Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) by Caroline Friday

the
giant Goliath in the Old Testament with nothing but a rock and a belief in his
God. “Stay very still,” he whispered to Isabella. “It’s gonna be all right.”
    In the distance, a twig snapped and a horse screamed.
Adrenaline coursed through Ben’s veins, sending him running toward the sound
with the arrowhead wedged between his fingers. As swift as the wind, he
scurried through the brush, dodging trees and low-lying limbs, and leaping over
fallen logs. He saw the gray rump of the dappled mare prancing in a circle and the
black fur of the mountain lion lunge forward. A call rose up from somewhere
deep within him and came tumbling out—a Cherokee yell—as his arm slung back
behind his head and the arrowhead flew from his hand like a bullet, hitting the
cat behind the ear. It fell to the ground, writhing and twitching, its black
tail flapping back and forth like a decapitated snake.
    Ben rushed forward and shoved his boot on its neck, jerking
the arrowhead free. The cat growled, trying to get up, but Ben’s strength kept
it on the ground. He stared at it, hard, warning it with his prayers. “Go
back, back to your place,” he spoke in the language his mother had taught
him. “Into the night.” It growled again, reminding him of Edward Millhouse—strong,
dangerous, and deadly. He had heard his mother refer to the dark panther as a
wampus, or lord of the forest, who embodied the spirit of death
and the earth, and the sound of its cry meant someone was about to die.
    Even though Ben rejected these myths and legends, he sensed
death all around him. He could kill it if he wanted to. It would be so easy to
take a thick tree branch and sink it deep into the animal’s throat. Ben tasted
the bitterness of hate on his tongue—not for this wild creature, but for what was
done to him and his mother. Don’t. Don’t do it , a voice inside him said. Vengeance is mine. I will repay .
    As he listened, the bitterness dissipated, turning sour and
acidic. Carefully, he removed his foot and the cat scurried away, disappearing
into the trees. Ben grabbed the mare’s reins and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Fear came over him at the thought of how close he had come to doing the
unthinkable. Was he really capable of killing? Could he take the life of
another if given the chance? If he had killed that mountain lion, he would’ve
been justified, but it still would’ve been wrong. To hate in your heart is
murder , resounded in his mind.
    “Yes,” Ben answered, feeling guilt wash over him. It
wouldn’t have really been a wild animal he destroyed, but something or someone
else. Closing his eyes, he thought about the number of times he had murdered
Edward Millhouse with his thoughts, wishing him dead or dying a gruesome,
horrific death. How many times had he sinned for holding on to such hateful
imaginings? His gut justified his actions, but his heart condemned. The very
image of Edward lying on the ground with an arrowhead embedded in his skull and
a tree branch through his throat sent Ben to his knees right there in the
woods, begging God for forgiveness.

Chapter 12
     
     
    “Well, I’ll be,” Jessie said, leaning against the porch
railing and squinting at someone galloping across the open field toward
Fairington. “That’s Ben—and Isabella Richardson.”
    Angelina stood from the porch rocker and watched Ben ride
toward them on Mighty Wind, pulling a gray mare close behind. Isabella sat in
his lap with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Her head lay on his
shoulder with one of her ankles bandaged and bouncing up and down with each
stride of the horse. What in the world? A twinge of betrayal zipped
through Angelina at seeing him with another woman.
    Tom stepped toward the porch and wiped his brow with a blue
bandana he kept in his back pocket. “Looks like she’s hurt. Must’ve had a
fall.”
    “I’ll bet,” Angelina said under her breath as her eyes
narrowed, noticing how Isabella’s face brushed up next