Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (6 page)

“Child, I do declare, you look just like your mama standin’
there like that.” Ella dabbed her eyes with the edge of her apron as she stared
at Angelina in her rose-colored silk damask dress with velvet ribbon, ruby
necklace, and matching earrings. Jessie had styled her hair in a curled
up-sweep adorned with miniature roses and secured with the tortoiseshell comb.
The finishing touch was a dusting of rose-colored powder to her cheeks and a
splash of rose water to her wrists and behind each ear. Angelina felt like a
delicate flower that had just bloomed.

“No one’s as pretty as Mama,” she mused, staring at her
reflection in the vanity mirror. She did look pretty—even beautiful—which was
appropriate, since this was her night to celebrate. It was the evening of her
long-awaited engagement party, and all of Laurel Grove was buzzing with
excitement over the festivities. Even Jessie.

“You do look like her, you know,” Jessie said, “even if you
don’t want to admit it.” She kissed Angelina’s cheek and fluffed the skirt of
her dress. “And you act like her too.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.” Angelina smiled at
Jessie, admiring her sister’s appearance. It was nice seeing her dressed up in
a lavender silk gown with a touch of lace around the bodice that accentuated
her brown eyes and slender figure—not to mention her straight, dark hair that
was swept back into a soft chignon and flanked by a pair of delicate pearl
earrings. Angelina was sure Jessie would get her fair share of dances before
the night was through.

“One thing I know,” Ella said, wrapping an arm around
Angelina’s waist and the other around Jessie’s, “your mama’d be mighty proud of
you girls. Mighty proud—and your daddy too. As pretty as a picture, you two
are,” she said, staring into the full-length mirror with misty eyes. “There’s
not a girl in Laurel Grove who can hold a candle to the Raefords. No, ma’am, not
one. You mark my words. And Miss Jessie, I ’xpect to have you a husband ’fore
all this wedding hoopla is over and done with.”

“Oh, Ella, you know I’m not the marrying kind.”

“Humph! We’ll see ’bout that,” she said, drying her cheeks
once more. “Now come on, you two. We need to get the rest of the food out on
the table, and y’all need to greet your guests proper. And that includes Mr.
Edward, you hear me, Miss Angelina?”

“Yes, ma’am, I hear you fine.”

“Good. Time’s a wastin’, so let’s get a move on.”

Ella shooed them toward the mahogany staircase to greet
Edward, whose voice rose from the foyer above the gentle laugh of Ella’s niece,
Clarissa. Angelina was glad it hadn’t taken him but a day to get over the
incident with Ben at the Blue Ridge Hotel. He had been somber and quiet on the
way home but hadn’t mentioned a word about it since.
Ben should be ashamed
of himself
, she thought, embarrassed at his behavior. Despite what he
thought about Edward, he shouldn’t have treated him with such disrespect, since
it would only tarnish his own reputation. It was wrong of Ben, and Edward had
every right to be angry. She was just thankful Edward was a true gentleman and
knew how to take things in stride.

Ella cleared her throat and nudged Angelina toward the top
of the staircase, which seemed as high and steep as the edge of a cliff. Turning
away from Clarissa, Edward gazed at Angelina with an expression that made her
blush. He removed his Stetson, and in a grand, sweeping gesture, placed it over
his heart and bowed. She hesitated a moment, forcing a smile, until Jessie
poked her gently in the back. “Go!” she hissed.

Gathering her skirts in her hands, Angelina floated down the
stairs and greeted her future husband. His sandy hair was slicked back,
revealing the sculpted angles of his tanned face, and his dark brown eyes
flashed with a spark of mischievousness. With his deep brown three-piece suit
and shiny, leather boots, he was more than handsome. Even Angelina had to admit
that.

“Now I can die and go to heaven,” he said, taking her hand
in his, “’cause I’ve seen a real, true-to-life angel.” He brought her hand to
his mouth and kissed it, leaving a wet, scratchy place that made her stomach
lurch with that familiar wave of nausea. The look in his eye frightened her,
like he could drain the soul right out of her if allowed.

“Edward—you are sweet. And you look very handsome tonight.”

“And you, my dear, are a vision.” Offering his arm, he
settled his hat back on his head and smiled. “Shall we?”

