To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  “He does want you here, Livvy.” Elizabeth’s expression changed, and Olivia knew whatever Elizabeth was about to say next was the unvarnished truth. “He was hesitant at first, I admit, with everything happening so quickly. But he’s warmed to the idea. Especially in the last day or two. And don’t you worry one bit about contributing, Livvy. You’ll do that simply by being with us.” Elizabeth gripped her hands. “So we’ll have no more talk of this, all right? Now … help yourself to the refreshments on the table over there. Susanna made her beaten biscuits with ham. They’re delicious. Then come on inside and we’ll show you to your room.”

  Not at all convinced, but grateful to have a place to call home, at least for now, Olivia nodded. “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth.”

  Ridley followed Olivia Aberdeen’s progress through the crowd, grateful for the vantage point the porch provided, as well as the partial concealment of a lilac bush. He still felt bad for her about the confusion over her welcome. But she’d received a cordial enough greeting from the first lady of Belle Meade, which surely made up for some of the disappointment.

  From what he’d witnessed, he’d have to say the two women were indeed close, as Mrs. Aberdeen had claimed. He’d also have to say there was more to Olivia Aberdeen than he’d originally thought upon first meeting. Not that he had any business thinking about the woman in the first place.

  Focusing on his task, he descended the porch stairs, both eager — and also not — to see if his reason for coming all this way was still here. He could’ve asked Mrs. Aberdeen, to see if she knew Robert Green, but Ridley didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. Not with her being so close to the Harding family.

  He cut a path around the crowd, instinctively keeping an eye on two people — Mrs. Aberdeen and General William Giles Harding. The general stood with a host of other suited men, nodding and accepting pats on the back while he admired his new thoroughbred. Harding appeared older than in the drawing that had circulated during the war, and — if his beard were any indication — even more stubborn.

  Ridley scanned the crowd, hopeful when he saw a group of Negro men gathered at another corral. He closed the distance, staying to the fringes and trying to think what he’d say to Robert Green when — if — he saw him again. He discreetly searched faces as he went, but none of them was Robert Green. His hope waned. He spotted a skinny boy carrying a load of wood. The lad was short and barefoot, his pant legs hovering above his thin ankles. But it was the cap the young boy wore tugged down close to his ears that was most distinguishing.

  Ridley approached. “Excuse me, young sir.”

  The boy stopped, looked at Ridley from beneath the curved bill of his old worn cap, then turned around and glanced behind him before speaking. “Is you aimin’ that talk my way, sir?”

  Ridley had to smile. “I am. I have a question for you.”

  The boy came closer. “Then I do my hardest to know the answer, sir.”

  “You know a man here by the name of Mr. Robert Green?”

  The boy cocked his head. “Can’t say I know nobody by that color name, sir.”

  “How long have you been here, son?”

  “Nigh onto a year. I come from Georgia, sir. With my mama. She be a dairy maid, workin’ with them cows. I work in the stables.” The boy’s chest puffed out. “I exercise them racehorses … When I ain’t totin’ wood or doin’ nothin’ else.”

  Feeling hope siphon away, Ridley thanked the boy and turned back to the estate. If the lad worked with horses and hadn’t heard of Robert Green, it pretty much depleted any hope of finding the man. Still, he’d come all this way.

  He saw two stables — one south of the mansion and one north — and was leaving no stone unturned. Since Belle Meade was a stud farm, he assumed one stable housed stallions. And the other, mares. He headed for the one closest to him.

  When he stepped through the open doors, his gaze was drawn upward to the massive beams that supported the weight of the high-pitched roof. This place looked more like a cathedral than a barn. He glimpsed a tack room off to his right and shook his head at the number of stables and abundance of horse tack. Saddles, bits, bridles, and blankets lined the walls and shelves, all neatly arranged and far finer than anything he’d ever owned.

  Numerous barrels containing feed, and others containing water, were set every few feet down the length of the building. He blew out a breath. These thoroughbreds lived better than most people he knew, himself included.

  “You got the general’s permission to be in here?”

  Ridley turned to see a man standing in the doorway of one of the stalls, a pitchfork in his grip and a squint of unwelcome in his eyes. Ridley quickly sized him up. The war had taught him many things, mostly how to read people, and rarely was he wrong. But the thing he noticed most about this fellow was how he resembled one of the corporals from that fateful night on the mountain, the first — and last — time he’d seen Robert Green. He wasn’t the same man, Ridley knew. And yet, staring at him, it felt like he was.

  Ridley felt an instant dislike for him, yet forced a pleasantness, reminding himself why he was here. “I’m wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for —”

  “I asked you … Do you got the general’s permission to be in here?”

  Ridley held his gaze. “No. I don’t. But all I’m looking for is —”

  “I know what you’re lookin’ for, stranger.” The man strode toward him. “Same as what that fella we caught sneakin’ round here last week was lookin’ for. You tryin’ to scout out what General Harding’s doin’ with his stock so y’all can take it back to Renfroe’s farm and give that ol’ man a leg up before the next race.” He came within a yard and stopped, pitchfork raised. “I got my pay docked for that, so y’all ain’t doin’ that on my watch, partner. Not again. You best turn around and use that door before I poke your belly full of holes.”

