Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (4 page)

“Savage! That’s all he is. Daddy was right, they’re all just
savages!” Angelina bit her tongue, wanting to take the words back, but it was
too late. She stomped back into the house and up the back staircase, not caring
who she woke. As soon as she reached her bedroom, she slammed the door and
stifled a whimper. How could she have such thoughts? Ben wasn’t like that—he
wasn’t. But he had changed. There was a wild look in his eyes now, an anger
that leapt out of him like a roaring flame, threatening to burn everything
around him, including her. Well he wouldn’t burn her, he wouldn’t! She’d teach
him a thing or two!

She kicked off her shoes and fell into the softness of the
down comforter covered in blue toile. Normally the robin’s egg blue walls,
white crown molding, and Victorian floral prints framed in gold-leaf plaster
frames provided some comfort when she was feeling low, not to mention the
mahogany furniture, porcelain doll collection, and slew of horse show ribbons.
This was her sanctuary—nothing from the outside world was supposed to enter in
and ruin her thoughts of what life could be. But that certainly wasn’t true
tonight.

Closing her eyes, Angelina wept, not for the words Ben
spoke, but for the loss of the beautiful, smiling boy who rode bareback with
her up to Palmetto Ridge, who taught her how to fish and throw rocks across the
stream so that they skipped at least three times, and who she taught to read
from a black leather-bound Bible with her initials engraved on the front—the
boy who came to know the Creator of the world from the words found on those
pages. That boy had lived in her heart and soul every day since he disappeared
ten years ago, but now it was clear he was long gone, a distant memory that
would fade with the years. This revelation bolted from her head down into her
heart, piercing it with a pain that was indescribable. She shoved her mouth
into the softness of her pillow and gave in to the emotions that ravaged her
soul.

Strange images invaded her mind, of Edward chasing her
through the woods as she panted for breath while the tree branches tore at her
skin and clothes. She fell once, feeling something grab her foot, but managed
to get back up and keep running. Suddenly, Ben was there on the other side, sitting
astride Mighty Wind and shrouded in a great light, ready to rescue her if she
could only reach him in time. She ran faster, jumping over fallen logs and
dodging twigs and low-hanging tree limbs—so close to breaking through the edge
of the woods—when something grabbed her leg and jerked her down to the ground,
dragging her back into the darkness, screaming.

Angelina awoke with a start as the sun’s rays streamed
through her sheer, white curtains. The scent of Ella’s fried bacon and fresh
ground coffee caressed her senses, signaling the start of a new day. Forcing
her eyes open, she squinted at the light and thought about her dream, but the
images floated from her memory as quick as they had come. The clock on the
nightstand said seven, which was much too late for her to sleep. Normally, she
was up at five, sometimes four-thirty, helping the boys tend to the horses.

This morning she was supposed to help Tom get things ready
for a new crop of thoroughbreds Isaac Richardson, a neighboring horse breeder,
was bringing over for inspection. She had her eye on a beautiful, black colt
that was old enough to be referred to as a stallion. It had four white socks
and was called Midnight Storm. Her daddy taught her what to look for in a
racehorse—a small head, long legs, a natural ability for jumping, and a strong,
muscular back end, not to mention strong pedigree. This horse had all of those
but was feisty and had never been ridden, so Isaac claimed. Many had tried,
even Tom, who was an expert horseman, but all had failed.

Angelina stretched her arms and yawned, thinking of Ben and
what happened last night. She tried to forget she had struck him, but the pang
of shame in her chest and the tingling in her hand wouldn’t let her.
Well,
he deserved it for all he had said
, she thought, rolling over onto her back
and staring at the plaster ceiling. She’d show him she knew a thing or two
about racehorses. It wouldn’t take her long to break this stallion. Smiling to
herself, she tried to imagine the look on Ben’s face as she rode Midnight Storm
all the way up to Palmetto Ridge.

“You gonna get up, lazy bones?” Jessie peeked behind the
bedroom door, knocking gently. “Tom and the boys are waiting on you. Mr.
Richardson’ll be here any minute.”

“Be right there,” Angelina replied, kicking off the
bedcovers.

