Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry)

by Caroline Friday

  “Yes,” Angelina murmured as she stared at the beauty of Ben’s face, hearing her sister say the words she had always known down deep in her heart. “That’s why I’ve decided—I’m gonna have to scrape up the money and buy it from Edward before he sells it to someone else. I’ve thought about it long and hard, Jessie, and I know it’s what’s right.”

  “And what makes you think he’ll sell it to you after what you’ve done?”

  “I don’t know,” Angelina said, shrugging her shoulders. “But I’ll find a way—somehow.”

  “The Lord’ll show us what to do,” Jessie said. “He always does.”

  Angelina winced, wondering how on earth the Lord was going to fix this situation. Ben groaned in his sleep again, reminding her that it all seemed utterly hopeless. “Oh, Jessie, why’d this have to happen?” she wailed, her voice breaking.

  “I don’t know, sweetie.” Jessie stroked Angelina’s curls and rubbed her back with a long, even motion. “But he’ll get through it. He’s gotten through a lot worse. Losing his daddy and mama—his home.”

  Angelina sniffed, wiping away her tears. “He hasn’t lost me, and he never will.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Jessie—”

  “Well,” she said, wrapping an arm around Angelina’s shoulder, “you always seem to be breaking his heart.”

  “I don’t mean to, you know that.” Angelina shot her sister a harsh look. She never liked it when she got a scolding from Jessie, no matter how subtle. “It’s that he can be so, I don’t know—stubborn.” Jessie snickered and gave Angelina a sly look in return. “What?” Angelina asked.

  “You remember the first day we met him? That day Daddy took us all into town, and he was in Davis Supply with his mama—looking all raggedy?”

  “He’d been riding all night in the rain, that’s why,” Angelina answered, caressing his fingers again, one by one, like she was buffing a set of antique silver.

  “You told him he looked like a heathen.”

  “I did not,” she said, glaring at Jessie.

  “You told him he looked like a ‘wild animal heathen,’ if I recall, and you didn’t want him ‘touching your new dress with his filthy hands.’” Jessie cocked her head in a know-it-all way that made her seem like the older, smarter sister. Angelina never had liked that look.

  “I didn’t really say heathen did I?”

  “You don’t remember Mama taking a strap to you when we got home?”

  Angelina closed her eyes tight, unable to block the memory of her mother correcting her attitude toward the natives—an attitude she had learned firsthand from her daddy. It was a hard thing to admit about her father, and something she had never confessed out loud, and never planned to either. At the time, she thought her mama’s discipline was out of respect for Tom, but had since realized it was for a different reason—that kind of behavior was plain wrong and always would be. Her mama was right to give her a whipping that day.

  Angelina stroked the inside of Ben’s palm, wishing she could take back every mean word she had ever said to him. A sob threatened to erupt from her deep inside her heart, but she suppressed it, allowing only a single tear to roll down the bridge of her nose and drip onto her hand. “He knows I didn’t mean it. Right, Jessie?”

  The door swung open and Ella breezed in carrying a pewter platter of piping hot cinnamon sugar cookies. “You girls need to have a little somethin’ more with your tea than a piece of dry toast. Somethin’ buttery and sweet’ll do the two of you good.” She set the platter next to the tea tray and buzzed about the room like a bee, as she often did. “Mr. Ben doin’ all right?”

  “He keeps calling for Mighty Wind,” Angelina answered.

  “Oh, bless him,” Ella said, shaking her head with sorrow. She fluffed his pillow, and he moaned as she adjusted the blanket over his torso.

  “Stop it,” Angelina protested. “You’re hurting him.”

  But she ignored Angelina and went on with her fluffing and adjusting. “He don’t need y’all breathin’ his air so close,” Ella said, shoving Angelina away from the bed for a moment. “Man’s gotta get plenty of sleep and fresh breeze.” She patted the blanket down tight over Ben’s feet and bustled to the window, raising the window sash high. A gentle breeze permeated the room, bringing with it a fresh scent of lemon and violets.

