Path of Freedom: Quilts of Love Series

by Jennifer Hudson Taylor

  “Miss? May I help you?” a middle-aged clerk asked. His gray hair was combed to the side, and he stared at her through silver-rimmed spectacles.

  “I'm sorry.” Flora stepped forward, realizing the woman ahead of her had finished with her business and was now walking away from the counter. Heat climbed her neck. She cleared her throat and stepped forward, handing him her letters. “I'd like to mail these, please.”

  “That will be two pennies.” The clerk accepted her letters and tossed them into a box behind him.

  “Thank you.” Flora reached into her skirt pocket, produced the correct change, and dropped the coins in his outstretched palm. One clinked against the other. She strolled over to Bruce. “That newspaper must be full of news. Your expressions have mirrored everything from perplexity to disgust.”

  “Indeed.” He sighed, folding the paper and setting it back on the counter. “It seems the debate over slavery is growing intense. Some Southern states are threatening to secede from the Union.”

  “And that worries you?”

  “It does for many reasons.” He offered his arm, and she took it, proud to be by his side. If only things between them could be as real as appearances might seem to others who passed them. “I wasn't so engrossed in my reading that I missed you mailing both those letters. I had hoped you would consider my words and not write Clint.”

  “Did I promise not to mail them?” She waited as he opened the door and held it wide enough for her to cross the threshold.

  “No, I've never known you to lie.” Bruce closed the door, and it clicked in place. “I despise liars, and your honesty is another one of the virtues I love about you.”

  “Bruce, who says the other letter was to Clint?” She grabbed his arm. “You made an assuption.”

  “Then who was it to?” He paused on the step to give her his full attention. His green eyes widened in curiosity.

  Flora didn't answer as she gave him a mysterious smile and descended the steps. It felt good to be the one teasing him rather than the other way around.

  14

  Bruce took a detour on the way back to camp until he was certain they weren't being followed. That night they waited past midnight to pack and continue their journey. They didn't light the lanterns, but relied instead on the moonlight. For days, they traveled over the mountain terrain through gusts of wind, cold rain, and moments of sunshine. Bruce grew anxious. He worried Mr. Steele would be more determined as they drew closer to the Pennsylvania border.

  As the gray dawn turned bright with daylight, Bruce glanced down at Flora's sleeping profile where she lay in the crook of his shoulder and chest. Pieces of her dark hair had fallen past her white bonnet now askew on her head. He pulled her close, worried this might be the last time he could hold her like this.

  Flora never told him who the second letter was addressed to, leaving him to wonder and speculate. He didn't know what to do other than pray, and he spent many hours sitting next to her praying God would show her the truth in his heart.

  The wagon rattled and rolled up a hill toward a painted sign nailed to an oak tree. It said “Welcome to Pennsylvania” in red paint on a white background. A rustling noise scared the horse. Bruce pulled the reins to calm the animal, as a man on horseback rode out from the cover of nearby bushes. He aimed a rifle at Bruce. Mr. Steele joined him, an arrogant grin broadening his face.

  “Good morning.” Mr. Steele touched the brim of his black hat and inclined his head. “Remember me?”

  The sudden jolt of the wagon stirred Flora, and she groaned. Bruce kept her steady, hoping neither she nor Irene would give them away due to a startled slumbering state. At least Irene was still inside the covered wagon.

  “What do you want?” Bruce asked.

  “I'm Sheriff Brady Jackson,” said the man with the rifle. “We figured you might be heading this way, so we thought we'd wait for you.”

  “Have I broken the law, Sheriff?” Bruce kept his gaze steady but humble as he stared into the man's piercing blue eyes. The sheriff wore a brown hat over his gray head.

  “Well, that remains to be seen.” He glanced at Mr. Steele. “Carson, here, believes you're Quakers harboring runaway slaves.” He flashed his bronze badge, clipped to his black jacket. “And that, my friends, is a crime.”

  “Bruce?” Flora raised her head, her bonnet askew, and her eyes widening. “What's going on?”

  “Mr. Steele is back, this time with the sheriff.” Bruce slid his hand up and down her arm to comfort her. “Don't worry, you will be just fine.” He emphasized his speech, hoping she would catch on to not sounding Quaker.

  “Oh!” Flora bolted upright and tried to straighten her bonnet.

  “I'm sorry for disturbing you, ma'am, but we have a few questions, and we need to take a look inside the wagon.” The sheriff's gaze drifted down to her hands. “I noticed you're not wearing a wedding band. It's my duty to make sure you haven't been taken against your will.” His gaze slithered over to Bruce in an accusing manner.

  “He's my brother,” she croaked, still waking up.

  The sheriff threw his head back and laughed in a deep rumble. Mr. Steele joined him. When he had calmed and his shoulders had stopped shaking with mirth, he fixed his liquid blue eyes upon her. “Forgive me, ma'am, but I've seen the way this man stares at you, and I'd bet my whole ranch that he ain't your brother. Now tell me your names, both of you.”