“Goodness knows! You slept in your riding skirt?” Jessie
asked with a scowl. “You look a mess. And what were you doing stomping through
the house last night?”

“Oh, I was mad.”

“Mad at who?”

“Nobody.”

“Wouldn’t be because of that new boy, Ben?” Jessie gave
Angelina a look of warning. “Everyone knows who he is, Angelina. That Cherokee boy
Daddy tried to run off a long time ago.”

“Jessie—”

“Fine, I’ll hush,” Jessie said. “But you better hurry it on
up, or Ella’s gonna be up here. And she’s in one of her moods today, as mad as
a hornet. Probably ’cause of the way you treated Edward last night.”

Angelina’s temper bubbled up at Jessie’s bossy attitude,
especially before she consumed her morning coffee. “Don’t you dare mention
Edward today, you hear?”

Jessie cocked her head and flashed a sassy smile, chirping
like a bird, “Edward, Edward, Edward! Edward, Edward, Edward!”

“Oh—”Angelina grabbed one of her toile-covered pillows and
tossed it at the door, but Jessie was too quick. It slammed shut and a loud
giggle, followed by another round of “Edward, Edward, Edward,” seeped in from
the other side.

Angelina moaned, thinking of her fiancé and the dead look in
his eyes that made her sick to her stomach. Their engagement party was only two
weeks away, and everybody in Laurel Grove would be there to celebrate their
upcoming nuptials.
Everybody
, she thought.
Including Ben.

Ben took his last bite of cheese grits and scrambled eggs and
then popped a slice of bacon into his mouth, washing it all down with a gulp of
strong, black coffee. Despite his sore cheek, he was able to chew okay, which
was a blessing, considering the platters of hotcakes, biscuits, eggs, sausage,
and bacon that were strewn across the large pine breakfast table. He remembered
Ella and her good cooking from when he was a boy, but he didn’t recall her
coffee tasting this good or her biscuits being as tall and flaky. He was sure
to put on a few pounds while here at Fairington.

He looked around at the farmhouse kitchen, basking in the
coziness of the copper pots hanging from the ceiling, the blue china plates
from Shropshire England propped up on the shelf over the oak sideboard, and the
heavy curtains made of a bright yellow floral chintz—a feminine touch that
reminded him of Angelina. He closed his eyes and rubbed his jaw, picturing her
angry look and raised hand. She sure did have a temper. Always did. He was
going to have to try extra hard to stay out of her way today, if possible.

“Eat up, fellas. Then Ben, you can get to those stalls,” Tom
said as he stood up and adjusted his silver belt buckle around his full belly. Ben
nodded in agreement, not looking forward to spending a morning shoveling manure
when he could be riding in the bright sunshine. But the job paid, and he needed
the money. “Mitchell, you and Billy hurry it on up and get those horses in the
round pen,” Tom continued. “Miss Raeford and I have some business to conduct
with Richardson. She’s got a hankerin’ to purchase that wild, black stallion.
I’ve told her not to, but you think she’ll listen to a word I say? ’Bout as
hardheaded as they come—” Tom wandered outside, still muttering to himself,
which was a habit of his, Ben recalled.

He felt someone staring at him, and sure enough, it was
Billy, who couldn’t be a day over sixteen. He sipped his coffee slowly and gave
Ben the eye. “You gotta a problem?” Ben asked.

“Huh uh,” Billy answered with a twinge of nervousness.

“Well, whatcha staring at?”

Billy shrugged his shoulders and set his mug down. “I wasn’t
starin’. Just lookin’. Heard a lot about the Cherokee from my pa, but never
seen one before. Up this close, that is.”

Mitchell picked a speck of bacon out of his teeth and stood
to his feet. “Easy, Billy. Be careful what you say, ’less you wanna sleep with
one eye open tonight.” He winked at Ben, plopped his Stetson on his head, and shuffled
outside.

Billy gulped hard and smiled. “He don’t mean nothin’ by
that.”

“Really?” Ben asked, glad he instilled a bit of fear in the
men, despite their friendly jokes. He was used to being mistrusted because of
his heritage and knew how to use it to his advantage. “Well, whadda you think?
Do I look like someone who might
scalp you
in your sleep?”

