“But Pastor, Flora and I were planning to travel by train,” Irene said. “We were just there today inquiring about ticket prices. It's well known that the train is our plan. Would that not cause some suspicion if we were to suddenly change our minds?” Irene's surprised expression mirrored Flora's own feelings. She felt sorry for her sister, knowing how much she'd been looking forward to the train.
“Has thee already purchased the tickets?” John asked, his gaze flitting from Irene to Flora.
“No, but we were both so excited to be traveling by train that we've been telling everyone.” Irene touched Flora's wrist, soliciting her support. “Haven't we, Flora?”
“Y…yes,” Flora said, struggling to find her voice. She risked a glance in Bruce's direction, but he stared down at his bowl as if entranced. In spite of his rugged coloring from being out in the sun, he looked a bit pale. She had heard that Bruce was an avid abolitionist and his trips were in support of the cause. At least that was one thing in his character for which she could find no fault. If he was already active in such missions, she didn't want to stand in his way. His lack of silence could only mean one thing—he wasn't in favor of the idea any more than she.
“Irene, I'm sorry thee wouldn't be able to go by train. I know it's a huge disappointment, but think of the three souls thee could save in the process.” John touched her elbow. “There will be other opportunities to travel by train. This couple and their baby may not get another chance. They've already run away from their master. If caught, they could be beaten to death. We have to help them. Please consider it.”
Irene looked down, but not before Flora saw her trembling chin. How could one argue with the pastor's compassionate plea?
“I already know where Bruce stands on the subject of slavery, and what the Saferight family believes as a whole, but I've yet to hear an opinion from thee, Flora.” She could feel Pastor John's gaze upon her.
Lifting her attention from the table, she realized Bruce's green eyes watched her in silence. Her face grew warm under his scrutiny. Whatever was he thinking? Why wasn't he talking? She took a deep breath and licked her lips.
“Like my family, I strongly believe that no human being should own another. However, I've no experience in such matters, and I feel this mission is too important for me to be the midwife. Thee has made a wise decision in selecting Bruce. He's more than capable and well-respected in the community for completing his commitments.”
John finished chewing and swallowed as he weighed her words.
Bruce continued to study her, an eyebrow cocked and his eyes widened with an expression of curiosity. She ignored him and took a bite of her chicken and dumplings. In spite of how much she disliked him, if he expected her to lie—even about his abilities—he was quite wrong and didn't know her as well as he thought.
“Know what I think, Flora?” John lowered his spoon. “I think thee is not recognizing thy God-given gifts.” He pointed in her direction with a grin. “Thee has a heart to serve others, and that is why thee was called to midwifery.”
“True. I cannot deny it.” She nodded. “But perhaps I'm not ready. This is a lot of responsibility. How would we travel? The risk and danger keep weighing on my mind. Irene is only sixteen. Has thee spoken with Mother and Father?”
“Not yet.” He shook his head and took a deep gulp of water, while Bruce and Irene ate in silence. He set down his glass. “I wanted to first broach the subject with thee and Irene before I asked their permission. No need to do that if thee and thy sister are opposed.”
“We believe in the cause. I'm just not sure if we are the right people to be involved,” Flora said.
“The circumstances are perfect. Thee and Irene are already scheduled to travel to Virginia. All thee must do is change the way thee would travel. We have a special wagon with a compartment beneath the wagon bed. The slaves would hide in there while Bruce appears to be escorting thee and Irene to visit your family in Charlottesville. We've used this special wagon in lots of other missions, which were all successful. Believe me, Flora, there is some risk, but this is the least suspicious way.”
“Will we be camping the whole way?” Irene twisted her lips, obviously displeased at the thought. Flora smiled, knowing her sister was already mentally comparing the comfort of a train to the outdoor elements.
“We have Quaker families along the way who will receive thee with open arms. They will give thee a place to sleep, a warm bath, and food. But there will be some camping. I won't deny that.” John looked from Irene to Flora. “Will thee at least consider it? I need to know in a couple of days so I'll have time to make other arrangements, if not.”
Flora sighed, her chest feeling heavy. She glanced at Bruce, who gulped his water like a man who had gone too long without a well. “Bruce is very quiet. I'd like to know his thoughts.” She raised an eyebrow, plopped her chin on her palm, and waited.
He grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and sat back in his chair.
“For once, I agree with thee, Flora.” He scratched his reddish-blond sideburns. “This is an excellent cause, but Pastor John, the risk of danger is too great with two innocent women without any experience.”
“See? It's just as I said.” Flora tried to ignore the sting to her pride. His response had been just what she thought it would be. He didn't want her along any more than she wanted to go. “I know it's rare that Bruce Millikan and I agree on anything, but in this case we're united.”
Pastor John scooted his chair back, the legs scraping against the wooden floor. A mischievous grin played at his lips. His brown eyes lit with interest as he stared at Flora and then Bruce. He rubbed his stomach in satisfaction.
“Well, I happen to disagree.” He pointed at Bruce. “The same danger existed when thee first started out on these missions. Where does thee think experience begins? It always starts with innocence. I think this mission is perfect for both Flora and Irene—and it isn't so different from Mr. and Mrs. Saferight's first mission years ago.”
