Path of Freedom: Quilts of Love Series

by Jennifer Hudson Taylor

  “I accept thy advice and thank thee for caring.” She laid a hand on Marta's shoulder. “Don't worry. I'll be fine, and so will Bruce.”

  Marta grabbed her hand and tightened her grip on Flora. “Don't miss what the good Lord brought. Both o’ yous risked your lives fearing for the other. In spite of what you think of him, he means well.”

  Flora swallowed with difficulty. A fifteen-year-old girl had just chastised her. Marta was right, but why did Bruce have to be so arrogant? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the full extent of her humiliation. “Please excuse me. I need a moment alone.” Flora climbed into the covered wagon, where she brushed and braided her hair with trembling fingers. Weariness claimed her as low conversations were carried on outside.

  Irene poked her head through the canvas door. “Flora, Bruce said we'll eat the rabbit meat he brought back. Jim is cooking it over the fire.”

  “I'm not hungry.” Flora spread out a quilt and lay down. Her stomach rebelled at the thought of eating. How could she fill her belly when her nerves were tied up in knots? Confusing memories of Bruce's kisses danced through her mind while his words calling her foolhardy echoed in her ears. She dimmed the lantern on a trunk beside her pallet.

  Flora longed to pour out her jumbled feelings in her journal, but dared not in case Bruce discovered it. He had bought a journal for both her and Irene while they were in Charlottesville. Even that action had proven how thoughtful he could be. She sighed and bowed her head in prayer, lifting her frustrating situation with Bruce to the Lord. Focusing on her thoughts, she asked for God's wisdom to help her make it through the rest of this mission.

  As they traveled north, Flora stayed inside the covered wagon, claiming she had a headache. It was true. Pressure in her head pounded with each wayward jolt of the wagon. As hard as she tried, Flora couldn't rest. Her ears felt like someone had plugged them. Eventually they popped, opening up enough to clear her hearing and giving her relief.

  “At the top of the hill, we'll stop and give the horse a break. He needs water,” Bruce said. “Now that we're in the mountains, we'll have to give him rest more often to keep from wearing him out.”

  “Maybe we should have brought two horses,” Irene said.

  “He's strong enough to carry the load we have, we'll just have to be mindful of the steep hills.” Bruce cleared his throat. “He's a good workhorse. He'll make it, but it might take longer than we'd like.”

  Flora pulled her mother's quilt over her head and tried to make Bruce's voice fade. She didn't want to hear about his compassion for a horse or admit that he might have been truly concerned for her. If she relaxed her guard, Bruce would choose that moment to strike again. His words could be deadly, criticizing and wounding her spirit beyond endurance.

  Right now she would rest so she could be fresh and ready for whatever battles he would bring her way. She rolled onto her side, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the hard wagon bed.

  “Lord, help me not to care about Bruce's opinion of me,” she whispered. “Don't let anything he says hurt so much.”

  The peaceful rest she sought never came. Flora dozed into a fitful sleep.

  Bruce set the brake and propped his foot on the side of the wagon and stared at the glory of the Shenandoah Valley. Mountain ridges spread out against the blue sky in shades of light and shadows. The brilliant colors they had witnessed in the past few weeks now faded to shades of brown and gray, marking the transition of autumn into winter.

  “There's Harrisonburg.” He pointed to a cluster of rooftops nestled in the valley below. “It's just past dawn, so we'll camp out up here, get some rest, and bypass the town tonight.”

  “It's beautiful!” Irene scooted to the edge of her seat and scanned the horizon. “Isn't it, Flora?”

  Flora nodded, keeping her gaze on the scene below. It had been several days since her argument with Bruce, but she still went to great lengths to avoid him. The knowledge stung his pride, but not nearly as much as knowing he could soon lose her to that doctor when they returned.

  He had hoped to spend the rest of the trip changing her mind, but none of his plans had worked out. She wanted nothing to do with him. If he asked her to help him with a task, she delegated it to Irene or Marta. She responded to his questions with one-word answers or claimed she needed to be alone for a while and would disappear into the covered wagon. He wondered what she would do if he crawled inside after her. Sooner or later, she would have to face him.