  “Flora Saferight.”

  “Bruce Millikan.”

  Both answered in unison, resulting in more laughter from both men.

  “Brother and sister with different surnames?” The sheriff raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “An unlikely story. What am I to think of that?” He leaned on the saddle pommel with one hand holding the reins and motioned to Flora with the other. “Your name was verified with the postman on your letter. I checked before we left. As for you,” he motioned to Bruce, “I'll need to do a little more investigation.”

  Bruce sighed, set the brake, and gave him a level stare. “All right, I'm escorting Flora and her sister up north to a friend's house. When we first set out, I told her we would travel as brother and sister, as we did when we came to town to post her letter. It would be safer and better for her reputation, especially since her sister stayed behind with the wagon.” Bruce shrugged. “If you believe she's here against her will, question her privately if you must.”

  “No!” Flora grabbed his arm, holding tight enough to cut off his circulation. Bruce glanced down at her pale face, her blue-gray eyes wide with fright. Did the woman honestly believe he would put her in harm's way?

  The men chuckled again.

  “Well, Sheriff, I don't reckon she likes that idea too much,” Mr. Steele said. “Looks like she trusts him too much to be taken by force.”

  “Sure does.” The sheriff nodded. “Let's get a look inside. Shall we?” He dismounted and Mr. Steele followed.

  “Wait!” Flora called as she scrambled down behind Bruce. He turned to grab her arm in time to keep her from losing her balance. “My sister is sleeping in there. Please, let me make sure she's at least decent.”

  The sheriff hesitated, unexpected surprise lighting his face. He glanced at Mr. Steele, who shrugged. “I don't see the harm in it. Unless she's a magician, she can't make any Negroes disappear,” Mr. Steele said.

  “No, but the two of them can load a gun,” Sheriff Jackson said. He stroked his chin in thought. “Tell you what, I'll give you a few seconds to warn her to cover herself with a blanket, but not enough time to dress or load a gun. And,” he pointed at Flora, “you stay out here. Just poke your head inside. No climbing in, or someone will get hurt. Don't force me to assume the worst.”

  “Thank you.” Flora nodded. She hurried to the back of the wagon. The rest of them followed, but Mr. Steele motioned for Bruce to stay back. He pulled out a handgun, cocked it, and aimed it at Bruce. Flora leaned through the canvas doorway. To Bruce's relief, whispering and movement could be heard, but no actual words. He hope
d Flora had been able to warn Irene to lose the Quaker speech.

  Irene's head appeared, her blond waves a mass of tangles and her groggy eyes swollen with sleep. “I'm coming,” her voice shook with fear, but only Bruce and Flora knew her well enough to notice it.

  “Show your hands and climb out slowly,” Sheriff Jackson said. When she held up her palms, he steadied his elbow, helping her climb out. Irene had wrapped the Midnight Star quilt around her, inside out so as not to give away the map on the other side. This way they wouldn't find the quilt map in the trunks. Bruce's heart pounded. If anyone gave them away, it would be Irene or that quilt.

  Once Irene was out, Sheriff Jackson climbed inside. Irene ran to her sister, and Flora draped a comforting arm around her shoulders. The sheriff rummaged through their things. A lock clicked on one of the trunks, and Bruce gritted his teeth, assuming the man was now rifling through their personal trunks.

  A few moments later, he reappeared and climbed out. He rubbed his hands together as if dusting his palms. Pulling out a pair of gloves from his coat pockets, he said, “Folks, I'm sorry for the inconvenience.” He glanced over at Mr. Steele. “Carson, it looks like your instincts were off this time. We've found nothing, and I don't have any reason to detain them further.”

  “But things don't always add up.” Mr. Steele followed the sheriff to the spot where their horses were tethered. “They're hiding something.”

  “Whatever it is, it doesn't concern us. Now mount up.” Sheriff Jackson touched the brim of his hat in a brief nod. “We won't be bothering you folks again. Please accept my apologies.” He guided his horse around. “Come on, Carson!”

  With an angry glare at Bruce and a sigh of disgust, Mr. Steele did as the sheriff ordered.

  Irene burst into tears, clinging to Flora, who met Bruce's gaze with a hint of a smile and something else he couldn't quite decipher.

  He laid a hand on both women's shoulders. “Well done. Now let's get out of here. I don't trust that Mr. Steele. They were hoping to stop us right here at the border. I'll feel much better once we're on the other side.”

  They climbed back into the wagon and passed the Pennsylvania sign. Bruce scanned the landscape, looking for an indication they were nearing Charlestown. While the leaves had fallen from all the trees, the valley still displayed brilliant shades of color. Scattered farmhouses surrounded a tiny village nestled in the valley below. From their vantage point on the hill, he could see a couple of churches, a few stores, and a building with a long red roof that resembled a factory or mill. This had to be it. A mixture of excitement and relief seeped into his weary soul.

