Path of Freedom (15 page)

Flora wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders as she stepped outside Red River Meeting, the local Quaker church in Charlestown. She walked toward the large fire pit where a pig turned on a spit. People had arrived on wagons and by horseback from all around. It looked like this would be a well-attended feast in honor of Marta and Jim. The church had welcomed the young couple with open arms and was helping them get settled in the community.

Marta and Jim had stayed the night with the pastor, Isaiah Davidson, and his wife, Maryanne, while Flora and Irene were taken in by another couple, Herbert and Lesley Taylor. Bruce had stayed at a local boardinghouse run by Mrs. Murray, an elderly widow.

“Flora!” Marta hurried toward her, wearing a clean, new gown that someone had given her. “I've never known such kindness in all my life.”

“This is the way it should be, Marta.” Flora sighed, breathing in the crisp, cold air and allowing it to fill her lungs with freshness. “At home, even Quakers have to be careful. If we don't support our abolitionist beliefs in secret, we could be fined or imprisoned.”

“Do yous fear prison?”

“No,” Flora shook her head. “Probably not as much as I should. I agree with Bruce, there's little good we can do for God in prison. With freedom we can do so much more. I don't want this to be my last mission. It's changed me. I can't explain it.”

Little Isaiah Davidson ran toward them and wrapped his tiny arms around Marta's legs. The force of his momentum knocked her off balance enough to step back. She laughed.

“I'm sorry,” his mother said, out of breath as she hurried toward them. “He may be three, but I can hardly keep up with him.” She touched her swollen belly with her other hand. Flora guessed she'd be expecting another little one in about three months.

“Oh, it's all right.” Marta rubbed the boy's blond hair. “He just reminds me o’ my little Jimmy and what he would have been like at this age.” Tears swam in her dark eyes when she looked back up at them.

“Come with me.” Maryanne said. She turned and walked to the other side of the church. As Maryanne lead them up a hill, Flora realized they were heading toward a cemetery. They passed the first two rows, where Maryanne stopped in front of a small gray stone. The inscription read, “Our little angel is home with the Lord.”

No one spoke as Maryanne dropped to her knees on the faded grass. “She was our first child. I only had her for three days before she died. The doctor said her heart was too weak. I never even got around to naming her.” She touched the headstone, running her fingers over the engraved words. “Marta, I share thy grief. While thee will go on to have other children, none of them will take the place of the one that is buried in thy heart. The Lord will give thee enough strength to heal with each passing day. The healing is gradual and slow, but one day thee will wake up and it will be more bearable than right now.”

“I…didn't realize…” Marta's voice faded into sobs as her shoulders shook. “I'm sorry.” She inched closer to Maryanne, who reached for her hand. They stayed like that for a while. Flora lingered behind them, not wanting to intrude on their moment of shared grief. God had brought her and Jim to the right family, people who would understand. Her heart swelled with relief, knowing it would now be easier to leave them here. God's plan had begun to take shape and make sense.

“My sister.” Isaiah went to the stone and hugged it.

Flora swallowed with difficulty, realizing that there could still be peace and beauty even in the midst of such grief and pain. The scripture “with God all things are possible” came to mind, and for the first time it was real to her, more real than mere words. She could see it right in front of her.

Leaving them alone, Flora turned and started back down the hill. Bruce stood talking to Pastor Isaac Davidson, little Isaac's namesake. Both of them wore the typical black Quaker hat, but Isaac's tall, slender frame in no way mirrored Bruce's medium height and muscular form. Isaac also wore a brown beard with sideburns. To Flora's relief, Bruce sported a fresh shave and shorter sideburns.

He looked up, smiled, and gave her a brief nod. Flora angled around them, unwilling to interrupt their conversation. She would go see if she could be of some use to the women organizing all the food that each family had brought. The roasting pork smelled enticing. Her stomach grumbled.

“Flora!” Bruce took his leave of Pastor Isaac and hurried toward her. “What does thee think about everything?” He fell into step beside her.

