“Not like I should, I reckon.” He nodded his head toward his bunk. “Got a little Bible I keep under my pillow.”
“Won’t do you much good under there. Get it out and read it, then pray and the Lord’ll help you. ’Cause if you wanna win her heart, you’ve gotta win the heart of her mama, and more important—her daddy. They’ve sent her off to school in Charleston so she can meet some rich man. ’Course it doesn’t appear that she’s found one of them yet, which means there’s hope for you.” Ben winked at Billy, giving an extra dose of encouragement. “Now, Mr. Sutherland doesn’t have any sons, which means he’s probably gonna want his daughter to end up with a man who knows his way around the horse business. Which is where you come in. You’ve gotta show her daddy that you’re one of the best horse trainers in the county, then turn right around and treat her mama like one of those English gentlemen would do. Then, I do believe Miss Miranda Sutherland will be yours.”
“Oh, boy,” Billy said, slapping his hand against his thigh. “You mean it? It’s that simple?” He grinned at Ben, his eyes glistening with excitement. “Why, I can do that. Show off at the Promenade, then wash up real good and sweet talk her mama.”
“But don’t forget,” Ben said, raising an eyebrow. “The praying comes first.”
“Yes, sir.” Billy grinned again, offering Ben his hand. “I do thank you,” he beamed, pumping Ben’s arm like an old, unused well. “You know, you’re real nice for an Indian man. You oughta talk a little more, get to know the other men, so they can see what they’ve been thinkin’ and believin’ ’bout natives is a buncha lies.”
Ben adjusted his Stetson on his head and settled back onto his pillow. “I find it’s best to talk only when there’s something worth saying.”
“You could tell ’em ’bout prayin’ and readin’ the Bible.”
There was something about Billy’s smile that touched Ben’s heart. “Go on, now,” he said. “I’m gonna get some sleep, you hear?”
Billy turned to leave and then stopped for a moment. “Hey—you think what you told me’s gonna work with you and Miss Isabella? She’s takin’ a real fancy to you, and Mr. Richardson said he ain’t never seen anybody ride a horse the way he’d seen you ride Midnight Storm that day. And since her mama’s gone off to heaven, looks like Middleton’s yours for the askin’. Why, you could be one of the biggest horse farm owners ’round here. You ever think ’bout that?”
Ben plopped his hat over his eyes and crossed his boots. His mind drifted off to the oak tree on Palmetto Ridge where a grand horse farm rested on the other side with the name Eagle’s Ridge hanging from a sign at the end of the road. “Yep,” he said, “I think about it all the time.”
CHAPTER 16
Angelina sat next to Ella as she drove the buggy into Laurel Grove for the first day of the Promenade Horse Show. Dust and grit swirled through the air, forcing her to squint her eyes under her freshly creased white Stetson—only worn on special occasions. Sweat beaded around her forehead, sending the hat sliding back on her head and causing her new, blue chambray blouse with tiny tucks and pleats to stick to her back. Thankfully, the breeze picked up and blew through her hair, cooling her skin from the heat. It was the second week in May, but the air was still warmer than usual for this time of year. Rain clouds were moving in from the west, which would cool things off later in the day.
Pushing up her shirt sleeves, Angelina thought about the impression she would make on all the horse trainers. Despite the small sweat stains, she knew she looked stunning in her black leather vest with mother-of-pearl buttons and dark, canvas riding skirt anchored by her daddy’s old, black leather belt cut down to fit her small waist. And fastened in the front was his silver buckle—one of the prizes for having won the Carolina Challenge years ago—polished until Angelina could see her reflection. Topping all of that off were her black leather boots which were waxed and buffed to a brand new condition.
Wonder what Ben’ll think? she said to herself, imagining the look on his face when he saw her attire. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the anticipation of seeing him. She would be riding Eagle’s Wing in tomorrow’s events, but Ben and Edward were due to ride today. Mighty Wind was racing like a dream, and according to Jessie, Edward was being extremely secretive about which horse he would be entering in today’s events. Angelina knew he had a special fondness for a light brown gelding with a black mane and tail, named Hallelujah, and a white Appaloosa filly named White Cloud. But Jessie had heard rumors that a new thoroughbred had been purchased from Kentucky—a rare, white stallion with a cream-colored mane and tail. Angelina snickered at the thought of Edward Millhouse having the gall to ride a pristine, white stallion in public.
