Path of Freedom: Quilts of Love Series

by Jennifer Hudson Taylor

  Flora offered the stethoscope back to Clint, but he shook his head and pointed to his bag. She dropped it inside and waited for the verdict.

  “He has pneumonia, but the good news is that his heart is beating strong and steady. I wish there was some medicine I could give him, but right now the best thing we can do for him is to make sure he gets plenty of rest and keep giving him water and broth. He must eat to keep up his strength, and to keep his heart strong.”

  “Will you bleed him?” Mrs. Crouch tensed, her forehead wrinkling.

  “No.” Clint shook his head. “I concur with Dr. Pierre Alexandre Louis, whose studies a few decades ago proved that bloodletting only weakens patients and makes them die faster.”

  She relaxed with a nod. “My own mother died years ago after they bled her. As you said, it made her worse.”

  She paid Clint for his services, and they took their leave. As they walked back toward the carriage, Flora gave him a sideways glance. “What would thee have done if she had demanded a bloodletting?”

  “I would have refused and suggested she call another doctor.” He shook his head. “I can't in good conscience do something I feel would risk a patient's life.”

  Flora smiled, pleased with his answer. Today had been a good experience for her, and now she would include the family in her prayers.

  Bruce strolled out to the backyard, where Irene was scattering feed for the chickens. They were penned inside a wire fence about three feet tall that surrounded the chicken coop. The construction didn't appear sturdy enough to keep out a sly fox.

  “I was hoping to get a moment alone to speak with thee.” Bruce shoved his hands in his coat pockets, waiting for a reaction from Irene. To his disappointment, she spared him no glance as she continued to toss more feed while chickens hustled to gobble up the seeds she sprinkled upon the cold ground.

  “And why is that, when we've been traveling for months and thee has had ample opportunity to speak a private word with me?” Irene cut her blue eyes in his direction without giving him a direct stare.

  “True enough,” Bruce conceded, not wanting to waste any time while Flora was away with Clint and one of the others could appear at any given moment. “Let me be frank with my question. Does thee think Clint Roberts is the right man for Flora as everyone else seems to believe?”

  “We've talked about this before. To be honest, I don't know.” Irene shrugged.

  “Does thee want her to move away?” Bruce forced a neutral voice. “Thee would hardly get to see her.”

  “What would thee have me do?” Irene threw a hand on her hip, turning to gaze up at him. “Besides, Clint talks as if he might be willing to move to North Carolina.”

  “What if he changes his mind?” He rubbed his chin, wondering how much he could trust her. He couldn't be sure that Irene would be an ally, yet there was no doubt that she held some sway over her sister. “First, let me ask thee this, does thee truly want thy sister to be happy?”

  “Of course.” A look of irritation crossed her face. Then a glint of suspicion narrowed her eyes. “What is this about? Is thee jealous?”

  Several chickens bucked and flapped their wings. A slight breeze stirred the empty tree branches around them. Up the hill sheep bleated and grazed.

  “Flora believes wedding a doctor would suit her because she has an interest in the medical field and wants to be a midwife.” He paused, unsure how to continue without sounding selfish. He closed his eyes and rubbed both hands over his face. “Let's just say that I believe a profession isn't a reason to choose a spouse. I've not heard either of them declare a love for one another.”

  “That doesn't mean they haven't declared their love to each other in private.” Irene tossed the rest of the feed and dusted her hands with a sigh. “If thee wants to know if she's confessed anything to me, I can tell thee that she has not.”

  They walked toward the hill where the sheep roamed. The mid-morning sun cast angled light across the faded winter grass, melting the white frost except in areas hidden by the shade.

  “Bruce, thee forgets that I've known thee almost as long as Flora has.” She squeezed his arm and blinked with an innocent smile. “I'm not blind or stupid.”

  “What?”

  “I know thee kissed her the night of thy argument.” Irene lifted an eyebrow. “And my sister hasn't been quite the same since.”

  “Different? How?” Bruce looked out over the fields, hating the tension rising inside him. He tried to relax as they walked. Irene could be toying with him. She was childish and enjoyed playing games.

