Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (5 page)

With clenched teeth, Ben watched Edward get back into his buggy
and ride away until he disappeared. Clicking his tongue, he steered Midnight
Storm down the ridge to the house. There on the door was the sign with the
words FOR SALE written across in blood-red paint. His mother’s sad face loomed
before him, weeping over his father’s disease-ravaged body. Ben had looked on,
wishing he could make things right, that he could protect her from the Edward
Millhouses of the world. But it wasn’t meant to be.

Hopping off Midnight Storm, Ben stomped up the porch steps
in three long strides and ripped the sign off the door. No matter what happened
in the past, this was still his daddy’s farm, his mother’s house—his home. It
belonged to Ben Eagle-Smith. And it wasn’t for sale.

“Oh, you should’ve seen him, Miranda. Daddy said he showed
that Miss-Know-It-All a thing or two. Just jumped on that stallion and in no
time disappeared like the wind.”

Angelina rolled her eyes as she stood behind a sack of feed
in Davis Supply & Co., listening to Isabella Richardson go on and on to a
group of her Charleston friends about Ben and his infamous ride on Midnight
Storm. It was all anyone in Laurel Grove could talk about, and Angelina was
getting downright sick of it. She was the one who bought the horse after all,
and so what if Ben could ride an unbroken stallion? She rode it twice around
the riding ring. Didn’t that count for something?

“I heard he’s as handsome as can be,” Miranda Sutherland
squeaked, sounding more like a little mouse than a grown woman of eighteen.
“Even if he is a savage.”

Isabella giggled to another one of their friends, Rebecca
Thompson, recounting Ben’s dark, good looks and long, thick hair, which had all
the women talking. “Daddy says he’s gonna be at Edward’s engagement party next
week. All of Fairington’ll be there, and I intend on dancing every dance with
him.”

“Isabella! What’s your daddy gonna say with you gallivanting
with a Cherokee, even if he is a half-breed?” Rebecca exclaimed. “And what
about Mark—”

“Oh, Mark won’t care if I have a little fun—or Daddy for
that matter. And don’t look at me like that, Rebecca. You know you wanna dance
with him too.”

“Do not!”

“Do too, because I see that look in your eye when you talk
about him and don’t deny it, now.”

“Stop it, Isabella. You know I’m engaged to Robert. You
better keep your voice down saying such things.”

“Oh, all right, be that way. But I’m gonna have a big time,”
Isabella said, flitting her arms around the skirt of her green silk dress.
“Let’s see—what am I gonna wear? I think maybe that new dress I had made in New
York,” she mused, “you know, the blue one with the pearls? And then I’m gonna
wear my new drop pearl earrings with the little diamonds. Why, Ben Eagle-Smith
won’t stand a chance once he sets his eyes on me . . .”

Huh
, Angelina thought as she listened to the
incessant chatter,
as if it’d do her any good to gape at a man like Ben
.
Immediately, she felt his strong arms cradling her close to his firm chest and
the heat of his stare as he looked into her eyes, telling her to “Wake up, wake
up.” A sick feeling hit her stomach and a shiver ran up and down her arms at
the thought of him holding Isabella in that way. Wasn’t her beau that uppity
Mark Kennedy from Charleston?
Oh, it doesn’t matter
, she assured
herself. Ben would never look twice at a girl like Isabella—all fluff and no
substance. Maybe her daddy knew a lot about horses and was one of the best
breeders around, but his daughter didn’t know a thing about riding, always in a
sidesaddle like some stuffy Brit. All she talked about was Charleston and
parties and that fancy finishing school, where they did nothing but drink tea
and talk about music and dress patterns—the type of women Edward was used to
being around.

