Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (22 page)

She nodded, letting out another
sob, and then picked up her hat and sauntered back to the house.

Eagle’s Wing tossed its head while
Angelina sat in the saddle, hidden by a grove of magnolia trees that bordered Middleton
Farm. A combination of panic, shock, and humiliation engulfed her as she
watched Ben gallop away. Tears gathered in her eyelashes, proving that what she
was experiencing was another form of grief. She was glad Jessie had decided not
to accompany her, since it would have been even more painful to hear her sister
come up with a dozen reasons why Ben had held Isabella in his arms. She knew
what she had seen, and she still couldn’t believe it—Ben wrapped around
Isabella and holding her close, allowing her to kiss him.

“Miss Raeford!” Tom called,
waving from the porch. Angelina blinked the tears away and squinted, seeing his
pale Stetson sail back and forth over his head. “Come on,” he called, motioning
with his hands as if he were scooping up the air and washing it over him. When
she didn’t respond, he stomped toward her, grinning from ear to ear. “Why’re
you hidin’ like that in the trees?”

Clicking her tongue, she
walked Eagle’s Wing to the open field. “Came to see how Ben’s doing,” she answered,
watching Ben and Midnight Storm disappear into the distance. “But looks like
he’s doing just fine.”

Tom patted her on the knee
and grinned again. “Don’t you think one thing ’bout that. He was sayin’ his
good-byes is all.”

“He’s got a fine way of
showing it.”

Eagle’s Wing grumbled and
pulled against the reins as Isabella stomped through the thick grass, swinging
her arms violently. Her face was splotchy, her eyes were red, and her normal,
pristine demeanor appeared messy and disheveled. Several curls had fallen loose
from her formerly neat hairdo and a few strands of hair clung to her cheeks
like she had been caught in an afternoon rain drizzle. Even her hat was dusty
and crumpled.

“Angelina,” she said in a
haughty tone. She stopped in her tracks and glared at Angelina through a pair
of glistening eyes. “I can’t pretend to think you’ve come to Middleton to see
anyone but Ben.”

Angelina looked at Tom, who
shrugged his shoulders in dismay. “Well, yes, Isabella,” she said politely, “I
did give word I was coming over this afternoon to see if he was better.”

“Well, he doesn’t want to see
you, ever again!”

“Miss Richardson!” Tom
interjected, sounding stern. “You know for a fact there’s not an ounce of truth
to that.”

“Are you calling me a liar on
my own property?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not,” he
said, holding her stare.

“Well then, kindly refrain
from expressing your opinions to me so freely, unless you’ve been asked to
speak.”

Tom glared at her, but she
didn’t cower in the least. Instead, her eyes darted to Angelina, to Tom, and
back to Angelina. “I know what I know—and Ben’s told me so himself. He’s had
enough heartache from you and the whole Raeford family,” she said, jabbing her
finger in the air, straight at Angelina. “If it weren’t for you, his house would
still be standing, and Edward wouldn’t be acting so mean and cruel.”

“Huh!” Angelina said, trying
hard to bite her tongue, but it was no use. Isabella’s scrunched up face and
wagging finger was enough to start a fire in her belly, especially when Edward’s
character was being defended. “You haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re
talking about!”

“I do!” Isabella snapped.

“Miss Raeford, Miss
Richardson,” Tom said, stepping in front of Eagle’s Wing. “I think it’s best if
we end this conversation now.”

But Isabella ignored him, as
if she hadn’t heard. “I’ve known Edward Millhouse for years, and he would never
do anything so vile and cruel if he weren’t provoked. You should be ashamed,
ashamed for playing with men’s hearts, making them do such terrible things! I
hope you’ve learned your lesson. Now, leave them alone, especially Ben. He
wants peace and love and respect. And we all know you’re totally incapable of
loving anyone but yourself!”

She huffed back to the house
with her skirt bunched up in one hand and her hat in the other. Angelina
gritted her teeth, sensing the fire in her belly rise straight up to her chest.
“Oh, what I wouldn’t do to give that girl a piece of my mind!” she hissed.

Isaac moved out of the way to
let Isabella pass, looking helpless and weak in the wake of his daughter’s
wrath. She stomped past him, marched up the porch steps, and slammed the
mahogany door.

“I’m sure you will,” Tom
said, slicking his hand over his thinning hair and readjusting his hat over his
brow, “when the time’s right.”