  “I don't know how to explain it. Don't worry.” Irene patted the top of his hand with a reassuring smile. “Things will work out the way they're meant to. Look at me, for instance. I've been praying to travel by train, and in a fortnight, my prayers will finally be answered.”

  Bruce rubbed his eyebrows, trying to hide his frustration. How she could compare a train ride to his life with or without Flora? The silly girl gave him a headache. The only thing he'd managed to learn from this conversation was that Flora hadn't confided in her sister—and no wonder.

  “Irene and Bruce!” Flora waved at them from the back porch. “We're back, and I have so much to tell thee!”

  The bright excitement on her face filled Bruce with trepidation. Clint stepped out behind her, and she turned to give him a look of admiration. Bruce froze. His feet stalled. If she was about to announce their engagement, he couldn't hear it. His heart dropped to his gut.

  Flora held out her frozen fingers to the blazing fire in the living room. While out with Clint, she had forgotten to bring her mittens, and her poor hands had suffered for it.

  Footsteps brought her head around. Both Irene and Bruce came in with rosy cheeks. Seeing them walking arm-in-arm had been a surprise. What were the two of them discussing?

  Belinda sat in a chair already working on the day's sewing. Uncle Jeremiah had taken Aunt Abigail into town on some errands. Flora turned to warm her backside while she gave them a secretive smile and linked her hands in front of her.

  Bruce glanced around the room. His gaze paused on Belinda and then turned back up at her. “Where's Clint?”

  “He went off with Daniel to park the carriage in the barn. I think the two of them might go horseback riding.” She paused and tilted her head, realizing he might have felt slighted being left there among the ladies. “Did thee wish to go with them?”

  “No, of course not.” He shook his head and took off his hat and then his coat before carrying them to the rack in the hall. A moment later, he returned and settled into a chair. “I'm ready.”

  Irene kept her coat on as she crept toward the fire. Flora moved to the side, allowing her sister to warm herself.

  “The first patient call Clint and I went on was for a little boy who has pneumonia. We must pray for him. The second call was for a woman who had been in labor for about eight hours. It was her fourth child, and the baby came fast. Clint allowed me to deliver her. He introduced me as the midwife.”

  “And thee finds that exciting?” Belinda gave her a horrified stare. “I would be scared half out of my wits.”

  “There's something enthralling about bringing a precious new life into the world.” Flora met her cousin's green eyes. Belinda's fingers kept moving without pause as if she could sew in her sleep. She looked down at her work, her blond hair pulled back into a tidy bun. “It reminds me of the miracle birth of Christ,” Flora said.

  “I've no doubt that God has given thee the grace for the midwife skills.” Belinda shook her head. “I'm glad He didn't call me to it, for I fear I'd be a huge disappointment. Cousin, it goes to show how very special thee is.”

  “Indeed, I feel much the same way,” Irene said. “I tried to help with Marta on our mission, and I failed miserably. I don't know what Flora would have done without Bruce's help.”

  “Well, if we were all as pretty as thee, Irene, the rest of us wouldn't need to work so hard on our talents.” Flora went to her sister a
nd laid an encouraging hand on her shoulder.

  “Flora, beauty fades.” Irene patted her sister's hand and gazed into the fire, a rare pensive expression crossing her face. “What man would want a woman without talent? One who is afraid of childbirth?” Her voice faded on the last word.

  Flora's heart lurched as she sensed a deeper fear in her sister than she'd realized. “Since when has thee been frightened of childbirth?”

  “When mother lost three babes after us, and when Marta went through all that pain only to lose the very reward she'd labored so hard for.” Irene's liquid blue eyes searched her own. “Never mind me, I just need some time to get over it. Sounds like a new life was brought into the world today and both mother and child are healthy and fine. Perhaps hearing thy story will make me feel better.”

  “Indeed.” Flora nodded, her excitement returning. “The baby was a precious little girl with a patch of brown fuzz upon her head. She cried loudly, demonstrating a sturdy set of lungs. The only complication was a breech. I turned her in the womb and a moment later she was born. This time I didn't lose the child.”

