Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry)

by Caroline Friday

  The full moon and twinkling stars were blanketed by a layer of low-lying clouds which made the evening darker than usual. Angelina shuddered as a gentle breeze blew across the ridge, signaling autumn’s approach. She sat up quickly, wiping her face and neck, not wanting to think about the cold and the winter holidays to follow. She couldn’t bear seeing Fairington decorated with greenery, red ribbon, and gifts wrapped in brown paper and gingham, as well as the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen—cinnamon, sugar, nutmeg, and apple—all without Ben there. And then there would be sleigh rides if it snowed. Where will he be? she wondered, feeling her throat constrict again. Will he be with Isabella?

  Angelina bound her hand with a handkerchief and tucked the arrowhead in the little box, slipping it into her skirt pocket. Taking a deep breath, she stood to her feet, being careful to duck under a thick tree limb. Then stepping out from underneath the foliage, she braced herself for another view of the Smith Farm. It was easier to observe after sunset than at the height of day when the sun’s rays exposed every bit of destruction. She dreaded looking again but couldn’t stop herself. And besides, Eagle’s Wing had wandered near the old vegetable garden.

  “Eagle’s Wing?” she called, hearing a soft neighing from afar. “Come here.” She made her way down the ridge, being careful to avoid slipping on a patch of exposed dirt and rocks. Checking her balance, she gathered momentum and scurried to the bottom, finally reaching the flat grass that grew waist high. “Eagle’s Wing?” There was a rustling near the barn and the swish of something that could have been a horse’s tail, although it looked more like the fluttering of a white curtain.

  Angelina crunched through a patch of scorched grass and slogged through the mud to the barn, but Eagle’s Wing wasn’t there. “Eagle’s Wing?” A stiff breeze blew a fresh waft of smoke straight into her nostrils, making her cough. Immediately the barn door slammed shut several times, snapping against the lock. How could he have gotten into the barn? she wondered.

  Pulling against the old metal latch, she opened the wooden door with a creak, glad the rusty hinges didn’t give way. The interior was dark and gloomy, so different from what she remembered. She recalled the fresh scent of hay and the sound of horses moving in the stalls and feeding on oats and straw. Now everything was dusty and moldy-smelling with cobwebs drifting from the rafters like the long, fluid arms of a dancer. “Eagle’s Wing?” she called hesitantly. “It’s time to go home now.”

  A movement in the back of the barn gave her pause. She hesitated a moment and then crept into the darkness, watching her every step. “You back here, boy?” Suddenly, loud voices and the rumbling of horse hooves outside sent a jolt of fear straight through the top of her head. She tried to breathe, but the air in the barn was as thick as a slab of old butter. She wanted to move, but her limbs seemed frozen solid.

  The voices got louder. They were men, and there were several of them. Inching her way to the door, Angelina slowly pushed it open, and a light from a lantern struck her in the face. The next thing she knew, she was down on the ground with a hand over her mouth and lips at her ear whispering, “Shh. Qui-et.” She struggled against the force pulling her back into the darkness, hearing a soft whisper against her cheek. “It’s me.”

  She grew still and turned to see Ben. He pressed his index finger over his lips and pointed to the swinging lantern that entered the barn. Grabbing her by the hand, he pulled her behind a mound of hay and pushed her to the ground. They lay very still and quiet, and yet Angelina could hear every beat of her heart and every pump of blood whooshing through her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut as the lantern passed over them and stopped a moment, shining on the edge of her boot. She quickly tucked her feet up under her skirt, praying they hadn’t been seen.

  The lantern swung back and forth for a moment, and a man called, “No one in here, sir!” Angelina recognized Mason’s voice. The light moved closer to their hiding place, and a whisper came. “You two is plumb crazy to be out here like this. Just plumb crazy!” He stomped away and the barn door slammed shut, leaving Ben and Angelina in the darkness with only a sliver of moonlight to illuminate their surroundings. She looked into Ben’s eyes, and he pulled her close, laying his finger to his lips again.