The Smith farmhouse lay
smoldering on the ground like a carcass of charred flesh and bones. The rain
had doused the heat, making it safe to scavenge through the ruins to see what
could be saved. Ben tethered Midnight Storm to a large pine tree near his
mama’s old potato patch and walked carefully through the debris, fighting back
the tears. A silver thimble caught his eye, as well as a blue patch from a
quilted pillow which sat in what remained of a wooden rocker. The only other
thing he was able to find was a tiger’s eye from an old rock collection. All of
his father’s books and his mother’s beautiful dishes, pottery, Cherokee
artifacts passed down from former generations, and brightly-colored curtains
were gone now, part of a pile of ashes and rubble. Ben was glad his parents
weren’t alive to see it now. “I’ll make this right—I promise,” he said, knowing
that somehow, his father could hear him. Then hanging his head, he prayed,
“Help me, Lord.”
I need you.

A fresh douse of rain fell,
soothing Ben’s aching joints. He stripped off his shirt and allowed the pellets
to cleanse the welts on his back. It felt strange not having his hair trailing
behind him, reminding him of his native roots, but there was nothing to be done
about that now. Like many things in his life, he would have to wait for it to
come back.

He ran his fingers through
his thick locks and tucked it behind his ears, but it was too short to stay in
place. Grabbing his shirt, he tore a strip of material from the bottom hem and
tied it around his forehead, imagining that he resembled his Uncle Bear Claw,
who often wore handmade headbands. Before long, his thoughts shifted to Edward
and the pleasure he would surely have at seeing Ben reduced to such a state. Ben
pictured him with a smirk on his face, staring down his long nose as he sat at
his dining room table in Rutherford Hall surrounded by silver and fine linens
and eating the best that Laurel Grove had to offer. “I know, Lord,” Ben said,
trying to cast the thoughts from his mind. “I know.”

Feeling the bitterness
tighten his abdomen, Ben couldn’t help but relive that night. He remembered Tom
arguing with Edward over the deed and the heat from the fire, but that was all.
Tucking the thimble and the tiger’s eye in his pocket, he walked back through
the burnt house, thankful the barn and most of the trees escaped unscathed.
Tom’s words came back to him—he had to make this place what his pa always
wanted it to be, despite what had happened. And riding the Challenge was the
answer. It was just three days away, and he had to be ready.

Stroking Midnight Storm’s
long, lean neck, Ben spoke in a soothing voice. “
Shall we ride, my friend?
”
The stallion twitched its ears and swished its tail, pawing the mud with its
hoof. Ben smiled and grabbed the thick mane, hopping on the horse’s back.
Before heading down the dirt path to town, he took one last look at the burnt
remains of the place that had brought him so much happiness as a boy. For a
moment, he imagined his mother hanging the laundry on the line, laughing in her
infectious way as the sun streamed through the clouds and the cool breeze
caused a wet bed sheet to flap gently in the wind. The laughter cascaded
through the tops of the trees and fluttered through the leaves like a bird
searching for its nest. He couldn’t explain it, but there was a peace in his
heart that subdued the pain. He knew the Lord was in control.

Gently pressing his heels in
Midnight Storm’s sides, Ben meandered down the dirt path until it reached the
main road leading to town. The live oaks lined the way like large wooden
creatures with twisted, gnarled arms scraping the ground. He had loved climbing
those trees as a boy, even building a makeshift house in one that stood at the
edge of a cluster of pine trees. Squinting his eyes, he peered through the
foliage until he could barely make out the steps of a crude ladder leading to a
wooden platform tucked in the crook of a tree limb. It was a secret place no
one else knew about, even Angelina—it was a part of his past that died long ago.
Ben hadn’t been back there since he returned to Laurel Grove, and for some reason,
he had no desire to see it until now.

Midnight Storm tossed its
head and neighed with a ferocious whinny, indicating that it wanted to move
faster. Ben obliged the stallion by clicking his tongue and speaking firmly in
his native Cherokee. Before long, they were galloping down the dirt road,
running faster and faster with the wind whipping all around them, threatening
to blow Ben’s headband up into the clouds. He didn’t know where they were
going, but there was freedom in letting the stallion choose its own way. With
the grace and agility of a deer, Midnight Storm galloped through leaves and
moss, bounding over tree roots and fallen logs and leaping over brooks and
streams, like it was in the final leg of a steeplechase. They rode and rode as
though on a mission from the Lord Himself, with very little time to accomplish
it. Ben heard an internal warning sound off in his mind, but he didn’t have the
heart to slow Midnight Storm or dictate the direction they should travel. He
was merely along for the ride.

