He shoved his hands to his sides and gave a reluctant sigh. “All right, but don't go far.”
Flora led Marta deeper into the woods. As they walked, the sound of water could be heard. Excitement bubbled in Flora's chest at the thought of replenishing their water supply and being able to wash their pots and dishes.
“Marta, I believe we may be near a river.” Flora turned her back as her friend squatted to take care of her personal needs.
“I hear it, too,” Marta said, joining her a moment later.
“It doesn't sound far. Let's see if we can get to it from here. We need more water.” Flora motioned for Marta to follow.
They came to a clearing. Below them a dark river poured over a hill of rocks, winding through the earth like a snake. The bank's surface wasn't as smooth as Flora had hoped, but not impossible to maneuver. She would have to return with Irene. It would be too much for Marta.
A growl rumbled across the moving water. Flora looked up, and her gaze met the dark eyes of a dog standing on the other side and showing a set of fangs. He stood still, watching her as his body tensed, fully alert.
Marta gasped. A piercing bark broke through the sky, followed by more growling. A man stood from where he'd been fishing on the side of the bank. He squinted and leaned forward, pointing at them.
“Hey, there! Why're y'all on my property?” He waved his hand in the air, his Southern drawl full of suspicion. “Ain't no houses for miles ’round here, so y'all can't be a-visitin’.”
“Miz Flora, we got to go back.” Marta's voice whined with fear.
“Shush, we've got to stay calm,” Flora whispered. She took a deep breath. “I beg thy pardon, sir. We were just passing through and will soon be on our way.”
“A Quaker!” He raised a fist above his head and shook it with fury. “I know what you people do. Helped my Negro escape, and I won't stand for it happening again on my property!”
Flora closed her eyes, wishing she had altered her speech in spite of her convictions. Wouldn't it have been worth it to save their lives? Now she'd put them all at risk. If only she'd had a little more time to consider her options and the consequences.
“Go get ’em, Jethro!” The man dropped his fishing pole and bent toward his dog, waving the animal into the river. Like a dutiful pet, the hound barked at them and ran leaping into the water with a splash. Flora glanced at the width of the river, measuring the short distance. She wished it was wider—it wouldn't buy them much time if they were being pursued across it.
“I'm going to catch y'all!” He bent and retrieved his rifle, aiming it at them.
“Run, Marta!” Flora turned and stepped in front of her friend, hoping to shield her and the unborn baby. She closed her eyes waiting for the pain to slice into her back as the sound exploded through the air, echoing through the woods. The dog growled as he swam.
Once they were out of sight, Flora grabbed Marta's hand and pulled her east. “This way.”
“That's the wrong way.” Marta jerked back toward the wagon.
“No, listen to me.” Flora chased her, grabbing her arm and tugging her east again. “We can't lead him back to the others. This way they'll hear the gunshots and will have a chance to escape.” Flora tugged her arm again. “Please! We have to do this for our loved ones. Thee wouldn't want Jim to die, would thee?”
“No.” Marta shook her head, now following Flora, tears streaming down her face. They shoved branches aside. Marta almost tripped over a root. Flora paused long enough to steady her, but she cried out, gripping the lower part of her round belly.
“Don't give up, Marta,” Flora urged her. “We must survive this for the baby's sake.”
Marta whimpered but kept moving. Her labored breathing worried Flora, but she couldn't allow her to rest. Not yet. It was still too dangerous.
The dog started barking again. Flora groaned, knowing he'd crossed the river and would soon be upon their heels. The barking grew closer. Flora cringed, realizing he must have picked up their scent once he'd left the water. What could she do? Lord, help us!
As they ran, her mother's words came back to her about how water would cause hunting dogs to lose their scent. She hated the thought of doing so, but they would have to jump into the river if they wanted to lose this dog before his owner caught up with him.
“Marta, can thee swim?”
“Naw.” She forced the word between gasping breaths.
“We're going to have to jump in the river to make him lose our scent.” Flora led her back to the sound of running water, twisting from a briar that had caught her skirt. “Trust me.”