“Lord, look at all the people,” Ella commented as Angelina maneuvered the crowd, driving past the Blue Ridge Hotel, Davis Supply & Co., and finally pulling to a stop at the livery hitching post.
“All right, Ella,” Angelina said, eyeing a peach cake with sugar frosting and a rhubarb pie sitting on the seat between them. “You get those down to the bake-off and meet me over at the Promenade ring. I’m gonna see if I can find Jessie.”
“Pray for me that I win first place,” she said, climbing down from the buggy.
“Ella, you know you’re gonna win. You win every year.”
“I don’t know. That Clara Wilcox can sure cook up a peach cake.” She placed the desserts into a large basket and wiped the sweat from her brow.
“But it’s not as good as yours.” Angelina smiled and kissed Ella on the cheek.
“Child—” She smiled back and looked Angelina over, from head to toe. “You do know how to be sweet when you wanna, you know that?” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she tucked a tangle of curls behind Angelina’s ear. Her voice changed slightly, sounding thick and syrupy. “Just like your mama.”
Angelina wandered down Main Street, past the Methodist Church and a long row of booths where ladies sold crafts like crocheted shawls, quilted blankets, and knitted cotton socks. There were silhouette artists, portrait painters, and street performers at every corner, all engulfed in the aromas of delicious food. Angelina inhaled the fragrance of buttery corn on the cob, roasted pecans, and candied apples. One of the main attractions was fried chicken and cornbread fritters served in old newspaper like the English fish and chips. She purchased a drumstick and fritters and munched on the crunchy cornbread as she wove through the crowd, nodding to friends and acquaintances and ignoring the looks of admirers while she made her way to the Promenade ring. Finally, she spotted Jessie through the throng, wearing her brown Stetson, sky blue chambray shirt, and brown riding trousers. She looked striking and confident with her long, straight hair hanging down her back. From a distance, it wasn’t hard to mistake Jessie for a Cherokee.
Weaving through the spectators, Angelina joined her sister by the fence railing. “You seen Ben yet?”
“Nope,” Jessie said, grabbing a fritter and popping it in her mouth. They watched one of Isaac Richardson’s trainers enter the ring on a chestnut filly with three white socks. Angelina took an instant liking to the horse, pondering what might be a fair price if he should decide to sell.
“What about Edward? You think he’s gonna be riding that white stallion?”
“Yep. That’s what his foreman says. Says his time’s faster than ever, too. And guess what he named it?”
“What?”
Jessie gave a sly look, preparing her for something shocking. “Almighty.”
Angelina’s eyes widened, feigning surprise. “Jessie, don’t you be lying to me.”
“I’m not. Almighty. That’s the name.”
Angelina chuckled to herself, amazed at Edward’s audacity in trying to act like the coming Messiah. Pride goeth before the fall, whispered deep inside of her. The announcer introduced Billy riding Captain’s Galley, and the crowd cheered, bringing her thoughts back to the Promenade. Jessie clapped and whistled in approval, but Angelina removed all inhibition and let out a loud cheer,
like an old cow hand riding the range. She was proud of the gelding, knowing Billy would make a good showing today, especially with Miranda Sutherland looking on. Angelina had already spotted Isabella and her friends on the other side of the ring some moments ago.
Stepping up on the fence railing, Angelina got a better look at Miranda in her brown riding skirt and dark green embroidered shirt, pointing and giggling as Billy rode past. Of course, huddled next to her was Isabella, showing off in an ice blue silk shirt with pearl buttons, dark gray riding skirt, and hat with band of peacock feathers. Angelina looked away, knowing Isabella was there just to gawk at Ben.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer called, “representing Fairington Farm, we have Ben Eagle-Smith on Mighty Wind.” The crowd gasped, some whispered and pointed, while others applauded. But to Angelina, it was as though the world suddenly fell silent. There he was, riding Mighty Wind, bareback, with his hair hanging down his back in two long braids and a band of black leather around his brow. He was bare-chested under a dark, leather vest with fringe and wore tall, dark moccasins reaching the base of his knee—all of which made a statement louder than if he had written Cherokee in bright letters across his chest.
