Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (29 page)

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it
gently. “I want you to share my life with me, Angelina. I want you to be my
wife. But I can’t stay here. I won’t. Maybe one day, things will be different,
but for now—”

She threw her arms around him and held him tight. “I know,”
she whispered.

“I can’t ask you to give up Fairington—”

“I can never give up Fairington, and I never will. Just like
you’ll never be able to give up your daddy’s farm.” He looked into her eyes,
seeing a change in her expression. The tears were gone and the grief was spent,
revealing something strong and new. “But I can leave. I can go where you go.”
She slid into his lap and gazed into his eyes. “I love Fairington. It’s the
only home I’ve known. But there’s something I love more.” Her fingers caressed
his face, running along the planes of his cheeks and down to his chin, which
was rough with beard. “My home is where you are.”

He kissed her, hoping to seal these words forever before she
changed her mind. His forehead joined hers, and he stared into the depth of her
eyes, noticing how blue they were, like the rippling of a moving river.
Something pulled at his heart and transported him to a different place where he
lost himself in her
blonde curls, lean neck, and
the bloom on her porcelain cheeks.
“You mean it? It’s going to be hard.”

“Not if we’re together.”

Finally, his lips were on
hers again, and a flood of emotion took over, bringing with it a renewed power
that required restraint—her body was fragile, yet strong enough to be held
tightly in his arms, and her breath was soft and shallow, yet deep enough to
receive his kisses. Tucking her head under his chin, he held her close to his
heart, rocking back and forth as he watched the fire burn. “I’ll never let you
go.”

Lightning lit up the sky, and
a loud boom of thunder followed. The log in the fireplace dropped down into the
grate, sending hot embers swirling into the air. Ben heard a noise behind him and
turned, expecting to see Ella, or Jessie maybe, but it was someone else.
Angelina gasped as a dark figure emerged from behind the velvet drapes that
bordered the front windows. A pair of wet boots clomped against the wooden
floor, and immediately, Ben knew who it was.

“Edward!” Angelina froze,
feeling fear swim through her veins. Edward stepped out of the shadows, and
another bolt of lightning illuminated his face and body, making him look like a
monster from one of Tom’s old campfire stories. His face was stark white, his
hair greasy and slicked back tight against his scalp, and his hands were black
with dirt. He wore his red riding jacket and a white shirt that was stained and
torn to the waist. The angles on his face were more pronounced, as though he
was an emaciated corpse arising from the dead. Angelina had never seen anything
more horrible.

Ben rose to his feet and
stepped in front of Angelina. “You’re trespassing in this house.”

“No,” Edward said, his voice
sounding like a hissing snake, “you’re the one trespassing.”

“What is it you want?”

“You know what I want.” Edward
raised his hand and pointed the Remington at Ben’s chest.

“Edward, please!” Angelina
wailed.

Edward’s jaw pulsated as he
stared at Ben, sweat dripping from his forehead. Angelina wanted to look away,
and yet she couldn’t pry her eyes from the glistening streaks of moisture that slithered
down his face. “I should’ve finished what I started.” Stepping toward the
settee, he moved the pistol toward Angelina. “Just a little lower,” he hissed,
aiming at her chest, “and it’ll pierce her heart.”

She wanted to scream, but
fear gripped her throat with its long, clawed fingers, cutting off the flow of
oxygen. The room dimmed and her surroundings spun ever so slightly.
Am I going
to die, Lord? Is this how it will end?

“I know you never loved me,”
Edward said, staring at her with a brokenness that would have made her pity him
under different circumstances. But in a flash, the sad look was gone, and the
ghostly pallor returned. “You said you hated me, that I’d never set foot on
Fairington again as long as there was breath in your body.” The hammer on the
pistol clicked, and his darkened eyes latched hold of hers, piercing her soul
like a long, sharp blade. “So be it,” he whispered.

Ben lunged toward Edward,
making her shut her eyes in a tight squeeze. A shot rang out, piercing the
night, and the pain in her shoulder returned. She gasped for breath, sucking in
a deep gulp of air, and opened her eyes. Her brown chambray shirt was clean and
unmarred.

