Flight for Life

by Stephy Smith

  “I best gets back to my post. Send word if you need anythin’ or if somethin’ new arises.” Isaac turned and walked away.

  Sitting outside the door was driving Stephen crazy. He wanted to see how things were on the other side of the wall without going in. He remembered when the twins were born, and Doc kicked him out of the room. Stephen felt the strange need to see all of his children. He walked down the hallway to where little Thomas would be asleep. Eliza placed Thomas in Stephen’s arms. He hugged the baby and kissed him on his chubby cheek. Thomas closed his little eyes.

  At Lola’s cabin, Emma and Hannah still played with the treasure chest. Stephen listened through the door. He heard his girls giggle with a few of the other girls. He walked in and talked to them a few minutes, hugged and kissed them, then headed to the woodshop to check on Hezekiah and Ezekiel.

  Pride swelled his heart. He peeked in as the twins worked side by side with Leroy. He answered question after question they fired at him. Stephen smiled. Those two boys of his never shut up. They were eager to learn each tool and what it was used for. Leroy was a good and patient teacher.

  Leroy noticed they had company. “Hello, Mr. Stephen.” The boys whirled around and ran to their pa.

  “I see you have a couple of hands here, Leroy. How much you think they will be worth in a few years?” Stephen teased.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Stephen. They’s slow at learning the trade. It may takes a spell for them to get it right,” Leroy said, adding a laugh. “Mr. Stephen, they’s pretty good. I’d sure hate to teach myself out of a job. Look at this here mendin’ they done on that split wagon tongue. That’s the best job I ever sees done on a split.” Leroy winked at Stephen. The smiles on the boys’ faces showed gleaming white teeth.

  Stephen filled Leroy in on the surgery Doc would perform on Flora. Leroy knew his mother-in-law would be there to help with whatever needed to be done.

  “That Miss Flora, poor woman, she got more troubles than a duck’s got water,” Leroy said.

  “Have you heard something about her?” Stephen searched Leroy’s face for some answers, and he let his hopes rise.

  “No sir, I just sees the look in her eye. Until she’s ready to empty that pot of beans, you may as well eat the cornbread. From what I can tell, she’s ready to talk. She’s more afraid to disappoint you and yo’r family than she is of her troubles.”

  “Are you sure of this?”

  “As sure as we’re standin’ here, Mr. Stephen.”

  “Do you think if she’d told, she would have been stronger than she is now?” Stephen said, more to himself than to Leroy.

  “Oh yes, sir. It wouldn’t be as hard on her soul. She’s fighting for her life and for her mind. That’s what my mama used to tell me. People with troubles hurt themselves more than they hurt others. They can lock their selves out of their own minds if they’s not careful.”

  “Thanks, Leroy.” Stephen turned and ran to the house. He took the stairs two at a time and was out of breath when he reached Zaidee’s door. It swung open just as he lifted his fist to knock, and the doctor emerged.

  “How is she?”

  “We got most of the infection out. I’ll be back in a few hours to clean the wound again. Clara got the fever to break.”

  “Doc? Do you think it’s possible for a person to lock themselves out of their own minds?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that before. When they lock their minds, it takes longer for them to heal. Their minds can’t send messages to the body to help fight off infections and fevers. You trying to tell me Flora has done that?”

  “I think there’s a possibility. Talk to Joseph. Find out what he knows. Maybe he can help you.” Stephen entered the room. “Joseph, you need to talk with Doc in the hallway.”

  ****

  “What do you know about Flora?” Doc asked.

  “I know she’s got some deep troubles she’s not ready to talk to anyone about. I’ve waited for some kind of sign, and when she tried to tell me, I pushed her away. I didn’t know then she wanted to tell me something important. I was hunting the man who was lurking around here.”

  “Do you know her secret?”

  “I know a lot of it. I would rather let her tell it before I say anything. I—it doesn’t change the way I feel about her. She’s doing what she has to. She’s got to protect herself the only way she knows how.” Joseph ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Encourage her to wake up and tell you. You need to reassure her of your feelings so she will be comfortable with hers.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” Joseph entered the room. “Would y’all mind if I ask you to leave?”

