Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (20 page)

“What did I tell you about
trespassing, boy?” The voice was deep and gravelly and sounded like it was
coming from a dark, dank cave. The man kicked Ben in the ribs, and the pain
shot up his side, knocking away every bit of breath left in his lungs. He
rolled to the floor, gasping for air, but another kick slammed into his wounded
leg. Another kick came and then another.

“Mr. Edward, you’re hurtin’ him!”
Despite the pain, Ben recognized Mason’s nervous sputter.

“Shut your mouth and do what
you’re told,” Edward ordered. The leather pouch was wrenched from Ben’s hand
and the contents dumped onto the floor. The arrowhead bounced against the
wooden floorboards, and the eagle’s feather floated under a table leg. Ben
tried to reach the letter, but it was scooped up before he could grab hold. He took
a deep breath and struggled to get to his knees, but the toe of a boot flailed
into his stomach, knocking him to the floor once more. “Tie him up.”

“What’re you gonna do?” a
different voice asked. Ben forced his eyes open and saw Sam Turner’s portly
stomach bulging against a tight, brocade waistcoat and a brown leather belt
held together by a silver belt buckle.

“What I do with any
trespasser and thief,” Edward said, lifting the Bible from the floor and
staring at the initials. “Stealing a lady’s Bible is the just the kind of thing
that can get a red man hung around these parts.”

“Give it to me,” Ben moaned,
stretching forth his hand. “It’s mine.”

“What did you say?” Edward
asked, venom dripping from his tongue. Ben was pulled to his feet and his
wrists bound tightly behind him so that his shoulders pulled against their
sockets. Edward grabbed him by the throat and shook him hard. “You saying you
didn’t steal it? Huh?”

“No,” Ben whispered, his entire
body filling with rage. “It’s mine! She gave it to me—”

Suddenly, Edward’s eyes
darkened into long slits. “You’ve challenged me for the last time,” he hissed,
filling the air with a putrid smell. “Now you’re gonna pack yourself up and get
out of this town. Tonight! This land doesn’t belong to you, she doesn’t belong
to you, this Bible certainly doesn’t belong to you—nothing belongs to you, not
even that horse out there. You’ve got nothing.”

All Ben could see was red,
even though he was inches away from Edward’s face. Edward shook him several
more times until Ben forced himself to look beyond the anger and stare into
this man’s soul, looking deeper and deeper, searching for some semblance of
life. Edward laughed, emitting the coppery scent of blood. “You remind me of
your mother,” he jeered. Then grabbing Ben by the hair, he pulled him close and
whispered vile, vulgar words that Ben couldn’t comprehend. The rage surged again,
and the urge to kill was there.

Breathing deeply, Ben felt a
renewed strength course its way through him. He raised his good foot several
inches off the floor and slammed down hard with his boot, crushing Edward’s toes.
The scream permeated his ear, but it was a pleasant sensation. Squirming away
from Mason and Sam, he kicked Edward hard in the knee, hearing a crack that
brought on another horrific scream.

Something hit him from
behind, and suddenly Edward’s screams faded into the distance. As Ben fell to
the floor, he saw the stunned reaction in Mason’s face that was different from
what he had witnessed earlier that day. “I’m sorry,” Mason mouthed, holding a
long two-by-four in his hand. Ben instantly felt compassion for the man,
wishing he could tell him so. But the darkness came over him as he closed his
eyes and slept.

Angelina heard the scream
down in her bones before it slammed into her ears. “Tom!” she yelled, motioning
for him to quicken his pace on Full Moon. Her Stetson flew off her head as she
urged Eagle’s Wing to ride faster and harder up toward Palmetto Ridge. Racing
toward the oak tree, she felt the hot breath of Tom’s horse bearing down on
her, threatening to overtake them. When they reached the top of the ridge, she brought
Eagle’s Wing to a quick stop so that it rose up on its hooves, pawing the air
wildly. Angelina froze at what was happening below—Ben was on his knees with
his arms outstretched between two pine trees, his head resting awkwardly
against his chest and his eyes closed. His shirt was in tatters and marred with
blood from the rhythm of Edward’s whip that crashed through the air, ripping
against Ben’s flesh, again and again.

