Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (27 page)

Without warning, Edward
lunged again, but Ben wasn’t about to let the pistol go. He kicked and bit,
until suddenly, his finger was on the trigger, and the gun fired into the air.

“Did you hear that?” Angelina
looked up from her picnic lunch so that her hat wobbled on its perch. She and
Jessie had arrived from town and were eating a quick bite of Ella’s picnic
while they waited for the riders to emerge from the woods.

“Sounded like pistol shots to
me,” Billy said, scratching his head and readjusting his Stetson.

Angelina held her breath and
stared intently into the trees while Jessie crammed the last bite of a biscuit
in her mouth. Tom ripped a hunk of meat off a chicken bone while Mitchell and
the other Fairington boys became silent, listening as the wind whistled through
the trees, sending leaves fluttering around the gravestones.

“Something’s wrong. I know
it. They should be coming past by now,” Angelina said. “Tom, what’s the time?”

Tom pulled his pocket watch
out of his vest pocket and popped it open. “Been almost ten minutes.”

“That’s too long.” Angelina
dropped her mama’s china plate onto the blanket and stood to her feet.

“Where’re you going?” Jessie
asked, gulping down her food. “We need to hurry it on up and get back to town
to meet Ben at the finish line like you said.”

“I know what I said, but I
don’t trust that Edward Millhouse as far as I can throw him.” She marched over
to the oak tree where Eagle’s Wing was tethered.

“Tom, make her stop,” Jessie
said.

“You gonna act all bullheaded
and mess up the race?” Tom scolded, as Angelina adjusted the stirrups and
prepared to mount. “That what you want? You go in those woods and get yourself
trampled by a load of thoroughbreds, don’t come asking me for sympathy.”

“Not asking!” she snapped
back. She hopped onto the saddle and took off toward the woods, wishing she had
dressed like Jessie instead of wearing what seemed like acres of silk fabric. A
sidesaddle was no help at all at a time like this.

“Angelina!” Jessie cried. Her
sister’s voice was shrill and frantic and would have made Angelina stop under
normal circumstances, but she couldn’t go against her instinct. Ben was in
trouble, and she told him she would be there for him—and she meant it. His last
words played over again in her mind, and her skin memorized the touch of his
fingers on her cheeks.
Lord, keep him safe,
she prayed, feeling a lump
rise in her throat.

The quail feather in her hat
fluttered like a sheet in the wind as they barreled toward the trees and slipped
into an opening in the woods. Four-in-a-Row and a bay gelding galloped past, leaving
the woods quiet once more, except for the distant rumble of another pack of
horses racing along the trail.
Where were Edward and Ben?
Fear gripped
her heart as she thought of the pistol shots. Her mind played tricks on her,
advancing down dark roads that were too terrible to contemplate. “Ben?” she
called.

A neighing in the distance
sent her through the thick woods, weaving under low-lying limbs and thorns that
clung to her silk skirt and ripped at the veil on her hat. Midnight Storm stood
very still near a pine tree with its head hung low and blood covering its mane.
“Oh, dear Lord!” Angelina gasped. On the ground, by its feet, was Ben’s blue
serge jacket, smeared in blood and dirt. “BEN!” she cried into the forest.
“BEN!”

“Angelina!”

The response seemed distant
and faraway, as if it was being uttered under water. Suddenly, something
slammed against her shoulder, making her ear pop and her jaw clench. Confusion
set in, but she fought it, trying to determine what had hit her.
What has
happened, Lord? What is it?
went through her mind again and again as she
looked down at her silk dress and saw a red spot growing on her left shoulder
like an overturned jug of Ella’s tomato juice.

Slowly, she slid off the
saddle and fell into a pile of prickly brambles that, for some reason, didn’t
feel so prickly after all. She wanted to get up and find Ben, but she couldn’t.
Her arms and legs were weightless, like she was being lifted up by an unseen
force and placed on a white, fluffy cloud that moved through the blue sky on the
other side of the tree tops. Inside, she was smiling, even though she was aware
that her lips hadn’t moved. “Ben, Ben,” she mumbled in her heart. A heavy
blanket of sleep descended on her, forcing her to blink again and again, until
her eyes drifted closed.

“Angelina!”