“Drop that pistol,” Tom
commanded, aiming a long-barreled rifle at Edward, who groaned and writhed on
the Oriental carpet, holding his right arm. A pool of blood seeped across the
wooden floor like a river cutting a path through new territory. “Now!” Tom
bellowed, “or I’m shootin’ the other arm!” Edward groaned again and dropped the
pistol, falling back on the carpet, spread eagle in front of the fireplace like
the bearskin rug in Rutherford Hall. Ben grabbed the weapon, opened the chamber,
and dumped the bullets into his hand. “You all right, Miss Raeford?” Tom said,
not moving from his position.

Angelina swallowed hard and
nodded. “Yes.”

“Did I hear gunshots?” Jessie
lumbered down the staircase and made her way into the parlor wearing her
favorite red, cotton nightgown. She screeched as Ella rushed into the room
behind her, wearing a long, white muslin nightdress and a blue bandana tied
around her hair.

“What in tarnation?” Ella
stopped still in her tracks when she saw Edward, her hand slowly fluttering to
her mouth. “Dear Lord in Heaven—”

“Ella,” Tom said, adjusting
his Stetson on his head as he pointed the rifle toward the ceiling and stared
at Edward sprawled across the floor, “get Stevie to fetch the doctor, and have
Billy ride on over to the sheriff’s house and tell him we found Mr. Millhouse.
I’ll have Mitchell and Ward keep an eye on him while we wait.” He turned to
Jessie and nodded, “Miss Jessie. Miss Raeford, sorry you had to see this. And
Ella, sorry about the carpet.”

“It’s all right. We’ll take
care of it from here. Jessie, Angelina, get some hot water and rags,” she
ordered, fluttering around the room like a billowing ghost. “We need to get
this bleedin’ stopped ’fore Mr. Edward dies right here in the front parlor.”

Angelina rose to her feet,
wanting to help Ella and Jessie bandage the wound, but her legs were like a
wobbly, new-born foal. She melted back down into the settee cushions, sinking
into Ben’s arms. “Lemme help you upstairs,” he said.

“No, I’ll be fine.” She
shuddered at Edward’s sticky, gray face that remained as still as death. 

“Miss Raeford, if it’s all
right, I need Ben to come with me,” Tom said, nodding toward Ben. “I’ve got
somethin’ to show you.”

Angelina caught Tom’s eye and
tried to read his expression, but his face was void of anything other than a
staunch stoicism. “Fine, then. I’ll be fine.”

 Mitchell and Ward barreled
into the parlor, buttoning their shirts and slamming their Stetsons on their
heads, joining in the commotion. The clock over the mantle chimed three times,
and yet with all of the activity, it could have very well been three o’clock in
the afternoon. “Go on,” she whispered, gazing into Ben’s eyes where sadness and
relief swirled together. He pulled her close, kissed her on the forehead, and disappeared
out the front door with Tom.

The rain had stopped, but
thunder still rumbled in the distance. Ben followed Tom to the barn, dodging
the mud puddles that formed a barrier before them. Once inside, Tom lit a small
lantern and led him to Mighty Wind’s old stall. He propped the rifle against
the wall, pulled a wooden stool over and stood on it, retrieving a small metal
box from behind the rafters. “I’ve got somethin’ for you here.” He opened the
box and pulled out an old, yellowed envelope. “I promised your mama I wouldn’t
show it to you till the time was right. And I’d say now’s as good a time as
any.”

He handed Ben the envelope.
The outside was worn and smudged with dirt, but the writing was clean and
smooth. Ben recognized his name written in his mother’s hand. Carefully, he
pulled the papers out and opened them.

“It’s the deed to your land,” Tom said, “signed by your
daddy two weeks before he died. It’s endorsed in your name, free and clear.
Edward Millhouse never owned it, and that’s why he never sold. He couldn’t.”

Ben stared at the word
deed
in large lettering, along with his father’s signature and his name written in
an elaborate, cursive style. His mind reeled, realizing he had imagined this
day for so many years. “
I
own the land?”

