Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (3 page)

She hesitated, reading Tom’s expression, but she wasn’t in
the mood to be dictated to. “Yes, well—perhaps we need to be properly introduced
so he can learn how we do things around here, hmm?” Tom gave her a strange look
she didn’t like one bit, but she chose to ignore him, focusing her attention on
the Indian man. “Sir? You there—yes, what is your name? Tell us so we can all
hear.”

The Indian man set his fork down on his plate and stared
straight ahead a moment before answering. “Name’s Ben, ma’am.”

“Ben?” Panic prickled Angelina’s cheeks and swooped down the
length of both arms, making her gulp hard. “Ben what?” she asked, noting the
shrillness that crept into her voice. Silence reigned again, prompting her to
abruptly stand so that her stool scraped against the wooden floor. “Won’t you
look at me when you speak?”

“Miss Raeford,” Tom pleaded.

She shoved Tom’s hand away and approached the Indian man,
noticing the strength in his back and shoulders and the sinews in his arms that
protruded below his shirt sleeves. He was young, about her age, and his skin
was a dark, golden brown, but not quite as brown as Tom’s. He stared at his
plate with his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists. Angelina got a
good look at his profile and noticed the planes of his cheeks and the beads of
sweat that sprang up on his brow. As she drew nearer, her heart beat wildly in
her chest, making her light-headed. His hair was long and black, as shiny as
raven feathers, and was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She remembered that
hair, she did—and its silky feel. Without realizing it, her fingers reached out
to touch it, slowly and gently, when the sound of rumbling echoed in the
distance, followed by the
ping
of raindrops hitting the roof.

“Oh!” Angelina jerked her head toward Tom, her eyes wide
with panic. “Eagle’s Wing—I left him out in the field.”

“I’ll get right to it, ma’am,” Tom said, slamming his hat on
his head and bolting out the door.

In a few moments, the pings turned to loud, torrential
splats of rain, making Angelina forget all about the Indian man. “Eagle’s
Wing!” she yelled, hurrying outside into the wind and flashes of lightning.  In
the distance, she could see Tom wandering further into the pasture, calling for
the gelding. A neighing sound echoed in the night, sending fear up into her
throat. “Tom! It’s Eagle’s Wing!” She raced to where Tom stood and clutched his
arm while the sky drenched them with cold rain. “Tom, do something!”

 “It’ll be all right, Miss Raeford!” he yelled back. “Trust
me. He’s gonna be fine.”

Suddenly, a stallion and its rider erupted out of the barn
and galloped into the open field, disappearing into storm. Lightning struck
again, illuminating the sky and the ground below. “I can’t wait here any
longer!” she said, running through the field after the rider. After a few
paces, she stopped and peered into the distance, seeing the outline of the
Indian man on the stallion pulling Eagle’s Wing behind.

As he approached, his dark, shiny eyes stared at her, and
she gasped, feeling her soul drawn into his gaze. “Here’s your horse, ma’am,” he
said, handing her the lead. When he leaned forward in the saddle, heat rushed
through her heart, as if lightning had struck again. She opened her mouth to
reply, but no words came out.

“We thank you!” Tom said, grabbing Eagle’s Wing. “Come on,
boys, let’s get the horses inside before they catch their death! And that goes
for you too, Miss Raeford!” Angelina nodded, still staring into those dark eyes.
Ben tipped his drenched hat toward her and followed the other men to the barn.
She stood in the wind and mud, watching him ride his stallion through the
sheets of driving rain—hoping he would turn around and look at her, just once.
But he didn’t.

Ben lay on his bunk, staring at the wooden ceiling and
listening to the rain pound the roof of the bunkhouse. His tan chambray shirt
was strewn across the end of the bed, drying by the heat of the fire, while his
hair and trousers remained soaking wet, sending an occasional chill over his
body. But he didn’t care. He had seen her again, after all these years, and she
was lovelier than he imagined. Closing his eyes, he tried to drift off to sleep,
but his mind was haunted by the image of a pair of blue eyes, thick blonde
curls, and a porcelain white neck drenched in rainwater that extended down into
the hollow of a graceful throat.

A litany of snores from the other men filled the room,
ruining Ben’s image of Angelina. He sighed and kicked at the covers. There was
no point trying to sleep now. He was up, regardless of the hour.
I’ll see
what Mighty Wind’s doing.

