He pulled the black leather Bible from his vest pocket and rubbed the initials AMR with his thumb. Those that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, the voice in his mind echoed. He had waited for this moment a long time—the day she would choose him over everything else.
The sound of horse hooves approached the house, causing Midnight Storm to neigh softly in the distance. Excitement rose in Ben, as the image of Angelina riding in the night with her blonde hair trailing behind her invaded his thoughts. He closed his eyes for a moment and saw her gallop toward the porch, swing her leg across Eagle’s Wing’s back, and stride up the steps to the front door. He saw a crisp white shirt open at the throat and tucked into a gray flannel riding skirt that was cinched with a belt, accentuating her small waist. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes gleamed with the exhilaration of having ridden across the ridge from Fairington.
Ben inhaled deeply, unable to wait any longer. Quickly tucking the Bible away in his vest pocket, he bounded down the stairs, still holding the leather pouch. “Angel—” He threw the door open and felt something hit his throat, cutting off the oxygen so that he fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The last thing he saw was the form of a man and the brim of a hat outlined by the light of the moon. Somewhere, a colt whinnied in fright and a mountain lion screamed—like he had dreamed, countless times before.
CHAPTER 28
“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.”
The fire popped and a burst of flames shot through Ben’s bedroom window, shattering the glass. Angelina opened her eyes and looked straight at Edward, who sat astride his white stallion, still bearing his twisted smile. “How could you?” she screamed, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted more than anything to get up and grab the pearl-handled pistol from her saddlebag and shoot him straight between the eyes, but she knew she couldn’t. Like Ben and the other men, she was helpless against what Edward had started.
“I hate you, Edward Millhouse!” Angelina screamed for all to hear, even the Lord Himself. It was wrong to hate, she knew that, but she hated anyway. She hated every fiber in his being. “Lord Jesus, I hate him, I hate him!” she screamed again, gritting her teeth until they hurt. He stared at her, wearing a blank expression, and then rode away into the night.
The men stepped back, exhausted from their fight, and watched quietly as the fire consumed the house. They were helpless against the smoke and heat, which intensified, causing the horses to whinny and paw their hooves against the earth. Angelina wept like she had never wept before, even more than when her mama and daddy had died. There was a depth of sorrow at being unjustly robbed of something that could never be replaced. Even though she had grieved over her parents’ deaths, down deep she knew she would see them again in heaven—and when Ben left years ago, she always harbored the hope he would return. But this was different. Yes, a house could be rebuilt, but it would never be the same. The loss of his mother’s things and his daddy’s easy chair, the smells and tastes from a time gone by, the trinkets on the shelves and stains on the wall, reminders of happy times, were destroyed, never to be replaced. It was like a dagger to Angelina’s heart. She was sad, sick, fearful, and angry. Her anger frightened he
r—it was intense, uncontrollable. She had the strength of ten men, and if Edward had returned, she knew she could kill him with her bare hands. Kill him until there wasn’t one bit of life left in his little toe.
“Miss Raeford?” It was Mason’s voice that brought Angelina back from the darkness of her thoughts. “Figured you might want this.” He handed her Ben’s Bible with her initials embossed on the front. “Mr. Edward, he told me to throw it in the fire and use it as kindlin’ when we set up camp. But I know better than to use the Word of God in that way.”
Angelina wiped her eyes and sniffed hard. “Thank you, Mason.” She took the Bible and clasped it to her breast.
“It ain’t right the way he lives his life, the way he treats people,” Mason said, his eyes downcast. “I’ve tried to tell him in my own way, but his ears is all plugged up, like he’s gone deaf. What he did tonight’s a terrible thing, but that won’t stop me from prayin’ for him. He needs lots of prayer, more than any of us knows.”
A strong gust of wind blew through the trees, singing an eerie tune to the sway of twisted limbs and dried leaves. The smell of rain filled the air, mingling with the black smoke from the fire, and then a splat of water hit Angelina in the middle of the forehead like a wet kiss from the heavenly Father. She smiled at Mason and hugged Ben as he slept, clutching the Bible closer to her heart.
After a few more splats, the rain came down in torrents, accompanying the whoops and shouts from Tom, Sam, and Mason. Even Midnight Storm whinnied and neighed at this blessing. Angelina cried with joy as she watched the fire sizzle to a heap of steam, leaving a black shell of what was once the Smith farmhouse. But at least the barn was spared, and the surrounding property. “We’ll rebuild,” she thought, as the rain soaked through her hair and clothes. Her mind raced, imagining the possibilities. “We’ll build the grandest house in all of Laurel Grove, grander than Middleton Farm, or Fairington, or even Rutherford Hall. Ben will be the greatest horse breeder around. And I’ll be there with him, by his side.”
Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) Page 20