“I made a promise to your mama, and I’m a man who keeps his
promises. I couldn’t trust that Edward Millhouse, and neither could she—we
didn’t know what he’d do. We needed time—time for you to grow up. You were
young and wild and needed to learn how to stand up tall to a devil like him and
win.” He smiled at Ben, looking him over with pride. “And I’d say you’ve done
that.”

Ben tried to clear his mind
as emotion rose up in him, catching in his throat. Tears pricked his eyes and
blurred his vision as he continued to stare at the word
deed
. “It’s
really mine?”

“Yes, sir, son. Been yours
all the time,” Tom said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “I hope you’ll
forgive me—” Ben threw his arms around Tom’s neck and squeezed tight. What was
there to forgive? Tom had protected him all these years, and he had never known
it.

After a moment, they released
each other and waited in the silence as Ben wiped his face and stared at the
paper. “I always knew it would come to blows with Mr. Millhouse.” Tom’s eyes
glistened brightly for a moment, making him look like a young man again. “I’m
glad it wasn’t you who fired that shot. You don’t want that guilt hangin’ over
your head.” He looked away for a moment and slid his hat back and forth on his
head, finally settling it close to his brow. “I’m glad it was me that did it.
I’ve lived my life. I never took the kind of risks you did, never lived it to
the full. But you can, and you will. You can be free—and you are.” He looked
into Ben’s eyes, revealing a love that poured out like a river. It was a love
greater than what Ben saw in Isaac Richardson, a love that reminded him of his
own daddy. “One day, when I see you livin’ your life on that farm, I’ll be able
to go back in time and imagine I did things different.”

A warm feeling came over Ben,
a peace that went beyond his understanding. He stared at the deed again and
laughed. “I expect you’ve got something you wanna tell Miss Raeford, something
you wanna show her,” Tom said, smiling in a sly manner. “So, go on, then.”

Ben grinned big and wide and then
scurried out of the barn with the deed in his hand, not caring that he splashed
through a sea of mud before getting to Ella’s clean floor. He thought about all
that transpired—Angelina was his, Edward was going away, and now he held the deed
to his property in his hand. And if it hadn’t been for God using an old,
Iroquois man, things might be very different.

As he reached the porch, a
strange sound brought a chill rushing through him. He stopped and listened. In
the far distance came the familiar call of a wild animal that he knew to be the
klandagi,
the black mountain lion. It cried again, sounding lost,
as if it was looking for its home. Ben stared into the darkness and whispered
in his native tongue,
“Go back, back to your place. Into the night.”

Immediately, the sound died away with the distant thunder.
Ben looked back at the barn and saw the light from the Tom’s lantern
shining through a crack in the wall. After a moment,
it dimmed and then slowly died away.

“Oh, Angel,” Jessie gushed,
staring at Angelina in the vanity mirror, “Mama would be so proud.”

Angelina smiled at her
reflection, admiring what she saw. Her mother’s taffeta wedding gown with tiny
pleats
and lace at the bodice
fit her perfectly,
accentuating her small waist and svelte form. The creaminess of the silk
brought out the peachy glow of her skin and the blue ribbons at the waist and
sleeves made her eyes look a brilliant blue. Jessie wanted her to wear her hair
pulled off her neck in a curled updo, but Angelina wouldn’t hear of it. If she
was getting married under the oak tree at Palmetto Ridge, she was going to wear
her hair falling down her back, free to blow in the wind.

Angelina turned her head,
admiring the cluster of long blue ribbons and small nosegay of wildflowers Ella
had attached into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. It resembled a
thick Cherokee braid as it flowed down her back and touched her waist. The
finishing touch was her mama’s pearl earrings, a bouquet of roses, hydrangeas,
and jasmine tied together with a matching cluster of blue ribbon, and Ben’s
arrowhead. Angelina retrieved it from her vanity drawer and secured the leather
string around her neck so that the sharp point lay flat against her chest.
“Perfect,” Angelina said, smiling again. She giggled at Jessie’s expression,
fighting to hold back the tears.

