Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry)

by Caroline Friday

  He chose a beautiful morning with blue skies and no sign of rain. They rode the horses on their normal route—through the open field toward Mighty Wind’s resting place and then up toward Palmetto Ridge to their oak tree. Ben dismounted Midnight Storm and helped Angelina down from Eagle’s Wing. He gazed into her bright blue eyes, fighting the emotions raging inside. She was so full of life—he couldn’t imagine almost losing her at the hand of Edward Millhouse.

  “You look sad,” she said, her brow furrowing with worry.

  Ben pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “This place makes me sad sometimes.”

  “Well, I think it’s beautiful.” She buried her cheek into his shoulder as they stared down at the burned ruins of his family’s farm. A pair of blackbirds circled over the barn, cawing in an ominous way. “It will be one day.”

  “Angelina?” Ben wrapped his arms tightly around her and prayed for strength. “Angel, I can’t stay here. You know I have to leave.”

  Her cheek pressed deeper into his shoulder as a shudder went through her body. “You don’t. Edward’s gone, there’s no one to stop us from being together, from making this place our home.”

  “He’ll be back one day, and he’ll try to lay claim to it. I won’t live my life with that hanging over my head.”

  “Don’t. Don’t say any more—”

  “I’ve already written my uncle. He has a place for me there, for us. We can leave in the morning.”

  “No,” she said, pushing away. “You can’t. You can’t leave—after all we’ve been through. We can’t let the fear of what Edward might do run us off our own home.”

  “But if he ever hurt you again—”

  “But he won’t!”

  “You don’t know that, Angelina. Try to see things from my view.”

  She glared at him as tears filled her eyes. “How can you? How can you break my heart?”

  “Angelina.” He hated how his voice sounded—pleading and desperate.

  She turned and mounted Eagle’s Wing, wincing as she settled into the saddle. Then grabbing the reins, she clicked her tongue and galloped away toward Fairington without giving him a single look.

  He stood motionless for the longest time, watching her disappear into the distance, fighting the urge to follow. He had to let her go, and yet he couldn’t. Falling to his knees, he cried, “Lord, I can’t—I can’t do it!” Ben listened for the voice inside of him to answer, but all was silent.

  Midnight Storm nudged his cheek with its silky nose, sniffing his pocket for a sugar cube. Ben patted its cheek and kissed it on the forehead. He stared the horse in the eye, looking past his reflection, and gazed down deep into the animal’s soul. Life seemed so uncomplicated for a thoroughbred stallion. Ben wished his life could be easier, like this horse, with no concerns other than eating, sleeping, and riding like the wind. It can be, the voice inside of him finally said.

  Above him, a flock of black birds squawked and cawed, making a fuss over something rummaging near the barn. Ben stood to his feet and shielded his eyes, peering into the setting sun. He saw the faint swish of a long tail and heard the neigh of a horse. It was White Flower, poking through the debris, sniffing the ground for food with a broken rope around its neck. Ben wiped his eyes and smiled, marveling at the tenacity of the little filly. “Come on, boy,” he said to Midnight Storm, grabbing the reins, “let’s get this little lady home.”

  Lightning ripped across the sky and a few raindrops fell as Ben and Midnight Storm approached Fairington with White Flower following behind. By the time they reached the barn, the sky had opened up and drenched them from head to toe. “Well, whaddya have here?” Billy asked as he opened the barn door and waved Ben inside.

  “One of Mr. Millhouse’s fillies, except she doesn’t like it over at Rutherford too much. Thought I’d leave her here until the storm clears, then I’ll take her back.”

  “Will do. You want me to tell Ella you’ll be stayin’ for supper? She’s cookin’ up a big plate of fried pork chops and all the fixin’s. Corn bread and candied carrots from what I can tell. And a whole passel of peas.”

  Thunder rumbled and a flash of light lit up the sky, causing White Flower to whinny and neigh. “I reckon that’ll be a good idea,” Ben said, reassuring the filly with soothing words. “I’ll bunk down in the barn until this storm passes.”