Angelina allowed him to guide her across the marble foyer to
the dining room and front parlor. Ella and Clarissa bustled about, arranging
silver platters, china plates, and crystal bowls full of diced fruit in honey
nectar, sliced beef marinated in their special dill and rosemary herb sauce,
spicy fried chicken, ham biscuits with seasoned mustard, and cabbage stuffed
with rice and creamy beef, to name a few. An enormous floral arrangement
anchored the long, oak dining table, consisting of magnolia blooms, pink and
yellow roses, and fuchsia begonia blossoms, and tall, willowy cat tails that almost
extended to the crystal chandelier. Her mama’s white Irish linens and Belgian
lace runners adorned the main table and the mahogany sideboards, and there were
silver and brass candelabra with burning, rose-colored candles at every turn,
giving the whole house an ethereal, elegant glow. Angelina had never seen it
look more beautiful. “Oh, Ella!” she said, feeling the tears prick the corners
of her eyes.

“Don’t you dare cry, now. Mr. Edward, you tell her, I don’t
want her messin’ up that pretty face over candles, flowers, and a little home
cookin’.”

“I don’t know, Ella. I don’t blame her for tearing up over
this. You sure have put on a spread,” Edward boasted, popping a miniature
cheese puff in his mouth. “Mmm, mmm. That’s mighty tasty.”

“Not too salty?” Ella asked.

“No, ma’am. That’s real good.”

“All right, well go on outside and meet your guests. Go on.”
Ella waved them off like she was shooing a pair of birds out the window. “Look!
People’re already comin’ up the drive.”

Edward opened the front door for Angelina and ushered her
into a more wondrous spectacle than the dining room and main parlor. The front
porch was adorned with flowering pots bordering the porch railing and hanging
baskets filled with spider plants, Boston ferns, pink and white begonias, and
red geraniums. Flickering oil lamps lined the walk to the house and into the
garden area where a large white tent housed a five-man fiddle band in black
tuxedos and temporary wooden dance floor. Near the band was a long, buffet
table covered in a full-length tablecloth with another enormous floral
arrangement, two silver candelabra, and about a dozen cakes and pies. There was
a tall, white coconut cake with cherries on top, a chocolate pie with whipped
cream, lemon meringue custard topped with strawberries, and an apple cobbler.
Then there were iced sugar cookies, chocolate and walnut brownies, and Ella’s
famous chocolate fudge. Angelina’s corset tightened looking at all of the
delectable treats. Too bad she wasn’t the least bit hungry.

“Oh, Angelina Raeford, you are lovely . . .”

“Congratulations to you and Edward. It’s about time he found
a good woman . . .”

“Oh, that dress is gorgeous! You remind me of your mama,
lookin’ as fresh as a daisy . . .”

Angelina worked the crowd, smiling, chatting, and shaking
hands with all of Laurel Grove, pretending to be happy. First, there was
Reverend Michaels from the Methodist Church, along with Mabel Andersen and some
of her mother’s old friends from the Women’s Society. Then there was Jessie and
some of her riding companions and Edward and his breeders from Rutherford Hall.
Isabella Richardson whispered and giggled with Rebecca Thompson and Miranda Sutherland,
wearing her blue silk gown and diamond and pearl earrings. Angelina nodded and
smiled but decided she didn’t have to talk to them.

“How’s that wild stallion doin’ for ya?” Isaac asked,
joining Angelina as she watched the party from the covered porch. He offered her
a cup of fruit punch and smiled his familiar tobacco-stained smile.

“Oh, he’s fine—just fine.”

“You broke him in yet?”

“I’m working on it,” she said, sipping the sweet liquid.

“Well, like I said, he’d be a good contender for the Carolina
Challenge this year. You thought about that?”

“I’ve thought about it,” she nodded, batting her eyelashes
so he wouldn’t be offended at what she was about to say. “But who I enter in
the Challenge is my business, Isaac Richardson. I certainly won’t be telling
you any of my secrets.”

“Smart lady,” he said, taking a gulp of punch. “Good head
for business like your daddy. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to teach that
future husband of yours a thing or two—”

“What’s this?” Edward slithered up behind Angelina, his
breath hot on her neck. “You planning on teaching me something?”

“Naw,” Isaac said with a chuckle, trying to lighten the
mood. “We were just talkin’ ’bout the Carolina Challenge.”

“You mean the race I’ve won three years standing? What more
will you two teach me about winning, hmm?”

“You haven’t seen Midnight Storm run,” Angelina said.

