Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (25 page)

“Had it made special over at
Hadden’s. I’ve been saving it for months,” Mabel said, pulling the coat from
the wardrobe. Behind it was a pair of brown canvas riding trousers and a crisp,
white linen shirt. “Fit for a king,” she said, draping the coat across her arm.
“Wanna give it a try?” S
he slipped it off the hanger and held it open.

Ben’s eyes widened at the navy blue silk lining and the rich
blue color of the serge wool. He slipped his arms through, adjusting it over
his shoulders. Mabel turned him toward the dressing table mirror where they
both looked at his reflection. “Perfect,” she said, brushing her hand over his
back and tugging at the sleeves. “The handsomest man in all of Laurel Grove.”
She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him close while admiring his reflection.
“And the most blessed. You remember that, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do thank you.” Ben’s heart softened at the
sight of tears gathering in her eyes. She really was the closest thing he had
to a mother, now that his family was gone. Buttoning the coat, he squared his
shoulders and stood upright, wondering what it meant to be a blessed man. Did
it mean more than what he had stashed in his pocketbook?
Must be.

Running his fingers through his hair, he suddenly became
aware of how jagged and shaggy he looked. He rubbed his hand over his beard and
stared closely at his reflection. For the first time in his life, he saw his
father’s face—chiseled features and dark skin, but with a layer of white
running underneath. “Miss Mabel,” he said, knowing what he had to do. “You have
a pair of barber shears anywhere?”

“Glory be!” she said, clapping her hands and grinning big
and wide. “Why, yes, sir, I do!” With one quick move, she pulled a chair from
her writing desk and placed it in front of the mirror, patting the seat with
her palm. “Sit yourself down and we’ll get you cleaned up, but good!”

Today was the day. The
Carolina Challenge was finally here after months of anticipation, and
Angelina’s stomach was in knots. She hadn’t been able to get a bite of
breakfast past her nose, even though Ella cooked her favorite—blueberry
hotcakes with scrambled eggs, honey cured bacon, and biscuits with sausage
gravy, topped off with a rich cup of hot coffee. Jessie had gobbled her food up
without any trouble at all and had even stolen a few bites from Angelina’s plate.
She wondered where Jessie put it all, being so thin.

“Come on, Jessie!” Angelina
stood by the front door of Fairington, checking her pocket watch. She and
Jessie had to hurry if they wanted to get to town to see Ben before the race
started. “We need to get going!” she called up the staircase.

“Hold your horses, miss!”
Jessie slapped her Stetson on her head and rumbled down the stairs wearing a
dusty rose-colored chambray shirt, beige canvas riding pants, and a thick black
belt, topped off with a pair of black leather boots. Her long, black hair
provided a stunning contrast to her attire.

“You’re wearing that?”
Angelina asked, wrinkling her nose. “What about that new dress Ella made, the
coral damask with those ribbons you liked?”

“I don’t wanna wear a dress!”
Jessie sneered. “I’m wearing trousers. It’s more practical. Besides, you know
how I feel about those sidesaddles.”

“It’s just for today,”
Angelina said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. “And I thought you were going to
do something about your hair.”

“My hair’s fine.”

Jessie stomped out the door,
and Angelina followed behind, first checking her appearance in the gilded mirror
which hung over the walnut chest by the front door. Like the other ladies in
Laurel Grove, she treated the Challenge as a high fashion event and had the
dressmaker design a new frock for the occasion—a sky blue silk trimmed in white
silk piping with lace and ribbon accents at the bodice and accentuated with
tiny pearls. The skirt was long and flowing with a bustle in the back, but not
so full as to prevent her from sitting securely on a sidesaddle. She wore her
hair swept up with tiny ringlets framing her face, crowned with her new
matching blue hat with lace veil, pearls, and quail feather. And hanging around
her neck, close to the skin and tucked out of sight, was Ben’s arrowhead, which
she had tied to a long strip of leather—a secret, even from Ella.

Angelina pinched her cheeks a
few times and bit her lips for color, satisfied with the way the fabric brought
out the rich blue in her eyes. Her stomach leapt with a flutter of butterflies
as she imagined what Ben’s reaction would be. Breezing through the front door,
she hurried across the cobblestone drive to where Tom waited with Eagle’s Wing.
“Tom, you and the boys have all the picnic supplies ready?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied,
handing her the reins. “Billy and I have the wagon all loaded up and are headed
over to the site as soon as we see you off.”

“Well, all right, but don’t
dillydally. I don’t wanna miss a single moment.”

He helped her into the
sidesaddle, which felt foreign and strange, but it couldn’t be helped with the
new silk dress. “You sure you don’t want the buggy?”

