Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (7 page)

The hours had slipped away, and it was now very late. A
general sense of peace blanketed the night as the horses grazed nearby, gently neighing
from time to time. Ben lay under the oak tree with Angelina asleep in his arms.
He rubbed his finger along the edge of the arrowhead, remembering her birthday
years ago when he had chiseled it in perfect proportion like his Uncle Bear
Claw had instructed. It pleased him to know she had kept it all this time.

Rolling to his side, Ben propped up on his elbow and basked in
the beauty of Angelina’s dark eyelashes resting on her pale cheeks. She was
perfectly sculpted, with high cheekbones and wide-set eyes that made her look
mysterious and refined. He couldn’t resist kissing her on the mouth, hoping she
would awaken. Smiling, she opened her eyes and yawned, throwing her arms around
his neck. “Oh, Ben,” she whispered, burying her face in his hair, “what in the
world am I gonna tell Edward?”

“Tell him he’s a thief and a liar who speaks the devil’s
language, and he better repent and come to the Lord or he’s going straight to
hell.”

“Ben!” she teased. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

 “And what about Isabella Richardson?” she asked, her voice
lowering. “What’re you gonna tell her?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing, I expect.”

“Nothing?” she asked, giving him a sassy look. “It sure
looked like you were enjoying yourself, dancing with her silly self.”

He kissed her on the nose. “It was one dance.”

“
And
Miranda Sutherland,” she added, raising an
eyebrow.

“I don’t love any of those girls. Same as you don’t love
him. You never have. You can tell him that.”

“He knows it already.”

“Then tell him you don’t need his stinking money. That
God’ll get you all the money you need for what He has planned for Fairington.”

“How do you know what God’s gonna do?” she asked.

“I read it somewhere.”

“Where?”

He reached inside his vest and pulled out the little black
leather Bible with Angelina’s initials embossed on it. “I think it’s in a book
you gave me long ago, written by a man named Paul, with the strange name of
Philippians.”

She ran her hand across the cover, trying to hold back the
tears. “You kept it.”

“Of course. ’Cause you gave it to me.” He flipped to the
back and read, “
But my God shall supply all your
need according to his
riches
in
glory
by Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:19.” He closed the Bible with a snap and stared
into her eyes.

“Are you a preacher now?”

“No, I’m no preacher, but I do like to preach—when it’s
needed.”

“And you think I need it?”

“Well, don’t you?”

“I reckon so,” she said, resting her chin on his chest. “I
should have known better than to think I could depend on Edward Millhouse to
provide for my needs. God has blessed Fairington for a long time now, and I
believe He’s gonna keep on blessing it.” She smiled and gave him a peck on the
cheek, followed by a soft kiss on the mouth. “I’ve only got one need—and that’s
to be with you.”

A gust of wind blew across the ridge, rustling the leaves on
the oak tree and bringing with it a blast of cool air with the smell of rain.
“I guess we better be getting on back,” Ben said. “He’s gonna be looking for
you. And no telling what Jessie and Ella are gonna say.”

They arose without a word, signaling the horses with a
whistle. Ben helped Angelina onto the saddle and gently adjusted her foot in
the stirrup. He caressed the top of her ankle, placing his lips on the valley
dipping below her ankle-bone. She looked beautiful and powerful, sitting
astride a thoroughbred wearing a silk dress with jewels at her throat. She
reminded Ben of a queen from some fairy tale.

“You’ll wait for me, won’t you?” she said. “No matter what
happens? You’ll let me settle this.”

He didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. As she bent
down to kiss him, he grabbed a lock of curls that fell to her shoulders and
caressed it, memorizing its silky feel. Would they ever have another moment
like this?
Is she really mine, Lord?

She pulled away, and in a moment was gone, disappearing into
the open field that led back to Fairington. The last thing he saw was the
billowing of pink silk over Eagle’s Wing’s tail and the flow of blonde curls
dancing in the breeze.

“Where in the tarnation have you been?” Edward’s face was
stormy and gray, reflecting the rumbling thunder that made Eagle’s Wing whinny
and paw the dirt. The party had ended hours ago, but Jessie was still up, her
cheeks streaked with tear-stains. Ella was also wide awake and hopping mad,
standing against the front door with her arms crossed and her toe tapping the
porch floor in a crude, disjointed rhythm.