  The voices rumbled outside, and then Edward’s came through, loud and clear. “I want that filly. He’s gonna hang as a horse thief if I don’t see that animal back at Rutherford by tomorrow morning!”

  Horses neighed and shouts followed, until finally the thundering of hooves disappeared into the night. Angelina opened her mouth to speak, but Ben placed his hand over it and shook his head. She relaxed in his embrace and remained silent, listening to the chirp of a cricket and the distant croak of a bullfrog. The scent of his skin swirled around her—a mixture of honeysuckle and raspberry, reminding her of their childhood when they feasted on wild flowers and berries when hunger struck. With every breath, his bare chest rose and fell in rhythm to the flutter of her eyelids. She tried not to stare at his wounds, but there was one large red welt across his chest that drew her focus. When she reached out to touch it, he gently pulled away.

  Rising to his knees, Ben waited a moment, listening. He then crept toward the barn door and pushed it open an inch before opening it wide. The men were gone. Angelina rose and followed him outside to where the moon cast a soft glow on the earth below. “Where are the horses?” she whispered.

  “Come,” he said, motioning with his hand.

  She followed him to the edge of the woods, down the dirt trail that lead to the main road, and deep into the forest. “Where are we going?” she hissed, concerned that Edward might be lurking nearby. Ben smiled and grabbed her hand, leading her through a thick layer of underbrush that surrounded a giant oak tree with a makeshift ladder nailed to the trunk. Eagle’s Wing and Midnight Storm were tethered at the root, just yards away from an appaloosa filly that munched on a healthy supply of hay and grass. “What is this place?” she asked.

  “A secret.” He smiled and looked up at the tree limbs where a crude platform was secured. “Guess you could call it my ‘home away from home.’”

  The filly whinnied and swished its tail as it bit into a mouthful of hay. “My,” Angelina said, admiring its long legs and beautiful form, “and who are you, little lady?”

  “Name’s White Flower,” Ben said. “At least that’s what I call her.”

  “She’s the filly Edward’s looking for?”

  Ben nodded. “I paid a visit to Rutherford Hall.”

  “What?” Angelina looked at him, wide eyed.

  “It was by accident. But it was a good thing. I was able to clear up some matters between us.” Ben hesitated a moment, his chest filled with emotion. “I forgave him. For everything.”

  “Forgave him? How could you—after all he’s done?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand. I know what he did was wrong, and it always will be. And I know he’s an evil man—but I had to do it, especially before I ran the Challenge. I don’t want anything from the past weighing me down and holding me back from what the Lord has planned.” Angelina remained silent for a moment, trying to fathom what he was saying. “And anyway, the filly—she followed me here.”

  Angelina stroked the horse’s long, lean neck, giving it a good scratch behind the ears. “Well, we’ve gotta take her back. You heard what Edward said. Doesn’t sound like he’s much in the forgiving mood.”

  “I’ve tried, but she won’t go. I even took her back and tied her to the training ring, but she just snapped the rope clean in two.”

  Angelina smiled, imagining what a sight that would be to see the look on Edward’s face at witnessing an unbroken horse escape his grasp. “She is a beauty,” Angelina purred, running her fingers through the filly’s long mane.

  “Smart too,” Ben added. He stood beside Angelina and stroked its sleek coat. “Looks like she’ll do anything to get away from him and his evil ways.”

  Angelina stomach dropped at this subtle accusation.
The guilt was back, accusing her with its long, crooked finger. “You say you’ve forgiven Edward—but what about me?”

  “What would I forgive you for?”

  “Everything.”

  Angelina felt the heat from his arm as he drew closer and stroked the filly with long, even movements. “I don’t blame you.”

  “Isabella says you do. She says all I care about is myself, that I’m the one who provoked Edward into doing what he did.”

  “It’s not true.” His mouth hovered near her ear so that his voice ripped through her like a crackling fire. “Don’t believe a word of what she says.”

