Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (16 page)

“Careful, careful,” Tom said
as Ben tried to hoist himself onto the back of Midnight Storm. It had been two
weeks since the attack, and he was finally ready to ride on his own again, despite
what the doctor said.

Angelina held her breath and
silently prayed that Mitchell and Billy would keep a firm hold on the stallion
while Tom gave instruction. Keeping a careful distance on Eagle’s Wing, she
gently fingered the diamond ring that was buried deep in her skirt pocket. She
didn’t dare leave it in her bedroom, since Ella’s watchful eyes would surely
find it in no time. No one knew about Edward’s offer, and she aimed to keep it
that way. Of course, she had no intention of accepting him, but what he didn’t
know wouldn’t hurt matters at all. It gave her time to figure out how she could
get her hands on Ben’s land—and keep it away from Isabella. She had approached
Isaac several times, hoping he would agree to sell her the
Smith Farm if
he purchased it from Edward, but he refused. He wouldn’t even acknowledge his arrangement
with Edward, but intimated that if he did buy the land, he was set on keeping it
for his own purposes. Angelina didn’t like the way he had spoken to her with
his sly smile and clandestine words. For the first time ever, Angelina had a
bad taste in her mouth for Isaac Richardson.

After a few failed attempts,
Ben successfully swung his wounded leg over Midnight Storm’s back and eased
into the seat. Angelina let out a deep exhale and clapped her hands, congratulating
him. He grimaced only once that she could tell, but she knew he was putting up
a good front. Even though his leg was healing nicely, it was still swollen and
sore and had to be treated with care.

A light breeze blew across
the field and stirred the leaves in the surrounding trees, reminding Angelina
of their old oak tree. A strand of hair swept across her lips, and her mind
whisked her back to the cool, mossy ground where Ben had whispered in her ear
and kissed her face and hair. Since that day in the barn, they had spent every
afternoon together, either under the tree, with the horses, riding into town in
the buggy, or having a meal at the Blue Ridge Hotel. Isaac come to call several
times, and Isabella dropped in for a few flirtatious moments, but Ben never
once mentioned an offer to work at Middleton, his daddy’s farm, or the Carolina
Challenge. And there was no talk of Edward. Her head told her Ben had decided
to stay on at Fairington and abandon the idea of pursuing his family home, but
her heart told her something different.

Angelina shoved the ring
further down into the folds of her pocket, trying to figure out what Ben was
thinking. Many times, she wanted to ask, but the fear of what he might say
stopped her. For all she knew, he was planning to race in the Challenge after
all—he hadn’t withdrawn his entry, and he hadn’t said a word to Edward about
bowing out of their wager. Even though it seemed impossible for him to compete,
there was a look in his eye on occasion that betrayed his thoughts. It was the
same look she had seen the night he confronted Edward at the engagement party.
She didn’t know what she would do if he decided to race after all. Edward would
beat him for sure, and Ben would have to leave Laurel Grove forever. Angelina
chewed on her lip, chasing the thought away.
That can never happen, Lord,
she said to herself.

Mitchell and Billy stepped
away from Midnight Storm as Ben settled into the saddle. “Go real easy, now,”
Tom said. “Nice and gentle.”

“Feels good,” Ben replied.

“Let’s take a little walk
’round the ring and see how he does.” Tom and the other men moved to the
railing and waited to see how the stallion would react. To Angelina’s surprise,
it remained calm and compliant, with its head hung low, not acting the least
bit feisty or rebellious. Ben clicked his tongue, and they took off at a nice,
brisk walk. After one lap around the ring, Tom asked, “How’s the leg feel?”

“Sore, but all right.”

As he walked past the men
again, Angelina heard Billy say, “beauty” and Mitchell murmur “fine lookin’.”
She smiled in agreement. The horse was gorgeous, with its sleek, dark coat and
four white socks. No one really knew what it was able to do in the field, since
it was so strong-willed, but Angelina was convinced Ben would soon discover its
true talent.

Tom shoved his hat to the
back of his head and squinted into the sun. “Wanna give a little squeeze, see
what he’ll do?”

As soon as these words left
Tom’s lips, Ben and Midnight Storm slid into a slow trot. “Easy now,” Tom
called through the cloud of dust that billowed around them.

A lump rose in Angelina’s
throat as the stallion’s pace quickened even more. Eagle’s Wing snorted and
tossed its head, sensing something was about to happen.

“Ben,” Tom warned.