Peeking around the feed bags, Angelina watched Isabella,
noting that the girl was somewhat pretty, despite her silly personality. Her
thick, curly brown hair was always styled in a half-up, half-down ringlet updo
which complemented translucent skin and refined features. And her clothes were
always in keeping with the Charleston elite. Angelina felt a twinge of envy as
she noted Isabella’s fashionable sage green dress trimmed in ribbon, silk
brocade, and lace that accentuated her willowy figure and green eyes. She had
known Isabella all of her life but never liked her for some unexplained reason.
And now that they were young women, Angelina disliked her even more—especially
when Isabella’s hands fluttered around her face like an injured bird when she
spoke or when her delicate teeth flashed in an exaggerated manner when she
laughed.
What a ridiculous thing she is
, Angelina thought, cringing at
Isabella’s dramatic gestures and childish giggles.
Just look at her
—

“Oh, Edward, dear!” Isabella exclaimed as Edward stepped
through the door. “We were just talking about the engagement party.” She stood
on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

“Well, good.” He smiled and kissed Isabella back, making her
face flush a rosy pink. “I’m glad you girls are excited about it,” he said, his
eyes scanning the store. “Have you seen my betrothed anywhere?”

Angelina couldn’t hide forever, especially since she had arranged
to meet him here before heading over to Mildred’s Corner Café for lunch.
Smoothing down her hair and pinching her cheeks for color, she stepped out from
behind the bags of feed as if she’d been browsing in the tack and bridle
section. “Oh, there you are,” she said, feigning surprise.

“Angel.” Edward’s arm latched around her waist and pulled
her close. He nuzzled his lips next to her ear, but the prickles from his
mustache sent a wave of revulsion through her. “You look ravishing,” he
whispered.

“Goodness, Edward. Such impropriety!” Isabella said with a
flirtatious smile, yet the look of displeasure in her eyes told a different
story. Angelina knew Isabella had her sights set on Edward years ago when he
came courting at Fairington. It was no mystery that land and property were a
primary consideration when a man of his wealth and prestige chose a bride. Even
though he had more than enough money of his own from his Charleston shipping
and lumber business, he had always admired Fairington, from the time he was a
young boy. There were other large, grand farms in the area—including Edward’s
own, Rutherford Hall, and Isaac Richardson’s estate, Middleton Farm—but none of
them could hold a candle to Fairington. Angelina had heard her daddy mention
time and again how Edward had offered to buy their farm, but Daddy would never
sell, and Angelina wouldn’t either. She knew when Edward proposed to her over a
Charleston-bred girl like Isabella Richardson, it was due to more than her blue
eyes and blonde hair. He was in love with her land every bit as much as she was
in love with his money.

Edward flashed an even, white grin under his moustache that
made him look distinguished and handsome, despite Angelina’s repulsion. With
his thick head of hair, strong features, and tanned skin—not to mention his
Charleston money—she could see why most women in Laurel Grove viewed him as the
most eligible bachelor around. In his early thirties, he still had a youthful
look, being tall and lean and carrying himself like a refined gentlemen. And
yet, he possessed a certain brute strength that identified him as dangerous if
provoked.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he worked
the brim of his Stetson while listening to Isabella and the girls giggle on
about the party. Angelina stared at her future husband, trying to figure out
why in the world she didn’t have any fond feelings for him. He was everything
she wanted in a man, wasn’t he? His blue denim shirt was open at the collar,
revealing a strong, muscular chest underneath, and his brown canvas trousers
were pulled over a worn pair of leather cowboy boots that showed off his sinewy
physique. He looked smooth and chiseled, like a beautiful specimen of a human
carved out of marble—alive, but dead at the same time.

“Angelina and I were going over to Mildred’s to grab a bite
of lunch,” he said, winking at Angelina. “Would you ladies care to join us?”

“Dear Lord,” she prayed under her breath.
Please say no,
please say no—

“Oh, Edward,” Isabella purred, batting her eyelashes, “we
wouldn’t want to intrude. You sure you and Angelina don’t want to be alone?”
She sneered at Angelina, despite her pleasant demeanor, giving Angelina the
desire to smack her right in the middle of that perfect little nose of hers.

“No,” Angelina answered coolly. “Why would I wanna be alone
with him when I could sit and listen to you and your hens cluck away like a
bunch of old biddies in a chicken coop?” She smiled at Isabella’s stunned face
that looked like it had just been doused with a glass of ice cold water.

“Angelina Raeford!” Mildred exclaimed. “You should know
better than to talk so rude.”