“Naw!” Billy said, blushing red. “You look all right.” He
fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug. “You look decent. Nice even. Not
mean a tall.”

Ben smiled big, admiring the boy’s honesty.
He’s got a
lot to learn.

Footsteps clomped down the steps, and suddenly Angelina
breezed into the room carrying the scent of linen and jasmine with her—a
delicious smell that brought back more memories to Ben. He looked up from his
coffee and saw what she was wearing—a pair of tall, black riding boots with
beige, canvas breeches tucked in tight and a white riding shirt open at the
throat. Wrapped around her slender waist was a wide leather belt that gave no
doubt she was a woman. Ben lowered his eyes as his face flushed with heat.

Billy stood to his feet and slammed his Stetson on his head.
“Miss Raeford.” Then with a nervous nod, he was out the door.

Ben sat still, waiting for her to say something, but it was
as if he didn’t exist. She plopped a metal mug on the table and poured a full
cup of coffee in an exaggerated manner, as if she was taunting him with the
hot, steaming liquid. His gaze floated toward the stove where an iron skillet
sat warming a cake of cornbread. He wondered if she might grab it by the handle
and whop him good on the head.

She banged the coffee pot down on the stove, interrupting
his thoughts, and popped a biscuit into her mouth, making her cheeks bulge out
like a squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter. Ben tried to hold back a snicker,
but he couldn’t stop his shoulders from shaking with laughter.

“Girl, what’re you doin’ eatin’ like some field hand?” Ella
scolded as she stepped inside with a basket of clean clothes retrieved from the
clothesline. She dropped the basket to the floor and gave Angelina a good whack
on the back until she regained her composure and was able to gulp down a swig
of coffee. “And you’re gonna burn your tongue drinkin’ that fast. Honestly, I
don’t know what’s got into you. You better start actin’ like a lady, you here?”

Angelina glared at her and popped another biscuit in her
mouth so that it bulged even more. Ella clenched her jaw and shook her head.
“Humph,” she snorted, picking up her basket and staring at Ben. “And to think,
you used to call her ‘Angel’.” Angelina shot her a mean look, but Ella wasn’t
the least bit phased by it. She raised an eyebrow which meant “don’t argue with
me” and shifted the basket on her hip before disappearing into the next room.

Ben watched as Angelina chewed the last of the biscuit and
swallowed it with a grimace. He couldn’t help but notice the sheer, flawless
skin with a tinge of pink at the cheeks and the thick, soft hair pulled away
from her face with a white ribbon, allowing the blonde curls to cascade to her
shoulders and down her back. He didn’t care if she did eat like a field hand.
She was still an angel to him.

Taking a final gulp of coffee, she glared at him harder than
before. “We don’t put diapers on our horses here at Fairington,” she snapped,
slamming her mug down on the table. “So it looks like you’ve got a lot of
shoveling to do.” Then with a smirk, she was out the door.

Angelina sat on top of the split rail fence outside the main
barn, watching Mitchell and Billy replace the rope halter on Midnight Storm
with a leather bridle. She was thankful to have a gorgeous stallion to keep her
mind off other things for the time being—mainly thoughts of Ben.

“He’s a real beauty, he is,” Isaac boasted, admiring his
stock. The horse pranced across the dusty ground, tossing its head and stomping
its hooves. It reared up on his hind legs, doing a little two-step that caused
Ward and Stevie to emit a litany of “whoa, whoa boy.” They gripped the reins,
trying their best to maintain control of the animal, but their expertise was no
match for Midnight Storm. Angelina smiled to herself, loving the challenge this
horse brought to Fairington. She was bound and determined to ride it in the
next steeplechase, known as the Carolina Challenge.

“Got a pretty head on him, don’t he? But not as pretty as
yours,” Isaac said, winking at Angelina.

“Flattery isn’t gonna get you anywhere with us, Richardson,”
Tom said. “This horse ain’t good for nothin’ but stud, ’less someone can ride
him.”

“You know that’s gonna be me,” Angelina said, gazing at the
stallion.

“I know it’s not,” Tom replied in a stern tone.