But the look on Ben’s face
said he wasn’t listening. Suddenly, he kicked Midnight Storm in the sides and
dug into the saddle, cantering around and around the ring, until he turned the
stallion and headed straight for the fence railing. “Oh, God, no,” Angelina whispered
to herself.
With a loud yelp, Ben sailed over the fence, taking off into
the open fields. She let out a long breath, feeling the adrenaline rush down
into her fingers and toes.

“That boy—” Tom jerked his hat off his head and smacked it
against his leg. “You get back here!” he yelled. “BEN!”

Angelina couldn’t help but giggle at Tom’s frustration. He
should’ve known Ben would try something like this. They all should have. “I’ll
go!” she called, trying not to laugh at Billy’s bewildered expression. “And
don’t worry, I’ll have him back by sundown!” Then clicking her tongue, she
signaled Eagle’s Wing, and they galloped away after Midnight Storm.

Ben tried to relax his leg and move with the motion of the
stallion, but the pain was still in his hip and side. Closing his eyes, he
imagined himself as a young boy, riding bareback with arms spread wide and swaying
in rhythm to the horse’s long strides. He breathed deeply, ignoring the stab in
his ribs, and took in the fresh wind that whipped across his face and neck,
slinging his long, dark hair across his chest and shoulders. It was moments
like these that made him proud of his heritage, proud of the mighty men who
were his Cherokee ancestors—his forefathers of old who rode wild horses without
saddle or restraint. Men who weren’t afraid of anything.

The sun warmed his body, despite the wind, causing the sweat
to trickle down the middle of his back and evaporate into the waist of his
trousers. Summer was approaching and the days were long and hot. A fleeting image
of his Uncle Bear Claw came to mind, of him riding bare-chested even into his
old age, with long, gray hair trailing down his back, not caring what anyone
thought. Ben smiled and grabbed the opening in his shirt where the buttons were
missing and yanked, ripping the shirt into two pieces. He let out a Cherokee
yell and the pieces flew up into the air, fluttering away like two doves on
their way to Heaven. Immediately, the pain in his side subsided, and he felt
like his old self again—strong and free.

He thought he heard a voice behind him, but he didn’t turn
around. He wasn’t ready to hear a reprimand from Tom or Angelina. Instead, he
gave Midnight Storm a squeeze with his good leg and raced even faster through
the forest trail, which led toward Palmetto Ridge. Fear played tricks with his
mind, as he imagined dark, lurking figures leaping out of the shadows to bite
and attack. His right hand drifted down to his thigh where he kept his flint
blade tucked away. He had already decided—if he ever saw that mountain lion
again, he was going to kill it.

As Midnight Storm barreled through the thick trees, the Old
McNair Cemetery came into view from the edge of the woods. It belonged to
Angelina’s family and had just a few graves under a row of live oaks, Angelina’s
mama and daddy included. Ben remembered seeing her praying there for hours with
her face to the ground, and on occasion, Tom, kneeling in the dirt with his
head bowed. Under an oak tree nearby was a small, white wooden cross surrounded
by a mound of freshly dug earth. A wave of peace welled up inside of Ben at the
sight of a pair of red cardinals flitting through the cemetery and then flying
past the cross before disappearing into the sky. Despite the cruelty of death,
God’s nature was still living, moving, and breathing all around him.

As Ben approached the little cross, he pulled Midnight Storm
to a halt and carefully dismounted. The ground was mossy and green, and the air
was cool under the shade of the oaks. He slowly approached the grave and swallowed
the rising lump in his throat. The memories of that day were overwhelming, and
it took every ounce of his strength to push past them and kneel before the
Lord. He rested his weight on his good knee, ignoring the pain that throbbed in
his wounded leg. The cross was simple and crude, made of two pieces of wood
nailed together and painted with whitewash. Carved in the middle was the name
Mighty
Wind
, in neat lettering. Ben was sure Angelina had done the carving.

Tears flowed down his cheeks as the emotions took over,
shaking his body to the core. He remembered a dark, gangly colt born to his
Uncle Bear Claw’s favorite mare, Calla Lily, and the late-night feedings and bareback
rides through the woods, for hours it seemed. Ben felt his heart breaking.
“Father,” he cried, “heal this—take this pain from me.” He pounded his chest
with his fist and fell to the ground, smelling the rich soil that covered the
mound of dirt heaped before him. “Help me, Father. I want to do things your
way.” He closed his eyes and another image filtered through his mind like a
waft of dark smoke—his mother screaming and then the face of Edward Millhouse.
“No!” Ben cried, clawing the dirt. He promised her and the Lord he would never
retaliate for what was done, but he couldn’t let it go—the memories wouldn’t
leave him, despite his efforts to forget.

