Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (21 page)

The fire popped and a burst
of flames shot through Ben’s bedroom window, shattering the glass. Angelina
opened her eyes and looked straight at Edward, who sat astride his white
stallion, still bearing his twisted smile. “How could you?” she screamed, as
the tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted more than anything to get up and
grab the pearl-handled pistol from her saddlebag and shoot him straight between
the eyes, but she knew she couldn’t. Like Ben and the other men, she was
helpless against what Edward had started.

“I hate you, Edward
Millhouse!” Angelina screamed for all to hear, even the Lord Himself. It was
wrong to hate, she knew that, but she hated anyway. She hated every fiber in
his being. “Lord Jesus, I hate him, I hate him!” she screamed again, gritting
her teeth until they hurt. He stared at her, wearing a blank expression, and then
rode away into the night.

The men stepped back,
exhausted from their fight, and watched quietly as the fire consumed the house.
They were helpless against the smoke and heat, which intensified, causing the
horses to whinny and paw their hooves against the earth. Angelina wept like she
had never wept before, even more than when her mama and daddy had died. There
was a depth of sorrow at being unjustly robbed of something that could never be
replaced. Even though she had grieved over her parents’ deaths, down deep she
knew she would see them again in heaven—and when Ben left years ago, she always
harbored the hope he would return. But this was different. Yes, a house could
be rebuilt, but it would never be the same. The loss of his mother’s things and
his daddy’s easy chair, the smells and tastes from a time gone by, the trinkets
on the shelves and stains on the wall, reminders of happy times, were
destroyed, never to be replaced. It was like a dagger to Angelina’s heart. She
was sad, sick, fearful, and angry. Her anger frightened her—it was intense,
uncontrollable. She had the strength of ten men, and if Edward had returned,
she knew she could kill him with her bare hands. Kill him until there wasn’t
one bit of life left in his little toe.

“Miss Raeford?” It was
Mason’s voice that brought Angelina back from the darkness of her thoughts.
“Figured you might want this.” He handed her Ben’s Bible with her initials
embossed on the front. “Mr. Edward, he told me to throw it in the fire and use
it as kindlin’ when we set up camp. But I know better than to use the Word of
God in that way.”

Angelina wiped her eyes and
sniffed hard. “Thank you, Mason.” She took the Bible and clasped it to her
breast.

“It ain’t right the way he
lives his life, the way he treats people,” Mason said, his eyes downcast. “I’ve
tried to tell him in my own way, but his ears is all plugged up, like he’s gone
deaf. What he did tonight’s a terrible thing, but that won’t stop me from
prayin’ for him. He needs lots of prayer, more than any of us knows.”

A strong gust of wind blew
through the trees, singing an eerie tune to the sway of twisted limbs and dried
leaves. The smell of rain filled the air, mingling with the black smoke from
the fire, and then a splat of water hit Angelina in the middle of the forehead
like a wet kiss from the heavenly Father. She smiled at Mason and hugged Ben as
he slept, clutching the Bible closer to her heart.

After a few more splats, the
rain came down in torrents, accompanying the whoops and shouts from Tom, Sam,
and Mason. Even Midnight Storm whinnied and neighed at this blessing. Angelina
cried with joy as she watched the fire sizzle to a heap of steam, leaving a
black shell of what was once the Smith farmhouse. But at least the barn was
spared, and the surrounding property. “We’ll rebuild,” she thought, as the rain
soaked through her hair and clothes. Her mind raced, imagining the
possibilities. “We’ll build the grandest house in all of Laurel Grove, grander
than Middleton Farm, or Fairington, or even Rutherford Hall. Ben will be the
greatest horse breeder around. And I’ll be there with him, by his side.”

She touched the place where
the knife had cut his hair, feeling the hope rise within her. Even though a
part of her was glad he wasn’t awake to see what Edward had done, there was
another part that wished he would open his eyes, rise up, and show the world what
he was made of—like the day of the Promenade. But instead, he slept, as the
rain continued to fall.

Ben slept peacefully. He
didn’t dream as far as he knew, and he had no memory of what happened that
night. His body, however, told a different story. He ached from the top of his
head down to the tip of his toes, his back stung like it had been attacked by a
swarm of angry hornets, and his leg throbbed like crazy.