Her eyes widened upon seeing the horse’s long legs and dark,
glossy coat with sleek, defined muscles running underneath. It took her breath
away to see what God created. “I am,” she said, “and that’s that.” Plopping
down on two feet, she took a deep breath and stared at Midnight Storm.

“Miss Raeford—”

“Tom, if I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise, I’m
gonna have to order you to ‘hush.’”

“Fine,” he muttered. “Suit yourself. Just don’t come cryin’
to me—”

“Tom?” She kept her eyes on the horse, watching it toss its
magnificent head. “Hush, now. And that’s an order.” She moved forward, slowly
and carefully, with her arm outstretched. “Hey there, boy. Hey. Shhh. You wanna
ride, huh? Wanna ride?” The stallion tossed its head wildly and blew a stream
of hot mucus from his nostrils, but Angelina didn’t mind. She was so close now,
mere inches from its deep, velvety nose, until—she stroked it, gliding her hand
along the smooth cheek. “You are gorgeous, you know that? Just gorgeous.”
Grabbing the reins, she stepped closer and held a sugar cube in her palm which
the horse sniffed before licking it up with a quick flick of its tongue. “You
like that, don’t you?” It snorted as she offered another sugar cube. “Stevie,”
Angelina instructed, keeping her voice calm, “get that saddle blanket.”

Instantly, Stevie and Ward sprung into action, gently
sliding a blanket on the horse’s back and then securing Angelina’s favorite
saddle. Midnight Storm neighed as the girth was fastened around its belly. “Not
too tight,” Angelina ordered, letting the horse lick up another sugar cube.

Tom cleared his throat and adjusted his Stetson. “There’s
not enough sugar in the world—”

“Tom?” Her tone was calm yet authoritative—enough to silence
her foreman so she could ride. “Don’t listen to him,” she whispered near the
stallion’s ear. “Boys,” she announced, “I’m gonna show you how it’s done.”

“You go to it, little lady.” Isaac grinned, revealing a set
of tobacco-stained teeth. He rubbed his calloused palms together like he was
preparing to count a bucket of money and stepped back toward the rail.

Angelina laced her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself
up, swinging her leg over the horse’s back. She held her breath as she settled
into the saddle. All was quiet—she felt every eye on her, waiting for the worst
to happen, but nothing did. The stallion tossed its head a few times,
responding to a gentle nudge with her heels. “See, Tom?” Angelina held her head
up high as she led the horse around the round pen in a slow walk. “Nothing to
it.” Taking a tighter hold of the reins, she nudged the stallion into a faster
pace and then a slow trot.

Suddenly, it lifted its head and reared up on its hind legs.
“Whoa boy,” she coaxed, “whoa—I’ve got it, I’ve got, it,” she insisted, warning
the men away so she could handle the horse on her own. The next thing she knew,
Midnight Storm was acting true to its name, bucking and rearing like a bull in
a rodeo.

“Miss Raeford, Miss Raeford!” Voices resonated around her,
but all she could think about was staying glued to the saddle and holding on.
Before she realized it, the stallion took off running toward the fence, faster
and faster, and then slammed on the brakes, sending her flying through the air
and crashing down on the other side of the ring. She tried to catch her breath,
but it was knocked clean out of her, like she had taken a swift kick to the
lungs.

“You all right?” Tom asked. She rolled on her back and felt
a pair of strong arms lift her to her feet.

“Yeah.” Her whole right side ached, but she wouldn’t let
that stop her. “Just give me a moment,” she mumbled, finally sucking in a gulp
of crisp air. “I’m gonna ride him—”

“You’re not gettin’ on that horse again, Miss Raeford,” Tom
said, shaking his head. “Not today. I promised your mama I wouldn’t let you do
nothin’ crazy, and this is just plumb crazy, it is. That horse is wild and mean
and you don’t have no business on him.”

Angelina pulled away from his grip and pointed a shaky
finger at the stallion. “Mitchell, go get him,” she gasped.