  “Flora, little Jimmy wasn't thy fault.” Bruce's soothing voice floated across the room. “It happened. That's all.”

  “Deep down I know that.” Flora moved to sit in the same chair where Bruce had sat yesterday. In spite of Clint being there to encourage her, it was Bruce's comforting voice she kept hearing throughout the morning. How could she express that without sounding so strange? “I wish thee could have been there.”

  Something flickered in his gaze, but she wasn't sure what. He looked around the room as if in sudden discomfort. Now that she thought about it, he'd seemed quite preoccupied at breakfast.

  “Bruce, is something wrong? Thee hardly ate this morning.” She leaned forward. “Perhaps thee is hungry now? I'd be happy to make some sausage gravy and biscuits.”

  “No, that's all right.” He held up a hand. “I didn't think thee had noticed anyone else before taking off with Clint.” His voice took on a hard edge. Feeling as if he was once again displeased with her, Flora bristled and sat back.

  “Perhaps it was foolish, but I was concerned that thee had only taken two sips of thy coffee, a bite of sausage, ate only half thy eggs and none of thy biscuit.” Flora crossed a leg over her knee and kicked her foot back and forth.

  “Wow, that's detailed.” Belinda stared at her. “I don't think I've ever paid that close attention to someone else's plate before.”

  “It's only insignificant details,” Flora assured her cousin as she folded her arms. The last thing she needed was for them to mistake the attention she paid Bruce.

  “Well, then, tell me what I had and how much I ate of it.” Irene leaned her elbows on her lap and watched Flora with a knowing grin.

  “Don't be absurd.” Flora waved a hand in the air. “I happened to notice he didn't eat much. That's all.”

  “What did Clint have?” Irene asked.

  Flora paused. Not only did she have no idea, but she couldn't even tell anyone what Clint liked to eat. She knew all about Bruce's eating habits. He preferred scrambled eggs over boiled or fried, and sausage over bacon, biscuits over toast, and grits over oatmeal.

  All eyes stared at her, as if waiting for a response. The truth would be giving them what they wanted. She couldn't admit to not knowing Clint as well as Bruce. How would it sound if she accepted his courtship? Truth was, she hadn't considered Clint's offer of courtship today, only Bruce's proposal.

  “Don't be embarrassed, Flora,” Bruce said, once again coming to her rescue. “I happen to know that thee had only half thy cup of coffee and another glass of water. Thee ate a biscuit with grape jam, all of thy scrambled eggs, two slices of bacon, and no sausage.”

  Irene clapped her hands. “That's even better than Flora's memory. I think it's so romantic.”

  “But I thought thee liked Clint?” Belinda paused in her sewing to glance back and forth at Flora and Bruce. “Is thee in love with Bruce?”

  “Just because one happens to know what another eats, doesn't mean one is in love with that person.” Flora jumped up from her chair with the intention of escaping before Bruce made her regret her blunder.

  16

  The next morning, Flora rose with the dawn and asked Bruce if he would step outside with her. It was then that he knew her answer. He nodded and followed her to the porch swing. Disappointment riddled him with a mixture of anger and fear as he sat beside her.

  “I wish thee would come back with us on the train. Winter is coming, and I can't help worrying about thee out there in the cold,” she said.

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Adjusting the hat on his head, he looked out at the sun rising over the ridge of the trees. The rooster crowed, breaking the silence of dawn.

  Cold fingers slid over his. It was like a dagger piercing his heart, but he didn't pull away.

  “Bruce, please don't be angry with me, but I need more time to pray about our future and to see how things go when we return home.”

  He didn't answer. He was angry, and lying would do neither of them any good. She knew him almost as well as he knew her.

  “Bruce…please…don't hate me.”

  He swallowed the anxiety clogging his throat. “I could never hate thee, Flora.” His voice sounded flat. At least it didn't reflect the pain aching inside him.

  She pressed a sealed letter into his hand. “I wrote this last night when I couldn't sleep. Don't read it until thee is close to home. Traveling by train, Irene and I may even beat thee home.”

