“Don’t see that name here. Supposed to have registered by last week. Too late now.”
“Try the Es,” Ben said, trying to remain friendly.
The old man scowled, unrolling the scroll down to the bottom. “Ah,” he nodded. “Not used to half-breed names.” His beady blue eyes surveyed Ben, while a look of disgust slithered across his face. “You that red man that won the Promenade?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Here,” he said, shoving a numbered card toward Ben’s chest. “Number’s fifteen. Go on and wait up yonder for us to announce the start.”
Ben tucked the card in his trouser pocket and smiled as a magnificent lavender hat adorned with wide lavender ribbon and a mixture of violets, pink roses, and cattails pushed through the throng. “Ben!” Isabella exclaimed, wearing a matching lavender silk dress that accentuated her small waist and willowy form. “You’re magnificent! Why, look at you!” she gushed, taking him in from head to toe. “Oh, Ben, you are a dream.” She snapped open her lavender fan and fluttered the floral design before her flushed cheeks. “Daddy and I are so excited. He’s watching over near the house, but I had to come to town and see you. I know you and Midnight Storm will do wonderfully.”
“Thank you, Isabella.”
“Will I see you after the race? Miranda’s invited Billy, and Daddy wants you to come for supper.”
“We’ll see.”
He nodded and moved through the crowd, feeling Isabella’s eyes boring holes in his back, but he didn’t dare turn around. As he approached the refreshment stands, he saw something that brought him to a stiff halt. It was Edward Millhouse. Tall, strong, determined, wearing brown boots, tan canvas trousers, and his signature red jacket with striped ascot at the throat. He spoke to several ladies before making his way to where Jessie and Angelina sipped lemonade and chatted with some of Isaac’s friends. Ben overheard him speak to Angelina, saying, “ . . . lovely today.” She coldly responded, “Thank you.”
Without wasting a moment, Ben moved toward them, admiring Angelina’s long, porcelain neck and beautiful silk gown that brought a glow to her skin. The blonde hair gathered below her hat was curled in a bouquet of curls that reminded him of a handful of blooming yellow roses. “Angelina,” he called softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
Edward stopped in mid-sentence and gave him an icy stare, while Jessie’s eyes widened. “Oh, Ben—there you are!”
Angelina turned abruptly and froze. He stared into the blue of her eyes, and it was as if the crowd had melted away and they were the only two people left in Laurel Grove. For a brief moment, nothing else mattered to him—not the Challenge, or his home, and certainly not Edward Millhouse. His world contained only Angelina Raeford.
Taking her hand, he bowed his head and kissed it, making her blush. He stared into her eyes again, and his gaze spoke, I’ve never seen you look more beautiful, without a single word leaving his lips. And he knew she had heard him.
“I believe it’s time to race,” Edward said, clearing his throat.
“Yes,” Angelina answered in a faraway voice, her eyes still glued to Ben’s.
Ben nodded Edward’s way, avoiding his glare. “Miss Jessie.” He smiled and acknowledged Angelina. “Miss Raeford.”
He led Midnight Storm through the crowd toward the bandstand where a stringed quartet played the first measures of “Dixie.” The entire area was teeming with spectators and participants and decorated with flags, banners, and floral garlands, and yet he still heard Angelina calling his name. “Ben!” She ran to him, breathless. Her eyes glistened with tears as she looked him over as though he was a stranger. “Your hair, these clothes.” Guilt was etched across her face, and yet he saw approval in her expression. “I never asked you, I never expected—”
“I didn’t do it for you.” He brushed a tear away from her cheek, fighting the temptation to pull her into his arms. “No matter what happens today, it’s the beginning of a whole new life for me, Angelina. I pray you meant what you said the other night, that you’ll share it with me—but if not, for whatever reason—I want you to know, you’ll always be my Angel.”
The steward blew the whistle, signaling it was time to line up. Ben backed away from her, holding her gaze as long as he could, and swung into the saddle in a single, fluid motion. He gave her one last look, mentally speaking to her, and then followed the movement of the crowd.