Angelina’s cheeks flushed red and her throat constricted as he galloped past. Their eyes connected for a moment, and it was as if fire leapt from him, straight into her soul. He let out a Cherokee yelp and galloped around the ring, finally pulling Mighty Wind to a halt so that the stallion danced around the center of the ring on its hind legs, pawing the air. Angelina watched, holding her breath. She had never seen anything more wonderful and majestic, yet so dangerous. The crowd’s silence was evidence that, they too, weren’t sure whether to applaud or run away.
Jessie murmured under her breath, “Lord, Angelina. You sure you know what you’re doing?”
Before she could answer, a little voice piped up, piercing the silence. “Ben! Ben!” It was Isabella, waving her peacock-feathered hat. She clapped her hands, igniting a wave of applause that swept through the crowd. Angelina’s throat tightened as Ben retrieved one of the peacock feathers Isabella plucked from her hat. Smiling, he stuck it in his hair, letting out another Cherokee yelp. The crowd responded with another wave of applause while Isabella gushed with excitement. Envy crawled all over Angelina as she watched Isabella giggle and carry on like some self-imposed princess commissioning her prince to slay an evil dragon.
The announcer introduced the next contender, halting the momentum of the crowd. It was Edward riding Almighty, as Jessie predicted. A collective gasp came from the crowd as he entered the ring riding the majestic, white stallion. The horse was muscular and lean and in perfect proportion. Standing over sixteen hands, its coat was sleek and snowy white, with flecks of gray across the bridge of its nose and a cream-colored tail and mane braided to perfection. And Edward looked equally dazzling in his English riding coat and black top hat, resembling the King of England promenading before his humble subjects.
Angelina’s heart sank in fear as Almighty galloped past, sounding like thunder from a distant storm. How could anyone, let alone Ben, defeat Edward on this magnificent thoroughbred? True to its name, the white stallion rumbled around the ring like a champion, kicking up a cloud of dust, and abruptly stopped to pick up its hooves and prance around in a circle. Edward stayed glued to the saddle, displaying his expert riding ability with the same ease he might use if he was relaxing in one of her front porch rockers. Despite the stallion’s fancy footwork, Angelina noted how the top hat never moved nor slid from Edward’s brow. He looked lean, strong, and determined, with hair slicked back behind his ears and his moustache trimmed, accentuating a chiseled jaw and cheekbones. His eyes were a slate gray and for a moment, they flickered in Angelina’s direction, acknowledging her admiration. She had to admit that, on the surface, he offered everything she could ever want in a man. And yet, he repulsed her.
“Gentlemen riders,” the announcer bellowed, “please take your positions in the center of the ring.” Edward maneuvered Almighty past Ben and Mighty Wind, cutting his eyes over in an evil look. Billy and the other contenders lined up to hear the judge’s instructions.
“This is my favorite part,” Jessie hissed with excitement.
Angelina strained her ears over the buzz of the crowd, listening to the judge describe the rules of one of the most popular events, The Carolina Two-Step. “Sounds like a dance,” she had said to her daddy when she was a little girl. And in a way it was. Each horse was required to ride around the ring a certain number of times, successfully clear a series of high jumps, race around several oak barrels, clear the same jumps from the opposite direction, and return to the center of the ring in the shortest time possible. Edward’s arrogant demeanor indicated he had every intention of hanging on to his winning record of three minutes and forty-three seconds, but the expression on Ben’s face left no doubt a battle was on his hands.
The announcer blew the whistle as the competition began. The first rider, one of Isaac’s trainers, made a good showing on the chestnut filly, and then it was Billy’s turn. With a few of his characteristic whoops and hollers, he cleared every jump and obstacle on Captain’s Galley at an impressive three minutes and forty-two seconds.
“Ya-hoo!” Angelina screamed at the top of her lungs when the announcer declared the new event record, not caring who she might offend. She grabbed Jessie around the waist and kissed her on the cheek. “Oh, Jessie, this is the day Fairington’s gonna show Edward and this whole town we’ve got the best horses and trainers around!”