  “Flora, would thee make some pancakes for breakfast?” Bruce held his breath, waiting for a snide response. When none came, he stole a glance in her direction. She turned to stare at him. Her blue-gray eyes assessed him with an expression he couldn't fathom. He decided to compliment her into action. “Thee knows how to make them nice and fluffy—just the way I like them.”

  “On one condition.” Her lips curled into a smile that sent a ripple of interest through him.

  “State thy condition.” She wanted to bargain? What game was she playing? He kept a firm countenance, unwilling to agree to something before he knew the details.

  “After breakfast, thee will take me into town to mail a letter.”

  “Who's the letter to?” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

  “That's personal.” Her smile faded along with her good humor. “Is it a deal or not?”

  He knew she had written a couple of letters to her mother, since he had peeked at the pages while she wrote them by the fire. His other concern was that she would also post a letter to Clint Roberts. What would it take to get that man out of her mind?

  Rubbing his chin, Bruce considered the matter and realized there was nothing he could do. Flora was a grown woman with an independent mind. He would have to place her in God's hands, and if she chose the doctor over himself, he would just have to accept it.

  An hour later, he and Flora took off on horseback. The cedar scent of her clothes teased him. Having her warm body next to his made him yearn for a deeper relationship with her to ease the loneliness he felt when she wasn't around. He could get used to this. Wrapping both arms around her to hold the reins, Bruce leaned over her right shoulder.

  “Is thee still mad at me?” he asked. Bruce hoped to wear down Flora's defenses now that they had some time alone. A lengthy silence followed, disappointing him.

  “I suppose not, since God's word does command us to forgive.” She glanced over her shoulder, but her bonnet kept him from seeing her expression, only her profile. “But that doesn't mean I trust thee. I promised Marta we would mend our feeble friendship, and so the first step I'm making is to accept the fact that thee believes I'm foolish.”

  Bruce clenched his teeth and swallowed as he considered his next words. “I don't consider our friendship feeble. And I didn't say thee was foolish. I said what thee did was foolhardy.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Flora, if I hurt thee, I'm sorry. Will thee forgive me?”

  “Of course, but thee will say something similar at some point. The only way I can keep forgiving thee for doing the same thing over and over is to accept that it's how thee sees me.”

  “That's not how I see thee.” Frustration sliced through him, threatening the gentle patience he wanted to show her. He took a deep breath as their horse descended a steep hill and they both leaned back for balance. The change in momentum jostled them more than usual. He longed to wrap her in his arms and hold her tight against him. An overwhelming feeling of love burst inside his chest, and he could do nothing about it.

  “Flora, I admire thy independent spirit, the way thee cares for others, and thy conviction for freeing those in bondage to slavery. The way thee fought for little Jimmy took courage. While thy sister is busy getting sick at the sight of blood, thee rose up to the challenge under stress and did all humanly possible. No foolish woman could have done that. I only said what I did because I was angry and worried about thee.”

  “I'll never understand thee, Bruce.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Thee is the most c
ontradictory man I've ever known.”

  He would have to surrender his pride if he hoped to convince her of his sincerity. Maybe sharing his heart would win her over. His heart thumped heavy, like a burden weighing him down.

  “Fine. If thee would really like to know why I've annoyed thee all these years, it was because I always liked thee. I loved getting a reaction out of thee when I said something to shock or frighten thee. Now I realize how cruel I was, but I never meant to hurt thee. But Flora, at some point thee must let the past go. We have to move on and create new memories that we can cherish. I kissed thee because I can no longer hide how I feel about thee.”

  Bruce closed his eyes, fear seizing him as the words floated in the air and penetrated her mind. He waited. No sound. He must have shocked her…again.

  “Flora?”

  She stiffened and leaned forward. He opened his eyes, not sure what to make of her lack of reaction. She lifted a hand to her face and sniffled.

  “Flora, say something.”