Holding his breath, he fought the urge to turn around and see if she was watching. He counted slowly to himself, when suddenly, she was there, her white kid gloves clinging to his boot. “I’ll be there waiting for you, at the finish. I’ll be there—” But before she could say any more, she was swept away with the crowd as Edward thundered past, riding Almighty.
CHAPTER 35
“Gentlemen riders,” the steward called from the bandstand, “and ladies and gentlemen of Laurel Grove, welcome to the biggest event of the day—the Carolina Challenge!” There was a great applause as the crowd cheered, sending a spark of excitement sizzling through the air. Several horses responded by neighing wildly, tossing their heads, and gnashing their teeth at their neighbor, but Midnight Storm was as good as gold. Ben was proud of the stallion, being a novice, and could tell it was ready to go. With its head held high, it sniffed the air with nostrils flared like a pointer prepared for the hunt. Its ears stood upright, reaching toward the sky, while its tail swished back and forth. Ben patted its neck and whispered into its velvety fur, “Ride like the wind, my friend. Like the wind.”
Ben retrieved the numbered card out of his pocket and tied it to the stallion’s bridle, saying a quick prayer to the Lord. Jesus, there’s nothing more I can do. It’s up to you now. A sense of peace came over him at hearing the voice down deep in him reply, Yes, rest in Me.
The steward cleared his throat and motioned for the crowd to quiet down. Adjusting his dark gray Stetson to the back of his head, he read from a list of rules, toying with the black leather tie around his neck. “Three miles with twenty-four hurdles, including fences, hedges, water barriers, and fallen logs. Race begins here, at the bandstand, then travels along the marked route to Claridge Springs by way of Middleton Farm, through the woods to Palmetto Ridge, along the outskirts of Fairington, then down to the Old McNair Cemetery. Then back over toward Rutherford Hall and to the Methodist Church steeple at the south end of Main Street. Last year’s winning time is twenty minutes and twenty-four seconds, with Mr. Edward Millhouse on Pride & Glory of Rutherford Hall.” There were more cheers as Edward tipped his hat and waved to the crowd. Almighty stomped its hooves and snorted loudly, acting as pompous as its owner.
“Last but not least,” the steward continued, “there will be no official wagering, no unsportsmanlike conduct, and all obstacles on the racetrack must be completed with rider on horseback. There are fifteen thoroughbreds competing, three colts, two stallions, seven geldings, and three fillies. First horse to reach the steeple wins. Prize is a silver engraved belt buckle and a purse totaling—” He hesitated as the crowd grew deathly quiet, waiting in anticipation for the dollar amount to be declared. “One thousand dollars!” There was an explosive roar of approval, exciting Ben down to his bones. He couldn’t fathom having that much money. “May God be with you!” the steward called over the noise. “And may the best horse win!”
A round of chatter followed the crowd as it was shepherded off the street to a safe distance from the horses. The steward called numbers one through four, along with the thoroughbreds’ names—Silver Socket, a pale gray and white gelding from the Sutherland Farm, Raven’s Cliff, a black gelding from Claridge Springs, Four-in-a-Row, a fine looking chestnut colt belonging to Isaac, and Adelaide’s Rush, a dark bay filly with a black mane and tail. The riders settled into their saddles and stirrups and took their positions at the starting line.
The next four horses were called, which included a smokey black stallion and red dun gelding from neighboring farms, a seal brown colt, and a red roan filly all the way from Woodla
nd Falls. Edward’s group came next, including three geldings, all paling in comparison to Almighty, and then Ben’s group was called. A beautiful palomino gelding with a white star on his forehead was announced and a light bay filly that reminded Ben of Miss Majestic. Finally, the steward shouted his name, “Number fifteen, Midnight Storm, a four-year-old stallion, standing sixteen-and-a-half hands, and owned and ridden by Mr. Ben Eagle-Smith of Laurel Grove.”
The crowd cheered, as hats waved above gentlemen’s heads, and whistles reverberated through the mayhem. Ben heard his name resonating above the hoopla, suddenly catching a glimpse of Isabella’s lavender hat bumping up against Miranda and Rebecca and Mabel’s white linen handkerchief, which she used to dab her eyes. His eyes skated the crowd, looking for the blue hat and quail feather, but it wasn’t there.