“I had no idea how welcoming to Marta and Jim the community here would be. I wish things were more like this back home.” She stared ahead as she considered her next words. “I envy thy ability to go on more mission trips.”

“Then come with me.” Bruce grabbed her arm and stepped in front of her. She paused and stared up at him in confusion. “We could be a team leading more slaves from the South to freedom.”

“I…can't. Irene says she won't go on another trip like this, and we can't travel alone. It wouldn't be right.” She shook her head and crossed her arms.

“Then marry me. Be my partner in life. We could do this together.” He lowered himself to one knee. “I'll do it proper.”

“Get up!” She hissed through her teeth, as sudden warmth flooded her with embarrassment. Flora pulled at his arm. “A partnership in freeing slaves is no reason to wed.”

Bruce rose to his feet and smiled down at her. “Flora, I don't know how to be the romantic sort. All I know is not once has any other woman come to mind when I think of my future wife. It's always thee.”

Shock vibrated through her system, robbing her of speech. She touched her neck and slid her cold hand to her chest. Was he serious? He couldn't be. Was this a dream?

With God, all things are possible.

“But,” she said, shaking her head, “I'm going to be a midwife and I'd planned…”

“To marry a doctor, yes, I know.” Bruce's lips thinned. “But thee doesn't love him. The idea of marrying because a midwife complements the career of a doctor is even more absurd.”

“It didn't seem so absurd when no one else wanted me.” Flora lifted her chin, angry at the confusion blurring her judgment. “I don't understand. I finally forgave thee, let the past go, and resigned myself to accept thy new friendship. My future is supposed to be in Charlottesville, with a fresh start and where no one knows me as Beaver Face.”

“I'm sorry, Flora. We'll both put the past behind us and create a new future.” He gripped her shoulders. “Please, Flora, give me a chance. Thee must admit that this trip has been different. It's changed things between us.”

“It has.” She nodded. “But it's also changed
me
, in unexpected ways. What will it be like when we return home and things go back to normal? Will thee think of me as the old Flora? Out here in the wilderness we were forced to depend on each other for survival. I do forgive thee, Bruce, but that doesn't mean I should marry thee.”

“My feelings for thee won't change when we go back home. I've been in love with thee for a long time.” He squeezed her shoulders in emphasis and searched her face.

“And that's what scares me, if that is true. I never felt loved by thee before.” She forced the hoarse whisper as she groped for a steady voice. “Right now I don't know how I feel about thee. I can't agree to marry thee when I feel this uncertain. I'm sorry. This time thee will have to forgive me.” She pulled away and rushed toward the church, seeking a private place to cry.

The next day their good-byes to Jim and Marta were bittersweet. The trip back was somber, with furtive glances between Bruce and Flora. If Irene hadn't been with them, Bruce might have lost his resolve and stolen more kisses from Flora.

Now, back at the Saferight farm in Charlottesville, Bruce poked at the wood in the fireplace, wishing he and Flora were anywhere but here. He hovered over the heat as Flora's family concocted ways for her and Clint to spend more time together. He knew by their conversations that Flora had not told them about his proposal.

While he was disappointed that she had not yet answered him, she hadn't given him false hope and promises. Flora was too honorable a woman. Bruce rubbed his eyebrows as he laid the poker back in the corner. While he had been forgiven of his childhood sins against her, forgiveness didn't necessarily erase all the consequences. He feared he might spend the rest of his life regretting them.

The others left the dining room and joined him in the living room. Flora's Aunt Abigail and Uncle Jeremiah settled on the dark blue couch. Flora and Irene sat in identical wingback chairs on the opposite wall facing them. A long, narrow cherrywood table separated them. Belinda plopped down in the wooden rocker, while Daniel took the wooden chair in the corner near the hall.

Clint stood in the wide doorway and surveyed the room. His eyes rested on Flora. He disappeared, and returned a moment later, dragging a wooden chair next to Flora, where he deposited himself.