He opened his eyes to a
stream of sunlight and a pair of boots standing on the porch floor. “Welcome
back, son.” It was Isaac Richardson wearing a white work shirt with a pair of
blue suspenders. He smiled big, showing his stained teeth.

“Where am I?” Ben murmured,
trying to prop himself up against a pillow wedged between his back and a wooden
rocking chair. He surveyed the expansive covered porch and the hanging ferns
gently twirling in the breeze.

“Here, at Middleton,” Isaac
said, easing himself into a rocking chair. “It’s a beautiful day, and I thought
you might wanna sit out here and get some fresh air. You’ve been upstairs in
that fancy guest suite for one too many days, in my opinion, and I won’t hear
any more of it—even if Isabella does throw a fit. It’s not right to have a
grown man in a frilly bedroom.”

Tom shuffled out the door
onto the porch, patting his stomach. “That Clara sure can cook up a mean peach
pie. ’Bout as good as Ella.” He removed his Stetson and smiled at Ben.
“Ah—you’re lookin’ better today. Good color, eyes clear. You’ll be up and about
in no time.”

Ben’s head felt lighter than
usual, and he reached back, feeling the edge of his hair against the nape of
his neck. His heart skipped a beat as a memory came darting from the past—the
coolness of a metal blade against his skin and the heat from a roaring flame.

“The thing about hair,” Isaac
said with a twinkle in his eye, “is it’ll grow back, sometimes thicker and
healthier than before.” He smiled and ran a calloused palm over the top of his
bald head. “’Cept when you’re talkin’ about old men like me and Tom who don’t
have much on top but sprigs and weeds.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tom
said, returning his hat to his head. He smiled at Ben and nodded. “Miss Raeford
gives you her regards. She and Jessie say they’re comin’ over this afternoon.
That is, if Miss Isabella doesn’t shoo ’em away.” He gazed into the distance,
deep in thought. “Yep, that Miss Raeford, she’s still mad as all get out that
we didn’t bring you over to Fairington. But you said Middleton was your home
for now and you wanted to come on back here.”

“I don’t remember,” Ben said,
feeling a wave of sadness crash over him. But he did remember, didn’t he?
Closing his eyes, he saw the roaring flames again and heard the screams from
Midnight Storm. He opened his eyes and knew. The house was gone.

“Well, you said it, and she
didn’t take too kindly to it, neither. Still set on gettin’ her own way. Some
things don’t ever change.” He cocked his head, studying Ben. “You remember
anything about that night?” Ben shrugged his shoulders, mindful of the pain
which was shooting through his body. “Well, let’s just say you got in a fight
with Edward Millhouse, and it was somethin’ else. He tried to whip you, and he
might have done it too, if it weren’t for the Good Lord. He saw to it that Miss
Raeford and I got there just in time.”

Ben’s teeth tightened
together until his jaw ached. “I remember the fire,” he said, his voice laced
with bitterness.

Sighing, Tom patted him
gently on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry yourself over that. Miss Raeford’s
already talkin’ ’bout helpin’ you rebuild one day.”

“’Course the offer to stay on
here at Middleton is still good,” Isaac piped in, rocking back and forth in his
rocker.

Tom smirked at Isaac, giving
him a wink. “Don’t listen to him. That land’s yours, and you and I know it.” He
pulled a folded piece of yellowed paper from his back pocket, which was
crumbled and blackened from smoke. Gently, he unfolded it and handed it to Ben,
revealing his father’s distinctive handwriting. “Found it in the fire under a
cupboard. The rain got to it before the flames did.” Tom stooped low and spoke
into Ben’s ear. “You know what you have to do, son. Get out there and make it
what your pa always wanted it to be.”

Ben knew what he meant. The
Challenge was days away, and he had to ride, regardless of the pain in his
body. He could hear his father’s soothing words, telling him,
This
land
is yours. Use it to glorify God.
Then he saw his mother’s beautiful, brown
face in his mind, with her long, flowing dark hair. Her voice blended with his
father’s, like a wonderful symphony of God-ordained music.
Don’t look to the
outer man,
it said.
L
et others see
that you’re a man after God’s own heart. Forgive, as you have been forgiven.