“Edward!” Angelina screamed,
but her voice was muffled by a guest of wind that swept across the ridge,
signaling a coming rain.

“Miss Angelina, you stay
here,” Tom said, grabbing hold of Eagle’s Wing. Midnight Storm whinnied in the
distance as it danced away from the flickering flames of a small bonfire that
illuminated Ben’s haggard face. Both Mason and Sam Turner stood nearby,
ignoring the stallion’s pleas, their attentions focused on Edward and his cruel
task.

On instinct, Angelina dug her
heels into Eagle’s Wing’s side and galloped toward Ben as Edward’s whip rang
through the air once more, resonating with a loud crack. She couldn’t waste any
more time listening to Tom’s cautious advice—Ben needed her. Leaping off the
gelding, she tumbled toward him, almost tripping over her feet. “Edward, stop!”
She leapt forward as Edward’s arm drew back, ready to strike another blow.
Whirling around, he stared at her for a moment, wincing as he shifted his
weight to his left foot.

“I’ve warned him, Angelina.
And I’ve warned you too.”

“Let him go!” she screamed.
“He hasn’t done anything!”

Suddenly Tom was there beside
her with his arm around her shoulders. “Mr. Millhouse, you’ve gone too far this
time, takin’ the law into your own hands.” He nodded his head toward Mason and
Sam Turner. “And you should know better than this, Mr. Turner, you bein’ an upstandin’
attorney.”

“This is private business,”
Sam said, sounding a little unsure.

“It’s not,” Tom replied,
pointing at Ben. “Not when it involves harmin’ an innocent man.”

“He’s not innocent!” Edward
seethed, coiling the whip in his hands.

“Well, if that’s so, the sheriff
oughta decide what to do.” Tom stepped closer to Edward and stared him down.
“You may be the richest man around, but you’re not above the law.”

Edward stared back, surveying
Tom from head to toe like he was sizing up a beaten down workhorse, not fit for
anything but the slaughterhouse. He smiled for a moment, reminding Angelina of
the lizard that frequented the Fairington porch at times, particularly in the
cool of the day. The end of the whip dropped to the ground as it unfurled from
his hands. He then glared at Ben, reared back, and prepared to strike once
more.

“Don’t force my hand, Mr.
Millhouse!” Tom bellowed in a voice that Angelina rarely heard from him. “I’ve
got things to say, things I’ve never told.” Edward paused and then slowly
turned back toward Tom. “Things I know,” he continued. “I know what you’ve done.
I know firsthand. His mama told me.” He took a step closer and dropped his
voice to a low drawl. “Down to every last detail.” Edward’s face slowly paled
as Tom held his gaze. “Now go on home and let Mason tend to that foot, and
we’ll take care of Ben.”

Edward hesitated another
moment, as though he was considering, and shook his head. “I’m gonna finish
what I’ve started,” he said, popping the whip against his boot.

“No!” Angelina cried. She tore
past Mason and threw herself against Ben.

“Pull her off, Mason,” Edward
barked.

Mason placed a gentle hand on
her arm and said, “Go on home, Miss Raeford. This ain’t no place for you.”

Angelina slammed her cheek
against Ben’s bloody back and tightened her arms around him, clasping her
fingers around his chest. She shut her eyes and whispered, “I won’t leave you.”
Ben didn’t budge or make a sound, even though her lips prayed frantically while
her mind tried to keep up. She didn’t know what she said to the Lord, other
than words like
help
,
deliver
, and
save us
.

“Mason!” Edward’s command was
cold and desperate, but it didn’t move Angelina. She had already decided—a
wild, ferocious tornado wouldn’t be able to tear her free from Ben.

“Let him go, I say!” Tom
yelled in response. “This is
his
land and you know it.”

“What I
know
is, it’s
mine!” Edward screamed. “His heathen mother signed it over to me!”

“Where’s the deed, huh?” Tom
asked. “I’d like to see you produce it for once, show us where she signed, show
us your name.”

Edward hesitated, staring at
Tom with his mouth twisted in a frown and his eyes narrowing. Tom stepped
closer, snarling like a dog. “I think the sheriff and Judge Thompson and all of
Laurel Grove oughta know how you tried to steal a home from a poor, helpless
widow and her son. They oughta know what lengths you’ll go to, all for a passel
of land you don’t give a hoot about.” His eyes gleamed with the same fire that
crackled nearby. “You and I both know it’s just one of your ways to get closer
to Fairington.”