“That’s the new stallion I sold her a few weeks back,” Isaac
added. “Wanted to know if she’s got him good and broke by now.”

In the distance, a light shone from the bunkhouse and the
laughter of a group of men made its way across the garden. Angelina noticed
Tom’s distinctive, loping gait, Mitchell and Billy smacking their Stetsons
against their thighs, and Stevie and Ward following behind. And last to come
was a tall figure of a man with long, black hair to his waist.

 “Are you sure we aren’t talking about that wild Indian
she’s got shovelin’ stalls?” Edward quipped, glaring in Ben’s direction.

“Edward, don’t be rude.”

“Rude? I’d say he wins the award for rudeness, telling me to
get off my own land.”

As Ben and the other men approached, Edward whispered in her
ear, “I don’t want you near him, tonight.”

“But he works for me,” Angelina said, getting a good look at
Ben’s crisp white shirt, dark canvas trousers, and black leather vest. His
brown skin and bright eyes made her heart skip a beat—he did look wild, yet
tame at the same time. “He’s our guest. I have to say ‘good evening’ at least.”

“I’ve never asked anything of you, Angelina, other than for
you to be my wife. But tonight I’m telling you to do as I say, you hear?”

“Edward—” She stared at him, trying to understand the tone
in his voice.

“I’ve seen the way that half-breed savage looks at you, and
I won’t have it,” he said, squeezing her arm. “I’ve heard about you riding with
him, eating in the bunkhouse—even at the Blue Ridge. And it’s gonna stop.
Tonight. I mean it, Angelina.”

“You’re hurting me,” she said, pulling against him.

“He lays a dirty finger one more time on what’s mine, well—I
don’t wanna say, other than you might have one less stable hand at Fairington.”

“Are you threatening me?” she whispered, conscious there
were people watching, including Isaac. “’Cause when you threaten my men, you
threaten me.”

Edward stared at her with that sinister, eerie look that
sent a ripple of fear through her. “He isn’t one of your men.”

“Get your hands off me,” she said, pushing him away.

“Miss Raeford!” Tom removed his hat and ran his fingers
through his thin hair. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” He flashed a warning
Edward’s way and then smiled at her. “I’m sure you know, but you’re the
spittin’ image of your mama in that dress.”

“That she is,” Edward said, ravishing her with his eyes. He
grabbed her hand and entwined his fingers in hers, squeezing tightly so that
the diamond cut into her skin. As Ben and the other men approached, he leaned
over and breathed into her ear, “Now, kiss me like you mean it.” Before
Angelina had time to think, he swept her into his arms and kissed her with his bushy
mouth, suffocating her with the stench of death.

Ben’s heart shot up into his throat at seeing Angelina
imprisoned in Edward’s embrace.
Lord, help me get through this night.
He
looked away, ignoring the applause from some of the men as Angelina blushed a
deep red, while Mabel and the older ladies scowled with disapproval. Edward’s
impropriety was shocking for a supposed South Carolina gentleman, but to Ben,
it was no surprise. He thought of his mother and how she had begged for mercy.

Ben grit his teeth and wandered over to the music tent,
trying to erase the image of Edward’s filth defiling Angelina’s beauty. It
pained him to see how lovely she looked in that silk dress with elegant rubies
nestled at the base of her throat. He hadn’t wanted to come in the first place,
but curiosity had gotten the better of him—plus he didn’t want to risk giving
her another reason to be angry. He wanted more than anything for her to look at
him the way she did that day she fell from Midnight Storm and lay safely
cradled in his arms.

“Hello there, Mr. Smith,” a soft voice drifted toward him.
“You enjoying yourself?”

Ben caught a glimpse of Isabella’s blue gown and bright
expression, and immediately, his mood changed. “It’s
Eagle
-Smith,” he
said firmly.

“Alright, Mr. Eagle-Smith. You having a good time?”

“You want the truth?”

She giggled, unmoved by his serious demeanor. “I guess
that’s a
no
.”

“You guessed right.”

“Why? Aren’t you used to parties where you come from?”

“You mean ’cause I’m a half-breed?”

“No, I didn’t say that—”

“No one ever says it, but they think it,” he said, staring
into the distance. “They think we’re animals, not fit for white society.”

“I don’t think that,” she said, gently touching his arm. “If
truth be told, my great-great-grandma was a full-blood Cherokee,” she
whispered, “except Daddy doesn’t ever say anything about it.” Her voice took on
an apologetic tone. “I think it’s a shame not to be proud of your own heritage.
Can you imagine? No one even knows what her name was.”

