“That’s enough, now.” He stood to his feet and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her close so that she could see the fire leap from his eyes. “You’ve been listening to too much of that heathen Indian talk,” he said, his jaw pulsating.
Angelina stared into his dark expression, thinking he might strike her. She tried to read his thoughts, but it was like they were hidden behind a thick, black veil. “If it’s the money you want—”
“You know what I want.” His breath was on her cheek, and then his mouth latched on to hers, pressing down with a firmness that frightened her. She tried to breathe, but his hands were on the back of her neck, pulling her closer, suffocating her, like she was drowning in a pool of deep, cold water. “Oh, Angel—you know I could make you happy—”
“No,” she groaned, trying to get free. “You will never make me happy.” She scrunched up her face and buried her cheek into his shoulder, sickened by what stirred within her. She pounded on his arms, but still, he refused to let her go. Then looking into his eyes, she saw something that resembled hurt or perhaps a trace of torture. She was glad she could wound him—it gave her a fleeting moment of pleasure, even though she knew it was wrong and unchristian. “You will never have my heart,” she whispered.
“I don’t want your heart,” he said, pushing her away. “Just what comes with it.”
“I know how much you want Fairington.”
“And why shouldn’t I want Fairington? It’s the best horse land around,” he said, his look roaming over her once more, settling on her waist and then her face. “And I always get the best.”
“You won’t get one ounce of dirt from Fairington,” she hissed. “Not while I’m alive.”
“We’ll see.” His eyes glistened as he smirked in a way that made him look like that leathery old man she encountered at the Promenade. “Jessie owns half. I’ve seen the way she’s been coming around, being friendly, reporting back to you—I’m not ignorant of your schemes. She’s a pretty little thing, and I do think she likes what she sees. Could be I’ve been courting the wrong sister this whole time.”
“Jessie leaves all the business of Fairington to me. You know that.”
“Well, that could change.”
Angelina grit her teeth and glared at him. “You stay away from her!”
“Then you do what you agreed. Wear my ring and be my wife.”
“No—”
“And allow me to run Fairington, as I see fit.”
“I will never marry you.”
“I can make Fairington everything you’ve dreamed it could be—the finest horse farm in the country,” he said, his words dripping from his tongue like honey. “And you’ll be there with me, by my side. We’ll have children, and a family, trips to Europe—whatever you want.” He drew close and caressed her arm. “I’ll give you that old run-down strip of farmland outright. And he can do what he wants with it, I don’t care. Turns out it’s only good for seed and raising pigs, if that.” She stared at him, trying to figure out if he seriously expected her to consider his request. “You can’t change me on this one, Angelina. I’ve already heard from Isaac Richardson and he’s prepared to pay me three hundred an acre.”
“You can’t sell it to him.”
Edward shrugged his shoulders and said, “Seems Isabella’s got the same taste in heathen half-breeds as you do. And you know how Isaac is—she’s all he’s got now. He’ll do whatever it takes for his little girl.” His look was sinister now, almost evil. A chill passed over her, as if she was in the presence of a demonic spirit.
“I’ll never forgive you if you do that, Edward Millhouse. You sell that land to Isaac Richardson and you will never set foot on Fairington again. And I mean it!”
“Well, then—looks like you only have one choice.” He reached for her hand and the engagement ring was there, resting in his palm.
She stared at the diamond, noticing the sparkle of the stone and how it glistened in the light. Even though it was familiar to her, it seemed foreign all the same—an object of evil that must be removed. With a wild jerk, she turned away, fighting to keep from tossing it in his face. But as much as she wanted to run away, something wouldn’t let her.
“Angelina.” His voice was calm and void of emotion as his fingers dug into her arm. “Look at me.” Fear gripped her heart as she stared into his dark eyes, thinking of what life would be like married to him. It was what she had wanted, so long ago. And she could’ve tolerated it if Ben had never returned to Fairington. But the possibility of being Mrs. Edward Millhouse and then seeing Ben in passing during trips to town or at horse shows and events—and with another woman like Isabella on his arm—was more than she could bear.
Edward stiffened and stood up straight and tall, staring back at her with a look that meant he was serious, and this was the last time the offer would be made. “Take it,” he said, holding the ring toward her.
“No,” she whispered.
He drew her in his arms where there was no escape from the scent of brandy and talcum powder that hovered over her like a dense fog. He caressed a lock of curls that fell over her shoulder as he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You know you could never be with a man like him.” His fingers stroked her neck, and the touch was firm and hard. Raising an eyebrow, he waited for her to agree. “’Cause you were meant for me.”
Before she could object, his mouth was on hers once more, and this time she let him kiss her as he pleased. But with every touch, she allowed her mind to scheme and plan some way to get Ben’s land back before Isabella could lay claim to it. I’ll go to Isaac, she thought. He was a longtime family friend and had a good head for business. He could buy from Edward at three hundred an acre, and then she could turn around and purchase from him at a profit—Edward never had to know. It would cost her, but she could manage. Fairington was doing better than ever. Surely, he’ll agree.