“Runners take your mark!”
Adrenaline surged through Ben’s veins as he realized all of his hopes and dreams started and ended with this day. He stroked Midnight Storm’s mane and spoke softly in his native tongue. “The Lord has not given us a spirit of fear, my friend, but of power—His power. Whatever we set our hand to prospers.” Edward glared at Ben in a mocking way, as though he had heard. Ben stared back without reaction, feeling his back straighten up in the saddle like a steel rod had been slid down his spine.
“Steady!” The steward raised his arm and pointed a pistol toward the sky, firing off a loud POP! Horse hooves rumbled against the earth, as the thoroughbreds scrambled down the street toward the main road that led to Claridge Springs.
Midnight Storm took off like a streak of lightning, passing the palomino gelding and the light bay filly, before overtaking three more horses as it thundered down the road. Ben caught a glimpse of Edward’s dark hat but kept his primary focus on passing Adelaide’s Rush, the dark bay filly. As they turned right into an open field, Ben felt another rush of exhilaration at seeing the first jump—a five-foot hedge of boxwoods connecting two oak trees at a space of fifty yards. Silver Socket, the gray and white gelding, was in front of them and soared over like a lilting fawn. Midnight Storm followed right behind but soon left the gelding in its dust. As the second hedge approached, Ben kept the stallion to the left of the group, avoiding Raven’s Cliff and the red roan filly from Woodland Falls who were riding dangerously close to each other. Suddenly, there were whinnies and neighs as two riders tumbled to the ground. Midnight Storm ignored the screams and jumped with ease, galloping faster toward the edge of the woods where Edward and four other riders entered through a wide opening.
The sun hid behind the covering of thick limbs and leaves, as they closed in on the leaders, leaping over a large fallen pine. “Like the wind,” Ben called to the stallion, urging it down the wooded trail and out the other side to where a long, white fence waited for them. A strong gust of wind swirled through his hair and snaked around his neck and down his throat, making him swallow unnaturally. Instantly, he was lifted off the ground, only to float back down again into a carpet of cool, green grass on the other side of the fence bordering Middleton Farm. Two horses fell behind, including Four-in-a-Row, one of Isaac’s favorites, which left Edward and two other riders.
Ben was conscious of the spectators congregated in clusters along the race path, and yet he was oblivious to anything other than the black velvet hat that bobbed several strides in front of him. Squeezing hard with his knees, he pressed Midnight Storm over a split-railed fence, through a small stream, and over another boxwood hedge that the filly next to them refused. Its rider went sailing through the air and slammed down hard in the mud, almost taking Ben down with him, but Midnight Storm kept going, sensing the familiarity of home as they neared the woods that lead to Palmetto Ridge. This was their stomping ground—their turf.
Relaxing in the saddle, Ben gave the horse its head, sensing it take flight. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining his Uncle Bear Claw riding fast and furious, barebacked and shirtless with long, gray-streaked hair streaming in the wind. And then he thought of his father. Always look to the inside—look to the heart.
The crack of leaves and bark under the stallion’s hooves forced Ben’s eyes open. They were deep into the forest that led to the other side of Fairington, at the exact spot where he had rescued Isabella from the mountain lion that day. Midnight Storm raced past a brown gelding with a jet-black mane, bearing down on Edward for the lead, getting closer and closer, jumping long and wide over a fallen oak, and then galloping toward the edge of Fairington. In no time, they overtook Almighty by a several horse lengths.
“YEE-HAH!” Ben whooped, unable to contain his glee. There were no other contenders in front of them now—it was just a race to the finish. He let out a loud native yell, which made the stallion run that much faster. Releasing the reigns, Ben felt his body moving as one with the power of God’s creation. A warm feeling brewed deep inside his belly, making him smile. He knew it was the Lord. “Thank you,” he whispered for only the wind to hear.
The open field narrowed into a wide, wooded trail that led to the stream running along the edge of Fairington. Midnight Storm galloped toward the calming sound of water gently whooshing over the rocks as it cut a path through the forest. Ben looked back, but there was no one behind them. Kicking the stallion in the sides, he braced himself for a giant leap across the banks of the stream. The horse moved through the air with speed and grace, its hooves splashing against the edge of the water before scampering up the trail.