“Come on, Ben,” Billy said, dragging a giggling Miranda
Sutherland behind him. “You and Miss Richardson come on out to the dance floor,
and I’ll show you how to do the two-step.”

Isabella looked at Ben and shrugged her shoulders, smiling.
“Shall we, Mr. Eagle-Smith?”

His eye caught the glimmer of a diamond earring and a pearl
dangling below it. She reminded him of a beautiful china doll with flawless
skin and a pink glow to her cheeks—dainty and breakable, yet possessing an
inner strength. “Call me Ben, if you want,” he said, offering his hand.

She flashed her delicate, white smile and floated with him
to the dance floor, where Sam and Miranda and Tom and Mabel Andersen enjoyed a
dance. Even Isaac Richardson danced his own form of a jig with Rebecca
Thompson, whose fiancé, Robert Ellwood, looked on with a frown. Before long,
Ben’s spirits lifted sky-high at all the fun and excitement. He liked the way
Isabella’s curls bounced up and down on her soft shoulders while her diamond
and pearl necklace shifted back and forth against her porcelain skin. She felt
small and soft in his arms, yet solid and strong at the same time. That, and
the way the blue silk made her eyes take on a smoky hazel, captivated him. She
was beautiful by any man’s standard—either white or red—yet she was missing
something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Alrighty, all you gentleman, we’re gonna switch partners.
On a count of three,” the fiddle player announced.

Isabella giggled and gave Ben a peck on the cheek before
floating into Billy’s arms and twirling away. Ben swung Miranda around the
room, loving the sound of her silly laughter as it caressed his ear. For a
moment, he forgot why he was there, and that Angelina was probably wrapped
tightly in the arms of Edward Millhouse, dancing the night away.

“Gentlemen, one more time,” the fiddle player called again.
“On the count of three, we’re gonna switch. One, two—two and a half—three!”
Miranda was whisked away by Mitchell, leaving Ben without a partner. He looked
across the crowd and saw Jessie tapping her foot before being swept into
Edward’s dark form. Angelina was nowhere to be found.

Digging his hands into his trouser pockets, he moseyed over
to the dessert table, catching a glimpse of his reflection in a gilded mirror
propped up on the table behind Ella’s cakes and pies. Normally he didn’t like
getting dressed up in white man’s clothes, but the clean, pressed shirt, thin
black tie, and leather vest made him look elegant and polished—with the
exception of his hair. It was a source of pride for every Cherokee man—long,
straight, and shiny, like the velvety coat of a wild stallion. It hadn’t been
cut in over two years.

Grabbing a sugar cookie, he wandered to the stables to check
on Mighty Wind. Miss Majestic, which was Jessie’s horse, whinnied and neighed
like it normally did, and Ginger Snap snorted. The gray mare, Full Moon, simply
nodded in silence, minding its own business. Some of the other horses, like
Eagle’s Wing and another brown gelding with a white star on its face, Captain’s
Galley, were out to pasture, which left Mighty Wind and Midnight Storm alone in
the back of the barn.

After giving Midnight Storm a handful of sugar cubes, Ben
led Mighty Wind outside. The moon was full and the North Star shone bright,
illuminating the open fields that led into the distance. Something beckoned him
to ride far away and escape all that was going on at the party. Without another
thought, he jumped on the stallion’s back and stole away into the night.

Angelina rode Eagle’s Wing as fast as she could up to
Palmetto Ridge, not caring about her silk gown or the rose blossoms Jessie had carefully
arranged in her hair. She had to get away from Edward and the image of Ben with
his arms around Isabella’s waist. Angelina hated to admit it, but Isabella did
look lovely in her blue silk gown and pearls, and Ben seemed to waste no time
being taken in by her flirtations.
Well, he is a man, isn’t he?
her mind
argued against her heart.
Yes,
she reasoned,
but how could he have
ignored her new rose-colored dress, mama’s ruby jewelry, and hair done up fancy
like one of those Charleston girls? Was it because of Edward?

Angelina blushed with shame at the memory of Edward’s
touch—and in front of Ben and all of their guests. If her mama was alive, she
would’ve been mortified, and her daddy too. Edward would’ve surely seen the end
of his shotgun. Cringing, Angelina grimaced at the taste he left in her mouth,
along with his crude words. She wanted to scream, to purge the thought from her
consciousness forever.

