Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry)

by Caroline Friday

  “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.

  CHAPTER 7

  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.

  CHAPTER 8

  “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.