  Angelina stared into his eyes, which were dark and soft, like the fur of a forest animal. “I told Edward I never wanted to see him again, that he could never set foot on Fairington as long as I had breath in my body. All those months—I didn’t know who he was, what he was capable of doing. But I do now. Maybe one day I can forgive him too. But I know I never want anything more to do with him.” Ben stared at her a moment and then looked away. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “I want to.” There was sorrow in his voice and pain in his eyes that hurt like a stab to her chest. Suddenly, a fresh wave of nausea coated her stomach.

  “Ben.” Grabbing his arm, she looked at him long and hard, marveling at how the moonlight accentuated the angles on his face. He was breathtaking. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  He pulled her close and allowed his gaze to sweep over her, resting on her hair and then her eyes. His fingers went to her mouth, gently tracing the line that ran to the edge of her cheek and back down to her chin. Suddenly, fire leapt from his dark eyes to hers, knocking her knees loose as the blood rushed to her toes. She sank into his arms and waited for his lips to be on hers, letting her know all was forgotten. Closing her eyes, she imagined the feel of his smooth skin on her cheek and his strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tighter and closer, lifting her up to the moon and the stars. “The Challenge is in three days,” he said, his brusque tone bringing her back down to earth. She opened her eyes, and he was staring at her with a cold, faraway look. “Then I can prove to you I’m the man you want me to be. A man who can beat Edward Millhouse.”

  “But you are everything I want. And you don’t have to beat Edward to prove that. Tom says he doesn’t even have the deed—make him prove to you that he owns your land.”

  “No, Angelina. I won’t fight him through lawyers and courthouses. That’s a battle that takes years, and a man like Edward won’t give in easily. And besides,” he said, smoothing a wisp of hair off her forehead, “I’ve come to realize something. Winning the Challenge is about more than getting back the land.”

  Angelina was lost in the depth of his eyes, feeling her knees weaken again. “I want nothing more than to be with you, Ben,” she gushed, unable to control her words. “I’ll leave Fairington and help you rebuild here. My place is with you.” She pressed her body into his, feeling its warmth, but there was no reaction from him. “Ben, please. Please believe me.”

  He grabbed her by the wrists and gently pushed her away. “It’s late and you should be getting home.”

  “You’re not listening,” she pleaded. “My home is with you.”

  “Not yet, Angelina,” he said, almost scolding her, bringing shame for being so bold. “We must wait.”

  “For what?” She stepped back, studying him for a moment. There was something different in his expression—she could see it, as clear as day. “It’s Isabella, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You love her?”

  He chuckled in a mocking way and then gave her a serious look. “How can you ask that?”

  “I saw her in your arms the other day, at Middleton. Don’t stand there and look at me like you don’t know what I saw.”

  Anger shot out of his eyes as his jaw worked back and forth. “Like I said—you need to be getting on home. I’ll see you safe to Fairington.”

  “Fine,” she replied, returning his angry glare, “but I don’t need you to see me to Fairington.” She snapped Eagle’s Wing’s reins from the oak, making the gelding grumble. “I don’t need you or anyone else protecting me.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” Ben spat. “As stubborn as can be.”

  Angelina swung into the saddle and slid her boots into the stirrups. “Me stubborn? Now, that’s the pot calling the kettle black!”

  Clicking her tongue, she rode Eagle’s Wing through the woods and back to the main road, galloping as fast as possible toward Fairington. But the entire time, she knew Ben and Midnight Storm were close behind, keeping a watchful eye.

  CHAPTER 33

  Ben dreamed again, but instead of seeing visions of thoroughbreds, mountain lions, or even Edward in his fancy riding attire, he saw only Angelina. Her long, blonde tresses swept across his face, making him laugh, and the hollow of her neck was at his lips. Her skin shone like a luminous pearl as he kissed her again and again. Her hand moved to take his—it was small and soft, and his fingers embraced hers, feeling the delicate bones that moved underneath. He felt as light as a feather, as though he were moving gently through the sky.