  “Bruce Millikan, thee is impossible! One minute thee is criticizing me and in the next praising me.” Anger laced her voice as she crossed her arms. “I don't know what to think. Is thee teasing me?”

  “No, Flora. I've never been more serious.” Alarm pierced his chest as he tried to make sense of her reaction. Was his behavior as contradictory as she made him sound?

  “I'm not sure I believe thee.” She gave a sarcastic laugh. “Listen to thyself, Bruce. Thee annoyed me because thee liked me? What kind of nonsense is that? Let's not ruin the fragile friendship we've developed on this trip. Once we deliver Jim and Marta to Pennsylvania, our mission will be complete. We'll go home on better terms than we were before we left, and in many ways that's more than I'd hoped for.”

  It wasn't enough. Bitter disappointment rooted in his gut. He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around her. Lord, help me, I don't want to lose her.

  Flora gritted her teeth and blinked back moisture as they rode into Harrisonburg. While waiting for some logical explanation with his confession, hope died within her. What had she expected? It was obvious he didn't know why he'd been so cruel, but his regret seemed sincere, and since she forgave him, that should be enough.

  From this moment, she would let the past go, embrace the friendship Bruce offered, and forge a path into her future that would be better than a dream. It would be realistic, something obtainable.

  Unlike in Charlottesville, their presence didn't go unnoticed in the small town. People stared at them as they rode down what looked like the main street. They passed by a general store, church, and tavern before they came to a small building with a Post Office sign on the door.

  Bruce tightened his arms around Flora as a man rode past, his gaze concentrating on her. He tipped his hat with a crooked grin that made Flora shiver.

  “It's all right,” Bruce assured her, his voice near her ear. “I won't let anything happen to thee.”

  “I'm sorry, but you look familiar.” The man had turned his horse around and now rode beside them. He leaned one hand on his pommel and tipped his brown hat with a brief nod. His blue eyes peered at Flora until she wanted to demand he look away.

  “How can we help you?” Bruce asked, discarding the Quaker speech. His arms felt like a protective shield around her, and for that she was grateful.

  “You don't sound Quaker. I thought you might be. You both have that look about you.”

  “Before I answer personal questions, I like to know who I'm talking to,” Bruce said in a firm tone. Flora had never heard him speak to anyone like that. She kept her gaze averted lest the man suspect anything.

  “Sorry. Let me properly introduce myself.” The man chuckled. “My name's Carson Steele. I'm a bounty hunter, and right now I'm tracking a pregnant slave couple. A farmer south of here spotted a pregnant Negro with a Quaker woman, who fits this little lady's description…right down to the clothes.” His penetrating gaze slid over Flora. Goose pimples rose upon her skin.

  “Did he get a close view of this woman?” Bruce asked. “Lots of women have brown hair and wear practical clothing, unless they belong to the wealthy. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Steele, but we have things to do. And as you can see, no Negro couple is traveling with us.”

  “Which reminds me,” Mr. Steele's grin faded into a sober expression, as he leaned toward them in a manner intended to intimidate them. “Do you both live around here? And if not, where's your camping gear? How do I know you didn't leave the Negroes behind?”

  Flora trembled as Bruce tensed behind her. He chuckled, keeping up a pretense of innocence. “Mr. Steele, we have nothing to hide. If you intend to bring us in for questioning, by all means, do so. Right now all you've managed is to state suspicious claims with no valuable evidence.”

  “You didn't answer my question.” Mr. Steele clenched his jaw, his tone displaying frustration.

  “You're not wearing a law badge, or at least you didn't show it,” Bruce said. “Therefore, you're a private bounty hunter hired by a private citizen. And even if you had been hired by the law, you would be out of jurisdiction up here. We're under no obligation to you.”

  “Don't forget you're still in the South. Even if I don't have jurisdiction here, no lawman would defend the Negro slaves. They're runaways, and if caught would be handed over to their rightful owners.” Mr. Steele turned and spat in the dirt, his anger burning with intensity in his dark eyes.

  “Again, you lack evidence.” Bruce gestured around him. “I don't see any slaves.”