  “Suit yourself. By the way, I sure am glad to see you, Mr. Eagle-Smith.”

  “Call me Ben.”

  “All right,” Billy said, smoothing a lock of hair away from his forehead. “And I’m glad you’re safe from that Mr. Millhouse—that you didn’t do somethin’ you’d regret.”

  “I am too, Billy. I’m sorry you saw all of that. My anger got the best of me, and it almost took me down a dark road.” He put his arm on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. “You remember that, you hear? The Lord showed me mercy. He knocked some sense into my head right when I needed it.”

  Billy caught his eye and grinned. “All of us need some sense knocked in us every now and again.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Well,” Billy said after an awkward moment of silence had passed, “guess I’ll go tend to the filly now. You let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you, I will.” Ben stroked White Flower’s withers and handed the rope to Billy, watching it being led into a stall near Ginger Snap and Red Sky. He patted Midnight Storm on the backside and led it toward its old stall at the back of the barn, the one next to Mighty Wind’s. Ben shut his mind from thinking about the beautiful, chestnut stallion and all their years spent together.

  Removing the saddle, he lifted the wet blanket off Midnight Storm’s back and brushed the horse down with long, soothing strokes, listening to the hard pummel of rain on the roof of the barn. His first night at Fairington had been ferocious and rainy, and it looked like his last would be the same.

  After a while, the dinner bell from the main house rang. The barn door creaked open, and Ben heard Billy and Mitchell and some of the other trainers laughing and talking. But after a moment, the door banged closed, leaving Ben alone with only the horses for company—which was his preference. Even though his stomach growled at the prospect of sinking his teeth into Ella’s pork chops, he didn’t want to face Tom and the other men or risk seeing Angelina. Besides, the munching of hay and the shifting of hooves were comforting sounds that brought a peace to his heart.

  He checked in on the filly and then fed and watered Midnight Storm. Placing a warm blanket over the stallion, he hunkered down into a pile of hay, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and tried to sleep.

  He dreamed again, and this time he saw Edward’s face with his bulging eyes and mocking stare. His black riding crop smacked against his glove, and a pistol handle protruded from the top of his trousers. The black mountain lion was with him, growling and snarling, threatening Angelina with its sharp, white fangs. Ben cried, “Run, Angelina! Run!” But the cat was too powerful. It lunged at Ben, waking him with a start.

  Lightning struck again and thunder rolled across the sky, ending in a loud boom. Ben sat very still, listening to a whimper come from several stalls away. Rising carefully, he crept toward the sound that that suddenly turned to sobs. As he got closer, Eagle’s Wings whinnied and stomped its hoof. “Who’s there?” Angelina asked, sniffing back the tears.

  “It’s me.” Ben opened the stall door and stepped inside, crouching down on the pile of hay where she lay curled up in a ball. Her eyes were swollen and red, and she was soaking wet and shivering from the rain. “Angelina, you’re gonna make yourself sick. You need to get out of these clothes.” Grabbing her hand, he tried to pull her to her feet. “Here, let me get you to the house.”

  “No,” she said, slapping his hand away. “Why do you care? You’re leaving. You’ll be gone tomorrow.” Sobbing, she buried her face into his chest and cried, “Please don’t leave. Don’t leave me.” He pulled her close and lifted her in his arms so that her head leaned again
st his shoulder. “Please don’t, Ben,” she murmured like a little girl as he carried her through the barn. The rain was coming down in blinding sheets, so he would have to make a run for it. Gripping her tightly against his chest, he said, “Hold fast to me.” Obediently, she laced her fingers around his neck and placed her lips against the base of his throat. Taking a deep breath, he slopped through the mud until he finally made it to the front porch.

  It was late, and the house was dark. He opened the door and carried Angelina inside the marble foyer, knowing Ella would have a fit if she saw his dripping clothes and muddy boots. There was a remnant of a fire burning in the front parlor, so he set her gently on the needlepoint settee in front of the marble fireplace and covered her with a crocheted afghan. Being careful not to dirty the Oriental carpet, he placed a log on the flame and stoked it into a roaring blaze.

