Path of Freedom: Quilts of Love Series

by Jennifer Hudson Taylor

  “Did thee manage to get any sleep?” Flora felt her forehead with the back of her fingers, but it was cool to the touch.

  “A little. I feel better on my side. He's got good legs. Jim could feel him kick.” Marta rubbed her belly, a fond expression on her smiling face. “But those other pains…they's bad.”

  “Show me where.” Flora adjusted the lantern light. Marta moved her hand below the round part of her swollen stomach. Low…too low for Flora's comfort.

  By the time she finished Marta's examination, Flora was convinced Marta had started the early stages of labor. Hoping she was wrong, Flora gave Marta her own pallet in the comfort of the covered wagon, rather than the hard, dark compartment she'd been staying in with Jim.

  “How's she?” Jim stopped short as she emerged.

  “She's resting. I gave her my pallet so she'll be more comfortable.” Flora held out her hand, struggling with her sore knee. “Help me, please?”

  “Yes'm.” Jim sprang into action, stretching out his long arm and offering his support.

  Flora swung her leg over the back of the wagon in awkward discomfort. Her skirt slipped up to her knee. She shoved it down with her other hand, grunting with the effort.

  “I'm gotcha.”

  Strong hands reached around her waist and swung her down. Flora yelped in surprise, but didn't have time to argue as her feet landed on solid ground. She brushed her hair from her face—it was unkempt because she hadn't had time to redo it.

  “Tell me the truth. Is the baby coming early?” He lowered his worried voice. “Will Marta be okay?”

  “I'm going to do my best, Jim. That's all I can offer thee.”

  “Come here,” he whispered, pulling on her elbow to lead her away from the wagon. “This may sound bad, but if it comes down to it, Marta has to live. She can have other babies when we're safe and free.”

  Rebecca had warned Flora that a situation such as this might occur. Men often saw things differently than women. The thought of losing a child they'd never seen or gotten to know didn't put as much fear in them as losing a wife they'd come to love and know. Still, the outcome wasn't in her hands, but God's.

  “Jim, it's too soon to be thinking like that. Both Marta and the baby may be just fine when the time comes. The best thing thee can do right now is pray and make sure that she eats and gets plenty of rest.”

  “I can do that.” He pumped his dark head up and down and backed away. “Mr. Bruce done give me a Bible and started learning me how to read. I'll practice while Marta sleeps.”

  “That's a splendid idea.” Flora smiled, wondering when Bruce had done that. The gesture not only pleased her, but once again improved her opinion of the man himself. “If thee should need any help with the words, just let me know. I'll be right over there building a small fire and making some coffee.” She pointed to a flat spot Bruce had cleared before he left.

  “Yes'm.” He went over and sat on a log. With his elbows propped on his knees, he opened the small Bible and began sounding out the words in a whisper.

  Once the fire was built and the coffee made, Flora paced in a semicircle around the fire. Shouldn't Bruce and Irene be back by now? The morning sun now shone bright through the trees surrounding them. Colorful leaves fell in a graceful rhythm with the slight breeze. Those that fell in the fire were consumed with a quick sizzle.

  Mumbled voices pricked her ears. She rushed over, following the sound. Movement caught her attention, and she recognized the outline of Bruce's black hat and jacket. In one hand he carried a small barrel that she assumed was full of water. He walked at an angle, his other hand hauling something else.

  Flora gathered her shawl close around her neck. A moment later, she saw her sister's purple cloak maneuvering around something behind Bruce. A sigh of relief escaped Flora. “Thank you, God,” she whispered.

  As they drew closer, she realized Bruce and Irene were each carrying one end of a stick with a full net of fish hanging from it. Flora pinched her nose as the stench reached her nostrils, realizing why her sister wore a frown of disgust.

  “I wondered how thee planned to fish without a pole.” Flora followed them as Bruce gave her a proud grin, his green eyes shining with triumph.

  “I gave up useless poles a long time ago.” Bruce and Irene hung the net on some hooks on the back of the wagon.

  “That's so disgusting!” Irene wiped her hand on her skirt as if she'd been carrying the fish right in her hand.