The familiar taste of anger was in his mouth, hungering to
take revenge. Every fiber in his being wanted to rise up and kill, urging him
to reach for his flint knife and plunge it into the earth. “I won’t,” he
moaned, as his hand moved to his side and his fingers ran along the smooth,
wooden handle. “I won’t, Lord.” His fingers tightened into a fist and groped at
the earth again. Suddenly, a peace washed over him, halting the tears and clearing
his mind. He heard that same voice in his mind, the voice that had comforted
him so many times before. It was still and small, almost a whisper.
Those
that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. Wait upon the Lord, wait
upon the Lord . . .

“Ben?” Angelina’s call resonated from somewhere behind him,
silencing the voice. Slowly, he rose to his feet and brushed the dirt off his
trousers and palms, not wanting to explain what had just happened. He limped
over to Midnight Storm, ignoring Angelina as she stood at a distance by Eagle’s
Wing, watching. Shoving his boot into the stirrup, he heaved himself into the
saddle. “Stop,” she said, eyeing his wounded leg, “you’re doing too much.”

The worry and concern in her eyes made Ben’s heart swell
with longing. He looked away, not wanting his feelings for her to interfere
with what he had to do. “That farm’s mine,” he said, focusing his gaze toward
Palmetto Ridge. “And I’m going to get it back.” Then kicking Midnight Storm in
the sides, he rode away toward home.

Ben rode Midnight Storm along Palmetto Ridge toward the oak
tree and guided the stallion down to the old farm house. Its crumbling
appearance wasn’t as heart-wrenching as the first time he had seen it. The roof
and porch needed serious repair, the entire exterior needed painting, and the gardens
and grounds required weeding and replanting, not to mention the fences.
In
no time, I’ll have it back to full, working order,
he thought. It was the
interior that he hadn’t considered. Until now, he had shuddered to imagine what
happened to all of his mother’s things. But today, he couldn’t avoid the truth.
He had to see.

Clicking his tongue, he steered Midnight Storm to the front
porch where the new For Sale sign was posted on the door. The crude, black
lettering resembled slithering serpents coiled and ready to strike. Instantly,
the throbbing in Ben’s leg returned, warning him to proceed with caution. With
a deep breath, he swung his good leg over the horse’s head and sat on the
saddle for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. He then slid down and
stood on the parched ground, wincing in pain.

Midnight Storm neighed and stomped its hoof. “Shh. Wait
here,” Ben said, patting the stallion on its nose and tethering the reins to
the porch railing. Isaac Richardson’s voice rang out loud and clear in his mind
as he proceeded up the steps to the front door.
“I’ll buy it for you, son,
then you come work for me. We’ll work out a deal and you can buy it back, a
little at a time.”
Ben had thanked him for his generosity, but didn’t want
to labor for another man to receive what was rightfully his. And besides, he
knew what Isabella would expect from him.

He reached for the door knob, feeling its coolness in his
palm. A memory came flooding back of him disregarding his mother’s scolding
while he ran inside the house with an empty bird’s nest he had discovered while
playing in the woods. Closing his eyes, he turned the knob, but it held firm.
He jiggled it and pushed, but the door wouldn’t budge. Peering through a clean
patch on the front window, he saw his father’s faded wingback chair by the
fireplace and his mother’s wooden settee on the opposite side. One of her
patchwork pillows was slouched along one arm, as if she had been sitting there
and had left the room for a moment. Ben noticed a square of faded blue floral
material from one of her summer dresses and a patch of red gingham from his old
bedroom curtains.

The urge to get inside overpowered him, and it was all he
could do to keep from breaking the window and climbing through. The still,
small voice returned, warning him to wait
.
“I can’t, Lord,” he
whispered. Gritting his teeth, he stared down the front door as though it was a
formidable foe—as if it were Edward Millhouse himself. Then rushing forward, he
kicked the For Sale sign with the heel of his boot, smashing the heads of those
dark, slippery serpents. He forgot all about his wounded leg—for some reason,
it felt as if it had been miraculously healed.

Angelina shuddered to think what Edward would do at seeing
Ben crash through the front door of the farmhouse.
He can’t find out,
she thought, wincing at the crack of wood and the pop of the front door
slamming against the back wall. For weeks, she had succeeded at keeping Edward
and Ben as far away from each other as possible and was intent on things
staying that way.

Nudging Eagle’s Wing forward, she trotted down the ridge
toward the house, securing the gelding to a tree in the yard. She then made her
way to the front porch, stroking Midnight Storm’s neck as she passed. The
stallion snorted and swished its tail in response, which eased her nerves for a
moment.
Lord, help us,
was all she could think to pray. The house was
sure to be a mess after so many years of neglect.

