Path of Freedom Read Online Free PDF Page B

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?”
    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.
    If he hadn't spent so much time pondering how he was going to approach Flora Saferight, he might have gotten more sleep. The girl, no, woman—the woman had a way of paralyzing his nerves. He had once thought of her as a girl, but after spending time in her company last night, he would never be able to think of her as a girl again. She cooked as well as his mother and had tried to argue her way out of going by highlighting his good qualities when she could have chosen to use his flaws against him. If only he'd been as considerate to her over the years. He grabbed a towel to dry his face and neck.
    Then there were the physical changes in Flora. Her coffee-colored hair now contained sandy highlights, and wisps of it kept falling from her bun and framing her square face. As a child her face had seemed too wide, but as a woman her features had softened. The freckles he remembered had smoothed into her skin and her wide nose seemed smaller.
    Her blue-gray eyes were bright and full of intelligence when she assessed him, claiming his attention almost to the point of distraction. Each time she had glanced at him, he had lost his thoughts on the conversation.