The rain had turned to a drizzle, but the ground was covered
in mud puddles that surrounded the bunkhouse like a cluster of tiny lakes. Ben
splashed through a deep pool, dousing his boots as he made his way to the barn.
A chill rippled through him as the distant scream of a mountain lion blended
with the creak of the door, prompting several neighs from a brown filly named
Miss Majestic and a gray mare named Full Moon.

Quietly, he made his way to the back of the barn where
Mighty Wind was kept away from the other thoroughbreds. The stallion was a
tough horse to handle, as most stallions were, but not when Ben was in control.
For some reason, Mighty Wind settled down and became as gentle as a lamb in his
presence. The Cherokee called it a gift from the Creator, but Ben knew it was
something more. Somehow God would use his knowledge and ability with horses to
glorify Himself. Ben didn’t know how, but he knew it to be true.

Ben approached Mighty Wind’s stall, and the horse responded
by shifting on its hooves and nuzzling its nose against his palm. “Hey there,
fella,” he whispered. “Can’t sleep, either, huh? Exciting night, saving that
gelding from a storm. You’re a real hero, you know that? Not afraid of nothing
are you?” Mighty Wind tossed its head and snorted, looking for a treat. Ben
reached into his pocket and pulled out two sugar cubes which disappeared into
the stallion’s mouth. “You think you can get used to living around here, huh?
You gotta be friendly. There’s a pretty little mare down at the end, a spunky
one, the way you like ’em. Yeah.” The horse nuzzled his chest and face, looking
for another treat. Ben laughed as he dug into his pocket and pulled out two
more sugar cubes. “That’s all I’ve got. Gonna have to wait till morning.”

The barn door creaked open, and a light appeared in the
darkness from a low swinging lantern. Instinct kicked in, and Ben leapt over
the stall, hunkering down into the hay by Mighty Wind. The horse stamped its
hooves and swished its long tail, smacking him in the face. Grimacing, he
turned away as the tail rose toward the ceiling and something smelly plopped
near his feet. He held his breath, trying not to inhale the stench, and
listened to the whispers coming from across the barn.

“Yes, sweet darling. Were you scared being out in that
storm? Oh, yes, I know you were, Sweetie. You were, yes. Ahh, but Mama’s here
now and everything’s gonna be fine. Shhh. Yes, Mama’s sorry. Yes. Mama is
sorry.”

Ben snickered, dodging another powerful swish of Mighty
Wind’s tail. The whispering stopped and Angelina called out, “Who’s there?” Ben
bit his lip and waited, hearing the cock of a shotgun. “You better show
yourself. I mean it, I’ve got a gun and it’s loaded,” she said, speaking in a
stern but shaky voice. “And I’m not afraid to use it.” A snap near Mighty
Wind’s stall sent a shiver up Ben’s spine. Knowing Angelina, she’d shoot first
and ask questions later.

As the barrel of the shotgun slid across the door of the
stall, Ben called out, “It’s me. Ben.”

“Ben?” Angelina’s face appeared above the barrel of the
shotgun. “What are you doing creeping around in the middle of the night?”

“Probably the same reason as you. Can’t sleep. Got a lot on
my mind,” he replied. “You gonna shoot me or you gonna put that gun away?”

Angelina lowered the shotgun and stepped back as Ben rose
and jumped over the stall door, like an animal in the wild. The light from the
lantern glowed a faint orange, outlining the edge of her shoulder underneath
her blouse and the angles of her cheekbones. Despite her wet, mussed hair and
doe-eyed look, she was breathtaking.
Lord, why does she have to be so
beautiful?

He tore his gaze loose, suddenly aware that he wasn’t
wearing a shirt. Grabbing a horse blanket from the stall, he wrapped it around
his shoulders, taking comfort in Mighty Wind’s distinctive smell. “You know
you’re gonna have to put a diaper on that gelding,” he said, motioning toward
Eagle’s Wing’s stall.

“Excuse me?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Well, because of the way you talk to him, like he’s a babe in
the womb. That’s no way to talk to a horse that’s got a good set of legs on him
and strong hindquarters for running. How’s he ever gonna be the powerful
racehorse God intended with you treating him like a helpless child?”

Angelina’s wide-eyed stare went from midnight blue to dark
black in a moment. Ben clenched his teeth, trying to hold back his next words,
but self-control was never one of his strong suits. “And how do you expect
these men around here to make this farm into something special when you go
round calling them
boy
, like this is some plantation run by a buncha
slaves?”