“Look at you!” Jessie grabbed
Angelina’s hands and twirled her around the room, giggling even harder as her
long, straight hair swung behind her like a dark curtain. Ella had stayed up
all night sewing a simple, light blue silk gown with a full skirt that fit
Jessie beautifully. The dress was elegant, yet plain, with no embellishments
other than a lace-covered white sash at the waist. A small pair of pearl
earrings and a nosegay of wildflowers and jasmine completed Jessie’s attire.
Angelina never recognized how exquisite her sister looked, with her refined
features and dark hair, until now. Without realizing it, her sister had grown
into a breathtakingly beautiful woman.

“Stop now, you’re making me
dizzy,” Angelina said, suppressing her laughter. Her shoulder was still a
little sore at times, but the doctor said everything was as healed as it would
ever be—time would eventually eliminate any lingering discomfort. That, and
knowing Edward was somewhere far away, never to return.

“You ready?” Jessie asked.

“Yep.”

“Where do you think he’s
taking you on your—you know,” Jessie blushed for a moment, flushing a dusty
rose. “Your honeymoon?”

“Jessie Raeford, is that all
you think about?”

“No!”

Angelina gave her sister a
peck on the cheek and gathered her bouquet in her hand, breezing out the
bedroom door into the hallway. “I don’t know. He says it’s a surprise.”

Jessie followed behind,
scurrying down the mahogany staircase like a little mouse. “Ella and I think
it’s the Blue Ridge. You know Mabel’s got that fancy upstairs bedroom she saves
for special guests. And you know how much she thinks of Ben.”

Angelina stopped midway and
smiled at Jessie. “I couldn’t say. Guess we’ll have to see.” She giggled again,
knowing their first night would be spent in Ben’s tree house, with nothing but
the moon and stars and God’s beautiful nature to keep them company.
But no
one needs to know,
she thought, as she hurried downstairs to the marble
foyer and out into the bright sunshine.
It’s our little secret.

Ben adjusted his new, gray
Stetson down low over his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun. Mabel had
cleaned and repaired his blue serge riding coat, leaving no trace of what had
happened with Edward. The white shirt was double starched to Mabel’s liking and
was unbuttoned at the neck to allow for the blue silk ascot to nestle near the
base of his throat. His black leather boots had been polished and shined like
new, along with the silver buckles, and his tan, canvas trousers were tucked in
tight against the boot tops, like an English lord. The only thing different
about his appearance today compared to that of the Challenge was the Stetson
and a tuft of a dark ponytail that protruded from the back of the hat brim.
Angelina made him promise he would grow his hair out again, like his Uncle Bear
Claw would have wanted.

“You nervous?” Tom asked, as
they stood a good distance from the old oak tree on Palmetto Ridge, waiting for
Angelina to arrive.

“No, sir.” But the truth was,
Ben’s stomach was tied in one huge knot.

Tom chuckled and smacked him firmly
on the back in a fatherly way. “She’ll be here, don’t you worry.”

A cool breeze carried the
lilting laughter of Billy and Miranda Sutherland under her dainty, white
parasol. Ella gave a gentle order to Clarissa, who assisted Mabel in setting up
a makeshift table covered in a long, white linen cloth and laden with a picnic
lunch fit for a king. There was fried chicken, of course, green beans with
pearl onions, deviled eggs, rolls with country ham and butter, corn and field
peas, and a huge spice and butter cake frosted with coconut icing and decorated
with yellow roses and pink begonias.

Isaac sampled a taste of a
cheese puff biscuit, and Mabel slapped his hand playfully. It warmed Ben’s
heart to see Isaac having a bit of fun. Ever since Isabella returned to
Charleston, he had been sad and melancholy.

Mitchell spoke with Rebecca
Thompson, keeping her company, while Stevie and Ward tried to make small talk
with Tia, the young Cherokee girl Mabel employed. She smiled sweetly as she
went about her duties, making Stevie blush a deep red. Ben turned away,
thinking of his beautiful mother and the way she used to look at his father
when she thought no one was watching. It was the same way Ben had looked at
Angelina all of those years growing up.