Ben pushed Edward away and
scampered to his feet, racing up the ravine. “Angelina!” At the base of the
pine trees was a rumpled pile of blue silk draped across the brambles and
Eagle’s Wing standing idly by, sniffing the ground. Ben’s heart dropped at the
sight of so much blood. He tore off his shirt and wrapped it under Angelina’s
arm and across the wound, tying it tight to stop the bleeding. “Angel, wake up.
Wake up!” Scooping her into his arms, he stared into her face and called her name
softly, but there was no response. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was ashen
white.

Quickly, he unbuckled the
sidesaddle on Eagle’s Wing and threw it to the ground. Then draping Angelina
over his shoulder, he leapt onto the gelding’s back and took off through the
woods, speaking to the horse in his native tongue.
“You must ride my friend,
you must soar upward like the eagle. You must live up to your name!”

The gelding raced past Tom
and Jessie, so that all Ben heard were garbled hollers and cries that couldn’t
be deciphered. He had to get to town—he had to ride faster than he had ever
ridden before. Angelina remained tightly tucked in his arms, but he felt his
hand loosen its grip from something wet that trickled down his arm.
“Faster,
my friend,”
he called to Eagle’s Wing in Cherokee.
“We must fly. Fly
high.”

As they made their way
through the open field, Ben saw the rump of the brown gelding jump a fence
right alongside Four-in-a-Row. Clicking his tongue, he dug his heels into the
gelding’s side and squeezed his knees, whispering words of encouragement. As
they approached the fence, Ben hugged Angelina into his bare chest and felt
Eagle’s Wing fly across and touch down to the ground, as gentle as a feather.
They passed the gelding and Four-in-a-Row and then leapt over a hedge that
brought them right to the outskirts of town and the main road. Ben saw the
Methodist Church steeple scrape against the blue sky, but the Challenge was the
farthest thing from his mind. Getting Angelina to a doctor was all he cared
about.

The crowds screamed and
yelled, raising their fists, communicating something to him, but he didn’t
listen. He saw the look of horror on one woman’s face and a sad, shocked
expression of a little girl with blonde curls who resembled Angelina.
Oh,
God!
The words of prayer finally bubbled up into his throat, but he didn’t
dare speak them now, for they were filled with fear. He couldn’t let a spirit
of terror and dread take control. It desired to have him—he felt it pressing on
him, tempting him to give up and believe the worst, but he wouldn’t let it. He
gripped Angelina even tighter in his arms and kissed her hard on the forehead.
“Almost there, Angel. Almost there.”

As they thundered into town,
the roar of the crowd was deafening, like an endless wave crashing against a
beach. Ben kicked Eagle’s Wing in the side again and again, urging it to ride
faster and faster toward the church as he pressed Angelina’s head into his
shoulder. Hats waved in the air, women threw flowers at him, and little children
sat on their father’s shoulders, and yet, as Ben drew closer, their looks
changed from excitement, to confusion, to disgust. Ben could almost hear them
say, “What in the world—what is this Indian man doing with a white woman in his
arms?”

He pulled up to the church
and yanked the gelding to an abrupt stop so that it heaved and sputtered white
foam like rain. “Doctor! Doc Parker!”

Mabel emerged from the crowd
holding a hand full of wildflowers. “Good Lord, Ben! What has happened?”

The look of sorrow on her
face brought a wave of panic washing over him. “Get some rags, soap, and hot
water,” he barked. “Quick!” He slid off Eagle’s Wing’s back with Angelina still
in his arms and suddenly, the crowd grew strangely quiet. He looked into their
helpless faces, searching for a tall, lanky man with gray, trimmed beard and
black leather vest. “Doc Parker!” he screamed.

“Here!” a voice called
through the throng. Doctor Parker pushed his way through the people, carrying
his black leather bag in one hand, and wiping his mouth with a linen napkin
with the other. “In the church,” he said, motioning toward the church door. Ben
followed, storming his way inside with Angelina in his arms as though she
weighed no more than a small child. He didn’t notice that he was bloody and
shirtless and looked more like a savage than ever.

“Put her here,” Reverend
Michaels instructed. He cleared off the altar table so Ben could gently place
Angelina on the wooden surface. Her skin was clammy and white, but her lips
were flushed with a faint tinge of pink, giving him hope.