Flora gasped. “Mother and Father are part of the Underground Railroad?” She exchanged a look with her sister.
After Flora and Irene said their good-byes and disappeared down the lane, Bruce slipped his thumbs through his suspenders and leaned against the porch column. “John, may I speak with thee a moment?”
“I was hoping thee would.” John turned to assess him in the lantern light hanging above them.
Moths flew around the lamp as crickets chirped nearby. The lower evening temperature gave a slight glimpse into how much cooler the days would soon become.
“Have a seat.” John stepped down, sat on the top step, and patted the area beside him. Shadow nudged his hand and flopped down, settling on the step below him. He scratched the dog's ears.
Bruce lowered himself beside John and leaned his elbows on his knees, linking his hands. Where should he start? “Flora Saferight hates me.” He blurted the statement before he realized what he intended to say.
“I doubt it's that bad.” John chuckled. “But the tension is hard to miss. What's the story?”
“There isn't a story, other than she hasn't forgiven me for some childhood taunts.” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, unsure when the uncomfortable ache had begun. “I don't really think she ever will.”
“It may not be that she hasn't forgiven thee as much as she doesn't feel she can trust thee,” John said.
“Which is why we shouldn't go on this mission together,” Bruce pointed out. “Trust is critical on a dangerous mission like this. And besides, I'm not convinced she's mature enough. Her behavior is too erratic—at least where I'm concerned.”
John rubbed his chin as silence lengthened between them. After a few moments, he gave Bruce a sideways glance. “I want the honest truth. Does thee believe Flora could do this if someone else besides thee was to escort them?”
The thought of another man escorting them, spending each day in Flora's company in such close proximity, soured his gut. He rubbed hi
s irritated stomach and turned his head to cough, his throat suddenly dry. Instead of answering, he asked, “Even though I'm the one who's experienced, thee would replace me instead of the Saferights?”
“The mission is tough on anyone in excellent health, but especially burdensome on a pregnant woman. I'm told she may not last until the end of the trip before she goes into labor. Flora has to be there. I don't know any other midwife young and healthy enough to make the grueling trip.”
“I see.” Bruce stood and leaned over the rail.
“Don't get me wrong, Bruce,” John said. “Thee is my first choice as a guide, but Flora is my first choice as a midwife. I prayed about this, and I believe I've chosen the right people.”
“She'll fight me every step of the way. If I decide something, she'll go against me just to spite me.” Bruce dropped his head back and gazed up at the stars. “As much as I hate to admit it, Flora would probably do fine with anyone else guiding them.” He glanced down at John's dark head. “Who does thee have in mind?”
“Thee—and that's the problem. Each time I prayed over the matter, thy face is the only one that kept coming to mind.” John shook his head and linked his fingers around his bent knee. “That's why I'm so baffled by thy reaction—and hers.”
“Believe me, everything concerning Flora Saferight is baffling.” Bruce allowed sarcasm to creep into his tone. “I've done everything I know to do. I've apologized—although I'm not sure of all the misdeeds I've committed to apologize for. The woman can hold a grudge and has a memory that will forever haunt a man.”
“Has thee tried talking to her?” John asked. “Just to get everything out in the open and to air the peace.”
Bruce chuckled, thinking how quickly and smoothly she could twist his words to justify her behavior. He took a couple of steps closer to John and squatted down on his haunches.
“Flora won't stay in my company long enough for a decent conversation, and if she did, I'd manage to offend her before we'd get that far.” Bruce rubbed his face, his eyes suddenly heavy and tired. “Yet I can't think of another soul I'd trust to do the job.”
“What about Bob Blankenship? He's trustworthy.” John scratched the side of his head.
“Yes, but temperamental.” Bruce shook his head. “The first time Flora flared up at him, he might lose patience.”
“There's George McGee—he's a good fellow,” John suggested.
“Last year I saw him staggering out of a tavern with a wench hanging on his arm. He doesn't do it often, but I'm afraid the girls wouldn't be safe with him.” Bruce folded his arms and paced across the porch. His boot heels clicked against the wood.
“Matthew Hunt,” John said. “He's trustworthy, and we'd never find him in a tavern. I feel confident he believes in our cause.”
“Yes, but he's too passive, and any kind of danger could befall them.” Bruce continued to pace as he stroked his chin. No one suitable came to mind.
“Everyone else is getting on in years, Bruce.” John rose with a sigh. “I think thee should pray about this and search thy soul. Why does thee really object to this trip with Flora? Is it truly because thee believes she's too immature, or is there something deeper? No other man seems to meet thy approval.” He laid a hand on Bruce's upper arm. “Son, I'd like thee to try and talk to her. We have lives at stake here. Whatever differences there are, I'm sure thee can work them out to do the will of God.”
3
Flora followed her sister into the house and untied her bonnet. She slid it off her head, handing it to Irene, who hung both their bonnets on a wall peg in the foyer.
“Flora? Irene?” Mother's voice called from the living room. “I've been worried. It's getting late.”