“And now, ladies and gentlemen—” A lump rose in Angelina’s throat as the announcer called “Mr. Ben Eagle-Smith on Mighty Wind!”, followed by Isabella’s shrill cries of approval that rose above the crowd’s rumble of excitement. Angelina stepped back up onto the fence railing, lifting up on her tiptoes. Her heart filled with pride at seeing Ben guide Mighty Wind around the ring several times at a furious pace before leading the stallion into the first jump. Anxiety welled up in her every time Mighty Wind sailed over the jump posts, stretching its long, lean legs past the water barrier and onto the next jump which was a high hedge of boxwood bushes elevated by bricks. With no trouble at all, Mighty Wind stayed true to its name by clearing the remaining jumps and maneuvering every obstacle, finally racing into the middle of the ring at a time of three minutes and forty seconds.
Angelina raised two hands up in the air and screamed along with Jessie and the entire crowd, fighting the urge to run out to Ben and leap on to Mighty Wind’s back. “Ben! Ben!” she screamed.
She bent down to scoot under the fence railing, but Jessie grabbed her arm. “Angelina, no—” Suddenly, Jessie’s gaze drifted over to the middle of the ring to where a cluster of bobbing peacock feathers headed straight toward Ben. It was Isabella, who acted like a hysterical southern belle, flailing her arms so that Mighty Wind reared up on its hind legs, bringing jeers and chuckles from the spectators. Ben leapt to the ground and took a slight bow before Isabella threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.
The crowd grumbled at the impropriety, but Ben seemed to love it. He grabbed Isabella and twirled her around so that her dark gray, riding skirt fluttered about like a matador’s cape. Then raising one fist to the crowd, he let out a loud Cherokee yell that spoke volumes to the little town of Laurel Grove—Ben Eagle-Smith wasn’t ashamed of being a red man, and everyone, including Edward Millhouse, was on notice that the title of Best Horseman in the County was about to be his.
Isabella kissed him again, sending a wave of guilt over Angelina that penetrated deep into her soul. She felt her eyes narrow and the blood whoosh down to her toes. She should be the one standing by Ben now, and not that foolish Isabella Richardson.
Several more contenders took their turn, but no one’s time came close to Ben’s. Finally, Edward entered and took a lap around the ring while Almighty snorted and shook its head, proclaiming victory before the race had even begun. Angelina ignored the comments that p
eppered the air, like “ain’t seen nothin’ like it” and “fast as the wind,” and hateful words from two old men with mouths full of chewing tobacco, “That red man ain’t never gonna outrun a white man.”
“That red man’s gonna outrun Edward Millhouse today and at the next Carolina Challenge, you just wait and see!” Angelina snapped back. She stared at the older of the two, trying not to look at the crinkles surround the blue eyes or the grisly gray whiskers protruding from the leathery skin. She clenched her jaw and held his look, until a long stream of brown juice splat near the toe of her boot.
“Angel,” Jessie said, pulling her toward the fence railing to watch Edward race. “Behave yourself.”
“Me? Did you hear that man?”
“Don’t listen to them.”
But there was no time to argue with Jessie, since Edward was ready to ride. He sat up tall and straight before tipping his hat to the judge, signaling for the clock to start. Angelina squeezed Jessie’s hand and held her breath as the whistle blew, and horse and rider took off at lightning speed. They rounded the track at a thunderous pace and took each jump, one, two, three—maneuvering the barrels and then clearing the same jumps again with agility and grace. At last, the race was over and the time was called. Angelina squeezed Jessie’s hand even harder as the announcer said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the time is three minutes and forty-one seconds—a close race—meaning our new champion is—Mr. Ben Eagle-Smith on Mighty Wind!”
Angelina jumped to her feet, feeling her heart explode with the roar of the crowd. “He did it!” Jessie screamed, jumping up and down and whooping and hollering in jubilation with the rest of the spectators. She threw her arms around Angelina’s neck and covered her face with kisses. “Angelina, he did it! Thank you, Lord Jesus!”
Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) Page 11