Suddenly, Angelina thought of the deer head on the wall with its enormous antlers and the bear-skin rug sprawled before the massive fireplace. She struggled to breathe, but Edward wouldn’t relax his hold. His kisses became more intense, almost violent, and it was as though a tremendous weight descended on her, threatening to take her down into a place of darkness and death.
CHAPTER 20
Ben awoke to the memory of Angelina whispering in his ear, “I love you Ben. I always will.” He felt her soft kiss on his lips, but then reality set in as his eyes opened to the morning sun streaming through a break in the curtains. Mighty Wind was gone and so was their chance at riding in the Challenge, which was less than a month away. It had been a week since the accident, but still the grief of losing his stallion was as fresh and raw as the day it happened.
The clock above the mantle ticked incessantly, reminding him that it was high time to get out of bed. He had wanted to sleep in the bunkhouse, but Angelina insisted he stay in the guest room with all of its fancy linen and finery. Ben would never get used to green silk curtains and cushions and painted walls that looked like a European palace. He’d much prefer a hook loom rug, iron bed, and Cherokee blanket as a bed covering. And on a warm night, a pallet on the hard floor and a breeze flowing over him were the ingredients for a peaceful night of sleep.
He rose to a seated position, wincing at the pain that ripped through his side and down the length of his right leg. Slowly, he stood to his feet, being careful not to put too much weight on the wound. The doctor had cleaned it well and stitched the gash, but it was still sore and tender, and his ribs hurt like the blazes when he breathed deeply. Wonder when I’ll be able to ride? he thought. He hadn’t asked about that, since he knew what the doctor would say—plenty of rest and no horses. But Ben didn’t care about Dr. Parker’s opinion. He had to get outside and get some fresh air. And he wanted to see where Angelina had buried Mighty Wind.
Slipping into an old pair of brown trousers, he eased into a white cotton shirt that adorned several new buttons. Ella had replaced the missing ones and sewn up the rips and tears, despite his
requests to do his own mending and repair. The shirt smelled fresh and lemony and was stiff to the touch, which was unusual, since he rarely ironed his clothes. But being a guest at Fairington came with some rules, one of which was succumbing to Ella’s doting. At least she got the blood out, he thought, fighting a fleeting image of the black mountain lion swiping at Mighty Wind’s back haunches. He thought of his Uncle Bear Claw and male cousins sitting around the campfire when he was young, telling stories about the klandagi wampus cats whose eerie cry warned that the spirit of death was near.
He hobbled to the vanity mirror and stared at his reflection, hoping to clear his mind from the haunting images. His face looked tired and worn, which was to be expected, but the sun would do him good and bring some color to his cheeks. He ran his fingers through his long hair—it could use a good washing, but otherwise, a quick shave and a swish of peppermint water would make him presentable. Suddenly, a wave of depression came over him at the thought of going downstairs and getting back into the routine of life. He dreaded the looks of pity he was sure to receive, especially from Tom and the other men—and Angelina. He wondered what she would think of him now.
An old leather Bible lay open on the vanity, and instinctively, his eyes fell to a verse underlined in black ink. It was the last line of Isaiah 40. But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. A peace resonated through Ben’s heart. “I know, Lord. I know,” he said, having heard this message many times before. God always spoke to him through the Word, no matter the situation, and as usual, He was saying to wait. But what am I gonna do? he asked himself. I’m running out of time.
Ben slammed the Bible closed, wincing at the jabbing pain in his side. If he wanted to get his land from Edward, he was going to have to find some way to compete in the Challenge. He thought of some of Isaac Richardson’s horses and then the Fairington herd. There was Captain’s Galley that Billy claimed and Eagle’s Wing, but only Angelina rode it. And then there was Midnight Storm.
The throbbing in his leg shot up the side of his body, forcing him to grip the edge of the dresser. A wave of nausea came over him, bringing a cold, clammy sweat to his brow—all a reminder of his physical limitations. It’s too hard. It can’t be done, resonated through his mind, but he shook these thoughts away. He would do whatever it took to ride the Challenge.
Noises from the kitchen steered his mind back to the task of getting downstairs and putting some food in his stomach, despite the queasiness. After sliding into his boots and cleaning up a bit more, he made his way to the top of the stairs. A pot clanged against something, and a cackle resonated through the house. Ella was obviously in a good mood, cooking breakfast and washing dishes like she did every morning. He heard the oven bang closed and a fresh sizzle of meat that sent a delectable smell of bacon and rich coffee blending together. Ben’s stomach lurched in response, awakening to the fact that he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. His trousers were evidence of that as well, requiring the tightening of his belt a notch or two.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the mahogany staircase and began the slow hobble down to the foyer. Every step brought a wince and the occasional grimace from the pain, but he was determined to make it on his own. By the tenth step, he saw a fresh patch of blood seeping through his trouser leg, but he kept going. All he could think about was plopping down into a chair at the kitchen table and relieving the pressure on his leg. For a moment, he closed his eyes and imagined Ella’s scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits laden with sausage gravy, followed by a little coffee and a mug of cold milk—all waiting for him if he could endure a bit more.
He hobbled through the marble foyer and down the hall toward the kitchen, finally reaching the door. Sweat dripped off his forehead, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. He took another deep breath and pushed.