  “One evening when I was reading how the disciples cast their nets into the sea,” Bruce turned to Flora with a shrug, “I realized I'd been going about fishing the wrong way. That's when I got the idea to build my own net and cast it in a good, flowing stream.”

  “Bruce Millikan, thee definitely has thy own way of doing things.” Flora laughed, then wrinkled her nose. “Now thee must invent a way to get rid of the smell.”

  Bruce's broad smile faltered. He looked down at himself and sniffed. “Indeed, what would thee suggest?” He raised a red-gold eyebrow, watching her reaction.

  Gold whiskers had started filling out over his jaw and his upper lip. It made him look older, more distinguished. Warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach, and a light-headed sensation washed over her. She let her lips curl into a playful smile. “Perhaps a long bath in a cold river?”

  He leaned forward, his warm breath caressing her ear. “This time I caught more than enough for thee…and everyone else.”

  Bruce woke with a start. Movement caught his attention a short distance away, in the nearby woods. He blinked and rubbed his face, rising with caution where he'd been dozing against the trunk of a tree.

  He glanced to the right. Jim still snored, leaning back against another tree. Irene and Marta had retired inside the wagon. Rather than climbing back in and out with her wounded knee, Flora had elected to sleep on a pallet near where they had cooked their breakfast earlier. He peered over at the empty spot and rolled his eyes. Where had she gone?

  A quick scan under the wagon told him she wasn't anywhere near where she should be. Inching toward the direction of the noise he'd heard a moment ago, Bruce took quiet steps on the fallen leaves to keep from announcing his presence.

  He paused to listen. A feminine gasp bounced in the forest, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Had she hurt herself? He rushed toward the noise. A moment later a stick came hurling at his head. He ducked.

  “Bruce!” Flora slammed her hand to her chest, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping in shock. “Thee scared me. Why is thee prowling around in the woods?”

  “I could ask thee the same question, Flora.” He swallowed, shoving a hand through his hair. He'd been so worried, he'd forgotten his hat—again.

  “I could have hit thee in the head.” Her hand trembled as she gathered her cloak tightly around her neck.

  “Whatever happened to the fact that thee doesn't believe in violence?” Bruce quirked his lips into a twisted grin, taunting her.

  “Thee frightened me.” Her gaze faltered from his. “I had no idea I would react like that.”

  “Which is why thee shouldn't be here in the woods all alone. I thought we agreed on that the last time thee and Marta were nearly discovered?” He stepped closer. She backed away, but the acute pain in her eyes wasn't something she could hide. He could also tell she was in pain by the way she braced her whole body when she stepped on her injured leg and by her wrinkled forehead.

  “What's wrong?” He stepped closer.

  “Nothing.” She half-turned from him, her shoulders stiffening. “I needed some privacy and didn't see any reason to wake Marta or Irene. That's all.”

  “Look at me.” He meant to speak the words in a softer manner, but they came out sounding like an order. Her lips thinned in defiance. “Flora, I need thee to trust me.”

  “Never.” She shook her head. “I realize thee helped me the other day, and for that I'm grateful, but I don't want to be dependent on thee.” Flora shivered and rubbed her upper arms as if to ward off the ch
ill. “That would be a very bad habit and quite unwise on my part.” Her voice lowered at the end, almost to a mumble.

  Bruce scratched the side of his head. “I'm sorry that my assistance seems so abhorrent to thee.” He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. “Nevertheless, I'm all thee has at the moment. Come, let's go back where it's safe.”

  She stared at his outstretched hand but didn't take it.

  “After what almost happened the other day, I refuse to leave thee here alone.” He stepped forward. This time she stood her ground and lifted her gaze to his, her chin set at an angry angle. “Flora…please.” He rubbed his eyebrows and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “No, I have a personal matter that needs tending to. Please go away.”

  Bruce hesitated. Was he being insensitive? With an elder sister, he was quite aware of a woman's personal needs, especially during their monthly courses. Could he be intruding in that regard? Heat flooded his face. He stepped back, uncertain.