  “Forgive me for acting like a baby,” Angelina sniffed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. He sat next to her on the settee, staring at the fire and saying nothing. She ran her fingers through his hair all the way down his back where the ponytail used to hang. “It’s just that things haven’t worked out the way I wanted them to.”

  He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently. “I want you to share my life with me, Angelina. I want you to be my wife. But I can’t stay here. I won’t. Maybe one day, things will be different, but for now—”

  She threw her arms around him and held him tight. “I know,” she whispered.

  “I can’t ask you to give up Fairington—”

  “I can never give up Fairington, and I never will. Just like you’ll never be able to give up your daddy’s farm.” He looked into her eyes, seeing a change in her expression. The tears were gone and the grief was spent, revealing something strong and new. “But I can leave. I can go where you go.” She slid into his lap and gazed into his eyes. “I love Fairington. It’s the only home I’ve known. But there’s something I love more.” Her fingers caressed his face, running along the planes of his cheeks and down to his chin, which was rough with beard. “My home is where you are.”

  He kissed her, hoping to seal these words forever before she changed her mind. His forehead joined hers, and he stared into the depth of her eyes, noticing how blue they were, like the rippling of a moving river. Something pulled at his heart and transported him to a different place where he lost himself in her blonde curls, lean neck, and the bloom on her porcelain cheeks. “You mean it? It’s going to be hard.”

  “Not if we’re together.”

  Finally, his lips were on hers again, and a flood of emotion took over, bringing with it a renewed power that required restraint—her body was fragile, yet strong enough to be held tightly in his arms, and her breath was soft and shallow, yet deep enough to receive his kisses. Tucking her head under his chin, he held her close to his heart, rocking back and forth as he watched the fire burn. “I’ll never let you go.”

  Lightning lit up the sky, and a loud boom of thunder followed. The log in the fireplace dropped down into the grate, sending hot embers swirling into the air. Ben heard a noise behind him and turned, expecting to see Ella, or Jessie maybe, but it was someone else. Angelina gasped as a dark figure emerged from behind the velvet drapes that bordered the front windows. A pair of wet boots clomped against the wooden floor, and immediately, Ben knew who it was.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Edward!” Angelina froze, feeling fear swim through her veins. Edward stepped out of the shadows, and another bolt of lightning illuminated his face and body, making him look like a monster from one of Tom’s old campfire stories. His face was stark white, his hair greasy and slicked back tight against his scalp, and his hands were black with dirt. He wore his red riding jacket and a white shirt that was stained and torn to the waist. The angles on his face were more pronounced, as though he was an emaciated corpse arising from the dead. Angelina had never seen anything more horrible.

  Ben rose to his feet and stepped in front of Angelina. “You’re trespassing in this house.”

  “No,” Edward said, his voice sounding like a hissing snake, “you’re the one trespassing.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “You know what I want.” Edward raised his hand and pointed the Remington at Ben’s chest.

  “Edward, please!” Angelina wailed.

  Edward’s jaw pulsated as he stared at Ben, sweat dripping from his forehead. Angelina wanted to look away, and yet she couldn’t pry her eyes from the glistening streaks of moisture that slithered down his face. “I should’ve finished what I started.” Stepping toward the settee, he moved the pistol toward Angelina. “Just a little lower,” he hissed, aiming at her chest, “and it’ll pierce her heart.”

  She wanted to scream, but fear gripped her throat with its long, clawed fingers, cutting off the flow of oxygen. The room dimmed and her surroundings spun ever so slightly. Am I going to die, Lord? Is this how it will end?

  “I know you never loved me,” Edward said, staring at her with a brokenness that would have made her pity him under different circumstances. But in a flash, the sad look was gone, and the ghostly pallor returned. “You said you hated me, that I’d never set foot on Fairington again as long as there was breath in your body.” The hammer on the pistol clicked, and his darkened eyes latched hold of hers, piercing her soul like a long, sharp blade. “So be it,” he whispered.