Bruce leaned against the mantel and stared into the fire, pretending he hadn't noticed. He crossed one booted foot over the other, forcing himself to release his breath in a slow, quiet manner that wouldn't gain anyone's notice. Inside, his gut twisted like a taut rope.

“Bruce, thank thee for stoking the fire so we'd be warm when we retired in here for the evening.” Abigail leaned forward, offering him a warm smile.

“Thee is welcome.” He gave her a nod and sat down on a cushioned chair in the corner by the fireplace. Forcing his gaze to the floor, Bruce was determined not to stare at Flora and Clint.

“Bruce is always thoughtful like that,” Flora said. “The whole time we were traveling, he thought of things the rest of us would have never considered.” He could feel her blue-gray eyes upon him so he looked up. A pensive expression crossed her face as her forehead lifted in a questioning line.

“That reminds me,” Irene interrupted. “Now that the mission is over, I'd like to stay here a fortnight. If we had come by train, we would have visited a whole month. It doesn't seem fair that we should have to leave so soon.”

“We'd love to have all of thee stay longer.” Abigail clapped her hands, grinning at both Flora and Irene. “Thy visits are far too few for my liking. Friend Bruce, please say thee will consider it.”

“Why not return by train?” Clint asked. “Flora and Irene need not be camping out in the woods if it isn't necessary.” Clint nodded toward Bruce. “I'm certain Bruce would agree, wouldn't thee?” Clint lifted an eyebrow, no doubt hoping to corner Bruce into agreeing with his plan.

“I do, except for the fact that I promised their parents I would take care of them and see them home safely.” Bruce shrugged. “I can't leave the special wagon here and also escort them on the train.”

“We wouldn't need to be escorted. Flora and I are together.” Irene wrung her hands in her lap. “Right, Flora?”

“I understand the need to keep thy word, Bruce.” Jeremiah nodded at him, giving his approval. “It's an honorable thing.”

“But Aunt Abigail could write Mother and Father with the change in plans. It isn't as if we'd be deceiving them.” Irene scooted to the edge of her seat, unwilling to let the matter drop.

“What is thy opinion, Flora? We've not heard what thee thinks.” Belinda tilted her blond head and pinned her cousin with a green-eyed stare. She was only a couple of years older than Flora. In his short time with the family, Bruce had noticed that Belinda was often overlooked, while her brother's animated personality charmed everyone. Belinda had time to study everyone and spoke when she had something significant to say.

Flora's gaze traveled around the room to all the expectant faces watching her. When her eyes strayed to Bruce, he leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and linking his hands in the middle. To keep his expression from showing his distress, he concentrated on clenching his hands tight. Regardless of what she decided, he didn't want to leave without her. A sinking feeling filled his gut. He couldn't afford to wait long. The winter weather could turn nasty without notice. Indecision battled in his heart and mind.

“Irene, thee is only trying to figure out a way to travel by train. I realize that traveling by wagon and camping out has been an inconvenience, but it wasn't that bad. Besides, it could take a fortnight for Mother and Father to receive our letter and by then we'd already be on our way home.” She shook her head. “I really believe we should stick with our plans, but I don't see why we couldn't stay a few extra days.”

In truth, he wanted to be gone as soon as possible. The fire crackled. Any further delay would risk their lives out in the elements. As much as he hated to admit it, the train would provide them more warmth and comfort. Bruce cleared his throat, unwilling to take a chance with Flora's and Irene's health. He would have to place his and Flora's fate in God's hands.

“I'm afraid delaying could jeopardize the women's health. The weather is unpredictable this time of year.”

“True.” Jeremiah nodded. “Does thee recommend the train?”

“I do.” Bruce struggled to breathe as his chest tightened. It reminded him of the time he'd had pneumonia as a child. This decision took more faith than he'd anticipated. If leaving Flora here with Clint caused her to choose Clint, then he and Flora were never meant to be. Still, the realization didn't ease the emotional pain torturing his heart.