  Angelina thought it odd to see the old, green tapestry curtains billowing toward them like a giant ball gown waltzing across the floor. She hadn’t seen anyone in this bed since her mother got sick years ago and her daddy took this as his room. Mama fondly referred to it as the French Room, since it was decorated in the Louis XIV style, from top to bottom. The walls were a soft, forest green with gold fleur-de-lis bordering the crown molding and stamped in a striped pattern down to the baseboards. The bedcovers matched perfectly, including an assortment of pale green quilted silk pillows and a duvet with gold and frosty pink rosettes forming a checkerboard pattern. The bed was a white wrought iron and the dresser and vanity were hand painted with flowers and leaves trimmed in gold. Even the pictures on the walls were paintings of pink roses bordered with pale green linen mats and gilded frames. It was one of the loveliest rooms in the house and embodied the femininity of her mother that had so often been bottled up due to living on a horse farm.

  Angelina gazed at the dark beauty of Ben sleeping in such a grand bed. How odd it was to have a man like him in this room! And yet, it seemed to be the most appropriate place in the word for him to lay his head. Angelina almost smiled as she wondered what he would say if he could see himself sleeping away like a French monarch with a host of women waiting on him.

  “Knock, knock.” A meek voice accompanied a gentle rapping on the door. Isabella peeked inside, flashing one of her dainty smiles.

  “Oh, Miss Isabella, you come on in,” Ella fussed. “Miss Angelina, Miss Jessie—Miss Isabella came by a few minutes ago and brought us some of Clara’s chocolate pound cake with banana cream filling.”

  “It’s one of Ben’s favorites,” Isabella responded proudly. She stepped inside the room, swishing her pale pink and green cotton damask dress with gold trim and lace.

  “Sounds wonderful,” Jessie piped up, swallowing a bite of one of Ella’s sugar cookies. “Please tell her thank you for us.”

  “Well, I don’t think Ben’ll be eating any chocolate cake with filling any time soon,” Angelina snapped, thinking it ludicrous that Isabella would even think of such a thing at a time like this. “But I’m sure Tom and the boys will eat it.”

  “Oh, well,” Isabella said, her voice laced with disappointment. “I thought he might like a bite.”

  “I’ll save him a piece and put it in the ice box,” Ella said, giving Angelina one of her fake smiles. “How’s that?”

  Isabella nodded and cast a loving glance toward Ben. “He looks better now.”

  “He is better,” Angelina said, wishing Ella hadn’t let this girl in her house. “Dr. Parker says he’ll be fine in no time.”

  Isabella drew close and traced the edge of his shoulder with her index finger. “When I think of Mighty Wind and how much he meant to him—that horse was the only family he had.” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Daddy says when he gets better, he can come over to Middleton and pick out any stallion he wants, the best there is. Daddy’s gonna offer him the foreman job too—that is, if you don’t mind,” Isabella said, staring at Angelina with an apologetic look. “Since he can’t run the Challenge now, Daddy says he’ll help him get his old farm back by paying Edward’s price. Then maybe Ben can buy it back over time. He says if it’s fixed up just right, it could make a real nice horse farm one day.”

  “Why on earth would Isaac do all that for Ben?” Jessie asked, casting a look in Angelina’s direction.

  Isabella’s face flushed beet red as she stammered over her words. “Well, Daddy likes him. You may not know, but we’ve got Cherokee blood running through us, from way back. And besides, Ben’s th
e best horseman in this whole county, maybe even in the whole state. We’d be fortunate indeed to have a man like Ben at Middleton—at least until he gets his own place set up.”

  A heavy silence filled the room as Angelina stared at Isabella’s innocent expression, feeling a shroud of jealousy wrap tightly around her heart. It was as if frail and fragile Isabella Richardson and all of her Charleston finery had punched Angelina hard in the stomach, knocking every ounce of breath out of her. Suddenly, the sweet, dainty smile looked cold and calculated, sensing an imminent victory.