  Ridley held his ground and the man’s stare, knowing he shouldn’t. Men like this were animals. Edgy. Territorial. Easy to draw off. You stared at them long enough, they felt a challenge, and he could tell by the way the man fingered the pitchfork’s handle, turning it, working to get a better grip, that he was an easy mark. With steam to blow off. Ridley knew the feeling well. He also knew provoking this man wouldn’t serve his cause.

  He made a half-hearted attempt at a conciliatory tone. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble.” He laughed. “And I don’t even know who Renfroe is, much less —”

  The man lunged, pitchfork aimed chest high, and Ridley spun, wincing when one of the tines grazed his upper arm. So much for filling his belly full of holes. The fellow was about his height, heavier with muscle, but a little slower. With a sweeping motion, Ridley undercut his legs, and the man went down hard on his back, dropping the pitchfork. But he didn’t stay down.

  Ridley kicked the pitchfork aside, dropped his pack, and braced himself as the man came at him. Momentum drove them backward, and Ridley slammed into a wall. The back of his head smacked with a thud he knew he’d feel later, and a horse let out a high-pitched whinny somewhere behind him.

  He shoved the man back with force. “Listen to me! I’m here looking for Robert Green, that’s all. And I —”

  The fellow came at him again, swinging hard. His fist connected with Ridley’s jaw, and Ridley would’ve sworn the guy’s hand was made of granite. He shook off the buzz from the blow and swung with his left — intentionally missed — then jammed a right hook square into the man’s chin. The man’s head whipped back. He staggered, dazed and bloody, but still didn’t go down.

  Ridley flexed his hand, shaking off the sting, starting to enjoy this a little, though he knew he shouldn’t.

  The man wiped his face, blood oozing from a gash on his chin. “I’m gonna show you what we do to cheats and thieves around here.”

  “I’m not a cheat. And I’m not here to steal anything either. I told you … I’m here to see Robert Green. If you’ll just —”

  The man came at
him again.

  “Grady Matthews!”

  The man skidded to a halt, his focus beyond Ridley now, enraged. Ridley, his breath coming hard, turned to glimpse who was back there, while still keeping an eye on this Grady Matthews, just in case.

  Chapter

  FIVE

  Ridley blinked and wiped sweat from his forehead, surprised when his hand came away bloody, but even more surprised by the emotion tightening his throat. A slightly older looking — and unarguably livid — Robert Green strode toward them, clad in a white apron, a slight limp hindering his gait.

  “What in tarnation is goin’ on in here? Grady, you best start talkin’ or I’m goin’ to the general. And this time, he’ll send you packin’!”

  “U-uncle Bob,” the man sputtered, pointing to Ridley, who took notice of the name he used. “It’s another one from Renfroe’s camp, come to spy us out!”

  Robert Green turned dark eyes on Ridley. “Is that true, sir?”

  “No, sir,” Ridley said. “It’s not.”

  “Then what’s your business here?”

  Ridley didn’t detect even a hint of remembrance in the man’s expression. He knew he’d changed some. Lost weight, mainly, which he was working to gain back. That, along with the muscle — not easy to do with meat so scarce and expensive. “I’m actually here to speak with you, Mr. Green, about …” He hesitated, glancing at Grady. “About a private matter, sir.”

  Green studied him a minute. “Grady, go wash up. Then see Rachel about sewin’ up that chin again.”

  Grudgingly, Grady took his leave, throwing Ridley a scathing glare that said this wasn’t finished yet. Ridley returned it.

  “You said a private matter, sir,” Green continued once they were alone, his tone suspect, his expression still void of recognition.

  Even so, Ridley felt a lightness he couldn’t quite account for. Seeing this man was like seeing an old friend again. And friends were something he’d been running mighty low on lately. “It’s been a long time, Mr. Green.” He cleared his throat, his voice not sounding like his own. “But I still remember your coffee, sir. And the venison you shared with me that night … on the mountain,” he added softly. “Best I’d had in a while. And ever since too.”

  Green’s eyes narrowed, causing the traces of wiry gray in his bushy brows to stand out even more. “Sweet Jesus,” he finally whispered. “It can’t be.” He searched Ridley’s face, warmth moving in behind his eyes. “Lieutenant Cooper? Is that you behind all that hair and them whiskers?”

  Smiling, Green extended his hand and Ridley gripped it tight. For several heartbeats, Ridley just stared at their clasped hands, thinking how long it had been since he’d seen this man and how much had happened. And what he’d come to ask him.

  Green’s hold tightened. “Every day I prayed for you, sir, ‘til the war was done, and then after too, askin’ God to pay back the kindness you showed me. But …” He laughed, his gray-touched beard pulling taut on his chin. “I can’t believe you’s standin’ here. Right here in front of me now.” He exhaled. “God kept you safe. Yes, sir, he did. Just like I asked him to.”