  Stephen steered Clara and Lola to the door. He smiled back at Joseph. Stephen had the worst part to deal with ahead of him. He had to deal with keeping Clara and Lola preoccupied. Joseph had it easy with Flora.

  Joseph paced the floor. He walked to the window and peered out. “You should see how much the gardens have grown. The herbs are full and bushy. They’re all so green and fragrant. Flowers are blooming every day. Flora, the smell of the roses and lilacs is so strong, it almost covers the whole plantation.” His voice trailed off. He didn’t know what to say to the woman in the bed, fighting for her life.

  “Hezekiah, Ezekiel, Hannah, and Emma want to come see you. All the children on the plantation want to come see you. They miss you. You captured their hearts along with the rest of ours. Clara and Lola worry the most. They have both been through so much. But you know that.” His voice caught in his throat.

  Walking back to the bed, Joseph picked up the brush and mindlessly brushed Zaidee’s hair. “Your hair, your face, your voice and laughter, your mind, are so beautiful. Oh, so beautiful. Did I tell you every morning when I wake up, I’m so grateful you came into my life? No, I don’t guess I have. That’s going to change. I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

  Zaidee lay on the bed, still unmoving, still unresponsive. Joseph watched for a sign—any sign that she could hear him, understand what he was saying. His heart felt like a sinking ship, with nowhere to go but down.

  A knock on the door drew Joseph out of his trance. The door opened and in walked his mother and father. Jumping from the bed, he ran to them.

  “Stephen sent word. He’s worried about you and Clara. Says you have a problem.” Mrs. Solomon hugged her son.

  Joseph then hugged his father. “Stephen may have more problems than me. Mine is in a coma; he is dealing with Clara and Lola, who can talk back.”

  “You’re not fooling me none, Joseph. You are beside yourself over this woman.” His mother stared him in the eyes.

  “I don’t know what to do. We were having a talk when you knocked. Let me introduce you to her. Ma, Pa, this here is Flora. Flora, I’d like you to meet my parents.” He absentmindedly sat on the bed, the brush still in his hand. He began brushing her hair again.

  “She’s quite lovely, Joseph. Where did you meet her?” his father asked.

  Joseph gazed at the face on the pillow and related the story to his father.

  “Mother, would you sit with Flora? I want to speak to Joseph in the hall for a minute,” Mr. Solomon said.

  Joseph and his father stepped into the hallway. Clara and Lola waited outside. “You two may go in with Mother for a minute or two.” They jumped at the chance and closed the door behind them.

  “Son, do you know who that girl is? Do you know what she’s running from?” the tall, gray-haired man asked.

  “I know some of the story. Do you know?” Joseph asked.

  “Oh, yes, indeed we know.”

  “We? Who’s we?”

  “Your mother and me. Sit, Joseph, I’ll tell you.”

  ****

  After the talk with his father, Joseph returned to Zaidee’s room. He picked up the brush and began humming a song he remembered from his childhood. A slight movement caught the corner of Joseph’s eye. He turned his head to the window. A tiny squirrel perched on its back legs and chattered. Joseph waved his arms in
an attempt to shoo the squirrel from the room. It hurtled from the window sill to the fireplace mantel and ran across it. Knocking over some of Zaidee’s knick-knacks there, it scurried past and stopped at the end of the shelf.

  Joseph ran for the door and called for a broom. Lola, Clara, and Mrs. Solomon ran in with brooms. Lola also brought a feather duster.

  “Where you want us to begin?” Lola asked.

  Joseph pointed to the squirrel. The three ladies went after it as if it were a mortal enemy. With much racket from the shoes colliding with the wooden floor, the women set out after the furry-tailed creature. With every swing, the squirrel managed to escape unharmed.

  Mrs. Solomon took the first swing, knocking the lamp from the table. The glass globe burst across the floor. The next swing, she hit the wash bowl, sending it into more pieces. She threatened to toss the squirrel into the stewing pot for supper. “He’s coming your way, Clara! Get him,” she called out.

  Clara took a mighty swing. Straw from the broom littered the floor when she slammed it into the wall. She brandished her stick with tiny nubs, striking anything within her reach. Except the squirrel. It was quick and sly.