“No, Tom. We’ve already
discussed this. Anyway, Eagle’s Wing doesn’t want to miss one bit of the race
either, do you boy?” She stroked the gelding’s neck and smiled.

“Hate to see you get your
dress all mussed up.”

She fluffed the silk skirt
around the saddle, admiring how nice it looked. “Maybe next year I’ll wear
trousers, like Jessie.” She indulged him with a sly look, knowing full well he
didn’t believe her for a minute.

“Come on!” Jessie yelled. She
trotted slowly down the drive toward the main road, riding Miss Majestic. “You
gonna talk all day, or are you gonna ride?”

“I’ll see you, Tom,” Angelina
said, waving at Ella who looked on from the front porch. “I’ll probably be
famished later, so save me a chicken leg, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” he
said, slapping Eagle’s Wing on the back haunches.

She and Eagle’s Wing moved
down the road at a slow canter, following Jessie into town. It was a glorious
morning, just perfect for a steeplechase. The sky was bright blue and there
wasn’t a cloud in sight. It had rained lightly the day before, so the grass and
leaves were vibrant green and the jasmine and wildflowers in the field
flourished more than ever with a mixture of reds, oranges, and yellows.

Normally, Angelina liked to
stay in town and watch the race with the crowd, but this year, she was intent
on watching along the race route. Many spectators liked to camp out along the three-mile
run, and she and Jessie had chosen the little clump of oak trees near the Old
McNair Cemetery where her mama and daddy and Mighty Wind were buried. Ella had
packed them a fine picnic lunch, enough for Tom and all of the Fairington boys.
Included were fried chicken, spicy ham biscuits, baked chicken sandwiches with
Ella’s famous butter spread, apple pie, and a wheel of sharp cheddar cheese,
all to be served with her mama’s floral china dishes, silverware, and
embroidered linen napkins.

Angelina thought of Ella’s
annual Challenge picnic and how everyone at Fairington looked forward to it, and
yet, there was a sense of foreboding this year because of Ben. At first she
thought it was something she was feeling on her own, but over time, she came to
realize it affected Jessie and Ella and all the boys. She could sense it—an
oppressive weight that hung over the entire farm, like a thick fog. Jessie and
Ella didn’t laugh as much as they used to, and Tom seemed to snap at Billy and
the other trainers for no reason. All of them were feeling the pressure of the
outcome of the race.

The shade from the large oaks
brought with it a cool breeze that twisted through the forest and ruffled the
quail feather in her hat, reminding Angelina of Edward’s cold stare. Her
stomach soured at the thought of seeing him again—he repulsed her more than
ever.
What if he did win after all?
she thought. Sadness washed over her,
tempting her to weep, but then, at that moment, a flock of birds fluttered
across the sky, lifting her spirits to the clouds. They seemed to say,
Ben
is going to do fine today
. And she knew they were right. Edward Millhouse
didn’t have a chance.

Ben felt the crowd staring as
he rode Midnight Storm down Main Street. Mabel had insisted he stay in the back
room off the kitchen and get a good night’s sleep. He was grateful for the rest
and refreshment, as well as his new riding clothes and short haircut. He had
buffed the leather on the boots until they shone, while Mabel pressed his linen
shirt and trousers until they were as stiff as a board. He even agreed to tuck
a blue silk ascot into the neck of his white shirt, which offset the riding
coat beautifully—but he refused to wear her husband’s old black velvet riding
hat. He couldn’t ride without feeling the power of the wind blowing through
what was left of his hair.

While Mabel was busy with
Ben, Arthur, the stable hand, brushed Midnight Storm down to a sleek black and
braided its mane and tail in a handsome design. Ben had to admit that the entire
transformation was a blessing and brought on a newfound confidence. One look in
the mirror confirmed he looked nothing short of southern royalty.

“Why, Mr. Eagle-Smith!”
Miranda Sutherland exclaimed as she stood along Main Street with Rebecca
Thompson. “Is that you?” She giggled in Rebecca’s ear and pointed his way.

“Yes, ma’am it is,” he said,
nodding his head as the stallion sauntered down the cobblestone street to the
race starting line.

“Well, you do look fine!”

“And you ladies look lovely.”
He saluted them while moving Midnight Storm into a trot, ignoring the wagging
fingers, whispers, and admiring glances from the spectators, especially the
ladies. Even though he was uncomfortable with their attention, he was glad to
make a good impression. He could guess what Isabella’s reaction would be at
seeing his new appearance. But it was Angelina’s response that made him most
curious.