“Yes, I reckon I should,” she said with a sigh, noting how
Edward was doing his best to stifle a smile. “But the sound of chicken squawk
brings all the rudeness right out in me. I hope y’all will keep that in mind
when you come to the party next week. Edward, why don’t you take your little
chicks to lunch and I’ll see you later tonight. Bye, now. Y’all have a nice
day.”

 Turning on her heel, she pushed past Isabella and her
friends, not waiting for any of them to respond, including Edward. She knew
he’d make apologies for her and then politely remove himself, joining her later
at the café.

Stepping outside, Angelina sucked in a deep breath of spring
air, exhaling a chuckle at the look of shock on Isabella’s face—like a bloated
mountain trout left out in the sun for too long. She skipped down the steps and
strode down Main Street, stopping in the millinery to pick up her new Sunday
hat that matched the deep rose-colored silk dress she was planning on wearing
to the engagement party. The gown was lovely and made of a thick, damask fabric
that was ordered all the way from Atlanta, trimmed in a matching velvet ribbon
at the bodice and sleeves. With her mama’s ruby necklace and earrings, it was
sure to be prettier than anything Isabella and those Charleston snobs would be
wearing. She even let Mrs. Marshburn, the shop owner, talk her into buying a
new pair of cream-colored kid gloves and a tortoiseshell comb for her hair.

As she left the millinery, she pulled her watch out of her
skirt pocket and checked the time. Edward would probably be at the café by now,
waiting for her.
It’s too early to eat
, she decided, thinking to
herself.
Maybe I’ll head over to the livery, and see what Jessie’s up to
.
But by the time she made her way to the livery, Jessie had gone home, which was
no surprise, since her sister never enjoyed the amenities of town like most
girls their age. To Jessie, it was all horses and outdoors, and nothing else
mattered, like shopping for silk dresses, hats, and kid gloves.

Feeling a tug of hunger in her belly, Angelina thought of
Ella’s ham and cheese pie served with yeast rolls that had long since worked its
way through her system.
I suppose I’ll go meet Edward after all
, she
thought, considering what the café would be serving today—barbecued chicken and
cucumber salad with chocolate cake for dessert. She scrunched up her nose at
the notion of sticky barbeque sauce and chocolate icing mixed together in her
tummy. No, what her mouth watered for was a fresh, hearty lunch plate from the
Blue Ridge Hotel.
He won’t mind if I eat by myself. All brides need a little
peace and quiet before the wedding, right?
She smiled, suddenly feeling a
heavy weight lift off her shoulders. It would do her good.
And
I’ll
have time to think.

The Blue Ridge Hotel was at the south end of Main Street,
set behind two large oak trees that bordered either side of its manicured lawn.
Ben finished running all of the errands Tom requested, like ordering the horse
feed from Davis Supply & Co., mailing a letter at the post office, and
returning a stack of Angelina’s books to the library. Now, with a bit of time
on his hands, he thought he’d stop by to see one of his childhood haunts.

Everything looked the same—it was still one of the prettiest
buildings Ben had ever seen, other than the main house at Fairington. It was a
large, Greek Revival home painted gray with white trim and black shutters and a
large front porch with about a half-dozen rocking chairs for sitting and
watching the world go by. Hanging baskets with all sorts of flowering plants
cascaded down to the porch, providing a patchwork of spring color that brought
a warm feeling to his heart. Some of his mother’s favorites were there—vinca,
marigolds, petunias, lantana, impatiens, and dianthus, to name a few, as well
as the wild rose bushes and azaleas that surrounded the perimeter.

“Why, Ben Smith! Just look at you!” Mabel Andersen, the
owner and proprietor, erupted from behind the front screened door and threw her
arms around Ben’s neck, showering him with kisses. “I heard you were back in
town. Oh, you do look fine, if I do say so. Just fine, indeed.” Smiling at his long
ponytail, she squeezed the backs of his arms and patted his shoulders, like she
was surveying the sturdiness of an old pack mule. “Looks like somebody’s been
feeding you good. You’re over at Fairington, I take it. They treating you all
right over there?”