Angelina avoided Edward’s glare, trying to decide whether
she should dismount or give the gelding a good kick in the sides and disappear
forever.

“Hey there, Miss Raeford.” Tom cleared his throat and
removed his Stetson, settling the matter. “Why don’t you let Mitchell here take
Eagle’s Wing? He’ll get him brushed and bedded down for the night. How’s that
sound?”

“That sounds real good, Tom.” She dismounted, not caring how
awkward she looked in her soiled dress. After passing the reins to Mitchell,
she braced herself and faced Edward, catching a whiff of his exhale—a putrid
combination of tobacco and salted beef.

“Well, you don’t have anything to say?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

He stepped closer with teeth clenched like he wanted to hit
her, but she wasn’t the least bit afraid. She pitied him now—he was a pathetic
shell of a man. “You run off in the night with the whole town here, celebrating
our upcoming wedding, and you don’t tell a soul?”

“There isn’t going to be a wedding, Edward.”

Jessie sunk into one of the rockers, and Ella turned on her
heel, slamming through the front door. Suddenly, Tom’s strong presence was
beside her, giving her protection. “No wedding?” Edward chuckled, seemingly confused.
“Now that’s fine. Just fine—” He grabbed her hand and flashed the diamond ring in
her face so that the stone sparkled. “You’re wearing my ring. You know what
that means?” He drew closer, like an oppressive force. “You and I have an
agreement.”

“I’m not one of your business deals,” Angelina said, prying
the ring off her finger and thrusting it toward him. “I can’t be bought. Not
anymore.”

He took another step toward her, but suddenly Tom was there
by her side. “Careful, Mr. Millhouse. A woman’s got a right to change her mind,
particularly on matters of the heart. You may not like it now, but it’s for the
best. It’s gonna save you a whole buncha heartache later on. Trust me on this.”

“Trust me—” Edward’s voice was distant and remote, as though
he was pondering the meaning of Tom’s words. “If there’s one thing I’ve
learned, it’s not to trust anyone. Not a single, solitary soul,” he said,
glaring at Angelina. He then grabbed her arm and pulled her close, shoving the
ring in her face. “You’re gonna put this back on, and you’re gonna act right,
you hear?”

“Mr. Millhouse!” Tom yelled, trying his best to pry Edward
loose.

“Put it on, I tell you!” Edward repeated, growling like a
wild animal. “Put it on!”

An approaching horse neighed in the distance, piercing the
thickness of the night. Angelina knew who it was before Ben swung his leg over
Mighty Wind’s head and jumped to the ground. “Don’t—Ben,” Angelina pleaded. But
he wasn’t listening. He marched up to Edward with his jaw locked and fists
clenched. “Leave him be!” she cried.

Edward grinned, unmoved by her desperate pleas or Ben’s
angry demeanor. His eyes stopped on Ben’s long hair and the smear of blood
across his face. “A savage—just like his ma.”

Time seemed to stand still as an eerie, suffocating silence
thickened the air, warning Angelina of what was about to happen. Suddenly,
Jessie screamed a sharp, shrill cry as Ben slammed his fist into Edward’s face,
sending him down to the ground on his backside where he belonged. “Don’t you
touch her!” he hollered with a voice that was deep and rich, like it was coming
from the depths of a dark, wet cave.

“Ben, just go—Go!” Angelina cried again and again.

Tom and Mitchell grabbed Ben, one on each arm, stopping him from
striking Edward again. He glared at Edward’s crumpled form for what seemed like
an eternity and then turned and looked at Angelina with a piercing stare. “Come
with me.”

Blood rushed from Angelina’s head down to the tips of her
toes, locking her feet into the dusty soil. Instinct told her to remove her
gaze from those eyes that pleaded with her to
come and follow her heart
,
but there was something else inside of her that couldn’t turn away. She wanted
more than anything to jump on Mighty Wind’s back, to wrap her arms around Ben
and never let go, but her mind was fighting against it. It argued practicality,
order, and commitment. Looking at him now, she couldn’t help but focus on his
dark skin and untamed hair. They were different people after all, from
different worlds—she needed time to think, to consider her decision. There was
the Raeford name to consider and her daddy’s legacy, and of course, Fairington.

“I can’t,” she whispered, as confusion descended on her,
paralyzing her thoughts as much as her tears clouded her vision. “I can’t. Not
now.” A shadow moved across Ben’s brow, darkening his stare.