They came to the bank where water poured faster over the rocks along the edge. Flora spotted a smooth ridge where they could ease in without jumping from a high distance.
“What ’bout snakes? I'm scared o’ snakes.” Marta jerked her arm back and hesitated.
“It may be too cold for snakes. Besides, we don't have a choice. Just keep praying for the Lord to protect us.”
The cold water soaked their clothes as they gasped from the frigid shock. Flora took deep breaths, determined to convince her body that it wasn't as bad as it felt. The water was only up to their chests in this part of the river. They traveled along the edge until Flora saw a fallen tree wedged between some rocks in the water. She pointed. “We'll hide under that.”
“Looks…like a…beaver dam…to me,” Marta said between shivers. “God…be with us.”
“Here, hang onto this tree trunk.” Flora pulled Marta's hand over the bark where a strong branch jutted out and would hide her. “Thee should be safe here until Bruce can come back for thee.”
“You can't leave me ’ere like this!” Marta grabbed Flora, her tone frantic.
The dog's barking grew louder.
“It's too small for us both. I'll try and find a place to hide on the other side, or nearby.” Flora lifted a finger over her lips.
“No matter what, be quiet.”
Flora held her breath and ducked under the water with the intention of surveying the other side. The current gripped her skirt and sucked her toward the middle, where it was deeper. She floundered, groping for any steady object she could hold onto, but there was none.
Finally, she rose to the surface and gasped for air, flailing her legs and arms. If only she had learned to swim. The bubbling water carried her forward, and she slammed into a rock. Pain ripped through her elbow as the current pulled her back under.
Bruce paused at the sound of a rifle echoing through the woods. It vibrated through him like blood thundering in his veins. His gaze met Jim's and then Irene's. Both their eyes widened in fear.
“I'm going after ’em.” Jim turned in a circle and sprinted east.
“No!” Bruce dropped his load of firewood. Jim was quick, but Bruce managed to catch him before he got too far. Jim tried to yank free, but Bruce held his shoulders tight, both men breathing hard.
“Listen to me. It may only be hunters, and we can't risk exposing Marta and Flora if they haven't yet been discovered.” Bruce shook Jim to make him pay attention. “We can't panic. We need to stay calm so we can think clearly. They're depending on us. All right?”
Jim nodded, breathing heavily.
“If I let thee go, will thee agree not to run after them?”
“Yeah, but what's we going to do?”
A dog barked. The sound of limbs thrashing about alerted Bruce to how close they were to being discovered themselves. Bruce tried not to tremble as he imagined Flora and Marta running through the woods, frightened.
“Let's get out of here. I need to get thee and Irene to a safe place so I can come back and look for them.” Bruce nudged Jim toward the wagon.
“Not without me.” Jim said, his jaw vibrating as he blinked back tense emotion. “If anything happens to her, I don't know what I'll do.” He shook his head, wiping tears from his face.
“Keep thy faith.” Bruce gripped his shoulder, ignoring the dreaded pool of concern in his own gut.
> When they reached the wagon, Irene clutched her stomach as silent tears streamed down her face. “I'm so worried.”
“I know,” Bruce said, pointing at the small campfire. “Pour some water over that and cover it with dirt. And if anyone asks, thee is my little sister and we're visiting relatives outside of Charlottesville.”
“Thee would have me lie?” She wiped her wet face, staring at him in shocked confusion.
“No, for we are brother and sister in Christ.” Bruce opened the false-bottom latch and swung the door open. “Hurry, Jim. We don't have much time.”
Jim slid inside. Bruce and Irene climbed onto the seat. He flicked the reins and clucked his tongue. The horse lurched forward, always quick to obey. “Good boy,” Bruce said.
He traveled at a brisk pace, guiding them back onto the main road. Irene sniffled, wiping more tears from her eyes. He wished she had a similar constitution to her sister. Flora wouldn't be weeping and falling apart but trying to help solve things. An ache seized his chest, an empty void at the realization that Flora wasn't sitting on this wagon bench with them where she belonged.