A tall hedge waited for them
up ahead, which only made the stallion run that much faster. As they
approached, Ben felt the exhilaration of sailing through the air and flying over
without hesitation. With thunderous power, the horse’s front legs hit the
ground and sped them to the edge of an open field where several thoroughbreds
roamed, munching on grass. A black mare with a white star on its face stared at
them and then dashed away with her brown foal frolicking behind. Ben gazed past
the white wooden fences that snaked beyond and saw a dark, stone mansion that
made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Midnight Storm had taken
him straight to Rutherford Hall.

“Whoa!” Ben called, pulling
on Midnight Storm’s mane so that it reared up on its hind legs. Ben had vowed
he would never set foot on the Millhouse property again, and yet here he was at
Rutherford Hall. It was a breathtaking—not because of its beauty, but because
of its magnificent presence that resembled something from the pages of a
European history book. A Negro man chopped wood near the barn, Edward rode a
white horse in the far field, and a handful of trainers worked a team of horses
in the main training ring. But despite the abundance of activity going on, the
estate felt cold and stagnant. Ben thought it an ominous and terrible place.

A horse screamed in the
distance, piercing Ben’s heart. Midnight Storm balked and pitched its head
before taking off toward the group of trainers. “Stop!” he shouted, but it was
as if the stallion could hear nothing but the continual screams. As they came
closer, he saw the trainers were actually a group of stable hands who had
surrounded a white, leopard-spotted appaloosa filly with a device in its mouth,
called a twitch. Normally, a rope was placed between the horse’s gum and upper
lip and was twisted with a stick until it dug into the flesh, creating a
calming effect. It was typically used for grooming or medical reasons, like
administering medicine, but here at Rutherford Hall, it was obviously used as a
means of torture. Ben had heard stories from his parents about certain horse
breeders, mostly white men, who used metal twitches instead of ropes, and other
cruel treatment like staking and prodder fire-sticks, to obtain obedience from
unruly animals. All of these methods were forbidden at Fairington, Middleton
Farm, and most of the other reputable operations around Laurel Grove, but not
here at Rutherford Hall. Edward Millhouse stopped at nothing to get what he
wanted.

The men released the filly
and stared at Ben, their eyes freezing in fear as though they were being
attacked by a native determined to remove their scalps. “Whadda you want?” one
of the younger men finally asked. He was tall and wiry with a deep tan and
long, unkempt hair that swept across his forehead. His skin and clothes were
filthy and a front tooth was missing, resembling a pistol shot straight through
the mouth. When he spoke, the outline of his ribs rose and fell with each
breath, indicating he could use some of Ella’s good cooking.

“You’re gonna ruin that horse
treating her that way,” Ben said, trying to keep Midnight Storm still. “Let her
be, run the fire out of her, and then she’ll behave. If you keep treating her
like this, she’ll grow up evil and mean, and you’ll even see it in her
offspring. She won’t produce half the amount of good, strong foals she normally
would.”

“How do you know that, you
ole half-breed?”

Ben stared at the young man,
suddenly feeling sorry for him. If anyone knew about torture, it could very
well be this man. A deep look in his eyes told Ben there was a horrific story
to tell.

“Mr. Ben!” The Negro man
dropped his load of firewood on the ground and came running toward the ring,
leaping over the railing with little effort. Ben recognized Mason, with his
distinctive hairline and thick physique. Despite his age, he still had the
strength and agility of a man half his age. “Mr. Ben,” he said, his voice laced
with panic, “you better get on outta here, ’less you want a repeat of the other
night.”

Ben noticed one of Mason’s
eyes was partially swollen and ringed with a dark bruise. Once again, he felt
compassion for this man—they were kindred spirits, both objects of Edward’s wrath.
“I don’t want any trouble, Mason.”

“Well, trouble’s what you’re
gonna git if you don’t git on,” he said with a scowl across his brow.

“What’s this?” Edward
galloped toward them, riding Almighty. He pulled tightly on the reins so that
the horse reared its head, coming to an abrupt halt. “Trespassing on my
property?”

