Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry)

by Caroline Friday

  “Did you hear that?” Angelina looked up from her picnic lunch so that her hat wobbled on its perch. She and Jessie had arrived from town and were eating a quick bite of Ella’s picnic while they waited for the riders to emerge from the woods.

  “Sounded like pistol shots to me,” Billy said, scratching his head and readjusting his Stetson.

  Angelina held her breath and stared intently into the trees while Jessie crammed the last bite of a biscuit in her mouth. Tom ripped a hunk of meat off a chicken bone while Mitchell and the other Fairington boys became silent, listening as the wind whistled through the trees, sending leaves fluttering around the gravestones.

  “Something’s wrong. I know it. They should be coming past by now,” Angelina said. “Tom, what’s the time?”

  Tom pulled his pocket watch out of his vest pocket and popped it open. “Been almost ten minutes.”

  “That’s too long.” Angelina dropped her mama’s china plate onto the blanket and stood to her feet.

  “Where’re you going?” Jessie asked, gulping down her food. “We need to hurry it on up and get back to town to meet Ben at the finish line like you said.”

  “I know what I said, but I don’t trust that Edward Millhouse as far as I can throw him.” She marched over to the oak tree where Eagle’s Wing was tethered.

  “Tom, make her stop,” Jessie said.

  “You gonna act all bullheaded and mess up the race?” Tom scolded, as Angelina adjusted the stirrups and prepared to mount. “That what you want? You go in those woods and get yourself trampled by a load of thoroughbreds, don’t come asking me for sympathy.”

  “Not asking!” she snapped back. She hopped onto the saddle and took off toward the woods, wishing she had dressed like Jessie instead of wearing what seemed like acres of silk fabric. A sidesaddle was no help at all at a time like this.

  “Angelina!” Jessie cried. Her sister’s voice was shrill and frantic and would have made Angelina stop under normal circumstances, but she couldn’t go against her instinct. Ben was in trouble, and she told him she would be there for him—and she meant it. His last words played over again in her mind, and her skin memorized the touch of his fingers on her cheeks. Lord, keep him safe, she prayed, feeling a lump rise in her throat.

  The quail feather in her hat fluttered like a sheet in the wind as they barreled toward the trees and slipped into an opening in the woods. Four-in-a-Row and a bay gelding galloped past, leaving the woods quiet once more, except for the distant rumble of another pack of horses racing along the trail. Where were Edward and Ben? Fear gripped her heart as she thought of the pistol shots. Her mind played tricks on her, advancing down dark roads that were too terrible to contemplate. “Ben?” she called.

  A neighing in the distance sent her through the thick woods, weaving under low-lying limbs and thorns that clung to her silk skirt and ripped at the veil on her hat. Midnight Storm stood very still near a pine tree with its head hung low and blood covering its mane. “Oh, dear Lord!” Angelina gasped. On the ground, by its feet, was Ben’s blue serge jacket, smeared in blood and dirt. “BEN!” she cried into the forest. “BEN!”

  “Angelina!”

  The response seemed distant and faraway, as if it was being uttered under water. Suddenly, something slammed against her shoulder, making her ear pop and her jaw clench. Confusion set in, but she fought it, trying to determine what had hit her. What has happened, Lord? What is it? went through her mind again and again as she looked down at her silk dress and saw a red spot growing on her left shoulder like an overturned jug of Ella’s tomato juice.

  Slowly, she slid off the saddle and fell into a pile of prickly brambles that, for some reason, didn’t feel so prickly after all. She wanted to get up and find Ben, but she couldn’t. Her arms and legs were weightless, like she was being lifted up by an unseen force and placed on a white, fluffy cloud that moved through the blue sky on the other side of the tree tops. Inside, she was smiling, even though she was aware that her lips hadn’t moved. “Ben, Ben,” she mumbled in her heart. A heavy blanket of sleep descended on her, forcing her to blink again and again, until her eyes drifted closed.

  “Angelina!”

  Ben pushed Edward away and scampered to his feet, racing up the ravine. “Angelina!” At the base of the pine trees was a rumpled pile of blue silk draped across the brambles and Eagle’s Wing standing idly by, sniffing the ground. Ben’s heart dropped at the sight of so much blood. He tore off his shirt and wrapped it under Angelina’s arm and across the wound, tying it tight to stop the bleeding. “Angel, wake up. Wake up!” Scooping her into his arms, he stared into her face and called her name softly, but there was no response. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was ashen white.