“Yes, ma’am, they are.” He smiled again, remembering how
kind this lady had been to his mother, offering her a job cooking and cleaning
after his daddy died and then a place to stay before they moved up to North
Carolina to rejoin his Cherokee people. She still looked healthy and vibrant
even if her hair had grayed over the years. But that twinkle was still in her
eyes, and her smile was kind and sweet, letting him know she didn’t care a lick
about his native roots. “It sure is good to see you Mrs. Andersen.”

“Aw now, you call me Mabel now that you’re all grown. That’s
the way your mama would’ve wanted it, God rest her soul.” Her eyes glistened at
the mention of his mother. “You wanna bite to eat? Got some country-fried steak
with mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and a whole passel of turnip
greens—and biscuits of course. That interest you any?”

“Yes, ma’am it does. But I’m gonna pay you for it.”

“Nonsense! I won’t accept a thing from you ’cept a visit
every now and then, and a promise you’ll come tell me good-bye before you go
running off again. That a deal?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right. Well, come on inside the dining room and grab a
seat. I’ve got a roomful of customers, but I’m sure someone’ll share a table
with you. Maybe even your boss, the Raeford girl. She’s sitting in there all by
herself.”

Ben felt his face flush, suddenly wishing he hadn’t taken
Mabel up on her offer. But it would be rude to decline it now. He knew Angelina
was in town today and had done his best to steer clear of her path. She was
still biting mad over the incident with Midnight Storm.

Mabel led him through the foyer of the hotel, which boasted
Oriental carpets and mahogany paneling, and into the front parlor where ten
small tables, covered with lace tablecloths and English china, were neatly
arranged around the room. Every seat was filled, except for one on the other
side of a small table where Angelina sat, staring into space.

“There now,” Mabel announced as she pulled out the other
chair for Ben. “You don’t mind do you, Miss Raeford?” she chirped, ignoring
Angelina’s startled expression. “Sure you don’t. Ben, you sit down right here,
and I’ll go get you a plate. Go on.”

Ben reluctantly sat down, and Mabel shoved his seat under
the table like he was a little boy being served by his mama. “I’ll be back in a
jiffy.”

“Thank you.” Ben placed his hat on his knee and tried not to
make eye contact with Angelina, but it was mighty hard with her staring at him
like that. He noticed the fried steak and vegetables on her plate and how she had
moved the food around with her fork, having barely taken a bite.

“Looks good,” he said.

“It is.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“I was.”

They sat in silence for a few moments until Mabel appeared
from the kitchen with a piping hot plate of food. “There you go!” she said,
plopping it in front of him and pouring a big glass of sweet iced tea.

“Smells delicious.”  

“Well, it is,” she replied, giving Angelina a hard look.
“Especially when it’s nice and hot.”

“Don’t mind me, Mrs. Andersen,” Angelina said in an apologetic
tone. “I guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

“Wedding jitters is all. All women go through ’em before the
big day.” She smiled and patted Angelina’s hand. “All right, y’all enjoy, and
I’ll be back for dessert.” Then pointing her finger at Ben, she added, “And I’m
gonna wanna hear all the news.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She winked at him before fluttering off to another table to
refill iced tea glasses. Ben stared at the food, suddenly feeling his appetite
wane at the mention of Angelina’s upcoming marriage. Picking up his fork and
knife, he cut into the fried beef, preparing to sink his teeth into the
succulent meat.

“Aren’t you gonna bless it first?” Angelina asked.

Pausing, he set his fork on the plate, not sure of what to
say. All the praying he did was silently or alone, without anyone around to
hear. He had never prayed in front of another person, even to say grace.

“Fine then, I’ll do the honors,” she said. Clasping her
hands together, she bowed her head and prayed, “Heavenly Father, thank you for
this good food that Mrs. Andersen cooked, and forgive me if I don’t eat all of
it since my stomach is all in knots on account of certain people, who I won’t
name, but You know who they are, the ones who’re trying their best to upset me
when I haven’t done one thing to deserve it. I pray You’ll forgive them for
being so stubborn, and ornery, and mean and downright hateful—”

“Yes, Father,” Ben interrupted, “forgive me,” he whispered.
“Forgive me.”