Edward rose to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth.
“You don’t have what she needs,” he said. “You don’t have anything, not a cent
to your name except that horse and a taste for revenge. And that won’t get her
very far when it comes to making Fairington what we all know it can be.”

“That’s not true! Don’t listen to him,” Angelina said.

Ben’s eyes glistened as a look of hatred seemed to leap from
his soul, boring daggers in Edward. “I’ve got my land—”

“That land doesn’t belong to you.”

“My father gave it to
me
!”

Edward shook the dirt off of his suit coat and adjusted his
Stetson over his brow, as if Ben’s anger was no more than a nuisance from an
irritating fly. “You’ve threatened me, assaulted me, and touched what isn’t
yours. If I have to, I’ll take measures into my own hands.” He paused, letting
the silence complete his thoughts. “I’ve got the law to back me up.”

“Do what you want,” Ben said, “but I won’t rest till I get
what’s mine.”

The two men faced each other, toe to toe, neither saying a
word—Ben with his raw, Cherokee strength, and Edward with his money and power. “All
right,” Edward said. “You want the land, name your price.”

“Thieves don’t make demands,” Ben hissed.

Edward smiled and smacked his lips, looking more sinister as
the shadows cast a demonic appearance across his face. “I know you can’t pay
for it, so I tell you what—how about a wager, huh? The Carolina Challenge—three
mile steeplechase on that fine stallion of yours. You win and the land is
yours, fair and square. You lose and you walk away—from the land, Fairington, everything.”
His eyes cut over to Angelina. “Including her.”

“Don’t,” Angelina begged.

Edward stepped closer to Ben and said in a low, hushed tone,
“And none of us see your Cherokee face
ever
again.”

“Ben,” she said, shaking her head. He wavered a moment and looked
her way, apologizing with those haunting eyes that swirled with rage,
bitterness, and resentment—a lethal combination. She wished he would stop a
minute and think about things. Edward had every intention of winning that race
again.

For a second, the look on Ben’s face changed, as though he
had read her thoughts. But then he turned back to Edward and gave a slight nod.
Edward extended his hand, and Ben paused before grabbing it and clamping down
hard. The deal was set and there was no going back.

A cry rose up from deep inside Angelina’s chest, sending her
bolting toward the safety of the stables where Eagle’s Wing was waiting for
her. She buried her face in the gelding’s mane and wept, allowing the tears to
flow. What was wrong with her? Why hadn’t she gone away with him? It was what
she wanted, wasn’t it?

Eagle’s Wing grumbled as she slammed her fist against her
thigh, hating herself for being so weak. She loved Ben, but she loved
Fairington too. Somehow she had to find a way to keep both of them, to bring
them together—somehow.
Lord, I need your help.

She waited for a reply, but the only answer given was another
loud rumble of thunder and the splatter of a heavy, torrential rain.

Ben awoke to a bright ray of sunshine streaming through the
bunkhouse window. Billy and Mitchell were already up and busy with the early
morning routine, shaving, dressing and tidying up before heading to the house
for breakfast. Stevie and Ward took the early shift and would join them later.

A rush of anger hit Ben in the gut as he replayed the
previous night’s events, especially Edward’s taunts and Angelina’s denial in
front of the other men. He flexed his right hand a few times, remembering
Edward’s smug look, but the soreness was worth the pleasure of seeing him flat
on the ground, wallowing in the dirt. Remorse filled Ben’s heart, but it was
instantly replaced with a sense of peace in realizing God had given him the
opportunity to get his land back—and without a fight or a passel of money he
didn’t have. It was going to be him, Mighty Wind, and the Lord setting things
right again.

Tom kicked the edge of his bunk, rousing Ben from his
thoughts. “Got a new job for you today. I’m gonna give Billy here the stall
duty while you work with the horses.”

“Aww,” Billy protested, “I don’t wanna be shovelin’ today.”

“You’ll shovel and like it, you hear?” Tom said, silencing
any further objection. He looked back at Ben and continued, “You know Mr.
Millhouse’s got a stable full of fine thoroughbreds, like us.” Ben nodded in
agreement, wondering where this conversation was going. “But he’s got something
else I’m not sure you’ve got.”

“What’s that?”