  “Be careful, Flora. Stay in sight of each other at all times. And trust no one.” He chuckled with sarcasm. “Here I am telling thee what to do again.” He lifted his hands as if in surrender and dropped them back on his thighs. The swing rocked them with the sudden movement.

  “It's fine. I now understand that it's only because thee cares,” she said.

  “A lot of good it did me. I'd better go get the horse and wagon ready.” He started to rise, but Flora grabbed his arm, halting him.

  “My decision to stay isn't what thee thinks.” She touched his chin and turned his gaze down to her. He looked into her blue-gray eyes. Fresh pain sliced his gut. Moisture filled his eyes. She leaned forward as if she was about to kiss him, but he pulled away. He blinked and stood with abrupt force. He wouldn't allow her to tease and torment him like this. It was too cruel, even if she did think he deserved it after all his childhood taunts.

  “Bruce?” Confusion clouded her expression. “Read my letter. It will explain everything.”

  He clutched the paper in his hand, tempted to rip it up and throw it away. Perhaps he would throw it in the campfire he'd make later that night. Instead, he dropped his hands to his sides.

  “I hope thee is happy with Clint Roberts.” He turned and bounced down the steps.

  “It isn't like that. Thee is mistaken.” Tears now filled her voice, but he refused to turn around. He wouldn't be strong to do what he had to do if he saw her weeping. Forcing his legs to stride faster, Bruce hurried to the stables. First, he would see to his horse.

  While his horse ate oats and drank water, Bruce pulled the wagon out into the yard. He checked the brakes and the wheels. A purple-cloaked figure floated toward him.

  “What happened?” Irene asked. “Flora's inside crying and won't come out of our chamber.”

  “I'm glad thee came out. Is there anything thee would like to take out of the wagon and keep here? If not, I'll deliver it home to thy parents.”

  “We already have our trunks. That should be enough to take with us on the train. We appreciate thee delivering the rest.” Irene sighed.

  “It's the least I can do.” He nodded.

  “Thee didn't answer my question.”

  “To be quite honest, I've no idea why she's weeping.” He threw his hands in the air. “I don't know what she wants from me.” He stomped toward the stables to get his horse. “I'm getting out of here before I lose my mind and she manages to destr
oy what little is left of it.”

  “I don't understand.” Irene followed him.

  “I always thought Flora was so level-headed and sensible compared to all the other girls. Maybe I was wrong.”

  “Thee of all people should know the truth about my sister.”

  “Give my thanks to thy aunt and uncle.” He led his horse from the stall and backed him up toward the wagon.

  “Thee should tell them thyself.” Irene crossed her arms.

  “I think it's better this way, Irene.” Bruce pulled the harness over the horse and fastened the buckles to hitch him to the wagon. “They all know that I'm leaving today.”

  “But not like this!” Irene tugged on his arm. “Listen, Flora doesn't love Clint. I know it.”

  “So do I, but I can't convince her to change her mind if she believes she'll be happier with him.” Bruce jerked away. “And I won't stand around and watch.”

  “I'm afraid both Flora and thee will regret this.” Tears filled her eyes, causing him to pause and reflect on his previous opinion of her.

  “Don't worry, Irene. Remember what thee told me? Things have a way of working out.” He tried to lighten the atmosphere between them, not wanting to make things worse. “Flora will feel better in a few days.”

  “This is all wrong.” She blinked back tears. “Flora doesn't get upset very often.”

  “I know,” Bruce said. “But I can't fix this for her. She's the one with a decision to make.”

  Bruce flicked the reins, and the horse stepped into action. It felt awkward not having Flora and Irene sitting on the wagon seat next to him. He scooted to the middle and stretched out his legs, but the emptiness lingered.

  Over the next week, he covered a good distance since he didn't have to stop as often as he had when the women were with him. His diet suffered. He missed Flora's pancakes and biscuits, as well as her coffee. He missed the Star quilt. It would have been a nice map on the way back home. Instead, he stayed on the main roads, asked about his location when he came to small towns, and tried to remember the image of the quilt map as he judged distances.