  “Why don’t you set yourself down in Miss Angelina’s chair and read to Mr. Ben,” Ella interrupted, pulling Angelina to her feet. “My mama always said readin’ was one of the best ways to sooth the mind when the body’s recoverin’ from hurt.” She grabbed a leather-bound Bible from the nightstand and handed it to Isabella. “Here. You can start with the book of John. But make sure you read it slow and with feelin’.” She then nodded to Angelina and said, “And you and Jessie can help me down in the kitchen. Clarissa’s busy with those children of hers, and I need to get those tomatoes put up.” Angelina tried to move, but the realization that Ben might soon be living a new life at Middleton Farm sent a paralyzing chill over her. “Angel?” Ella asked. “You gonna come help?”

  Angelina watched as Isabella tenderly smoothed a lock of hair from Ben’s brow, oblivious to the observation of others. A pang of guilt stabbed through her gut, and her eyes welled up with emotion. The painted French clock over the mantle chimed four times, signaling an alarm inside of her, telling her—warning her—that she had to talk to Edward—now.

  “No, I have some business to attend to,” she said, her voice sounding very far away.

  “Business?” Jessie asked. “Before supper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you ain’t got no business with anyone, ’cept with me in the kitchen puttin’ up them tomatoes,” Ella snorted. “Where’re you goin’?” Angelina slipped past both Ella and Jessie and glided down the staircase. “Miss Angelina?” Ella called. “I’m talkin’ to you, girl!”

  But she didn’t dare answer. If she waited another minute, she might not be able to go through with seeing Edward again and feeling his dark, empty eyes comb over her. The thought repulsed her, but she had no choice. She couldn’t bring Mighty Wind back and help Ben ride the Challenge, but she could make things right. She could get his land back and keep him from falling into the arms of Isabella and what her daddy had to offer.

  As she saddled Eagle’s Wing and led the horse through the barn, a shudder went up her spine at the thought of what Edward would require. A sick, foreboding settled down deep in her heart as she swung into the saddle and made her way to Rutherford Hall.

  CHAPTER 19

  Rutherford Hall was one of the grandest houses in the county, but to Angelina, it was monstrous and hideous, like its owner. It resembled more of a European castle than a South Carolina horse farm. The exterior was a marbled combination of brown and gray stone with very few windows except a few grated portholes across the front and several large, picture windows overlooking the back garden and the surrounding fields. The grounds were beautifully manicured by Mason, the butler, and his crew of housekeepers. Everything from roses and tulips to snapdragons and irises filled the gardens, but there was no life to any of it. The other farms around Laurel Grove were surrounded by lush, perennial blooms of azaleas, impatiens, dogwoods, and live oak trees, with texture and depth to the plantings that gave the homes character and an old, Southern feel. While Edward’s house was immaculate in every way, it was void of that timeless beauty that defined Fairington and Middleton. Every time the big, wooden door creaked opened, it was as though Angelina was walking into a prison.

  “Oh, Miss Raeford!” Mason said, his dark face lighting up with a big smile that revealed one missing tooth. “You come at jus’ the right time. Mr. Edward’s on the back terrace restin’ ’fore he has his supper. Come on in.”

  As she stepped across the threshold, Angelina felt the cold, chill in the air and the echo of emptiness. The door shut behind her with a boom, reverberating into her bones. “Thank you, Mason,” she said, trying to steady her nerves. “It is good to see you. You doing all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Got a little back trouble and pain in the knees when it rains, but otherwise, I’m all right.” She followed him through the expansive foyer that was filled with Edward’s collection of Italian art, English weaponry, and hunting trophies. A rich tapestry of a Franciscan monk hung on a mahogany paneled wall near the staircase, and above it were two sixteenth century French daggers with ivory handles hanging in a cross pattern. Above the massive, stone fireplace was the head of a fourteen point stag whose eyes reminded her of Edward’s. Angelina couldn’t imagine living in such a dreary place.

  “That’s good to hear,” she said, being careful to step around the edge of a black bear-skin rug stretched out on the floor.

  “It’s Mr. Edward who ain’t all right. Not since you broke off the engagement. He’s been in a mood for weeks now. Bertie cooked up all his favorite foods and still, he ain’t no better. I sure hope you plan on settin’ things straight.” He gave her a sad look, almost pleading with her, which brought on a fresh wave of guilt.