  “Flora, look. We made it.” Bruce pointed to the valley below.

  “I see it.” She leaned forward. “It's beautiful.”

  Sharing this moment with her blessed him. He reached for her hand, and to his surprise she didn't pull away. Instead, she linked her fingers through his.

  “Now that we're over the border, I thought it would be appropriate to let Marta and Jim out. They deserve this moment—to ride into town with dignity,” Bruce said.

  “That's so thoughtful.” A smile brightened her face as she gave his hand a squeeze before releasing him. “I'm glad I got a chance to see this side of thee.”

  With his heart pounding, Bruce pulled the reins, slowing the wagon to a stop. Had Flora seen the change in him? Dare he hope it wasn't too late?

  Flora turned and leaned inside the covered wagon. “Irene, we're here!”

  As he set the brake, Bruce grinned at the excitement in Flora's animated tone.

  By the time he had jumped down and walked to the back, Flora was there, waiting for him. She folded her hands in front of her as she swayed from foot to foot. Bruce reached under and pulled the switch. The hidden door creaked open. The sound of shuffling movement could be heard, and then Jim's booted feet appeared. Jim slid out and then bent to help Marta crawl out of the cramped quarters.

  The two of them stretched and blinked, squinting to adjust their eyes to the light. Bruce waited a few minutes, then said, “I want to show thee something.” He held out his hand to lead them around the wagon.

  “Oh, it's something!” Marta's jaw dropped open. “I ain't never seen nothing like it.”

  “Welcome to thy new home,” Bruce said. “Down there in that valley is Charlestown, Pennsylvania. Thee are standing on free soil as a free man and woman.”

  Marta put her hands over her mouth as silent tears streamed down her face. Jim stood behind her and planted his large hands on her shoulders. Similar tears swam in his red eyes. He sniffed and gulped, overcome by emotion.

  “We free, Marta. We did it!” He wrapped his arms around Marta's thin frame and squeezed her. She laughed and wiped at her face, but more happy tears kept flowing.

  Bruce closed his eyes on the moisture blinding him. “I thank thee, Lord.” He bowed his head.

  Marta turned and took Jim's hands between her own. “Bruce is right. The Lord did it. He made it all happen.”

  Jim lowered his head, and they shared a tender kiss that touched Bruce's heart. The two of them had borne much in their short lives, but it seemed to have drawn them closer. He didn't envy them as much as he wanted to remember them as an example for his own future marriage. As soon as the thought slammed his mind, his gaze traveled to Flora standing beside her sister.

  Flora laughed with tears in her eyes as Jim swept Marta up into his arms and twirled her in circles. The two of them laughed more than they had probably ever been allowed, more than they thought they would ever do again after little Jimmy's death.

  When Jim set Marta down, she rushed toward Flora with outstretched arms. Jim strolled over to Bruce and stuck out his hand. Bruce shook it. “I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank yous.”

  “No thanks necessary. God intended life to be a free gift for every man and woman. I pray that will soon be the case for everyone, and as long as I draw breath, I'll do what I can.” Bruce leaned forward and drew his friend into an embrace. “Remember, thee is my brother in Christ. There is no color in God's kingdom.”

  Jim's shoulders trembled against him, and Bruce knew Jim wept with the overwhelming power of God's love. Bruce held him tight for a moment. Jim wiped his eyes as he looked down at the fading white frost on the grass.

  “I'm sorry. Don't know what's come ova me,” Jim said.

  “I do.” Bruce smiled through his own tears. “Thee has just witnessed the power of God's love, and sometimes it can bring a grown man to his knees at the most unexpected moments, but I wouldn't trade it for anything else.”

  “Marta and Jim, both of thee will sit in front with Bruce when we enter Charlestown. Thee will not arrive hidden like fugitive slaves. Irene and I will sit in the back,” Flora said.

  “We couldn't.” Marta shook her head, her red eyes growing wide with disbelief.

  “We insist.” Flora nodded. “Go on.” She motioned her fingers to direct them away. They walked around the wagon, glancing back with obvious reluctance.

  Irene remained, looking from Flora to Bruce.

  “Could I have a moment alone with Bruce?” Flora asked.

  “Sure.” Irene nodded, eyeing them with suspicion before turning to climb into the back of the wagon.

  Flora walked toward Bruce. He waited, unsure of her intentions.

  “I just wanted to let thee know that witnessing thee with Jim a few moments ago gave me more respect for thee than I ever thought possible. Now I understand thy passion for these missions.”

  “I was wrong, and Pastor John was right. Thee is perfect for this mission, and I'm glad thee came along.” His stomach tightened, realizing how true his words were and all the other things he wanted to say but couldn't.

  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 w
ell-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.”