“Drive. Determination.” Tom leaned forward, giving Ben a
look of warning. “Losin’ isn’t an option for him. Not even in the realm of
possibilities. You understand?”

 “I know how to ride,” Ben replied. “Mighty Wind and me can
outride him any day.”

Tom chuckled, squinting his eyes in a way that betrayed his
native heritage. “I’ll take that as a no—which is why I’m givin’ you a new job.
For the next two months, all you’re gonna do is train that stallion, and you’re
gonna train it the way I tell you to, till winnin’ is the only thing you’ve got
on your mind, you got that? There’s a lot more ridin’ on this than your land or
Miss Raeford’s affections.” Tom’s expression grew serious, as if he was hiding
a secret. “Now get up and get some breakfast.”

Ben wiped the sleep from his eyes and slid into his boots
before putting on a clean shirt. He wondered what sort of history Tom had with
Edward.
Couldn’t be good
, he thought. Foregoing breakfast at the main
house, he filled his stomach with black coffee from the bunkhouse stove and
yesterday’s cold biscuits sandwiched around a strip of Ella’s day-old fried
bacon. He headed out to the stable, doing his best to avoid Angelina, Jessie,
or even Ella. Fortunately, they were busy cleaning up after last night’s party,
so he was free to commune with the horses without any interference.

He spoke to Midnight Storm, offering a few cubes of sugar, and
then tended to Mighty Wind. The stallion bobbed its head, neighing loudly, as
it demanded its share of the treats. Ben laughed and dug into his pocket,
pulling out a handful of white cubes. “You ready to ride, huh? Go ahead,” he
smiled, as the horse’s tongue lapped against his palm. “You’re gonna need it
before Tom gets through with us today.” He patted the stallion’s sleek neck,
speaking softly in his native language.
“The wind blows freely over the
ridge. Come, let us ride and see what the Father has for us.”

Saddling up, Ben led Mighty Wind to the open field toward
Palmetto Ridge, hoping to let some steam out of the stallion before the
training began. With a little kick, the horse took off at full speed. Ben
closed his eyes, experiencing the power carrying him away and the taste of the
wind on his tongue. He squeezed his knees and Mighty Wind lived up to its name,
running faster and harder, jumping a fallen log, sailing over an old wooden
fence, and splashing through a stream that ran through the border of the
Fairington grounds. He felt the animal’s soul take flight, and for a moment,
visualized the two of them floating up to the clouds where Edward Millhouse and
his thoroughbreds could never roam. For the first time in many years, Ben
experienced hope rising inside of him, taking him to a place where his daddy’s
farm was his home again, filled with horses, wild flowers, vegetables growing
in the garden—and, of course, Angelina.

He slowed the stallion and eased down to a canter and then a
trot, turning and heading back to the stream to grab a quick drink. Mighty Wind
walked along the rocks, splashing through the cool water to relieve itself from
the heat. Ben dismounted and waded through the stream, cupping his palms and
bringing the fresh water to his mouth. It was pure, clean, and good. Even
Mighty Wind drank freely. “Not too much,” he teased. He splashed the horse’s
face in a loving banter until it whinnied and neighed. “Alright, I’ll stop.” Ben
laughed as the stallion stomped its hooves and swished its tail, objecting. “But
you’ve gotta promise me you’re gonna win that race. Huh, boy?” He patted its
neck again and kissed the velvety nose. “You’re gonna love it there on the
farm. You’ll be the king of the stable. Just you and me and a couple of nice
mares. That sound good?”

Mighty Wind tossed its mane and rubbed its nose against
Ben’s arm. He grabbed the stallion by the muzzle and planted another kiss on
its nose, remembering when it was a foal, fresh from its mama’s womb. It was hard
to believe the same wobbly legs that gamboled about his people’s land in the
foothills of Western North Carolina were strong and lean and would be running
the Carolina Challenge in two months. “I always knew you were special, you know
that?”  The stallion neighed softly, agreeing with this truth. “Thank you, God,
for this horse,” Ben prayed.
Thank you
.

Mighty Wind neighed again and lifted its head up high,
looking into the woods. “What is it?” Ben asked. The horse grumbled and
whinnied as its ears flattened against its head and its front hooves pawed the
earth. “Whoa, whoa there!” Ben grabbed the reins and clicked his tongue, speaking
gently in Cherokee.
“God has not given us a spirit of fear, my friend. God
has not given us a spirit of fear.”