Through the canopy of leaves, Ben saw the vibrant green of the Fairington fields ahead. He envisioned Angelina waiting for him there, wearing white and holding a bouquet of flowers. The wind blew through her long curls and loosened a handful of rose petals that floated up into the air and caught in her blonde locks.
Suddenly, a strange sound came from behind, and the vision of Angelina blurred for a moment. Midnight Storm jerked its head and neighed frantically as something whacked Ben on the back, almost knocking him off his saddle. He gripped the reins and righted himself in time to see the flutter of a white mane and the flash of a red jacket by his side. A black riding crop ripped across Ben’s arm, tearing the blue serge material like a sharp carving knife. Edward grimaced and struck again, but this time Ben grabbed the crop, feeling the sting resonate through his palm, down his arm, and into his chest. With a quick jerk, he tore the weapon from Edward’s fingers and shoved him in the shoulder with all of his strength. Almighty bit into the air, gnashing its teeth, finally nipping Midnight Storm on the ear. The stallion retaliated by ramming Almighty in the side, knocking Edward to the ground.
Ben kicked Midnight Storm with his heels and cut through the trees, fighting to get through the woods to the open field as quickly as possible. The wind whistled around his face as the stallion ran faster and faster, weaving in and out of the thick brush. A POP sounded off in his mind, reminding him of the steward firing off his pistol to start the race. Midnight Storm stumbled for a moment, sending Ben forward in the saddle. He grabbed the thick mane to steady himself and felt something wet. Looking down, he saw that his hands were coated with blood.
“Whoa, boy!” Ben pulled on the reins and the stallion stumbled again, almost falling over a rotten log before slowing to a stop. He dismounted and saw a hole in the horse’s neck the size of a dime that was oozing red. Yanking his jacket free, Ben bunched it in his hand and pressed down on the injury to stop the bleeding. Midnight Storm whinnied and pranced about as though the earth was made of hot coals. “Shh—it’s all right, now,” Ben said, whispering in his native tongue.
Suddenly, the cock of a gun hammer sounded behind Ben’s ear, making his blood grow cold. He turned around and stared down the barrel of a Remington pistol in Edward’s hand. The black velvet riding hat was gone, revealing Edward’s slicked down mane that was dirty and rumpled. A streak of grime ran across his cheek and forehead, resembling hot tar, and his red jacket was torn on the side. Even the ascot was twisted and out of place.
“You shot my horse?” Ben asked, feeling ange
r course through his veins.
Edward’s face crumpled for a moment, growing dark and gray. He cocked the pistol again and pointed it higher, right at Ben’s face. “Get back on and get out of town—and don’t ever come back.”
Ben stared at the end of the pistol, looking deep into the little, black hole where a bullet would fire and possibly take his life, ending all of his hopes and dreams. The thought of Edward Millhouse being the one to decide the number of his days suddenly struck Ben as wrong and unfair, and downright unacceptable. “No,” he replied, shaking his head.
Edward hesitated a moment, staring back at Ben with a pair of dark, beady eyes. “So be it.” He cocked the pistol again and pointed, but this time, his hand trembled.
Coward, Ben thought, lunging forward to wrench the gun from Edward’s grasp. Midnight Storm flapped its lip and neighed loudly as Ben slammed his fist into Edward’s side, knocking him to his knees, but Edward still held a firm grip on the pistol. He grabbed Ben’s legs with his free hand and shoved him to the ground, wrestling Ben for control of the weapon. They fell on top of each other, rolling down into a ravine where the stream used to run, which was now covered with mud and dead leaves. Ben bit down hard on Edward’s hand until he screamed, finally loosening his hold on the handle. Ben jerked the pistol free and pointed it at Edward, seeing the black fire in his eyes and the snarling lip that made him shudder. Edward reminded him of the klandagi, the black mountain lion, which had taken Mighty Wind from him that day.
Without warning, Edward lunged again, but Ben wasn’t about to let the pistol go. He kicked and bit, until suddenly, his finger was on the trigger, and the gun fired into the air.
CHAPTER 36
Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) Page 25