“Lord, keep them safe and lead me to them.” The prayer came out in a whisper.
“What?” Irene leaned toward him, inclining her ear.
“Thee should try to stop crying so thee won't raise suspicion if we pass anyone.”
“I'm sorry.” She wiped the rest of her tears with her sleeve. “Thee is right. I should try to be strong like Flora.” She straightened her back and lifted her chin, then folded her hands in her lap.
Guilt sliced through him. How had she known what he was thinking?
When he felt that they had gone far enough, Bruce pulled off the road and cut a path into the woods. He found another secure spot and set the brake.
“This time I'm unhitching the horse and riding back for them. It's too far to walk and time is of the essence. I'm leaving my hat here. No need to draw attention to my Quaker roots right now.”
“What about Jim?” Irene asked, her eyes red-rimmed. She pulled her shawl tight around her as she trembled.
“Don't let him out until I return. He'll be too tempted to come after us and search for Marta.” Bruce jumped down and unsnapped the harness. “If anyone happens by, tell them thee is waiting on thy brother to return and that we're only looking for a place to camp.”
Inside the covered wagon, he pulled the saddle he'd thrown over his supply trunk and worked fast to ready his horse. His hands shook with worry. He'd never struggled with fastening a saddle around a horse as he did now. He took a deep breath and slipped a foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over and settled in the seat.
Irene walked toward him. Her shoulders continued to tremble and her eyes swam with tears, but he didn't have time to comfort her. “Irene, I know thee is scared, but I need thee to be strong and pray.”
“I will.” She nodded. “I'll pray by the wagon so Jim can hear me.”
“There's a good girl.” Bruce gave her an approving smile before whirling his horse around. He nudged his heels into the animal's sides and clicked his tongue, signaling him into a gallop.
Bruce prayed as the cool wind rushed against his face. As he drew near, the sound of a barking dog alerted him to the direction to take. Bruce dismounted and tied his horse to a tree and proceeded on foot, stepping around leaves and branches as softly and slowly as he dared.
“Well, Jethro, looks like we lost ’em.”
Bruce peered around a tree to see a man in his mid-thirties carrying a rifle. He bent down and patted his white and brown spotted hound. “I didn't get across the river in time.” He sighed, lifting off his brown hat and scratching his shaggy brown head.
The dog grunted, wagging his tail.
“Well, come on. The wife will have breakfast waitin’.” The dog circled him and followed him west.
Bruce waited until they were out of sight and hearing before venturing toward the sound of water. The man had said he'd crossed the river. Why would he do that if he hadn't seen them by the river? He hadn't been wet, so maybe he'd taken the time to cross by bridge further down.
On instinct, Bruce trekked east. If the man hadn't found them, perhaps they went the opposite way, which would mean he didn't track them far enough. At twenty paces he ran into a sign nailed to a tree. “Private Property—No Trespassing.” That might explain why the man had not gone any further.
Bruce had no choice; he kept going. He scanned the banks, straining his ears for any unfamiliar sounds or sights. Not even a piece of ripped clothing gave him a clue. The longer he looked, the harder his heart thumped with fear. He wondered if it would be safe to call their names at this point. Only the sounds of running water and an occasional bird flying through the air.
He kept going and stopped after another twenty paces. Looking around, he didn't see any signs of human life. He listened to his heart, paying attention to all his instincts. It was safe. “Flora!” He kept his voice low enough so it wouldn't carry too far but would reach her ears if she was nearby.
“Mister Bruce!” Marta called.
Hope lifted in his chest as he ran toward Marta's voice. He saw a fallen tree, squinted, and spotted her dark head bobbing out of the water. No sign of Flora.
“Oh, Lord, please let her be safe.” He whispered the prayer as he hurried down the bank, careful not to lose his footing.
Marta burst into tears.
“I'm coming! Hold on.” He stumbled into the water, grateful it wasn't over his head and he wouldn't have to swim to reach her. The cold water took his breath away.