“What time’s it getting to
be?” he asked, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over him.

Tom closed the little black
Bible with Angelina’s initials embossed on the cover and checked his pocket
watch. “’Bout time she got here, I’d say.”

Midnight Storm grumbled, and
Ben responded by offering the stallion a sugar cube. White Flower sauntered
over and sniffed Ben’s pocket, wanting a treat as well. He stroked it on the
neck, offering the last of the sugar, and smiled as his fingers rubbed against
the frayed rope that hung from the edge of the filly’s halter—a sign of another
escape from Rutherford. With Edward being gone, Mason had agreed that White
Flower should stay with Ben, indefinitely. “No sense in me havin’ to keep
fixin’ them ropes,” he had said. “You’re not the only one who needed to be free
from Mr. Edward. Lots of us needed to be free, includin’ that filly. She shore
did have more fight in her than I ever had. She’s got ’bout as much fight in
her as Miss Raeford.” Ben recalled seeing the sparkle in Mason’s eye at the
mention of Angelina.

“I see somethin’, yes, sir, I
do,” Tom said, peering into the distance. “She’s comin’, that she is!” He
turned to Ella and Mabel and yelled, “She’s comin’! Get ready, time’s a
wastin’!”

Ben swallowed the lump in his
throat, ignoring the hoopla and frantic behavior from the ladies as they
prepared for the bride. He had waited all of his life for this moment, and it
was finally here.

Peering into the distance, he
saw the lilting movement of a dark gelding with a rider wearing a cloud of
white, coming toward them.
Angel
, the voice inside of him said. Tears
pricked his eyes as the rider came into full view. It was Angelina, of course,
with her blonde curls blowing in the wind and a long, blue ribbon twirling
behind her in the breeze. He had never seen anything more lovely.

“My, my,” Tom said, his voice
thickening. “It’s like I’ve stepped back in time. Spittin’ image of her mama.”

She approached the oak tree
with Jessie behind on Miss Majestic. Dismounting, they secured the horses,
fluffed their dresses, and slowly processed toward Ben and Tom. Ella, Mabel,
and Miranda gathered close, while the Fairington boys stood behind Ben,
removing their hats in respect. Ben quickly followed suit and ran his fingers
through his hair, slicking it down. Tom gave him a wink, assuring him that all
was fine.

Ben’s heart swelled with
emotion at seeing the beauty of Angelina. She was a vision, with her smooth,
porcelain skin, tangled blonde hair, rosy lips, and fiery expression. He gazed
into her bright, blue eyes, never wanting to let go. They spoke to him in a
language he had never heard, but one he clearly understood—she was a part of
him, that missing piece of his heart that had been cruelly taken away so long
ago. Now God was restoring all that was lost and making it more glorious than
Ben could have imagined.

Extending the Bible toward
the couple, Tom said, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here on this beautiful day
to celebrate the union of this man, Ben Eagle-Smith, and this woman, Angelina
McNair Raeford . . .”

Ben knew Tom was speaking,
but he didn’t hear a word. He was propelled into his own world of blissful joy
and peace in this life the Lord had given him. As Angelina melted into his
arms, he dove into the depth of her eyes, swimming around in the cool deep,
never wanting to return to the surface.

The arrowhead necklace pressed
against his chest, reminding him that vows needed to be spoken. As Tom led him
to say the words, “I will,” Ben lifted Angelina in his arms and kissed her,
sensing a newfound freedom. She twittered like a little bird and laid her head
on his shoulder as he carried her to the edge of Palmetto Ridge and surveyed
Eagle’s Ridge Farm. The debris from the old house was gone and the restoration
process was well under way. Ben imagined their big white farmhouse with columns
and wraparound porch and plenty of bedrooms for a passel of children. “Welcome
home,” he said, looking into Angelina’s eyes.

“Yes,” she said, smiling.

Laughter and applause
resounded, followed by Ella’s invitations to “Come on and eat!” And in the
distance, under the old oak tree, the horses gently neighed, giving their
approval.

The End