  Lola wielded her broom as if she were in a major battle. The little brown rodent scampered across the floor toward her. She reared back and swung. The broom connected with the bed post. The bone-jarring thud caused Lola to wince, and then she got the look. Joseph ducked just in time as Lola threw her broom through the air at the enemy.

  Joseph grabbed the feather duster, poking it at the frightened little animal. It ducked and dodged the brooms. The squirrel pounced from the mantel to the mosquito netting above Zaidee’s bed. The four people stopped dead in their tracks, afraid one wild swing would hit the precious patient lying below.

  Slowly, Joseph approached with the feather duster. The squirrel ran up the sheer curtain, across the top, and down the other side before it jumped to the floor. Scrambling to the other side of the bed, the broom-wielders took after the little beast. It hopped up to the spare bed where the ladies, swinging wildly, caught the netting in their brooms and ripped it from the hanger.

  Arms flailed in the air to free their weapons, and the ripped, shredded pieces of the netting clung to the battered straw from the brooms. Slipping and sliding across the floor, the three continued their pursuit.

  The varmint escaped and ran across the floor, hiding under Zaidee’s bed. Joseph hit the floor along with them. Lying on their stomachs, they peered underneath. There was no sign of the squirrel, until Clara whispered, “There’s the tip of its tail sticking out from under the blanket.”

  Then it disappeared, climbing deeper into the covers. The four of them raced to the edge of the bed, staring at the lump traveling under the covers up Zaidee’s leg, across her abdomen and peeking out on her chest.

  Joseph waved the feather duster at it. The squirrel ran to Zaidee’s shoulder, where it hunched down in the hollow of her neck. Joseph poked at it with his weapon. It hissed at him and hid its face behind Zaidee’s ear lobe.

  Lola reached in. The squirrel squealed and jumped at her. Lola screamed and fell backward, knocking Clara and Mrs. Solomon to the floor. The squirrel wiggled its little body into Zaidee’s hair and settled in, daring another to try to remove it from its nest.

  Out of breath, the four stood staring at one another.

  “Any suggestions, ladies?”

  Lola, Clara, and Mrs. Solomon turned their heads to him. They glared at him as if he had invited the pesky little critter to stay for the winter.

  Joseph twirled around and came face-to-face with Isaac, Stephen, and his dad. Each had a smile on their faces as they glanced at the ransacked room.

  “Don’t ask them if they have any ideas,” Joseph said.

  Isaac pulled out a pair of gloves and slipped them on. In a low voice, he talked calmly to the squirrel. Slowly, he reached in and pulled the animal from the bed. Stephen held out the pillow-slip from the spare bed, and Isaac deposited the tiny creature inside and carried it from the room.

  Joseph walked out too and let the women clean. Exhausted from the battle with the squirrel, he sat in the chair outside the door . He jerked his head up and ran back through the door. “The window,” he said.

  Clara and Stephen turned their heads toward the open window. Stephen closed the gap between him and the curtains. “There’s a bullet hole burned through the sheers. That son of a flea-bitten dog was waiting for her.” He looked out the window with Joseph at his side. A rope tied to the branch had become tangled in the ivy climbing the side of the house. A piece of torn fabric hung beside it, all hidden by the leaves.

  Stephen called through the window to the men below, “When Lola spotted that fellow in the shadows, where was he hiding?”

  He ran from the room and hastened to where Isaac stood near the woods. Joseph stepped to the middle of the window to see what his brother had in mind. Isaac pointed to the tree where they had seen the stranger lurking. Stephen walked to the area. “About here?”

  “Yes, Mr. Stephen. That’s where he was when I see’d him.”

  Stephen looked up at the window in clear view. “Get old Rover and bring him to this spot.”

  Isaac returned with the best hunting dog in the kennel. He handed the lead to Stephen, then stepped back and watched as owner and dog took up the scent. The hound led Stephen in the opposite direction and then doubled back in a wide circle to the house. From there, the scent took old Rover’s nose to the road, where a wagon must have been waiting. The scent was lost.

  Joseph watched his brother retracing the steps of the shooter. Stephen never left sight of the window in which Joseph stood, not until he reached the road.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Clara poked her head out of the door.