An awkward heaviness descended upon them, thick enough to cut
with a steak knife if Ben had wanted. Angelina then said, “In the name of Jesus,
Amen.” He opened his eyes and stared at his food, not sure of what to do next.
“Go on,” she said, as if she had read his mind. “You can eat now.” He picked up
his fork and shoved the meat in his mouth, except now it didn’t taste quite as
good as he expected. After another minute of silence, she asked, “You returned
those books like I asked?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

He stared at her, knowing what she required. “Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded. “And you ordered the feed?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.” He glared at her now, warning her not to push him too
far.

“And what about that letter?”

“Got mailed, like Tom asked.” His glare grew more intense as
he shoved a forkful of turnip greens in his mouth, followed by a bite of a
biscuit. He ate in silence for another minute, hoping they would end this
inquisition without getting into a full-blown squabble.

“What’s the matter?” she asked in a sassy tone. “Don’t you
talk anymore?”

Ben dropped his fork with a clang and looked at Angelina,
hard. He could sense the stares from the table next to them where an elderly
couple nibbled on apple pie and black coffee. But he didn’t care.
Let ‘em
look.

 
“Fine,” she said in a forced, sickly-sweet voice, “don’t
talk then.”

“No, you wanna talk, let’s talk.”

“Okay, what is it you wanna talk about?”

“How about you explain why you’re marrying a man you don’t
love.”

“Don’t love?” she chuckled, blushing slightly. “How do you
know I don’t love him? What’s not to love about Edward Millhouse?”  Anger rose
up in Ben, but he did his best to push it back down. “I know you don’t like
him,” she said, “but it really isn’t any of your business. You think he took
your land away, but I asked him about it, and he says your mama sold, fair and
square.”

“He’s a liar—”

“He is not. Edward is an honorable, trustworthy man.”

As soon as Angelina spoke these words, laughter and giggling
from a group of young women filtered into the room. “Oh, Miss Mabel, can you
believe we went all the way to Mildred’s and there wasn’t a single table to
seat us—and Edward even made a reservation . . .”

Angelina’s cheeks flushed a deep red at seeing Edward enter
the room with a lovely, young girl on his arm. Ben cut his eyes in her
direction, relishing in the fact that Edward was proving his case. “Already out
and about with another lady,” he said with a smirk. “How honorable.”

“Why, Angelina!” the young woman said coolly, obviously
confused by Angelina’s harsh expression. Then seeing Ben, her tone changed. “Oh,
hello,” she cooed, cocking her head in a flirtatious way as he stood to greet
her. “You must be Mr. Smith. We haven’t met, but I’m Isabella Richardson, Isaac
Richardson’s daughter. You know, the breeder of Midnight Storm?” She giggled,
revealing a set of white teeth and exquisite features that brought a bit of
levity to the situation, despite the fact that Ben was staring his nemesis face
to face.

“Call me Ben. Ben Eagle-Smith.” He glared at Edward before
accepting Isabella’s dainty hand and brushing it against his lips. She giggled
again, and Ben caught the scent from her skin—the smooth, powdery aroma of rose
petals.

“Edward,” Angelina said nervously, “you remember Ben?”

“Yes—Mr. Smith.” He spoke sternly, offering his hand.
“Edward Millhouse.”

“Mr. Millhouse.” Ben’s jaw muscles flexed as he looked into
Edward’s dark, beady eyes. “I believe I have something for you.” Then reaching
into his back pocket, he pulled out a thick wad of folded paper. Carefully, he
opened it and slapped it onto Edward’s chest. It was the FOR SALE sign written
in the blood-red ink.

“Ben!” Angelina cried.

“I’m putting you on notice,” Ben said in a low growl that
rose up from deep within him. “I don’t wanna ever see you on my property again,
you got that straight?”

Edward stared at him with a fiery expression, not moving a muscle.
Ben nodded and then strode out of the hotel, not even taking the time to thank
Mabel for the fine food or have that visit with her. He would have to do that
later. All he could think about was the empty, blackness in Edward’s eyes. It
was the same look he remembered as a boy, the same look that had haunted his
thoughts all of these years. He had first seen it the night his father died.