, who tipped his hat in passing.

“It's now dawn.” Bruce steered the horse into the woods off the main road. “We need to set up camp, eat some breakfast, and get some rest until this evening.” The wagon rattled over tree roots and fallen leaves, as they rode deeper into the forest. “Hold the lantern up higher,” Bruce said to Flora as she leaned toward Irene to avoid a low-lying branch. “We'll settle over there by that hedge. It'll provide a bit of cover.” They rolled to a stop, and Bruce set the brake.

“By the way, I didn't get a chance to say this at my sister's house, but I could never find thee repulsive. I've no idea how such a thought ever got into thy brain.” He jumped to the ground, leaving Flora to ponder his words. He kicked up a pile of leaves as he walked to the back to let out Marta and Jim.

“I'll find something for breakfast,” Flora said, landing with a thump on the other side. The man baffled her. A secretive smiled played upon her lips. At least Bruce didn't think as badly of her as she had feared.

“I'll help thee.” Irene scrambled down behind her.

“Miz Flora!” Marta called from the back.

Flora grinned as she lifted her skirt to walk toward their voices. No matter how many times she'd explained to Marta that Quakers didn't use distinguishing titles with their names, she still called Flora and Irene by Miss before using their given names. Perhaps a habit that had been ingrained in a person's character would take time to break. In her opinion, many non-Quakers put too much importance on man-made titles.

“I need some privacy.” Marta grabbed her arm, her eyes wide.

“I haven't had a chance to survey the place yet.” Bruce shook his head. “It may not be safe. Give me a few moments.”

“I can't wait!” Marta's anxiety increased as she gripped Flora's arm even tighter. “Please.”

“Bruce, she's waited for hours and a pregnant woman needs more breaks.” Flora pointed toward the east where the sky began to dawn through the leaves. “We'll go that way.”

He shoved his hands to his sides and gave a reluctant sigh. “All right, but don't go far.”

Flora led Marta deeper into the woods. As they walked, the sound of water could be heard. Excitement bubbled in Flora's chest at the thought of replenishing their water supply and being able to wash their pots and dishes.

“Marta, I believe we may be near a river.” Flora turned her back as her friend squatted to take care of her personal needs.

“I hear it, too,” Marta said, joining her a moment later.

“It doesn't sound far. Let's see if we can get to it from here. We need more water.” Flora motioned for Marta to follow.

They came to a clearing. Below them a dark river poured over a hill of rocks, winding through the earth like a snake. The bank's surface wasn't as smooth as Flora had hoped, but not impossible to maneuver. She would have to return with Irene. It would be too much for Marta.

A growl rumbled across the moving water. Flora looked up, and her gaze met the dark eyes of a dog standing on the other side and showing a set of fangs. He stood still, watching her as his body tensed, fully alert.

Marta gasped. A piercing bark broke through the sky, followed by more growling. A man stood from where he'd been fishing on the side of the bank. He squinted and leaned forward, pointing at them.

“Hey, there! Why're y'all on my property?” He waved his hand in the air, his Southern drawl full of suspicion. “Ain't no houses for miles ’round here, so y'all can't be a-visitin’.”

“Miz Flora, we got to go back.” Marta's voice whined with fear.

“Shush, we've got to stay calm,” Flora whispered. She took a deep breath. “I beg thy pardon, sir. We were just passing through and will soon be on our way.”

“A Quaker!” He raised a fist above his head and shook it with fury. “I know what you people do. Helped my Negro escape, and I won't stand for it happening again on my property!”

Flora closed her eyes, wishing she had altered her speech in spite of her convictions. Wouldn't it have been worth it to save their lives? Now she'd put them all at risk. If only she'd had a little more time to consider her options and the consequences.

“Go get ’em, Jethro!” The man dropped his fishing pole and bent toward his dog, waving the animal into the river. Like a dutiful pet, the hound barked at them and ran leaping into the water with a splash. Flora glanced at the width of the river, measuring the short distance. She wished it was wider—it wouldn't buy them much time if they were being pursued across it.

“I'm going to catch y'all!” He bent and retrieved his rifle, aiming it at them.

“Run, Marta!” Flora turned and stepped in front of her friend, hoping to shield her and the unborn baby. She closed her eyes waiting for the pain to slice into her back as the sound exploded through the air, echoing through the woods. The dog growled as he swam.

Once they were out of sight, Flora grabbed Marta's hand and pulled her east. “This way.”

“That's the wrong way.” Marta jerked back toward the wagon.

“No, listen to me.” Flora chased her, grabbing her arm and tugging her east again. “We can't lead him back to the others. This way they'll hear the gunshots and will have a chance to escape.” Flora tugged her arm again. “Please! We have to do this for our loved ones. Thee wouldn't want Jim to die, would thee?”

“No.” Marta shook her head, now following Flora, tears streaming down her face. They shoved branches aside. Marta almost tripped over a root. Flora paused long enough to steady her, but she cried out, gripping the lower part of her round belly.

“Don't give up, Marta,” Flora urged her. “We must survive this for the baby's sake.”

Marta whimpered but kept moving. Her labored breathing worried Flora, but she couldn't allow her to rest. Not yet. It was still too dangerous.

The dog started barking again. Flora groaned, knowing he'd crossed the river and would soon be upon their heels. The barking grew closer. Flora cringed, realizing he must have picked up their scent once he'd left the water. What could she do?
Lord, help us!

As they ran, her mother's words came back to her about how water would cause hunting dogs to lose their scent. She hated the thought of doing so, but they would have to jump into the river if they wanted to lose this dog before his owner caught up with him.

“Marta, can thee swim?”

“Naw.” She forced the word between gasping breaths.

“We're going to have to jump in the river to make him lose our scent.” Flora led her back to the sound of running water, twisting from a briar that had caught her skirt. “Trust me.”