As soon as Eagle’s Wing reached the old oak tree, Angelina
slid off its back and scurried under the protection of the low-lying branches,
sobbing a lonely, bone-chilling wail. How in the world had she gotten herself
into this predicament? She felt like a prisoner—like an innocent bird whose wings
were beating against the sides of a cage she had forged herself. She didn’t
have to marry Edward, did she? They really didn’t need his money after all. She
and Jessie could live out their lives on the land with their horses to keep
them company. But then what would happen to Fairington?

Edward’s threatening words ripped through her mind, hanging
heavy over her. What would he do if she broke their engagement this late in
their betrothal? She had gone too far with him, and now his true nature was
revealed. He was evil and mean, but deep down she had always known this, hadn’t
she? She wasn’t a fool—he hadn’t amassed the sort of wealth he flaunted without
being ruthless. The truth was she thought she could handle him, but now his
threats extended beyond her and Jessie—and Fairington. They extended to Ben.

Closing her eyes, she winced at some of the stories she had
heard, about Edward’s viciousness toward those who opposed him, as well as his
occasional liberties with the native women. Surely everything Ben said about
him had some measure of truth. Angelina fell to the mossy ground and looked
through the leaves, staring at the moon and the stars—thinking of the Cherokee
boy with long, dark hair who lay on the ground next to her so many times, like
this. Reaching toward the base of the roots, she dug her hand down into the
hole and pulled out her wooden box, retrieving the arrowhead hidden inside. She
clutched it tightly to her chest, feeling the sharp point with her thumb—sharp
enough to break the skin and draw blood if she pressed hard enough. What she
wouldn’t do to fall into his arms and run away with him to a secluded place in
the mountains perhaps, where no one could find them—to a place where they could
be free.

The pounding of horse hooves startled her, forcing her to
sit up and wipe her eyes. Straining in the dark, she saw the silvery silhouette
of a man riding a stallion, bareback. Fear gripped her as he swung his leg over
the horse’s head and made his way toward the tree. She clenched the arrowhead
in her hand and rose to her feet, backing up to the tree trunk and the safety
of the thick leaves. But it was no use. He had seen her for sure.

Ben ducked under a limb and stood under the canopy of the
oak tree, which protected them from the rest of the world. “Go away,” she said.
“Just go away.”

“I won’t,” he said calmly, even though his breathing was
deep and jagged.

“You will—you will!” She bit her lip, trying her best not to
cry, but tears streamed down her cheeks, and sobs erupted out of her like
vomit.

He moved toward her and she cowered away. For the longest
time, he stood quietly, staring at her and listening to her weep. “Angel,” he
whispered.

She glared at him with the tip of the arrowhead raised near
her head and fire leaping from her eyes. She hated him for standing there and
doing nothing. She hated him for looking at her that way. “You’ll do as I say—”

Before she knew it, he was there, pressing his strength
against her, with one arm around her waist and the other prying the arrowhead
from her hand. She yelped as the edge of the blade cut her finger, causing it
to ooze a dark substance. She tried to break free, smearing the blood across
his face, but he pulled her closer until she was staring into his very soul—the
soul of the boy she loved long ago.

“It’s too late,” she whispered. “It’s too late—”

A flicker of sorrow swept over his expression and then a
look of anger that scared her. The glow from the moon accentuated his
cheekbones and pulsating jaw, and his eyes took on a dark and wild look that
stirred something in her heart. “It’s not,” he whispered back.

Fear enveloped her like a cloud, paralyzing her very
thoughts as the look intensified, pulling her into him and uniting their
spirits with a power she had never felt before. His fingers gripped the back of
her hair so that the tortoiseshell comb fell to the ground, but for some
reason, she didn’t mind. Her head tilted back, and his mouth descended on hers,
slowly at first, and then slamming her back in time to when Mama and Daddy were
alive and when Jessie was more of a tomboy than ever, and when she first hid
the arrowhead in the tree—their tree.

She sank to her knees, but his lips remained on hers,
breathing in new life. His long, dark hair shrouded her like a veil, protecting
her from the world in a way the oak tree could not. She didn’t care what anyone
thought, even her parents who were looking on from heaven.
Let them all
look, let them all know who I really love
, her heart said, even though her
mind was screaming at her to stop. For the first time in a long time, Angelina
felt alive and free. And for the first time in a long time, she was.