  Ben lunged toward Edward, making her shut her eyes in a tight squeeze. A shot rang out, piercing the night, and the pain in her shoulder returned. She gasped for breath, sucking in a deep gulp of air, and opened her eyes. Her brown chambray shirt was clean and unmarred.

  “Drop that pistol,” Tom commanded, aiming a long-barreled rifle at Edward, who groaned and writhed on the Oriental carpet, holding his right arm. A pool of blood seeped across the wooden floor like a river cutting a path through new territory. “Now!” Tom bellowed, “or I’m shootin’ the other arm!” Edward groaned again and dropped the pistol, falling back on the carpet, spread eagle in front of the fireplace like the bearskin rug in Rutherford Hall. Ben grabbed the weapon, opened the chamber, and dumped the bullets into his hand. “You all right, Miss Raeford?” Tom said, not moving from his position.

  Angelina swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes.”

  “Did I hear gunshots?” Jessie lumbered down the staircase and made her way into the parlor wearing her favorite red, cotton nightgown. She screeched as Ella rushed into the room behind her, wearing a long, white muslin nightdress and a blue bandana tied around her hair.

  “What in tarnation?” Ella stopped still in her tracks when she saw Edward, her hand slowly fluttering to her mouth. “Dear Lord in Heaven—”

  “Ella,” Tom said, adjusting his Stetson on his head as he pointed the rifle toward the ceiling and stared at Edward sprawled across the floor, “get Stevie to fetch the doctor, and have Billy ride on over to the sheriff’s house and tell him we found Mr. Millhouse. I’ll have Mitchell and Ward keep an eye on him while we wait.” He turned to Jessie and nodded, “Miss Jessie. Miss Raeford, sorry you had to see this. And Ella, sorry about the carpet.”

  “It’s all right. We’ll take care of it from here. Jessie, Angelina, get some hot water and rags,” she ordered, fluttering around the room like a billowing ghost. “We need to get this bleedin’ stopped ’fore Mr. Edward dies right here in the front parlor.”

  Angelina rose to her feet, wanting to help Ella and Jessie bandage the wound, but her legs were like a wobbly, new-born foal. She melted back down into the settee cushions, sinking into Ben’s arms. “Lemme help you upstairs,” he said.

  “No, I’ll be fine.” She shuddered at Edward’s sticky, gray face that remained as still as death.

  “Miss Raeford, if it’s all right, I need Ben to come with me,” Tom said, nodding toward Ben. “I’ve got somethin’ to show you.”

  Angelina caught Tom’s eye and tried to read his expression, but his face was void of anything other than a staunch stoicism. “Fine, then.
I’ll be fine.”

  Mitchell and Ward barreled into the parlor, buttoning their shirts and slamming their Stetsons on their heads, joining in the commotion. The clock over the mantle chimed three times, and yet with all of the activity, it could have very well been three o’clock in the afternoon. “Go on,” she whispered, gazing into Ben’s eyes where sadness and relief swirled together. He pulled her close, kissed her on the forehead, and disappeared out the front door with Tom.

  The rain had stopped, but thunder still rumbled in the distance. Ben followed Tom to the barn, dodging the mud puddles that formed a barrier before them. Once inside, Tom lit a small lantern and led him to Mighty Wind’s old stall. He propped the rifle against the wall, pulled a wooden stool over and stood on it, retrieving a small metal box from behind the rafters. “I’ve got somethin’ for you here.” He opened the box and pulled out an old, yellowed envelope. “I promised your mama I wouldn’t show it to you till the time was right. And I’d say now’s as good a time as any.”

  He handed Ben the envelope. The outside was worn and smudged with dirt, but the writing was clean and smooth. Ben recognized his name written in his mother’s hand. Carefully, he pulled the papers out and opened them.

  “It’s the deed to your land,” Tom said, “signed by your daddy two weeks before he died. It’s endorsed in your name, free and clear. Edward Millhouse never owned it, and that’s why he never sold. He couldn’t.”

  Ben stared at the word deed in large lettering, along with his father’s signature and his name written in an elaborate, cursive style. His mind reeled, realizing he had imagined this day for so many years. “I own the land?”