  “Joseph, get Doc. She’s running a fever again.”

  Joseph set off at a run. His father rushed to the room to help in any way he could. When Joseph returned, Clara, Lola, and Mrs. Solomon were all busy with the thrashing, feverish patient.

  The bandage was removed from the wound and Doc glanced at Lola.

  “On my way, Doc.” Lola ran from the room to gather more herbs.

  “Me too,” Clara said. She rushed for more cold clean water.

  “Fire is almost ready,” Joseph called over his shoulder.

  “I’ll get the window,” Mrs. Solomon said.

  “I’m waiting in the hall with Stephen.” Mr. Solomon stepped out.

  Joseph entered the hallway.

  “Does this usually take long? They all know what they’re doing, and I don’t.” Mr. Solomon shrugged.

  “You remember how it felt when we kids were born? It’s kind of like that. We aren’t going to be rewarded with the sound of a newborn infant at the end of it, though,” Stephen said.

  “I can’t take this again. I just can’t.” Joseph ran his hands through his hair.

  Hurried footsteps drew Joseph out of a silent torment. Isaac appeared quickly to stand before him.

  “Dead man.” Isaac gasped between breaths. His dark face was pinched with worry and his hands shook. “I found a dead man.”

  “Where, Isaac?” Joseph rested his hands on Isaac’s shoulders to still his shuddering helper. His eyes closed with the hope it wasn’t one of his friends.

  “Back behind my cabin,” Isaac stammered.

  Joseph ran downstairs and out the door to Isaac’s cabin. Isaac led him to the back. Partially covered in the brush, the body of a man lay.

  Stephen had his horse brought around to him. He mounted. ”I’ll go for the sheriff.”

  Joseph watched as his brother rode off down the lane.

  Within an hour, Stephen returned with the sheriff. Peering at the grayish face of the deceased, the sheriff nodded. “That’s Harry Colburn. No wonder we couldn’t find him.”

  “Are you sure?” Joseph asked in disbelief. “I know it’s not Randolph Lawrence.”

  “What do you mean, that’s not Randolph Lawrence? Aren’t Colbur
n and your Lawrence fella the same?” The sheriff furrowed his brow.

  “No. This isn’t Mr. Lawrence, the guy who rode on the stage with Flora and me from New Orleans.”

  The sheriff’s serious glare bore into Joseph. “You’re sure?”

  Agitated, Joseph clearly stated once more. “That isn’t Randolph Lawrence.”

  “I’ll be cracky,” the sheriff said. He patted his waistband and pulled a folded paper out. “This came for you. I told Walt I would deliver it, since I was gonna be out this way.”

  A farmhand guided the horses and wagon around to the back of the cabin. With the body loaded inside, the driver then followed the sheriff into town. Stephen, Joseph, and Mr. Solomon walked back to the house with Isaac.

  Joseph paused on the porch. “Was that the trespasser in the shadows, Isaac?”

  “No sir. I ain’t ever seen that man befo’.”

  “People in town said Harry Colburn was looking for a runaway. Randolph Lawrence said he was looking for a runaway. I hope the sheriff finds the connection between the two.” Joseph paced the wooden porch. His gaze darted from shadow to shadow under the trees. He still held the folded paper. With a quick glance, he unfolded it and read the message.

  “Pa,” Joseph said. “I have some business to attend to. The sheriff in Charlotte wants me to come to North Carolina. Says he has some new information concerning Emmett’s murder.”

  “I’ll tell your mother and Clara. Isaac…” Mr. Solomon said.

  “On it, Mr. Solomon.” Isaac started off to the field to assign watches over the house and women.

  “I’ve got Leroy hitching the team. I sent Jubal to make our travel arrangements.” Stephen clapped Joseph on the shoulder.

  Joseph walked up the stairs, opened the door, stepped to Flora’s side, and took her hand in his. “I’ll be gone a few days. You’ll be safe here. Clara, Lola, and my mother will stay with you.” His heart plunged, torn between the need to stay and a need to go. He had to put an end to this insanity. He had to make this trip to North Carolina and find out everything he could about the murder and why these brutes pursued his woman.