The resentment in his heart ebbed for a moment, being washed
away by the softness of peace, but then like a fiery dart, another thought
came.
How can you forgive him for what he’s done?
How can you forgive
such a man?

The clop of horse hooves
disrupted Ben’s thoughts as buggy wheels bumped along the stone path leading to
the house. “Well, I’ll be!” Isabella flashed a smile as she arrived in her
shiny new surrey pulled by a beautiful gray appaloosa named Sweets. Ben thought
it was a silly name for a fine looking mare, but then again, almost everything
Isabella said and did was silly.

Tom grumbled to himself as
she hopped down from her perch, fluffed her navy blue poplin skirt trimmed in
dark blue velvet, and swung her brown curls over her shoulder. Her
double-breasted jacket matched the skirt, complete with mother-of-pearl buttons
and dark blue velvet piping stitched along the seams. With her new hat adorned
with silk and velvet rosettes and tulle veil, she was a vision. “Look at you!”
she exclaimed, grinning at Ben while she clapped her gloved hands in glee. “Why
you look fine—as healthy as an ox! I’m gonna call Clara right now and tell her
to fix up the biggest lunch you’ve ever seen. How ’bout some fried chicken and
picnic potatoes? And I’m sure we can rustle up a piece of chocolate pie.”

“Leave the boy alone,
Isabella,” Isaac said. “He’s not a prized pig bein’ fattened up for the
slaughter.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt him
to fatten up a little.” She bounded up the steps and slinked past Tom. “Oh,
Ben,” she cooed, adjusting the collar on his white cotton shirt, “everybody in
town’s been worried sick over you—all except that Edward, but we won’t say a
word about him.” She kissed him on the forehead and stroked his short hair. “I
do like it. It suits you. You look as handsome as can be. And besides, I think
it’s about time you started looking, you know—” She hesitated for a moment,
searching for the right word. “Like a
normal
man, don’t you think?”

Isaac’s rocking chair halted,
and Tom cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one boot to the other. A
cool breeze blew the hanging baskets gently from side to side, and the call of
a flock of birds came from a row of neighboring oak trees.

“Normal?” Ben asked.

“I didn’t mean it that way,”
Isabella said, her face reddening. “I thought you’d want to know how nice you
look.” She laid her hand on his arm and flashed a warm smile. Normally, her
exquisite features and porcelain skin were enough to charm him, even for a
moment, but now he felt disgusted and dirty. Pushing her away, he rose to his
feet, fighting the pain in his back and leg. “Ben—”

But he ignored her, aware of
something that had awakened inside of him. Her comment allowed him to see how
wrong is was for him to stay on here at Middleton Farm. As wonderful as it was,
he could never accept her advances or Isaac’s offers to make it his home. Tom
was right. He only had one home, even if it was destroyed. “Where’s my horse?”

“You’re gonna ride?” Isabella
asked in a frantic tone. “So soon?”

“Midnight Storm’s out to
pasture over yonder.” Tom pointed to a green strip of land beyond the training pens
where Ben could barely make out the outline of several horses grazing in the
field. “He’s been waitin’ for you.”

Ben nodded, seeing a dark
stallion with four white socks move in the distance, its form becoming more
distinct. “I reckon he’s waited long enough,” he said, imagining he was
speaking softly in its velvety ear. He smiled at the tail that swished wildly,
back and forth, as the horse approached the edge of the field. Then ginning big
and wide, Ben cupped a hand over his mouth and called to the animal in
Cherokee. Within seconds, Midnight Storm picked up speed and jumped the wooden
fence, clearing the railing by a good six inches.

“Lord in heaven,” Isaac said,
rising to his feet.

Ben laughed at the sight of
the stallion racing through the riding rings, scurrying some of the other
horses out of the way and dodging the trainers who tried in vain to corral it
with halters and ropes. “Would you look at that!” Tom exclaimed, chuckling with
Ben. Finally, Midnight Storm broke free from the mayhem and made a beeline to
the house, straight toward Ben. “I’d say he missed you somethin’ bad.”