Mitchell exchanged looks with Tom and hung his head. “Now,
Miss Raeford, I agree with Tom. This stallion needs a strong man to break him
first. Lemme see if I can work with him a while, get him good and broke, then
you can ride him all you want—”

She pushed past both of them and hobbled back to the fence.
A
strong man? Huh!
There wasn’t a horse on this earth she couldn’t break. She
scooted under the railing, being careful not to bump her head.

“Miss Raeford,” Isaac said, cajoling her, “why don’t you
lemme bring over that chestnut mare—”

“I don’t want any other horse, you hear?” She limped over to
Midnight Storm and grabbed the reins, ignoring the stallion’s whinnies and
jerks, as well as incessant prancing. As usual, she’d have to do things
herself, since these mealy-mouthed men wouldn’t even try. She hoisted herself
back into the saddle and melted into the leather seat, positioning her feet in
the stirrups. Squeezing her knees again, she walked the horse around the ring
once more.

Tom leaned his forearms on the rail and adjusted his hat,
giving her a sad look as he watched. She caught his eye, and immediately the
truth shot down into her heart—he and Mama had loved each other like everyone
said, even though he was part Iroquois. He had given up everything, being
willing to wait, but life dealt a cruel blow when she died long before Daddy
passed away. Angelina looked away, not being able to bear the pain in his face.
“I can’t quit, Tom. You of all people should know that. I won’t. If I don’t
keep going, I’ll die.”

Before she could finish her next thought, the stallion took
off again, rearing, jerking, and bucking until Angelina was sailing through the
air, slamming down hard into the dirt.

“That woman!” Ben tossed his shovel to the ground and
stormed out of the barn, making his way to where Angelina lay sprawled on her
backside. Didn’t she know by now she couldn’t force an unbroken stallion to
walk around a riding ring until it had the fire run out of it first?

Tom, Mitchell, and Billy hovered around Angelina’s still
form. “Miss Raeford! Miss Raeford! Dear Lord’ve mercy!” Tom patted her on the
cheeks, trying to wake her up, but there was no response.

Ben shoved them aside and fell to his knees, gathering
Angelina in his arms. “It’s a wonder she didn’t break her neck,” Mitchell said.

“Be quiet, you hear?” Ben snapped, sensing panic rise up in
him. “All of you. She’s all right, I tell you.” He stared at her, lost in the
beauty of her dark lashes resting against her soft cheeks. “Angel, wake up.
Wake up.” He shook her gently and silently prayed,
Dear God, wake her up
.
Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, restoring his hope. “That’s it. Wake up,
now.” Slowly, her eyes opened and stared into his, propelling him back in time
to when he had first watched her sleep under their oak tree at Palmetto Ridge.
That was the day he had first called her “Angel.”

“Ben,” she whispered with a breathy voice and a dreamy,
faraway look that struck fear in his heart, as if she might step into that
other world at any moment—a world that didn’t include him. “You came home.”

“Yes. You remember, don’t you? Yesterday?” She stared at him
hard and blinked her eyes a few times. He smiled, wanting so badly to bend down
and kiss her full lips. “Come on, lemme get you into the house—”

Suddenly, a dark cloud swept through her countenance, indicating
the old Angelina was back. “I’ll be fine, if you’ll let me up,” she said
curtly, pushing him away. He frowned but allowed her to sit up and get her
bearings. After catching her breath for a moment, she said, “Mitchell, go get
that horse.”

“That’ll be over my dead body.” It was Tom who answered, and
his voice was firm and authoritative, rendering in Ben a newfound respect for
the seasoned trainer. He took mental note not to cross paths with the man
unless absolutely necessary. “Now, you’re gonna go straight up to bed and rest
that noggin of yours. You hear me?”

Angelina’s clenched jaw was a sign she wasn’t about to give
up, despite Tom’s anger.
Why was she being so stubborn?
Ben wondered.
Why
does she have to make everything so hard?

A loud whinny and neigh reminded him that Midnight Storm was
still in the ring, seemingly forgotten for the time being, even by Mr.
Richardson. He felt sorry for the animal, fighting with every bit of its
strength to hang onto its independence from the white man, as Ben’s native
ancestors had. Seeing that Angelina was in good hands, Ben scooted under the
fence railing and approached the stallion. It stamped its hooves in defiance,
but Ben just inched closer.
Lord, he is a beauty
, he said to himself.
The dark coat was sleek and velvety, like a well-oiled strip of softened cowhide,
and the legs were dipped in white, like it had stepped into a vat of whipped
vanilla frosting. An urge to jump on and ride like the wind tempted Ben, but he
resisted for now. They needed to get to know each other first.