When he reached her, she let go of the log and threw her arms around his neck, crying so hard he couldn't understand her words. He had to calm her so he could ask about Flora. She sputtered and sniffed, making her words unintelligible.
“Irene and Jim are safe at the wagon. I've moved it to a better location.” Bruce swept her into his arms, thinking she might be mumbling about Jim. Her trembling was so violent, he realized he would have to get her back to the camp and warmed up by the fire as soon as possible or hyperthermia might set in.
Once they reached the bank, Bruce paused to take a deep breath. “Marta…where's Flora?”
“I don't…know. She said…there wasn't enough…limbs to cover us both. She went under the log…and I ain't seen…or heard from her since.”
“Let me take a quick look for her. Wait here and be as quiet as possible. I'll be right back.” He set her down and covered her with his coat, then hurried back to the river where the log lay.
“Flora!” He scanned the water, looking for a piece of clothing, any sign that Flora might be nearby. No response. Anxiety slithered up his spine, leaving a trail of worry. He shivered. “Flora!” Still no sound. He walked a little further down. “Flora!” No response.
After a few moments, he realized he'd better get Marta to safety and warmth. His steps were heavy as he returned to Marta. “I'll get thee back to Jim and Irene. Then I'll come back for her.”
Hoping he'd made the right decision, Bruce set the horse in motion. His heart pounded to their galloping pace. Flora was strong and full of wisdom. She had to be all right. He couldn't imagine anything else. His heart wouldn't allow it.
7
Flora bobbed between rocks and crevices, skinning her knees. She stayed afloat long enough to catch her breath. “Help…Jesus!” Back under she went. Her heart pounded against her bruised ribs as the air in her lungs pressed for freedom.
Moments later the water calmed, and she drifted into a boulder. She kicked until her feet found the soft bottom. Out of breath and energy, she sagged against the huge rock. She glanced over at the bank and groaned. Blinking to clear her blurry vision, she tried to judge the distance. It looked too far. What if there were places over her head between here and there? She couldn't take the risk, at least not so soon. She would have to wait until she'd rested and regained some of her strength. Flora shivered, eager to climb upon the rock and rest in the sun.
“He
lp me…Lord.” Her ragged voice rasped between breaths.
Flora's skirt tangled around her knees when she tried to lift her legs, and they sank back into the water as if chained. She wouldn't give up. Gritting her teeth, Flora jumped up and grabbed onto a knob on the rock. Her hand slipped and the hard surface bit into her fingernails, cracking and pulling on them until she managed to haul her body up, soggy skirts and all.
Her breaths came in quick gasps as she crawled on sore knees to the center of the rock where it was safe. She collapsed onto her stomach. “Argh!” Pain sliced through her ribs. Flora turned on her side when the pain subsided, making it easier to breathe. Her chest expanded and contracted, but more slowly with each gasp.
“Lord, please protect Marta,” she whispered. “Don't let anyone find her but Bruce.”
An image of Marta's hazel eyes as Flora was leaving came to mind. Frightened. Worried.
Guilt stripped Flora of all thought as she squeezed her eyes shut and tears trickled through her lashes. “Please forgive me. I didn't mean to cause this.”
She wondered how long Bruce would search for them. He would probably find Marta first. Flora knew he'd keep searching for her, but for how long before he thought it endangered the mission? Would he make the decision to go on without her? Once Irene told him she couldn't swim, he would probably assume the worst.
Fear gripped her heart in icy terror, sending another tremor through her body. The sun had helped, but not fast enough. She couldn't keep her lips from quivering. Turning to face the sun, Flora let the heat embrace her face, no longer caring if her pale skin darkened with color. Warmth was all she craved at the moment. Once she achieved that, she'd concentrate on the next step.
Flora closed her eyes and breathed slowly and deliberately, thankful for each breath of fresh air. She listened to the steady flow of water all around, strangely calmed by it after nearly drowning earlier. As her shivering faded, a languid fatigue soothed her body. Her worn muscles felt as if someone had tied a fully packed trunk to each limb.
Path of Freedom: Quilts of Love Series Page 8