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death.”
    “Bruce, she told thee it was an emergency. Irene had borrowed her cloak and she couldn't find it.” Mother shook her head. “If she hadn't returned with the doctor when she did, her mother may not have made it through that spell of pneumonia.”
    “Still, she should have done something to protect herself.” Bruce stabbed his fork into his gravy biscuit. “To me, that is foolish behavior and it makes me question if she's the right one for this mission.”
    “That's between Flora, the pastor, and God,” Father said. “For thy part, thee needs to apologize to Flora for past wrongs and set her mind at peace that thee won't provoke her on this mission.”
    What if she provokes me?
    “Why not go over there today?” Silas asked. “I could come along.”
    “What for?” Bruce turned to assess his brother, irritation gnawing at the back of his neck. All he needed was further distraction. Silas had a way of turning everything into a game, not to mention his flirting habits with the ladies. Flora had never seemed affected by his brother's charm, but how would she react now that she'd changed so much? No, he needed complete concentration when next he approached her. And today, he wasn't in that frame of mind.
    “The only time I ever get to see them is at Meeting, and most of the time that's across the room, since the men and women sit on separate sides. I miss our school days. Now we can hardly talk to a young lady without someone assuming we're courting. We belong to The Society of Friends—why must it be more than that with a woman friend?” Silas glared at Bruce across the table, a rare expression on his usually joyful face. “That is…we would still be good friends if thee wasn't always taunting and arguing with Flora.”
    Bruce could feel his skin turning a shade darker. “That was a long time ago.” He took another drink of his coffee and stood, pointing at Silas. “Not today. It's a bad idea. I'm going out to the barn to get a head start on the chores.”

    Flora woke to beams of light shining through the two windows in her chamber. She groaned, flipping onto her stomach and slamming her pillow over her head.
    Throughout the night she'd struggled to sleep, and when she'd finally dozed, a childhood nightmare haunted her—all too similar to her real memories. Her weeping must have awakened Irene, for she came in and tried to comfort her.
    Once again Flora was eight, and Bruce Millikan was nine, leading a pack of kids who chased her through a dark forest, calling her Beaver Face. The remnants of the chant pounded against her aching head, deepening the wounds of her scarred heart.
    Before the dream ended, Bruce transformed into a man. He folded his arms over his chest and laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “Flora Saferight, thee will always be a Beaver Face.” His taunting voice sliced her to the core. In her dream, she'd touched her mouth and had felt two large teeth hanging over her bottom lip. Tears had blinded her vision, until everything faded.
    Was it a sign that she shouldn't go on this mission? She placed her hands over her ears as if to make the memories and dreams disappear, but they remained, threatening her confidence in making a wise, unbiased decision. Fear coiled in the pit of her stomach. Why did she keep worrying about Bruce's opinion of her? This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, and she didn't need Bruce's approval. Pastor John had complete faith in her midwifery skills. Shouldn't the pastor's opinion matter more?
    In all honesty, she knew Bruce would do his best to protect her and Irene. He had a reputation to keep if he wanted to continue on these missions. The real challenge would be getting along with him and not allowing his insults to hurt her. She could try to pretend that she was immune to him, but she knew the truth. He affected her in more ways now than he did when they were younger.
    An image of Bruce's dangerous smile burned in her brain, charming a path