  “I'll wait over here, within shouting distance.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. His throat constricted, almost choking him. “Or perhaps I could go back and get Irene?”

  “No! She'll just faint at the sight of blood.”

  “How is that?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Doesn't she have the same…condition?” He said the last word so low it sounded like a whisper. Discomfort shifted through him in a wave of mixed emotions as Flora's skin turned a crimson shade, and he realized he'd been mistaken.

  His gut instinct made him walk toward her. She backed away and tripped over something. He reached out to steady her, his hand gripping her elbow as he pulled her toward him. She landed against his chest with her hands pressed over his heart. They both paused, gazing at each other in awkward silence.

  As before, a fresh scent of cedar drifted to his nose from her clothes having been folded away in her chest. Blue-gray eyes gazed up at him in a sea of confusion. Lost from the impact of his own frayed nerves, Bruce held her rather than releasing her as he should have done. It was just like the other day. He enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. How could he help it? Flora challenged and disturbed him in ways no other woman ever had.

  She blinked. Her eyes shifted to blue ice and her mouth twisted into disgust. He held his breath, waiting for the blow, but instead she shoved away from him.

  “Don't hold me like that.” She hugged herself as she trembled. “Bruce Millikan, thee should know better. I'm ashamed of you.” She looked away, avoiding his gaze. “I always thought thee would be revolted at being anywhere near me.”

  He closed his eyes and swallowed the cotton that had suddenly swelled up in the back of his throat. He missed the warmth of her body next to his, the scent of her being so close. It was as if that one brief moment had given him a taste of what he craved, and he wanted more. “Things change.”

  “Not for me…please leave.”

  A deep ache pierced his chest at the rejection. Is this how he'd made her feel so long ago? If so, he deserved it. But he wouldn't leave.

  “No.”

  “I hate thee.” She whirled from him, but not before he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. Flora limped away from him. The movement revealed a small brown box that her skirt had been covering.

  “What's this?” He stooped to retrieve it.

  “That's mine!” She gasped, hurrying back toward him. “I'd forgotten about it. Thanks to thy interruption.”

  “It's what thee tripped over, wasn't it?” He twisted to the side, holding the box high over her head. Now he would discover why she was so eager to be rid of him.

  “Bruce Millikan, I'm warning thee…” Her hands clenched at her sides as she tightened her jaw. “Give it back.”

  “What have I got to lose? Thee already hates me.” He winked at her before popping the lock and lifting the lid. Needles, thread, small scissors, laudanum, and other medical supplies were tucked inside. His heart beat with trepidation. “Flora, what has thee done?”

  “I busted my stitches and it hurts like the blazes, but I'm having to stand here and argue with thee rather than take care of it like I should.” She blinked back tears and swallowed. Then he realized her red nose might not be from the cold.

  “Why hide it? I could have taken care of it for thee. I'm not so much of a brute as all that.” He pointed to the ground. “Sit down.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I'll take care of it myself. Thee shouldn't have sewn me up the other day. It's inappropriate.” She lifted her chin. “I'm in better condition today, and I'll take care of it myself.”

  “Is it infected?” He raised an eyebrow as he waited for a response.

  She looked away, and that was answer enough.

  “Flora, out here we can't afford to take chances on propriety. Thee can think of me as a brute or hate me all thee wants, but I'm tending to thy leg.” He pointed again. “Now sit down.”

  “Humph!” She sat with a puckering frown.

  Bruce blinked to clear his mind as she slid her brown skirt up over her creamy calf. Red blood trickled from the gash on the side of her knee. Indeed, the first four stitches were ripped open, and pink swelling surrounded the wound, the first indication of an infection trying to set in.

  “Propriety is not worth losing a leg over—or worse, dying.” He spat the words out before he could stop himself. Pulling out the flask of water she'd brought, he cleansed the wound.

  “Clint Roberts showed me how to sew stitches. I could have handled it.” She bit her bottom lip, wincing in pain. “He's an excellent doctor. I've always admired doctors for the work they do.”