The smell of tobacco floated through the air and she knew her father was smoking a pipe. As tobacco farmers, the men in the Saferight family, as well as their neighbors, often indulged in smoking a pipe or rolling a cigar. Flora wrinkled her nose, hating the way the tobacco smoke lingered on her clothes.
“Why didn't thee tell us about thy work in the Underground Railroad?” Irene demanded as she stomped into the living room to confront their parents. Flora followed on her heels, wondering the same thing.
“Why would Pastor John tell thee something like that?” Her father looked up from his newspaper, his spectacles perched low on his nose. The paper rattled as he folded it over and set it on a small table.
“Because he's asked us to go on a mission.” Flora sat in the rocker across from her mother by the empty hearth. “We were both shocked. How did thee hide it from us all these years? Why not trust us?” She glanced from her father's blue-eyed gaze to her mother's gray eyes. Hurt beat in her heart.
Her parents were still quite young, in their midforties. While there was a bit of silver at her mother's temples, most of her hair was still dark brown. Her father's blond locks showed no hint of gray, only a small patch in his long beard and on the tips of his mustache. Was it true they were getting too old for such a mission?
“We didn't want our girls having to bear the burden of lying if questioned.” Father leaned forward, straightening his posture. “Thee and Irene were so young when we went on our last mission. It was easy to plan, as thee stayed with thy grandparents and were well cared for.”
Flora rocked, trying to process everything. She remembered staying with her grandparents, but she'd never suspected a thing.
“Well, I don't want to do it!” Irene flung herself on the couch. “I was so looking forward to the train ride. And besides, the whole thing sounds dangerous.”
“The risk is worth it to save lives and bring others to freedom.” Flora waved her sister's concerns away. “What has me worried is Pastor John wants Bruce Millikan to guide us.”
“Isn't he the one who used to call thee Beaver Face?” Mother tilted her head and wrinkled her nose.
“The very one.” Flora nodded, rubbing her arms as if to ward off a chill. “Why on earth would I want to spend the next two months in his company? Depending on him for protection? I'd rather face a bobcat.”
“Flora, boys do change when they become men. Thee should give him a chance.” Father gave her a pointed stare meant to reprimand her. “Forgive him.”
Fury rippled through her as her face and neck heated. Why did everyone have to defend him? Even her own father took his side over hers. She rocked harder. “I've forgiven him, but that doesn't mean I have to like being around him.” She brushed at a strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes. “Just this morning he called me foolhardy.”
“I was there, and he didn't mean anything by it, Flora.” Irene sat up. “In fact, he was a perfect gentleman all through dinner at Pastor John's house.”
“He was there?” Mother asked, looking from Irene to Flora.
“Yes, and he's quite handsome, too.” Irene smiled as she gazed off into the distance.
“Flora, tell me the details,” Father said. “Exactly what is this mission? Who's involved and where will thee be going?”
She spent the next few minutes retelling their dinner conversation at Pastor John's house. Her parents nodded, asked more questions when they needed something clarified, and often exchanged glances. When she finished, they sat in silence while her father stroked his beard and considered all that she'd told them.
“Just because they need a midwife doesn't mean I have to go,” Irene said, her tone a lingering pout.
“If thy sister decides to do this,” Mother said, “she can't go alone with a man. It wouldn't be proper. No one will know the slaves are with them and it will appear as if she's traveling alone with Bruce Millikan. Thy presence is required for propriety's sake.”
“So this whole thing will be Flora's decision? I don't have a say-so?” Irene's lower lip quivered.
“Irene and Flora, I want thee to stop thinking about thyselves and consider the Lord's will in this and the lives at stake,” Father said. He turned his attention to Flora. “If I was going instead of Bruce Millikan, would thee do this?�
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Flora gulped and stopped rocking. She imagined an anxious couple, a woman desperate to save her unborn child, and conviction shamed her selfish pride. Dropping her head, she whispered a silent prayer in her heart: Lord, please forgive me for being so inconsiderate.
“I would.” She took a deep breath and met her father's gaze.
“Then thee must do what is right.” Father gave her a nod of approval and sat back in his chair, settling the matter.
The rooster crowed. Bruce bolted straight up in bed, the air whooshing out of him. Disoriented, he rubbed his eyes, still swollen from sleep.
“That bird sounds like he's standing on my window sill.” His hoarse voice cracked through the nip in the air. It was cold enough to start a fire this morning. He rubbed his hands together and blew his warm breath on them.
He glanced at the window, where the curtains left a slight opening. Darkness still lined the edges of the skyline above the trees. Blinking, he tried to push the sleep from his eyes. Bruce flipped the cover to the side and grimaced as the cold prickled his legs and arms. A chill raced up his spine, and he shivered as he swung his feet over the side and stepped onto the cold wooden floor.
Footsteps passed by his door. His brother would beat him downstairs this morning—a rare occurrence. He squinted in the dark to make out the shadows of his dresser and trunk at the foot of the bed. He bent, feeling for the latch, and raised the lid. The hinges creaked.
Bruce pulled out a pair of clean pants and a button shirt. He dressed and went to the wash basin to clean his hands and face. The cold water jarred him awake as he groaned from the impact.
Path of Freedom: Quilts of Love Series Page 3