Path of Freedom by Jennifer Hudson Taylor

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