As he approached, the horse’s nostrils flared and its eyes
widened, revealing the whites underneath. Fear was running up and down the
animal, and with good reason. If it only knew some of the measures white men
took to break a horse, it would bow down on all fours and let even a man like
Edward Millhouse ride. Ben was thankful none of those measures were used at
Fairington.

“God is here with us, my friend.” He clicked his tongue and
whispered in his native Cherokee, the way his mother taught him.
“If you
listen, we will be blessed.”
The stallion’s ears perked up as though it
heard and understood. Then Ben prayed silently,
Father God, bring us peace,
stillness, calm—a calm in the storm.
He crept closer and stoked the long,
lean neck, clicking his tongue and whispering in his native language once more.
“Let us ride together, you and me. Let’s ride like the wind—away, away from
this place.”
The horse neighed softly and nuzzled Ben’s palm, licking the
sweat off his skin. Ben took this as his cue and hopped into the saddle,
grabbing the reins.

Midnight Storm pounded the earth with its hooves and shook
its head, preparing itself for what was meant to be. Ben gave a gentle nudge
with his heel, and the stallion took off, cantering around the ring with him
glued to the saddle as if horse and rider were one. In no time, they picked up
speed and then turned abruptly and raced toward the fence. Ben could almost
hear the gasps from Angelina and Tom that made him grin big and wide, for he
knew the soul of this horse—it meant him no harm. Like Ben, it wanted only one
thing—to be free.

With a swift kick to the side and a loud Cherokee yelp,
Midnight Storm sailed over the fence and took off into the open fields. Ben
gave the horse its head and let it gallop with no restraint, as boundless as
the wind blowing through the trees. Laughing out loud, he sat back in the
saddle and spread his arms wide, feeling like a young boy again as he swayed in
rhythm to the stallion’s stride. He closed his eyes and tossed his head back,
gulping in the breeze that flowed down into his lungs and through his long,
black hair.

Ben rode like this for a long time, until the horse slowed
as they approached Palmetto Ridge. Grabbing the reins, he guided Midnight Storm
to the oak tree that he remembered from long ago. It was bigger now, and its
long, craggy arms provided more shade than what he recalled. But that wasn’t
surprising. It had been ten years, and yet the memories were as alive as though
they had just happened.

Pulling the stallion to a stop, he looked out over the ridge
to his boyhood home. His mother would have cried if she could see its current
condition. The house was dilapidated and crumbling, looking more like an old,
weathered barn than a respectable two-storied farm house. One side of the porch
railing was broken, parts of the roof were caved in, and the white paint was
crusty and peeling like bark on a pine tree. The barn looked just as bad,
appearing wobbly and frail, like it could fall down with the next swift breeze,
and the riding rings were broken-down and overgrown. He swallowed a sob,
sensing the familiar anger that threatened to rise up behind it. Where were his
mother’s flowers and vegetable gardens, and his father’s horses that used to
roam the neighboring pastures?

The rumbling of hooves in the distance made Midnight Storm
neigh softly and lay its ears back on its head. Ben spoke soothing words and
gave the stallion a gentle pat on its neck. Straining his eyes, he saw a black
buggy approaching in the distance. It travelled down the main road and turned swiftly
up the drive, stopping in front of the house. A tall, lanky man stepped down,
wearing a dark suit and Stetson hat. He strode up to the porch and nailed a
white sign to the front door, banging four to five times with a hammer before
walking around the perimeter of the house, finally kicking an old fencepost
that used to border his mother’s potato patch. In an instant, Ben knew who the
man was. He remembered the chiseled, stern expression and the tongue that was
as sharp as the whip that he used on his horses. And despite the distance
between the two, Ben could smell him too. It was the smell of money, power, and
evil, the stench of the devil himself. The stench of a man named Edward
Millhouse.