  “I'll be watching you.” He pointed a crooked finger at Bruce and Flora, before flicking his horse's reins and moving on.

  “Go ahead.” Bruce laughed. “And while you're wasting time with us, they could be getting away,” Bruce called after him. He leaned toward Flora's ear and whispered, “Maybe that will plant a seed of doubt in him so he'll watch others, and not just us.”

  “Thee handled that well. I wish I had hidden my Quaker speech back at the river the way thee just did. Then that farmer wouldn't have been so suspicious or have a reason to give a description of me.”

  “Don't worry about it, Flora. It was merely a test. He's not sure it was you or he would have been more forceful in bringing us to the sheriff for questioning.” Bruce patted her shoulder. “He only wanted to gauge our reaction and see if he could intimidate us into revealing something. We'll go on to the post office as planned. No need to raise further suspicion.”

  As they continued, Flora pondered Bruce's valiant behavior under the stress of almost being discovered. Images of him swimming with her on his back, carrying her, and sewing her knee played across her mind like a vision. She couldn't have felt more safe than if her own father were here with her. She trusted Bruce with her life. Dare she try to trust him with her heart?

  He brought the horse to a stop in front of the post office, dismounted, and reached up for her. Without a word, Flora leaned toward him, treasuring his grip around her waist. She gazed up at him with a new perspective, wondering how much she'd misjudged him. He stared into her eyes with his hands still on her sides. Was he going to kiss her again?

  “I suspect thee is going in to mail a letter to both thy parents and Clint Roberts. Don't send him anything. Please…” His green eyes searched her face, but she couldn't discern his thoughts, only his serious mood. “I wasn't teasing thee earlier before Mr. Steele interrupted us. I meant every word. If thee can somehow just forget the past and forgive me, I'd like to start a new future with thee. Allow me a chance to prove that thee can trust me.”

  “Bruce Millikan, I trust thee with my life, of that I can assure thee. And I have forgiven thee. As for the rest, thee has given me much to think about.” She pulled two sealed letters from her skirt pockets, beneath her gray cloak. Flora kept the letter she'd written to her friend, Rebecca, beneath the one to her parents. Until she could figure out this change in Bruce, she would let him think what he wanted. “In the meantime, I intend to mail these.”

 
With a fluttering heart, Flora stepped around Bruce and strode toward the small brick building. Behind her, Bruce released a heavy sigh, but his booted feet followed. She climbed the steps and opened the wooden door. A bell dangling on a thin rope rang, announcing their arrival.

  “Mr. Steele might try to question the postman, so don't sound like a Quaker,” Bruce whispered in her ear. She nodded.

  Rows of box shelves hung on the right wall with stacks of letters in each, a number written above each slot. On the left wall were notices of land sales, event announcements, and hand-drawn pictures of the faces of two wanted men. Below them was an image of what looked like Marta and Jim. She gasped. Now that they had a description of her, would her image be next? Bruce draped a comforting arm about her shoulders. Flora took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and squared her shoulders, determined to recover.

  A woman stood at the counter paying for her postage. Flora stepped in line behind her as Bruce left her side to pick up the town paper lying on the counter. He read the headlines and scanned the articles as he turned the pages. How could he concentrate on reading at a time like this?

  She studied his profile. Bruce Millikan had always been handsome, even as an awkward boy. Now, as a man, he appealed to her even more. In spite of being a loner, he had the innate ability to lead people, and at times it made him seem like a bully. As a wiser adult, she'd come to realize that he wasn't really a bully, but one who took his responsibility to heart—even to the point of taking on responsibilities that weren't his to bear—like her.

  His mouth twisted as he read something that didn't suit him. She liked him better without a beard and appreciated him shaving it off while at her aunt's house.

  While Bruce wasn't an overly large man, his chest and arms were solidly muscled from long hours of farming out in the fields. His tan was a testament to his time spent in the sun. She'd always thought Bruce was too smart to waste his talents on farming. He should have been in a lab somewhere, inventing farm equipment rather than small machines in his father's barn. How could she not respect a man like him?