“Lord’ve mercy! Mr. Ben, whatch you doin’ out of bed? You know I was gonna bring your breakfast up. And look at your leg! Bleedin’ right through those clean britches I washed.”
Ben heard Ella’s fussing, but all he could see was Angelina’s shocked expression, followed by a rumble of activity from Jessie, Tom, and Billy. “Get him back upstairs,” Angelina snapped, as someone caught him before he fell to the floor.
“No,” he said, struggling to breathe, “I need to get out—I need to ride—” The room spun for a moment, and his knees buckled under him before everything went black.
A soft neighing and a wet kiss on the cheek forced Ben’s eyes open. He was on a little cot in Mighty Wind’s old stall, with Midnight Storm staring at him from over the railing. The stallion munched on a mouthful of hay and stomped its hooves before snorting loudly, showing a set of yellowed teeth. Stretching its neck, it neighed again and nudged Ben on the shoulder, as if urging him to come and play. He smiled, until the pain returned, making him grimace.
“You awake?” Angelina stepped inside the stall holding a shovel in her hand. A few blonde curls fell to her shoulders, and her cheeks flushed from exertion. She wore a pair of old work trousers with a wide black belt and a green cotton shirt accentuating the blue in her eyes. Despite the pain, Ben noticed the delicate bones at the base of her neck.
“Reckon so.” He looked up at Midnight Storm and tried to smile. “Looks like he doesn’t want me sleeping.”
“He probably wants you up and riding again. Tom won’t even try, and none of the other boys can last a minute—even Mitchell.” She peered closer at the leg wound, which was freshly dressed. “But we’re gonna have to wait till that leg heals and the doctor gives his okay. ’Course with you getting out of bed when you oughta be resting isn’t gonna help,” she said, with a gentle, yet scolding look.
Their eyes met for a moment and the memory of her words, “I love you, Ben. I always will,” floated through his mind.
“I had the boys put you here in the barn, since I know you’re tired of being cooped up in the guest room,” she said in a nervous tone. “The bunkhouse is too noisy, so I thought you’d like to be in here. Of course, if it’s too hard, I can have you moved.”
“No, I like it. I like being where he used to be.” Ben gazed around the stall, remembering Mighty Wind swishing its tail against the wall and eating sugar cubes from his hand. A deep longing swept over him, forcing him to fight back the sadness, but the emotions were stronger than he realized. They rose up to his chest, threatening to strangle him. He threw his arm over his eyes so that Angelina couldn’t see the blinding tears that flowed down his cheeks. “Reminds me of the first night I saw you again,” he said, the words thickening in his throat. “That night Eagle’s Wing was left out in the storm. And me and Mighty Wind found him and brought him home.”
The shovel knocked against the doorpost, and a weight settled at the end of the bed where Angelina sat on the edge of the mattress. “I never really thanked you for that, did I?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. A hot tear escaped and rolled toward his ear, dripping into his hair. “Doesn’t matter.”
Angelina’s fingers caressed his, reminding him of the first time they had touched. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Without warning, the emotion in her words cut through Ben’s swollen ribs and straight into his heart. He would never ride Mighty Wind through the open fields again, feeling the wind rip through his hair as he and the stallion became one, soaring faster and faster, until they could almost fly up into the clouds. No more splashing through the river and maneuvering the rocks, looking for fish, or quenching a parched throat with a cool drink from the stream. And no more sugar cubes.
“Ben,” Angelina said, pulling his arm away from his eyes. He shuddered for a moment, turning his face toward the wall, fighting to maintain control. “Oh, Ben—I’m so sorry.” She smoothed a long strand of hair away from his cheek, and it was as if there had never been any division between them. “I know how much you love
d Mighty Wind, and I know no horse could ever replace him, but—I wanna give you Midnight Storm. No one else can ride him, and he needs someone like you to bring out the champion in him.” The stallion nudged Ben on the shoulder again, making Angelina smile. “And we all know he likes you.”
Ben moved his arm away and gazed at the horse, stroking its velvety nose. “I’ll need to pay you for him.”
“Nonsense. It’s a gift. And I won’t take a single dime for him either. I don’t expect anything in return.” She petted the horse’s nose as it bobbed its head up and down over the stall railing. “I know he belongs to you, that’s all. God wants you to have him.”
Before she could pull away, Ben grabbed her wrist and held it firmly. He stared into her eyes, seeing the dark, stormy look of a heart that had been equally wounded. “You sure?”
She nodded yes, her face clouding with emotion. He drew her toward him, wanting to look deeper into those eyes, to see if the Angel from his youth was still there, hiding under the wind-blown tresses, delicate bones, and porcelain skin. They flashed their familiar blue and immediately, he was under the oak tree the night of the engagement party, claiming what belonged to him.
His fingers went to the back of her neck, which felt strong and smooth, and dug into the thick curls that taunted him, daring him to place his lips there and kiss. He wiped a lone tear away with his thumb and brushed it over her lips. “I heard what you said—in the buggy. I remember.”
“Ben,” she said, his name rolling off her tongue like a gentle mist, “Tom and Billy’ll be in here any minute. We mustn’t—”
Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) Page 14