  “We’ll see,” she said, trying her best to smile.

  He nodded and turned the latch to the large, wooden door that led to the terrace. Angelina noticed the head of a stray nail that had been pounded deep into the wood, a slight imperfection that had passed Edward’s notice. “I’ll get you a glass of iced lemonade,” Mason said as he swung the door open.

  Angelina wanted to tell him she wasn’t thirsty, but suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the room, taking her words with it. A long strand of hair blew across her face, threatening to steal her resolve, but she simply brushed it behind her ear, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

  Edward sat in a wooden plantation chair on the stone terrace with his black riding boots propped up on the balcony railing, staring out into the open fields. The late afternoon sun enhanced the color of the lush, green fields, which were bordered by a thick row of live oaks on either side. A number of horses romped through the grass, some feeding, while others trained in the rings. The sight of so many sleek, beautiful animals was breathtaking to Angelina, and yet, there was a cold, deadness to the setting that mimicked the lifelessness of the house.

  Edward didn’t move a muscle but sat very still with his hands folded in his lap, staring into the distance. “Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  His eyes didn’t deviate from their cold stare, and for a moment, Angelina wondered if he knew to whom he was addressing. “Good evening, Edward.”

  He finally looked her way and smiled. The mustache was gone, leaving his face a smooth, golden brown that made him look years younger. His thick hair was wet and slicked behind his ears, indicating he had just washed, as evidenced by a waft of talcum powder that hung in the air. A clean, white shirt was open at the throat with a red, patterned neck scarf peeking through, and his dark riding trousers were tucked neatly into his boots, accentuating his long legs. Angelina thought he looked more like an English lord now than he did at the Promenade.

  “Yes, it is a good evening.” He stood to his feet and came toward her, smiling even more. “Is this business?” he asked, taking her hand. Then bringing her fingers to his lips he arched one eyebrow and a soft, warm look flashed through his eyes. “Or pleasure?”

  “You know it’s business,” she said, pulling her hand away before he could make contact.

  Immediately, his look darkened, and the cold stare returned. “I hear your heathen stall-shoveler has gotten himself into a heap of trouble.”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  His eyes roamed over her face and hair, taking a full examination. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “He can’t ride the Challenge now—you know that—with his horse gone, and his leg all mangled.”

  “He w
as never gonna beat me at the Challenge,” Edward said, chuckling at this notion. She caught a whiff of brandy on his breath that smelled like it had just been consumed. “A shame, though. I figure that means I won’t get the pleasure of seeing him hightail it out of this town.” He smirked, flashing a set of white teeth. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find another way to send him back to those savages he comes from—once and for all.”

  “You’re the savage, Edward Millhouse.”

  “Am I?” His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, drawing her into his arms. She tried to pull away, but his grip was firm.

  “All he wants is his land,” she said, struggling against him. “You wanna sell it, then sell it to me.”

  Edward tossed his head back and laughed. “You? I’m not gonna sell it to you. I know for a fact you can’t afford it.”

  “You don’t know what I can’t afford.” She pushed him away, finally getting free. “Two hundred dollars an acre is what I heard from Sam Turner. I’ve already talked to my bankers, and they say I can borrow against Fairington with no trouble. They say they can draw up the papers in about a week.”

  “Well,” he said, returning to his plantation chair and easing into the seat. He propped his boots back on the balcony railing and stared out into distance once more. “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before you went off half-cocked, deciding you wanted to end our wedding engagement.”

  “Don’t use that kind of language with me—”

  “Your little charade made the price go up, sky-high,” he said, ignoring her objection.

  “Why do you care about that land? It’s sat there for years, wasting away,” she said, aware that her voice was taking on a shrill, high-pitched tone. “Everyone knows how you got it in the first place, even if you do say you bought it fair and square.” Her eyes bore down with a hard look, wanting to shame him into a confession. She had ignored the rumors floating around town about Edward and Ben’s mother and had never wanted to listen, purposely closing her ears. But now, for some reason, she knew—Edward Millhouse had done a terrible thing. “Don’t think you’re gonna get away with evil and not pay. Everyone knows what you did. The Lord knows.”