  Quickly, he unbuckled the sidesaddle on Eagle’s Wing and threw it to the ground. Then draping Angelina over his shoulder, he leapt onto the gelding’s back and took off through the woods, speaking to the horse in his native tongue. “You must ride my friend, you must soar upward like the eagle. You must live up to your name!”

  The gelding raced past Tom and Jessie, so that all Ben heard were garbled hollers and cries that couldn’t be deciphered. He had to get to town—he had to ride faster than he had ever ridden before. Angelina remained tightly tucked in his arms, but he felt his hand loosen its grip from something wet that trickled down his arm. “Faster, my friend,” he called to Eagle’s Wing in Cherokee. “We must fly. Fly high.”

  As they made their way through the open field, Ben saw the rump of the brown gelding jump a fence right alongside Four-in-a-Row. Clicking his tongue, he dug his heels into the gelding’s side and squeezed his knees, whispering words of encouragement. As they approached the fence, Ben hugged Angelina into his bare chest and felt Eagle’s Wing fly across and touch down to the ground, as gentle as a feather. They passed the gelding and Four-in-a-Row and then leapt over a hedge that brought them right to the outskirts of town and the main road. Ben saw the Methodist Church steeple scrape against the blue sky, but the Challenge was the farthest thing from his mind. Getting Angelina to a doctor was all he cared about.

  The crowds screamed and yelled, raising their fists, communicating something to him, but he didn’t listen. He saw the look of horror on one woman’s face and a sad, shocked expression of a little girl with blonde curls who resembled Angelina. Oh, God! The words of prayer finally bubbled up into his throat, but he didn’t dare speak them now, for they were filled with fear. He couldn’t let a spirit of terror and dread take control. It desired to have him—he felt it pressing on him, tempting him to give up and believe the worst, but he wouldn’t let it. He gripped Angelina even tighter in his arms and kissed her hard on the forehead. “Almost there, Angel. Almost there.”

  As they thundered into town, the roar of the crowd was deafening, like an endless wave crashing against a beach. Ben kicked Eagle’s Wing in the side again and again, urging it to ride faster and faster toward the church as he pressed Angelina’s head into his shoulder. Hats waved in the air, women threw flowers at him, and little children sat on their father’s shoulders, and yet, as Ben drew closer, their looks changed from excitement, to confusion, to disgust. Ben could almost hear them say, “What in the world—what is this Indian man doing with a white woman in his arms?”

  He pulled up to the church and yanked the gelding to an abrupt stop so that it heaved and sputtered white foam like rain. “Doctor! Doc Parker!”

  Mabel emerged from the crowd holding a hand full of wildflowers. “Good Lord, Ben! What has happened?”

  The look of sorrow on her face brought a wave of panic washing over him. “Get some rags, soap, and hot water,” he barked. “Quick!” He slid off Eagle’s Wing’s back with Angelina still in his arms and suddenly, the crowd grew strangely quiet. He looked into their helpless faces, searching for a tall, lanky man with gray, trimmed beard and black leather vest. “Doc Parker!” he screamed.

  “Here!” a voice called through the throng. Doctor Parker pushed his way through the peo
ple, carrying his black leather bag in one hand, and wiping his mouth with a linen napkin with the other. “In the church,” he said, motioning toward the church door. Ben followed, storming his way inside with Angelina in his arms as though she weighed no more than a small child. He didn’t notice that he was bloody and shirtless and looked more like a savage than ever.

  “Put her here,” Reverend Michaels instructed. He cleared off the altar table so Ben could gently place Angelina on the wooden surface. Her skin was clammy and white, but her lips were flushed with a faint tinge of pink, giving him hope.

  “Is she gonna live? She gonna be all right?”

  Doctor Parker shoved his coat under Angelina’s head. “She’s lost a lot of blood. We’re gonna have to see.” Ben dug his fingernails into his palm, fighting the urge to give in to fear. “You’re gonna have to step out, son,” Doctor Parker said, tearing Angelina’s bloody sleeve away. The tip of the arrowhead hanging from her neck emerged from its hiding place, stilling Ben’s heart. “I’ll take care of her now.”

  The door slammed open and Jessie tumbled inside, flapping her arms like a goose. “Angelina?” Tom stumbled in behind her with his hat bunched up in his hand.