  Her voice took on a dreamy tone, causing Bruce to glance at her. Flora's lips curled into a smile as she concentrated on an object in the distance. Was it doctors whom she admired or this Clint fellow?

  “Who's Clint?” Bruce asked in a casual voice as he threaded the needle. He assumed he was the doctor she had mentioned once before.

  “We'll probably meet him in Charlottesville when we arrive at my aunt and uncle's.”

  “He's a cousin, then?”

  “Oh, no.” She laughed. “He's my aunt's nephew on her side of the family. He's no blood relation to us.”

  “How does thee know we'll see him since we're only passing through?” Bruce risked a quick glance in her direction. He disliked the glow now on her face.

  “Because I wrote him and told him. We've been writing for two years since my last visit.”

  “I see.” He took a deep breath, trying to concentrate. “Hold still. This might sting.” Just like his heart, now that he knew what he knew.

  Flora leaned on Bruce as they arrived back at camp. Irene rushed over from where she'd been pacing. “Where has thee been?” Irene's blue gaze shifted up to Bruce, standing behind her. “Marta woke up in a fitful state a while ago. It seems she had a bad dream about the baby.” Irene sighed. “No one has been able to console her. Not even Jim. She's been asking for thee.”

  “I'll see what I can do.” Flora stepped around her sister and headed toward the wagon. She grabbed her skirt, preparing to lift herself into the back of the wagon.

  “Flora, thee should be careful. If thy stitches break again, I don't know if we'll be able to hold off that infection any longer.” Bruce had been quite somber since he'd stitched her up and they had walked back to camp. She wondered what had really been bothering him. Had she angered him with her defiant behavior?

  “I'll try, but I must climb into the back of the wagon to assist Marta. It's nearly impossible to move about without bending my knee.”

  “Then allow me to at least help thee.” He settled his fists on each side. “Or does thee intend to keep being stubborn?”

  She couldn't mistake the irritation in his voice, and she wasn't sure if she blamed him. Out here in the middle of nowhere, it was hard to figure out where the boundaries between propriety were drawn and where they should be ignored for necessity's sake.

  “Fine.” She gestured to the wagon. “Thee may lift m
e up. I'll do my best to cooperate with thee until my wound heals and the stitches can be removed.”

  Without another word, Bruce strode over, swept her up into his arms, and deposited her inside the wagon. He left her staring after him.

  “Flora, yous back!” Marta sat up and reached out for her. Tears stained her cheeks. “It was awful.” A flood of new tears poured from her eyes.

  “She won't tell me the whole thing,” Jim said. “Just keeps crying, and I don't know what to do.” Jim sat beside her, lifting his large shoulders and shaking his head.

  “Jim, would thee mind giving us some privacy?” She looked around their cramped quarters between all the trunks. “I need to stretch out my hurt leg and there isn't much room. I'll do my best to calm her.”

  “Yes'm.” He nodded, moving up onto his knees. He took Marta's face between his two hands and looked into her eyes. “It's going to be all right. No matter what happens. I loves you. Don't forget that.” He gave Marta such a gentle kiss that Flora's heart melted in longing. Would she ever have someone look at her with that much love?

  Lord, please let it be so.

  “I love you, too.” Marta clung to him as tears squeezed past her lids. “More than you know.”

  Jim crawled out, leaving them alone.

  “What are these tears for?” Flora straightened her knee and slid closer to Marta. “Tell me.”

  “I had a bad dream—a nightmare.” Marta's voice was strained. “I can't tell Jim ’cause I don't want him to think it'll happen, but I'm scared jus’ the same.”

  “Has thee ever had a dream that came true before?”

  “Naw.” Marta shook her head.

  “Then what makes thee think it'll happen now?”

  “I don't know. It just scared me is all.” Marta placed protective hands over her swollen stomach. “I've been having so many pains today.”

  “What about when thee is lying down and resting?” Flora asked, wiping away the tears on Marta's cheeks with her shawl.

  “I feel better.” Marta sniffled. “Thanks, Miz Flora. I dreamed my baby was stillborn and all stiff-like.” Her voice broke again.