As he and Midnight Storm made
their way through the crowd, he caught a glimpse of a blonde-haired beauty in a
blue dress, and his heart dropped. It was Angelina arriving with Jessie. He
quickly dismounted and approached an old man with crystal blue eyes, silvery
whiskers, and a sweat-stained Stetson who held a paper scroll in one hand and a
stack of cards with hand-painted numbers in the other—obviously one of the race
judges. “Ben Eagle-Smith,” Ben said, eyeing the list of names on the scroll.
The old man gave him a cool look as he unrolled the scroll down to the Ss.

“Don’t see that name here.
Supposed to have registered by last week. Too late now.”

“Try the Es,” Ben said,
trying to remain friendly.

The old man scowled,
unrolling the scroll down to the bottom. “Ah,” he nodded. “Not used to
half-breed names.” His beady blue eyes surveyed Ben, while a look of disgust
slithered across his face. “You that red man that won the Promenade?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Here,” he said, shoving a
numbered card toward Ben’s chest. “Number’s fifteen. Go on and wait up yonder
for us to announce the start.”

Ben tucked the card in his
trouser pocket and smiled as a magnificent lavender hat adorned with wide
lavender ribbon and a mixture of violets, pink roses, and cattails pushed
through the throng. “Ben!” Isabella exclaimed, wearing a matching lavender silk
dress that accentuated her small waist and willowy form. “You’re magnificent!
Why, look at you!” she gushed, taking him in from head to toe. “Oh, Ben, you
are a dream.” She snapped open her lavender fan and fluttered the floral design
before her flushed cheeks. “Daddy and I are so excited. He’s watching over near
the house, but I had to come to town and see you. I know you and Midnight Storm
will do wonderfully.”

“Thank you, Isabella.”

“Will I see you after the
race? Miranda’s invited Billy, and Daddy wants you to come for supper.”

“We’ll see.”

He nodded and moved through
the crowd, feeling Isabella’s eyes boring holes in his back, but he didn’t dare
turn around. As he approached the refreshment stands, he saw something that
brought him to a stiff halt. It was Edward Millhouse. Tall, strong, determined,
wearing brown boots, tan canvas trousers, and his signature red jacket with
striped ascot at the throat. He spoke to several ladies before making his way
to where Jessie and Angelina sipped lemonade and chatted with some of Isaac’s
friends. Ben overheard him speak to Angelina, saying, “ . . . lovely today.”
She coldly responded, “Thank you.”

Without wasting a moment, Ben
moved toward them, admiring Angelina’s long, porcelain neck and beautiful silk
gown that brought a glow to her skin. The blonde hair gathered below her hat
was curled in a bouquet of curls that reminded him of a handful of blooming
yellow roses. “Angelina,” he called softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

Edward stopped in
mid-sentence and gave him an icy stare, while Jessie’s eyes widened. “Oh,
Ben—there you are!”

Angelina turned abruptly and
froze. He stared into the blue of her eyes, and it was as if the crowd had
melted away and they were the only two people left in Laurel Grove. For a brief
moment, nothing else mattered to him—not the Challenge, or his home, and
certainly not Edward Millhouse. His world contained only Angelina Raeford.

Taking her hand, he bowed his
head and kissed it, making her blush. He stared into her eyes again, and his
gaze spoke,
I’ve never seen you look more beautiful,
without a single
word leaving his lips. And he knew she had heard him.

“I believe it’s time to
race,” Edward said, clearing his throat.

“Yes,” Angelina answered in a
faraway voice, her eyes still glued to Ben’s.

Ben nodded Edward’s way, avoiding
his glare. “Miss Jessie.” He smiled and acknowledged Angelina. “Miss Raeford.”

He led Midnight Storm through
the crowd toward the bandstand where a stringed quartet played the first
measures of “Dixie.” The entire area was teeming with spectators and
participants and decorated with flags, banners, and floral garlands, and yet he
still heard Angelina calling his name. “Ben!” She ran to him, breathless. Her
eyes glistened with tears as she looked him over as though he was a stranger.
“Your hair, these clothes.” Guilt was etched across her face, and yet he saw
approval in her expression. “I never asked you, I never expected—”

“I didn’t do it for you.” He
brushed a tear away from her cheek, fighting the temptation to pull her into
his arms. “No matter what happens today, it’s the beginning of a whole new life
for me, Angelina. I pray you meant what you said the other night, that you’ll
share it with me—but if not, for whatever reason—I want you to know, you’ll
always be my Angel.”

The steward blew the whistle,
signaling it was time to line up. Ben backed away from her, holding her gaze as
long as he could, and swung into the saddle in a single, fluid motion. He gave
her one last look, mentally speaking to her, and then followed the movement of
the crowd.