“Is she gonna live? She gonna
be all right?”

Doctor Parker shoved his coat
under Angelina’s head. “She’s lost a lot of blood. We’re gonna have to see.” Ben
dug his fingernails into his palm, fighting the urge to give in to fear.
“You’re gonna have to step out, son,” Doctor Parker said, tearing Angelina’s
bloody sleeve away. The tip of the arrowhead hanging from her neck emerged from
its hiding place, stilling Ben’s heart. “I’ll take care of her now.”

The door slammed open and
Jessie tumbled inside, flapping her arms like a goose. “Angelina?” Tom stumbled
in behind her with his hat bunched up in his hand.

“Get out, you people!” Doctor
Parker yelled, his face beet red. “Ben, get them out, now!”

With Jessie on one arm and Tom
in the other, Ben pushed them out the door and slammed it closed. He stared at
Tom and then looked into Jessie’s dark eyes that were filled with fear. “Start
praying,” he said.

A rumble in the crowd rippled
its way toward Ben, followed by a litany of yells. “He’s the one! There he is!”
Edward rode Almighty through the crowd, looking dirty, haggard, and worn. He
pointed a long finger at Ben and cried, “He did it! He’s the one who shot Miss
Angelina Raeford!” A collective gasp from the crowd brought every eye toward
Ben, wondering, accusing, and passing judgment. “Even tried to shoot my horse.
Nothing but a savage,” Edward hissed.

“This boy didn’t shoot anyone
or anything!” Tom yelled, surveying the crowd. “You can mark my words.” He
stepped forward and pointed his finger at Edward, spitting as he spoke. “It’s
you—you’re the one who kills and destroys!” Edward winced as Tom’s voice
deepened. “You should be ashamed. All of this for a wager over land that don’t
belong to you, and it never has.” Tom’s eyes were like glassy marbles, hard and
impenetrable. “It’s his land, and you and I know it.”

Edward glared at Tom for what
seemed like an eternity, popping his riding crop in his gloved hand in quick,
rhythmic fashion. “Someone shut this savage up, before I shut him up myself.”

Rage rose up in Ben, quelling
the voice inside that gently reminded him of his commitment to forgive, to
love, to let vengeance belong to the Lord. He clenched his fists, feeling his
chest expand, and let out a loud Cherokee screech that made the hair on the
back of his own neck stand on end. Like a thoroughbred racehorse, he ran toward
Almighty, sensing the crowd part, and grabbed Edward by the lapels, pulling him
off his saddle and slamming him down to the ground. Anger consumed him as he
smashed his fists into Edward’s face, over and over. Edward tried to rise to
his feet, but Ben hit him again, sending a spray of blood across the crowd.
Grabbing him by the throat, Ben clamped down hard, as the memory of his mother
came to him. He screamed, wishing he had fangs like that black mountain lion,
so he could rip Edward’s flesh and stop the past from coming back to haunt him
without warning.

Edward struggled, kicking and
flailing his legs, but Ben only squeezed harder. Hands grabbed his shoulders,
trying to pull him off, but he smacked them away with a force he had never
experienced. Voices pleaded with him to release his hold, but he ignored them.

Suddenly, Edward’s eyes
popped open, bulging like a bullfrog. He stared at Ben, and the look was one of
anger and mockery that showed no regard for fear—especially the fear of death.
Ben reached down into his boot and grabbed his flint knife, bringing it close
to Edward’s throat. He remembered the day he had held the mountain lion in a
similar fashion and squeezed, wanting nothing more than to kill. He pictured
the knife piercing the skin and then sliding inside, cutting off the flow of
life that was just underneath his hand. Ben’s flesh tingled at the satisfaction
in knowing he had the power to end it all, to rid the earth of Edward Millhouse
and his evil ways and make things right. But would it save Angelina? Would it
bring back his mother or his home? And what about Midnight Storm—

“Don’t do this, Ben.” Tom’s pleas
broke through the anger, reasoning with Ben’s thoughts. “Don’t. Miss Angelina
wouldn’t want it.”

“Please, Mr. Eagle-Smith,”
Billy echoed. “Remember what you told me in Proverbs, to wait on the Lord and
trust in Him?”