Even in the dim light, he could see her face deepen to a
crimson red. “You,” she hissed, pointing her finger at him, “you have no right,
no right at all to talk to me like that.”

“Maybe not, but someone’s got to. Seems to me like you need
a real man around here to show you how to manage things. Tom’s all right, but
he’s getting older and the others—well, they’re just hired hands.”

“I suppose you think you’re the only one up to the job?”

 “Yes, ma’am, I do. I’ve shown you I can handle a horse.”

“Huh! I don’t need a man to make Fairington something
special. This is the most profitable horse farm in the whole county—probably in
the whole state. I’ve handled things just fine since Daddy died, and I intend
to keep on handling things on my own, with no help from you, thank you very
much.”

For some reason Ben wasn’t listening anymore. All he could
think about was how full her lips were and how small her waist was. He imagined
putting one hand on each side, seeing if his fingers could touch, pulling her
close so he could smell the scent of yellow jasmine in her hair and taste the
saltiness of her lips. “What about that Mr. Millhouse?” he asked.

“That’s none of your business. You go off and leave, without
a word, a single good-bye,” she said, raising her voice. “And then you just
show up like this, out of the blue? Insulting me about my horse and my life? I
waited for you all day up at Palmetto Ridge, and all night too, till Daddy came
looking for me with this shotgun.”

“He probably woulda shot me too, if he’d found us together.”

“Don’t be talking like that. You know I never believed like
he did. I never have.”

“What I know is, you were never good at telling the truth.
Just like now.”

Angelina stared at him again, her dark eyes narrowing. “You
calling me a liar?

“Your word, not mine.”

She turned abruptly on her heel and marched to the front of
the barn, returning the weapon to its place on the wall. “I heard you and your
daddy talking,” he said, responding to that familiar anger rising from the pit
of his belly. “That no upstanding white woman oughta ever be seen with a red
man.”

Angelina stopped in her tracks and twirled around, her curls
swinging over her shoulders. “I never said that.”

“That my father shoulda never married my mother. That mixing
white blood and Indian was a crime, a sin against the Lord. That it’s because
of his sin that he died of scarlet fever. And no Cherokee squaw and her
half-breed son oughta be living on the Smith farm.”

“No, you’re wrong!” she protested, shaking her head.

“And now you’re marrying the very man that took our land,
forcing my mama to sell.” Ben drew closer, seeing the tears gather in her eyes,
knowing he was wounding her. But she first wounded him long ago, hadn’t she? He
wanted her to feel his pain, to know what it was like to suffer that dull
heartache that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much one tried or prayed. “Good
riddance, isn’t that what he said?” Ben was standing so close to her now, he
could see her hands tremble and her lip quiver. “Isn’t that what all you white
people think?” he said. “Good riddance!”

The sting to his cheek came as a shock, knocking the
thoughts clear out of his head. He looked at her, confused, seeing her raised
palm near her face and the fire blazing in her eyes. “How dare you! How
dare—don’t ever speak to me again, you hear? You so much as look at me, and
I’ll have you thrown out!”

He reached for her hand and their fingers met for a moment,
sending a jolt of sorrow up his arm and into his heart. “Angel,” he whispered.

“It’s Miss Raeford to you. Miss Raeford!” she said coldly
through her tears, glaring at him with hatred in her eyes. “And in a month,
it’ll be Mrs. Millhouse. Mrs.
Edward
Millhouse.” Jerking away from him,
she slammed out the barn door, causing a bay-colored mare, Ginger Snap, to
sputter and neigh.

Ben stared at her wake, hoping this was a terrible nightmare
and that she would come back into the barn and fall into his arms. But the only
thing to comfort him was the sound of shifting animal hooves and the continual
chewing of hay. His eyes drifted to his boots, and for the first time, he
noticed how dirty and worn they were.
Gotta get a new pair.

A wave of nausea rolled through him, and his vision wavered
a moment as he sunk to his knees. “Oh, Lord,” he whimpered, “Lord, I’m sorry,
I’m so sorry.” The tears rolled down the bridge of his nose and dripped onto
the hay. “I said I’d do it your way, but it’s so hard—so hard. Help me to be
strong.” Then taking a deep breath, he whispered so that only God could hear,
Help
me to forgive.