The front door was open, and she could hear Ben rummaging
around inside. She had no idea of the reaction he was experiencing at seeing
his old home, but she knew it must be emotional. It was obvious he was hurting,
both physically and mentally, and she didn’t want to see him suffer any more.
Why
can’t he let all of this go?
she wondered
. Why can’t he let the past be?
And yet there was a part of her that knew his pain. She couldn’t imagine seeing
Fairington in such a state.

Setting her jaw, Angelina climbed the creaky, wooden porch
steps and stepped through the doorway into the dark house. The air was musty
and stale and there was a pale, gray coating of dust over all of the
furnishings and the wooden floor. Cobwebs hung from every corner and a pile of
dark rodent droppings blocked the doorway into the kitchen.

“Ben?” she called. She waited for an answer, but there was
only an eerie silence, followed by a scratching sound coming from upstairs.
Angelina looked around, grieved at the sad state of the Smith home. She
remembered how bright and cheery it had been when she was a girl, with his
mother’s bold fabrics at the windows and on the chairs and tables. Angelina
recalled a brightly painted bowl in the kitchen that always held a wide
selection of apples from the garden outside, the smells of fresh vegetables
cooking on the stove, and the dried flowers arranged in ceramic jugs and formed
into pretty wreaths that adorned the walls. Angelina ran her finger along the
edge of the pine dining room table, reliving a time the Smiths had invited her
to dinner—it was stewed chicken and carrots with a wonderful spice that brought
out the rich flavors of the meat. She had hoped to get the recipe from Ben’s
mother one day.

Angelina looked at her fingers, which were black with dirt.
A face came to her memory, one that was dark and radiant with long, black hair
like Ben’s. Falling Leaves
.
That was her name. She was lovely and sweet
and often kissed Ben’s father on the mouth when she didn’t think anyone was
looking. Angelina couldn’t recall the last time she had seen her parents touch
in that way. Smiling, she remembered Mr. Smith and how he could tell the
funniest jokes that would have everyone in stitches.
Had Daddy ever made
Mama laugh like that?
Angelina wondered. She couldn’t remember, but
recalled how Tom always had a way of making her mama chuckle.

Footsteps moved across the floor above her and then stopped,
followed by a loud scraping of furniture being moved. Angelina made her way up
the steps and followed the noise to Ben’s old bedroom. The iron bed was
haphazardly slid against the wall, and Ben was on his knees, prying a
floorboard loose with his fingers.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Gotta get this up,” he replied, straining against the
pressure of the wood.

“Being on the floor like that isn’t going to do that leg any
good. And besides, Edward’s gonna have a fit when he sees you’ve been in here.
Why don’t we get on out and get home? Ella’s cooked up a good supper, and I
know she’ll be expecting us.”

He yanked the board with a heave, and it popped loose. Then
reaching his hand inside the floor, he pulled out a leather drawstring bag.
“Fairington isn’t my home.” He opened the bag and dumped the contents on the
floor. There were a few crude rocks, an eagle’s feather, several arrowheads,
and a folded-up piece of paper that was yellow with age.

“Ben,” she said, cringing at the panic rising in her voice, “this
place isn’t what it used to be. It’s filthy and about to fall down, and I’m
sure there are rats or something else living in the kitchen.”

He sat on the bed and a puff of dust filled the air from the
white bedcover that was now tinged in black. Ignoring her, he unfolded the
paper and read something that looked like a letter. “Ben? Are you listening to
me?” She stared at him, hoping to get some response, but he was in his own
world, oblivious to her words. Grimacing at the filthy bed covering, Angelina
hesitated and sat down next to him, waiting for him to speak.

“It’s from my father,” he said, his voice cracking with
emotion. “He wrote it the week before he died. “
‘Son,’
” he read, “‘
Take
care of your mother and honor the Lord in everything you do. This land is yours
and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I give it to you and no other. Use it
to glorify God.’
” The paper crumpled in Ben’s hand, but he continued to
read.
“‘Don’t let anyone judge you by the outer man. Always look to the
inside and see as the Lord Jesus does. Let others see that you are a man after
His own heart, like David.’
” Then taking a deep breath, he spoke the final
words, “
‘May the Lord bless you in all that you do.’
” He refolded the
paper and looked at Angelina through a glaze of tears. “My mother never sold
that property. Edward forced her—” He turned away, unable to say any more.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Angelina whispered, feeling the shame of
ever considering marriage to such a man. “He had no right.”

