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 necessa
ry.” 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.
“Why don't they all stay? Through the whole winter.” Daniel waved a hand in the air, a broad grin on his face. “Then I'd have three chums to pal around with.”
Belinda rolled her eyes at her brother and gave a dramatic sigh.
“Daniel, this is serious.” Jeremiah's firm tone sliced through the room.
“Of course it is, Father.” Daniel blinked brown eyes in feigned innocence. “It will solve all the problems and make things more lively and interesting around here.”
“I'll go with what Bruce has suggested,” Flora said. “I trust his judgment.”
“Really?” Irene slid to the edge of her seat in her excitement. “I can't believe it. We'll finally get a chance to travel by train!”
Flora turned her gaze to Bruce. “I must admit traveling home in the comfort and warmth of the train is inviting, but I worry about thee being out there all alone. Why not leave thy wagon here? Thee will not be making more trips through the winter and thee could return for it in the spring.”
“Flora, if it was my wagon, I wouldn't hesitate, but I feel obligated to return it to Pastor John. I don't want to betray his trust in me.”
“I don't like it, but I understand.” A wistful smile crossed her face. “In fact, I'm almost sorry the mission is over. I believe I'd like to go on more.” Her gaze met his with intense purpose. Bruce held his breath, hoping she meant with him. Did this mean she was still considering his proposal?
15
Excitement bubbled inside Flora as she placed her hand in Clint's outstretched palm and descended the small steps of his black carriage. He had invited her to accompany him on a house call to a family in the neighborhood. The honor thrilled her. While women were still confined to nursing and midwifery, she dreamed of a day when they could be doctors.
Together they climbed the steps to the white two-story home. Clint lifted the brass knocker and rapped it against the door. A few moments later, footsteps sounded on the other side. The heavy door opened to reveal a stern-faced man with a dark brown mustache. His black formal attire made Flora assume he was the household butler.
“May I help you?” he asked.
“I'm Dr. Clint Roberts, and this is my assistant, Miss Flora Saferight.” Clint gestured to Flora standing beside him. She offered a friendly smile.
“Yes, we've been expecting you.” The butler stepped back and opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”
Flora followed Clint into the foyer. The wood floor sparkled under the lit crystal chandelier above them. A mirror with a gilded frame hung on the wall to the left. Flora imagined it was used by the ladies of the house to make last-minute adjustments to their hats and bonnets before they left the house.
“You may leave your coat and hat there. I'll announce your arrival to Mrs. Crouch.” The butler pointed to a cherrywood hat-and-coat rack in the corner behind them.
Clint shrugged out of his black overcoat and set it on one of the arms of the rack, while Flora unfastened her gray cloak and did the same. Next he pulled his hat off his head and placed it over his coat. He stood holding the double handles of his black doctor bag in front of him and looked over at Flora with a curious glint in his gray eyes.
“Is thee uncomfortable? Thee didn't take off thy bonnet.”
Flora touched her head, feeling for her white bonnet. “Oh, I forgot.” She untied the strings and set the bonnet on her cloak. “Their house seems so fancy,” she whispered. “I was just noticing the pretty colors.” She pointed at the wallpaper decorated with strange designs of blue and gold. Quakers rarely used colorful wallpaper.
A woman appeared wearing a gorgeous wine-colored gown with a net of lace lining the neckline. The sleeves extended an inch beyond the wrists, coming to a peak over the hand. Muslin and petticoats swished as she walked toward them, an expression of concern filling her swollen eyes.
“Thank you for coming.” Her tense shoulders relaxed in relief, and her lips trembled into a forced smile. “My boy got a simple cold about a week ago, but then he started running a fever two days past. His breathing is labored, and he's hardly spoken a coherent word since.”
“How old is the lad?” Clint asked.
“Five.” A pool of liquid filled her dark eyes. “He's so small and frail.”
“May we see him?” Clint tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
“Of course.” The woman turned and led them to the staircase in the hallway. She held onto the rail as if she needed the support, while using her free hand to lift her gown to climb the stairs. Her weary shoulders bent forward in obvious exhaustion. Compassion filled Flora as she followed.
“I stayed with him through the night, but his nurse is now with him so I could oversee tonight's dinner preparations.” She reached the landing and paused. “I feared leaving him even for that short period of time.”
“I understand,” Clint said. “But one of the things I caution parents about is getting enough rest themselves so they have strength for their child. Thee won't be much help or be able to make clear decisions if thee collapses. It's
good thee has his nurse to help.”
Rather than joining the conversation, Flora listened and observed. She wanted to comfort Mrs. Crouch, but she had no idea what to say. They stopped at the first door on the right. The hinges groaned as Mrs. Crouch opened the door.
With only a lit lantern burning on a bedside table, the rest of the chamber was shrouded in darkness. A plump woman sat in a wooden rocker by the bed, where she read aloud from a small Bible. She looked up as they entered the room.
“There's been no change.” She spoke in a low voice as she closed the book and set it aside. Pushing to her feet, she stepped to the foot of the bed and folded her hands in front of her.
Mrs. Crouch went to stand next to the nurse. Flora noticed a small rocking horse over in the corner, as well as a ball on the floor. Heavy breathing came from the tiny figure in the bed. Her heart ached for this child she didn't even know.
Clint touched the lad's forehead. “Still feverish. Has he had any hallucinations or visions?”
“No, but he does call for me from time to time.” Mrs. Crouch bit her lip in worry.
“Good. I want thee to keep talking to him when he calls for thee. If he has a nightmare, thy voice will soothe him. I was once very ill as a child, and I can assure thee that I could hear my mother even though I didn't have the energy to open my eyes.”
Clint pulled a stethoscope from his bag. He inserted the two ends into his ears, then listened to the child's chest. After a moment he moved the contraption over his heart.
“Flora, I want thee to come hear this. First, listen to his lungs here and then his heart, here.” She noted where he pointed and nodded as he removed the stethoscope and handed it to her.
Using the device she could hear a slight rattle with each breath. His heart beat in a steady rhythm. Once she had listened, she tried to commit the experience to memory in case she ever needed this knowledge when a doctor wasn't around.
Path of Freedom: Quilts of Love Series Page 18