“I missed him too,” Ben said,
throwing his arms around the stallion’s neck and nuzzling his nose against its
sleek fur. “You are something else, you know that, boy?”

“He sure is,” Isaac said,
patting the horse’s side. “Too bad I let him get away.” Ben turned to him,
hating what he had to do. “Sir—”

“You don’t have to say it,”
Isaac said, cutting him short. There was sadness in his eyes and regret for
what could have been. “I knew this day was comin’, I just didn’t want it to be
today.”

“Thank you for all you’ve
done.” Ben extended his hand toward Isaac, and he grabbed it, pulling Ben into
a bear hug.

“I pray the Good Lord blesses
you,” Isaac said, whispering into Ben’s neck. “I pray He blesses you in
everything you do.”

“Daddy?” Isabella asked,
looking confused. “What’s going on?”

“Well, darlin’,” Isaac said,
wiping a tear away. “It looks like Mr. Ben Eagle-Smith’s goin’ back home to
where he belongs.”

“Home? But it’s all burned
up!”

Ben grabbed Midnight Storm’s
mane and leapt onto the horse’s back, as naturally as if he were climbing over
a fallen log. He winced for only a moment and then felt the pain fade away.
“Isabella—thank you, too, for all you’ve done. I’ll see you at the Challenge.”

“The Challenge? You mean
you’re gonna ride it after all?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I made a
wager with Mr. Millhouse, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”

Tom smiled and gave Ben a
wink. “You’re mama’d be proud. And your daddy too.”

Ben fought the foul taste
that threatened to creep back into his mouth at the mention of his mother.
Squeezing Midnight Storm with his heels, he gave a nod and urged the horse
forward, riding toward the open field.

A frantic voice drifted over
him, swirling together with the wind. “Ben! Ben!” He looked back and caught a
glimpse of Isabella’s blue skirt and fancy hat following behind. Pulling hard
on Midnight Storm’s mane, he brought the stallion to an awkward stop. “Ben, you
can’t leave, you just can’t!” Isabella ran to him and clung to his leg, sobbing
on his boot. “I thought you liked it here,” she cried. “I thought you were
happy.”

“Isabella, try and understand—”

“But I can’t!” she said,
shaking her head and knocking her hat loose so that it tumbled to the ground.
“I’ll never understand.” Her eyes glistened with a longing that crushed him—he
had no idea how badly he had wounded her. “I love you, Ben. I’ve loved you from
the first moment I saw you. I didn’t care about you being Cherokee and having
no home, I didn’t care. And I don’t care now. I won’t care even if Edward does
beat you at the Challenge. Please stay,” she sobbed. “Please—”

He climbed down from Midnight
Storm and gathered her in his arms while she wept into his chest. “Isabella,”
he said, stroking her hair, “stop crying, now.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head
again, like a little child. “I won’t!”

“You don’t love me. You just
think you do.”

“You’re wrong! You don’t
know!”

He tugged at her chin,
forcing her to look at him. “I know that one day the right man will come along,
a man God has chosen for you, and you’ll know it, right here in your heart,” he
gestured toward her chest. “Not in your head.”

“If you’d give me a
chance—let me prove that what I feel for you is real.” She rose up on her
tiptoes and brushed her lips against his mouth, but he gently pushed her away.

“No, Isabella,” he said,
shaking his head.

“But why?”

The tears in her eyes pained
him, but he had to admit the truth. “Because my heart belongs to someone else.”

“I guess you’re referring to
that Angelina Raeford,” she snapped. “I don’t know what you see in her. She’s
rude and crass and hasn’t treated you with any respect at all. She’s strung you
and Edward along for all this time, and for what? She’s the one who’s caused
all this trouble between you two,” she said, her eyes blazing. “If it weren’t
for her, things would be fine!” She sobbed again, blubbering into her sleeve.

“I love her despite
everything that’s happened. I always have, and nothing will ever change that.”
He stepped away and leapt on Midnight Storm’s back, grabbing hold of its mane.
“Forgive me, Isabella, if I’ve hurt you. I never meant any harm.” She hung her
head for the longest time, sniffing away her tears. “Isabella?” He leaned down
and cupped her chin in his hand so that she had to look him in the eye.
“Forgive me?”