“My father owed him money,” he said, the strength and
conviction in his voice returning. “He and his men came one night and took the
horses, and that should’ve settled things, but he wanted it all. He never had a
right to the land, ’cause I know my father would’ve never used the farm as
collateral. He never would’ve done that. He was so proud of this place and what
we had built together.” Tears fell on the crumpled letter as Ben fought to get
the words out. “I wish he had never indebted us to a man like Edward
Millhouse.”

Angelina caressed his arm, tracing the muscles down to his
thumb and index finger. “I can go to Sam Turner and see if we can talk to Judge
Thompson. We’ll get it back.”

“No,” he said, pulling away. “I’m gonna need more than this
letter. I’m gonna have to run the Challenge on Midnight Storm like we agreed.”

“But that’s in a month, and your leg—”

“I made an agreement and I’m gonna stick to it. With the
Lord’s help, we can outrun him.”

“Ben—”

“Angelina, I’m never gonna be free from Edward Millhouse
unless I fulfill my end of the wager. I’m never gonna be able to hold my head
up high around him if I don’t run that race.”

“And what if you lose?” she asked, feeling
her eyes widen with horror at the thought of him
riding away into the horizon—and then the satisfaction in Edward’s face at
seeing him go. “
You’ve promised to leave here, to never return! And I
know Edward—he’ll hold you to it.”

 “That’s not going to happen. I’m gonna win. I can feel it down
inside,” he said, covering his heart with his fist.

“How can you win when you’re hardly able to walk? And you
haven’t trained Midnight Storm. He’s barely been ridden, much less trained for
a major steeplechase. Edward’ll win, hands down, and then where will we be?”

“You don’t believe in me?”         

“I do—”

“No, you don’t,” he said sadly. He stared at her again, the
pain in his face unbearable. “Nothing’s really changed since the first day I
came back, has it?”

She grabbed his hands and knelt before him, not caring about
the dirty floor soiling her riding skirt. Then pressing her lips against his
smooth knuckles, she waited for courage to rise up within her. “Ben—what about
Fairington? I’d give you my half, I would—if you’d forget about all of this.”

“No.” He tried to pull away, but she held firm.

“But why?”

“Because this place is the only thing that’s mine.
Fairington belongs to you and Jessie, but
this
is my inheritance. It’s
what my father left me.” His eyes flashed for a moment, and the look was cold
and determined. “I’m gonna run that race, Angelina.”

“Ben!” she wailed. “Please—” She threw her arms around his
waist and buried her cheek into his belly. “If you lose, I’ll die, I know it.”
She felt the taut stomach muscles contract as she cried. “I can’t bear losing
you again. I’d rather see you in the arms of Isabella Richardson than have you
go away from here!”

“Hush, now, I’m not going anywhere. And I’ve told you
before. I don’t love her.” Gathering her into his arms, he brushed his lips
against her forehead. “She could never make me happy.” He smoothed a lock of
hair from her face and kissed her on the cheek and then gently on the mouth.
“There’s only one thing that’ll make me happy. And that’s living here—with you
by my side.”

“But you don’t understand,” Angelina pleaded. “I can never
leave Fairington. Fairington is to me what this place is to you. It’s my home.”
She searched the depths of him, looking for some glimmer of hope. “How will we
ever be together?”

He pulled her close so that she felt the beating of his
heart, like the echo of a drum being played in the distance. “Your home is with
me, you hear?” His look grew dark and fierce, stirring a fire deep inside of
her. She erupted into sobs, but his lips met hers, turning the cries into soft
pleas.

“Ben—”

He kissed her again, and she grew quiet, feeling a
paralyzing sensation explode out of her heart and engulf her from head to toe,
even all the way to her very thoughts. Her mind roamed up to the clouds and
back down to the oak tree on Palmetto Ridge, and then back up to the heavens
where nothing on this earth really mattered. His mouth hovered near hers as he
spoke, but she barely heard what he said.

“For ten years there’s been an ache inside of me, a longing
that I couldn’t explain. I asked the Lord—I thought it was this place, but now
I know. It’s more than that. It’s you.” His dark eyes bored holes into hers,
and there was no getting away from the power that flowed from deep inside of
him. “From the very beginning, from the first day I saw you riding that
Shetland pony, and you were wearing that yellow dress with blue flowers—right
here,” he said, caressing the place below her collar bone. “You were the most
beautiful thing I had ever seen. I knew I had to have you. You had to be mine.”
His gaze swept over her hair and face and rested on her eyes once more. “The
first time we touched was right by that window, remember?”