He jumped into the saddle and nudged the horse to the edge
of the trees, listening intently. As he got closer, he heard it—a whimper and
then a sob coming from a clump of leaves under a pine tree. Yards away, he saw
what appeared to be a deer grazing through the leaves and underbrush, but as he
looked closer, he saw that it was actually a dappled gray mare with a
sidesaddle on its back. It lifted its head, took one look at Ben, and scampered
off into the woods.

Ben dismounted, suddenly regretting that he didn’t have his
flint knife with him. He reached into his trouser pocket and felt the sharp
point of Angelina’s arrowhead, but little good that would do him. Tying the
reins to a nearby sapling, he approached the pine tree, taking quiet, careful
steps like his uncle had taught him.

As he got closer, he heard the whimper again and saw the
edge of a dark blue riding coat crumpled in the dry leaves. “You hurt?” Ben
called. There was no answer other than a soft moan and the movement of a pale,
white hand. He quickened his pace and saw a face with dark eyelashes and thick,
curly brown hair. “Miss Richardson.”

 “It’s watching,” Isabella whispered, looking at him with
fear and terror. Her eyes darted toward the dense woods, and immediately Ben
knew. These hills were crawling with what his people called
klandagi
or
mountain lions. Even though they usually stalked their prey at night, they were
known to attack during the day. Ben slowly reached into his pocket and grabbed
the arrowhead. It was all he had, so it would have to do. That and his prayers.

Placing the arrowhead between his thumb and index finger, he
slowly stood up and peered into the woods, thinking about David slaying the
giant Goliath in the Old Testament with nothing but a rock and a belief in his
God. “Stay very still,” he whispered to Isabella. “It’s gonna be all right.”

In the distance, a twig snapped and a horse screamed.
Adrenaline coursed through Ben’s veins, sending him running toward the sound
with the arrowhead wedged between his fingers. As swift as the wind, he
scurried through the brush, dodging trees and low-lying limbs, and leaping over
fallen logs. He saw the gray rump of the dappled mare prancing in a circle and the
black fur of the mountain lion lunge forward. A call rose up from somewhere
deep within him and came tumbling out—a Cherokee yell—as his arm slung back
behind his head and the arrowhead flew from his hand like a bullet, hitting the
cat behind the ear. It fell to the ground, writhing and twitching, its black
tail flapping back and forth like a decapitated snake.

Ben rushed forward and shoved his boot on its neck, jerking
the arrowhead free. The cat growled, trying to get up, but Ben’s strength kept
it on the ground. He stared at it, hard, warning it with his prayers.
“Go
back, back to your place,”
he spoke in the language his mother had taught
him.
“Into the night.”
It growled again, reminding him of Edward Millhouse—strong,
dangerous, and deadly. He had heard his mother refer to the dark panther as a
wampus, or lord of the forest, who embodied the
spirit of death
and the earth, and the sound of its cry meant someone was about to die.

Even though Ben rejected these myths and legends, he sensed
death all around him. He could kill it if he wanted to. It would be so easy to
take a thick tree branch and sink it deep into the animal’s throat. Ben tasted
the bitterness of hate on his tongue—not for this wild creature, but for what was
done to him and his mother.
Don’t. Don’t do it
, a voice inside him said.
Vengeance is mine. I will repay
.

As he listened, the bitterness dissipated, turning sour and
acidic. Carefully, he removed his foot and the cat scurried away, disappearing
into the trees. Ben grabbed the mare’s reins and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Fear came over him at the thought of how close he had come to doing the
unthinkable. Was he really capable of killing? Could he take the life of
another if given the chance? If he had killed that mountain lion, he would’ve
been justified, but it still would’ve been wrong.
To hate in your heart is
murder
, resounded in his mind.

“Yes,” Ben answered, feeling guilt wash over him. It
wouldn’t have really been a wild animal he destroyed, but something or someone
else. Closing his eyes, he thought about the number of times he had murdered
Edward Millhouse with his thoughts, wishing him dead or dying a gruesome,
horrific death. How many times had he sinned for holding on to such hateful
imaginings? His gut justified his actions, but his heart condemned. The very
image of Edward lying on the ground with an arrowhead embedded in his skull and
a tree branch through his throat sent Ben to his knees right there in the
woods, begging God for forgiveness.