“I didn’t know it was your
property until I cleared the hedge,” Ben said, suddenly aware that he was
bare-chested, scared and bruised, with a strip of white linen tied around his
head. And yet, he sat up straight and tall, feeling more powerful than ever.

“Didn’t know?” Edward mocked.
“Everyone around here knows this is my land, and visitors aren’t welcome, not
unless they’ve been personally invited by me!” His brown eyes looked inky black
as they skated over Ben, stopping at a grouping of large, red welts on his
chest that had scabbed over. Despite his tanned skin, Edward’s cheeks flushed a
deep red, which made his eyes narrow into slits.

“My horse and I were riding
and we stumbled upon your farm. He doesn’t like the way you’re treating this
filly, and neither do I.”

“That’s none of your
business,” Edward said, pointing his finger at the woods. “Now get off my
land!”

“All right,” Ben said,
holding his gaze. “Like I said, I didn’t know it was your land, but I believe
Midnight Storm did, and I believe the Lord was the one behind it all. I believe
He led us here today for one purpose.” Edward’s eyes narrowed again as Ben
continued. “I figure I’ve got something to say to you, Mr. Millhouse. What you
did to me and my home wasn’t right, and in my own flesh, I want nothing more
than to see you pay. But I’m called to forgive, so that’s what I’m gonna do. I
don’t want to, but I will.”

“I don’t need your
forgiveness—”

“I forgive you anyway,
whether you want it or not, whether you think you need it or not.” There was
confusion in Edward’s expression, which wasn’t surprising. “This is for me, not
you,” Ben said. “I forgive you for everything, even for what you did to my
mama.” There was a long silence as he stared hard into Edward’s eyes and prayed
in Cherokee before saying the next words. “And for making me watch.”

“Get off my land!” Edward
bellowed, his face turning a dark shade of purple.

Ben saw fear in the man’s
eyes for the very first time. In that moment, the hatred he had felt all those
years melted away and was replaced by pity. Edward Millhouse was a sad, pitiful
man who needed saving. “The Lord’s forgiven you too,” Ben said. “You’ve just gotta
believe it.”

The tall, wiry man rushed
toward Midnight Storm and screamed, “You heard him—Git!”

The stallion reared up on its
hooves and almost struck the man in the chest, but Ben calmed it by speaking in
his native tongue,
“Let us go, my friend. Let us run like the wind.”
Immediately,
Midnight Storm turned and galloped away toward the trees.

When they approached the
hedge, Ben slowed the horse and looked back to see if they had been followed.
Surprisingly, Mason made his way to the barn, and the stable hands were back to
their task of twitching the filly. Edward rode Almighty around the pen,
watching their progress as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But
then suddenly, the filly screamed and flung her body every which way, like it
had been hit with a bolt of lightning. “Come!” Ben hissed. “Come with us!”
Midnight Storm neighed loudly, as if translating what Ben said. Cupping his
hand to his mouth, Ben yelled again, but this time it sounded more like a
native battle cry.

The filly rose up on its back
hooves, and the wiry man fell to the ground in a cloud of dust. It reared up
again and broke free, racing past Edward and Almighty and making a beeline to
where Ben and Midnight Storm stood. The stallion’s ears flattened and its
nostrils flared as it whinnied long and loud.

The stable hands raced after
the filly, shouting, but Edward called them back. Ben couldn’t help but smile
at the sight of this beautiful appaloosa with a twitch hanging out of its mouth
and a rope around its neck, running like the wind. It slowed down when it
reached them, spewing spittle all over his chest, but he didn’t mind. Removing
the device, he threw it deep into the woods and patted the filly on the head
and neck. “Be free. Be free, my little flower.”

“Leave that horse alone!”
Edward screamed, watching from afar. Ben waited for him to follow, but he
didn’t. He stayed back, continuing to watch.

“You stay here,” Ben
whispered, kissing the filly on its silky nose. As he looked into its eyes, a
name came to his mind—White Flower.

Raising his hand in the air,
Ben gave Edward one last look and then let out a native cry that would have
made his uncle proud. Midnight Storm turned in response and galloped through
the trees, leaping over the hedge with plenty of room to spare. The stallion
cleared a row of fallen logs and quickened its pace, running faster and faster,
when a flash of white appeared on Ben’s right flank. He looked over at their
pursuer, expecting to see Edward’s grim face, but it was only the filly racing
beside them, making a clear path through the woods.