  “Get out, you people!” Doctor Parker yelled, his face beet red. “Ben, get them out, now!”

  With Jessie on one arm and Tom in the other, Ben pushed them out the door and slammed it closed. He stared at Tom and then looked into Jessie’s dark eyes that were filled with fear. “Start praying,” he said.

  A rumble in the crowd rippled its way toward Ben, followed by a litany of yells. “He’s the one! There he is!” Edward rode Almighty through the crowd, looking dirty, haggard, and worn. He pointed a long finger at Ben and cried, “He did it! He’s the one who shot Miss Angelina Raeford!” A collective gasp from the crowd brought every eye toward Ben, wondering, accusing, and passing judgment. “Even tried to shoot my horse. Nothing but a savage,” Edward hissed.

  “This boy didn’t shoot anyone or anything!” Tom yelled, surveying the crowd. “You can mark my words.” He stepped forward and pointed his finger at Edward, spitting as he spoke. “It’s you—you’re the one who kills and destroys!” Edward winced as Tom’s voice deepened. “You should be ashamed. All of this for a wager over land that don’t belong to you, and it never has.” Tom’s eyes were like glassy marbles, hard and impenetrable. “It’s his land, and you and I know it.”

  Edward glared at Tom for what seemed like an eternity, popping his riding crop in his gloved hand in quick, rhythmic fashion. “Someone shut this savage up, before I shut him up myself.”

  Rage rose up in Ben, quelling the voice inside that gently reminded him of his commitment to forgive, to love, to let vengeance belong to the Lord. He clenched his fists, feeling his chest expand, and let out a loud Cherokee screech that made the hair on the back of his own neck stand on end. Like a thoroughbred racehorse, he ran toward Almighty, sensing the crowd part, and grabbed Edward by the lapels, pulling him off his saddle and slamming him down to the ground. Anger consumed him as he smashed his fists into Edward’s face, over and over. Edward tried to rise to his feet, but Ben hit him again, sending a spray of blood across the crowd. Grabbing him by the throat, Ben clamped down hard, as the memory of his mother came to him. He screamed, wishing he had fangs like that black mountain lion, so he could rip Edward’s flesh and stop the past from coming back to haunt him without warning.

  Edward struggled, kicking and flailing his legs, but Ben only squeezed harder. Hands grabbed his shoulders, trying to pull him off, but he smacked them away with a force he had never experienced. Voices pleaded with him to release his hold, but he ignored them.

  Suddenly, Edward’s eyes popped open, bulging like a bullfrog. He stared at Ben, and the look was one of anger and mockery that showed no regard for fear—especially the fear of death. Ben reached down into his boot and grabbed his flint knife, bringing it close to Edward’s throat. He remembered the day he had held the mountain lion in a similar fashion and squeezed, wanting nothing more than to kill. He pictured the knife piercing the skin and then sliding inside, cutting off the flow of life that was just underneath his hand. Ben’s flesh tingled at the satisfaction in knowing he had the power to end it all, to rid the earth of Edward Millhouse and his evil ways and make things right. But would it save Angelina? Would it bring back his mother or his home? And what about Midnight Storm—

  “Don’t do this, Ben.” Tom’s pleas broke through the anger, reasoning with Ben’s thoughts. “Don’t. Miss Angelina wouldn’t want it.”

  “Please, Mr. Eagle-Smith,” Billy echoed. “Remember what you told me in Proverbs, to wait on the Lord and trust in Him?”

  Edward’s face changed from a dark purple color to an ashen gray, warning Ben that very little time was left. Trust in me, resonated in Ben’s mind. It was that voice of reason, the still small voice of the Lord breaking through the rage, awakening him from a stupor. If he did this terrible deed, he would be no different from Edward, and the knife in his hand would be no different from the pistol that had wounded Angelina.

  Releasing his hold, Ben quickly stood to his feet and stared at Edward clutching his throat, coughing and gasping for breath. Pathetic was the word that came to mind, as the hatred surrounding his heart receded. Dropping the knife to the ground, he kicked it away and whispered, “May the Lord do with you as He pleases.” Edward closed his eyes and lay very still, taking deep, jagged breaths. But Ben knew he had heard.

  “Ben!” Doctor Parker called, waving his arm back and forth from the church door. “Come quick!”