“Edward, is this true?” Sam
asked. “You told me you had the deed.”

“I’ve heard enough!” Edward
snapped.

Angelina’s thoughts swam in
confusion as silence descended, thickening the air around them. She wiped the
blood and dirt from her face, running her fingers through the stray hairs that clung
to her cheeks. “Tom, are you saying—do you think it’s Ben who really owns this
land?”

Edward’s finger shot out from
his side like a bullet, pointing straight at Angelina. “Mason, get her off, now!”

Mason looked from Tom to
Angelina, and then to Edward. His skin gleamed in the light as his back
straightened up like a metal rod had been welded into his spine. At that
moment, he looked young and strong, yet his expression reflected the wisdom and
intelligence of an old man. “I won’t,” he said, shaking his head. He took a
step backward, sure of himself. “I won’t hurt Mr. Ben no more.”

Sam moved forward, aligning
himself with Mason. His chest puffed out even further and his eyes were ablaze.
It was as if the old Sam Turner—the one Angelina remembered from years of
advising and counseling her daddy about Fairington’s business affairs—awoke
from a long, fretful sleep to see the chaos all around him. Extending his hand
in Edward’s direction, he gestured toward the whip. “I suggest you give me that
and go on home.”

Angelina held her breath as
Edward stared at Sam for the longest time. Finally, he dropped the whip into
Sam’s hand. “Now cut that boy loose,” Sam commanded. Edward limped over to Ben,
flashing a sharp knife. The air turned thick and heavy again, causing panic to
rise up in Angelina. Ben moaned in objection, even though his eyes were still
closed.

“I’ll take care of it,” Tom
said, strutting toward Ben, but Edward was too fast for him. The blade cut against
the rope holding Ben’s wrist, freeing first one hand and then the other.

Relief came over Angelina as
he fell to the ground in a heap, as silent as the grave. “Ben,” she whispered,
kissing his wounded shoulders and stroking his tangled, matted hair. “Tom, help
me get him to the house.” Suddenly, Ben’s head jerked back and the gleam of the
knife was against his neck, slicing. Angelina gasped as his long ponytail fell
away into Edward’s hand. Letting out a native yell, Edward held the hair over
his head like it was a decapitated serpent. “Edward!” Angelina screamed,
knowing how much pride Ben took in his hair. She lunged toward him, grasping
for the ponytail, but he stumbled back toward the fire, smiling in a strange
way.

“This land belongs to me, you
hear? And no heathen half-breed is gonna tell me otherwise!”

“You’ve gone too far!” Sam
bellowed. “You’ve got no right.”

“Don’t tell me my rights! I
know when I’ve been wronged.” Climbing onto his horse, he reached down into his
boot, wincing for a moment, retrieved a wooden match and struck it against his
trouser leg.

“You’re the one in the
wrong!” Tom yelled. “You’re the one trespassing on his land!”

At these words, the flame
from Edward’s match burned the end of Ben’s hair, igniting it into a long, slithering
torch. Almighty neighed and pranced around in circles, trying to get away from
the flame. “No!” Angelina screamed, as Edward did the unthinkable—with a mighty
heave, he tossed the ponytail on top of the farmhouse roof where it settled
into a ridge in the roofline. It burned for a moment before igniting into a
ball of fire.

The men rushed around
frantically, slapping the flames with their jackets and sweaty horse blankets, while
Ben remained still, lying in a bloody heap. Midnight Storm screamed and pulled
against the rope that secured it to a nearby tree, but the stallion was trapped
like the rest of them, helpless to stop the flames from engulfing Ben’s home.
“Lord, Jesus!” Angelina cried. She held Ben in her arms, watching the fire lick
the sides of the house, wrapping the front parlor with its deadly blaze. She
envisioned the quilted pillows and bright curtains shriveling into a chalky
ash, erasing everything Ben had left of his childhood. Angelina closed her eyes
and turned away, praying it would all end soon. “Oh, Ben,” she whispered, “don’t
look, don’t look.”