  A horse sputtered and neighed, pulling Ben back from his dream. His senses returned to him, and slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. The birds sang and flitted through the leaves while Midnight Storm munched on a tuft of grass below Ben’s tree house. Opening his eyes, he gazed at the blue sky through the limbs of the live oak, trying not to think about Angelina. Was she really sincere about starting a new life with him? Or were her words just a subtle plan to lure him back to Fairington? She seemed different, and yet there were things about her that hadn’t changed, all of which left him confused. One minute she was in his arms, and the next she was spitting mad like a boiling teakettle.

  Ben ran his fingers through his hair, trying to clear his mind. He knew better than anyone that it didn’t do one bit of good to figure out Angelina Raeford on his own. As usual, he was going to have to wait on the Lord. Stretching his arms and legs, he yawned, feeling a splinter of wood dig into his back. His new abode was a tad uncomfortable, but it provided independence and privacy until the Challenge. Once he defeated Edward, he would bunk down in the old barn.

  Midnight Storm bumped his nose against Ben’s heel, indicating it was hungry and ready to ride. Their usual routine was breakfast, a cool drink down by the stream, and a morning of vigorous training. But today, Ben had different plans. After a bite to eat and a quick ride, he was heading off to town to see Mabel Andersen at the Blue Ridge Hotel. She had requested that he come see her before the race, which was fine with him, since it had been weeks since he had indulged in one of her hearty meals. And apparently, she had a surprise for him.

  Ben sat up on his elbows and watched Midnight Storm, wondering what Mabel had up her sleeve. “’Morning, boy,” he said. “You ready to start the day?” The stallion rumbled a neigh and then lifted its head and sniffed the air. Its ears flattened back to its head, and it whinnied as something moved through the trees, straight toward them. The leaves rustled and shook, and then a horse stepped through the foliage. The filly was back.

  White Flower trotted over a fallen log and pranced beside Midnight Storm with a broken, frayed rope around its neck. “What am I gonna do with you, little lady?” Ben scolded. He had used a double braided rope and tied it extra tight to a fencepost at Rutherford Hall just last night, but these tactics were obviously no match for White Flower’s will. The filly looked at him with a doe-eyed expression and nuzzled its nose toward Ben’s outstretched hand. He smiled and fished around in his pocket, producing two sugar cubes—one for the Midnight Storm and other for White Flower.

  The whole town of Laurel Grove was abuzz with the excitement of the Carolina Challenge, which was one day away. Spectators and entrants came from miles around to attend the race and festivities, camping along the main road and edge of town in tents, covered wagons, and buggies. Townspeople wi
th rooms to spare rented out accommodations for a spectacular sum, and young girls sold meat and chicken pies as they roamed through the crowd. Street vendors appeared from nowhere, selling fresh corn on the cob, fish and chips, and barbecued pork. Already, the Methodist Church was collecting cakes and pies for the annual bake auction, and artisans and merchants were setting up their booths to sell their goods and wares. Storefronts were swept clean, window trims were freshly painted, flower boxes were replanted, and musicians and street performers provided entertainment at every corner. Ben’s favorites were an old man who played a fiddle while little boys danced around, and a younger, muscular man who juggled milk jugs and balls for hours, it seemed. The excitement in the air was as thick as a warm vat of molasses, and Ben loved it.

  As he approached Main Street, he took note of the many fine looking thoroughbreds being groomed by trainers, Negro stable boys, and their owners. They were busy with preparations, including elaborate mane and tail braiding, hoof cleaning, and shoeing. The richly-colored horse blankets reminded him of his Uncle Bear Claw’s collection of blankets and tapestries woven in bright, native designs. There were leather saddles with ornate stitching imported from Europe, fancy bridles with silver trim, and polished boots that rose to the knee. Velvet hats and fitted jackets in bright colors dotted the landscape, as well as fancy silk and lace dresses donned by the ladies. Even the local dressmaker had set up a rack of ready-made dresses for sale. It was as if the Queen of England would be attending the Challenge.

  Ben laughed to himself, reveling in all of the hoopla. But despite all the fine pedigree and elegant accessories, he knew none of the contenders were a match for Midnight Storm. “Isn’t that right, boy?” he asked the stallion, gently patting its neck.