  “Lord, help us,” Tom muttered, with a tremor in his voice. The fear was back, gripping their hearts, but Ben wouldn’t let it win. Pushing through the crowd, he stormed his way into the church, ready to face what was waiting for him.

  CHAPTER 37

  Angelina heard muffled cries calling her name, sounding as though she was lodged underwater, fighting to come to the surface. She saw Doctor Parker’s silvery beard and white shirt and heard his distinctive, solemn voice saying, “We need to get her home.” And then Jessie’s long black hair and pleas of “Angelina, Angelina” blended in with Tom’s “you’re gonna be fine, little lady. Just fine.” She felt her body being lifted and nestled into a pair of strong arms that she knew belonged to Ben. The wind was in her hair as they rode across the open field, but Angelina couldn’t make herself wake up from this groggy sleep. Suddenly, she saw a dark movement above her and heard Ella’s voice.

  “Wake up, child. You gonna be all right. Mr. Edward’s gun’s gonna have to rip a hole in me the size of Texas ’fore it can ever get to you again.”

  She was in her bedroom now, where the soft blue walls and toile fabric brought a familiar comfort. She tried to smile, but her lips wouldn’t move. Strong, calloused fingers held her hand, stroking her palm with firm, even strokes. “Angel—” Someone kissed her hand again and again, and she heard raw tears being shed. It broke her heart to hear Ben weep. She wanted more than anything to tell him it was gonna be as Ella said, that it would all be all right.

  “She’s as tough as nails, always has been. Like her mama.” Angelina recognized Tom’s voice, yet she couldn’t open her eyes to see. “You gotten any sleep?”

  “No, I can’t sleep.” Ben sounded tired and defeated as he squeezed her hand gently and kissed the tips of her fingers.

  “You blame yourself, but you ought not to. We live in a fallen world full of evil men like that Edward Millhouse.” Tom exhaled as he pulled a chair up to the bed and sat. “Sheriff went over to Rutherford just this mornin’, but he’s cleared outta town. Mason and Sam Turner, neither one, know a thing. It’s like he just up and disappeared. I expect we won’t be seein’ him for a good, long while.”

  “Expect not,” Ben whispered.

  “You know you’ve got the whole town talkin’. Not ’cause of what happened with Miss Raeford and Edward, but ’cause of the Challenge. Turns out you won the race in record time. Problem is, you didn�
��t ride it on that stallion of yours, so it don’t count. And the fact that you had Miss Raeford with you too.” He scuffed his boots on the wooden floor and shifted in his seat. “I tried to argue a case on your behalf, but the rules are the rules. It turns out the Middleton horse takes the prize. But everyone knows who the real winner is, including Isaac.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Ben said. “I can’t stay here in Laurel Grove anymore. Everything and everyone I care about since coming here has died or been destroyed—” He slipped Angelina’s hand between both of his and sniffed back the tears. “I gave my word I’d leave if I didn’t win, and that’s what I aim to do, once I know she’s all right. Edward may come back one day and wanna settle things up, and I can’t have her hurt again. I couldn’t live with myself if anything were to happen to her.”

  Tom was silent, but Angelina wanted to sit up and say, “You can’t leave, this is your home! We’ll rebuild your daddy’s house and make it the grandest horse farm in all of South Carolina!” But she lay quiet, as still as a mouse. Fatigue engulfed her in waves, until she finally descended back down into the depths of sleep.

  Midnight Storm made a quick recovery and bore no evidence of injury, other than a small circular scar underneath its mane. But it took Angelina longer to heal. It was several days before she woke up, and a week before she could get out of bed. Despite Ella’s complaints, Ben spent every moment by her side, praying and reading the Bible, feeding Angelina her breakfast and lunch, and telling her wild stories that had her howling with laughter. The bullet had lodged in her shoulder, making it difficult to move her arm, but by the end of two weeks, she was walking about, begging Tom to let her ride Eagle’s Wing. Doctor Parker wanted her to wait, but by the end of three weeks, she was riding alongside Ben and Midnight Storm with her arm in a sling, ignoring the pleas from Ella and Jessie to rest.

  Autumn came and the leaves were turning a rich shade of red, yellow, and orange. Winter was fast approaching, and Ben had no intention of staying on at Fairington until then. The thought of telling Angelina good-bye was more than he could bear, but he had to do it—and soon. He had sent word to his uncle in North Carolina that he would be arriving by the end of next week, so there could be no more delay.