  Ridley released his hand, the warmth he’d felt cooling a mite. “I appreciate your prayers, Mr. Green. But …” He exhaled a quick breath, looking to make sure they were alone. “I’d hardly call the time I spent at Andersonville ‘God keeping me safe.’”

  Green regarded him, his features going solemn, and Ridley gathered he’d heard of the place.

  “How long was you there, sir?”

  “Fourteen months. They held me at Richmond first, then moved me down to Georgia when the prison opened come spring.”

  “How’d they get you?”

  “Ambushed me the morning I left you. On my way down the mountain.”

  The lines wreathing Green’s eyes and mouth deepened. “Andersonville,” he whispered, looking away. “The general don’t speak much to me ‘bout the war. But sometimes, when men he served with are here, like today, there’s talk among ‘em. So I heard things ‘bout that place.” He looked back at Ridley, his gaze unflinching. “I’m sorry you was there, sir, and that they got you like they did. Sorry as I can be.”

  Ridley appreciated the honesty in Green’s response, yet it made him uncomfortable, eager to change the subject. “What happened to you? After that night?”

  “I kept the general’s favorite thoroughbreds hidden ‘til the end of the war. I still had to move ‘em ‘round from time to time, but them horses — the ones you let me keep — they’s the reason Belle Meade’s doin’ so good right now, sir. Cuz the general had somethin’ to start with after the war, thanks to you.”

  Ridley shook his head. “Belle Meade’s success right now is due to you, Mr. Green. Not only because of what you did for the general, but because of your gift with horses. I saw it that night in the way you handled the thoroughbreds. I have to admit, though …” Ridley smiled. “It sorta spooked me at first, seeing how they just came to you like that. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  Green bowed his head. “Thank you, sir. That’s mighty kind of you, but … it ain’t me. I’s just doin’ what God put me here to do, that’s all.”

  The statement struck a chord inside Ridley, and he remembered what Green had told him about his mother finding him in the barn sleeping with the horses when he was just a boy. Ridley also knew, without a doubt, this was where he was supposed to be — for now, at least. Learning from Robert Green.

  He only hoped Mr. Green would agree.

  A horse whinnied in the stall beside them and poked its head through the opening. Ridley thought he recognized the black stallion. “Olympus?” he asked.

  “Good memory, Lieutenant.” Green walked over and gave the animal’s neck a good scratching. He looked back at Ridley. “I’s sure glad to see you again, but what brought you all this way? Didn’t you say you was from South Carolina?”

  Ridley told him about returning home, about learning his younger brothers had been killed and about his father. “He was a skeleton of the man I’d left four years earlier, his body all eaten up with tuberculosis. And he —” The words caught in Ridley’s throat. “He was still just as bitter toward me, even in the end.”

  “For the choice you made,” Green said quietly.

  Ridley nodded, able to see, even now, how his father had looked up at him from his deathbed. That same old ache began to throb again. “I think he blamed me for my brothers’ deaths too. Putting myself in his place, I might have felt the same.”

  Seconds passed in silence, bits of indistinct laughter and conversation drifting in through the open entry.

  “What about your mama?”

  “She died a few years back, giving birth to a little girl. They both went together. Preacher said it kind of seemed fitting to him, but … I didn’t much believe that. Still don’t.” Ridley shifted his weight, again eager to get onto another topic. “A little over two months ago, my father died. I buried him, sold the house and what little was left of the farm, and set out.”

  “Where you headed?”

  “West, eventually. Colorado Territory. But I need something first — from you, Mr. Green. If you’re willing.”

  Green’s brow furrowed.

  Ridley took a breath, focusing all his hope. “I’ve come here to ask you if you’ll show me how to handle horses. How to work with them like you do. How to make them do what you want.”

  Green’s laughter was immediate and full. “Lawd, sir … I’d sooner get my wife to do what I want than I could these blood horses. If I had a wife. Which I don’t.” His smile waned, but the spark in his eyes didn’t. “I don’t make these horses do anything, sir. I just listen to ‘em, let ‘em tell me what they need to. Then I help ‘em do what God created them to do. Run, strong and hard. Fast as the wind.”

  Ridley stepped closer to the stall door. “Can you teach me how to do that? How to” — he felt a little silly actually saying the words — “listen to them like you do?”

&nbs
p; Green sighed. “I ain’t never had anybody ask me that before. Shoot …” He shook his head. “I ain’t even sure it’s somethin’ I can teach. And what’s more” — his expression grew serious — “I’m not sure you’s ready to learn … sir.”

  “But I am ready. I’ve come all this way. And …” Ridley hadn’t spoken of this to anyone, and talking about it now brought back memories he wished would stay buried. “When I was at Andersonville … thinking about this, about learning from you, Mr. Green … it’s all that kept me going some days. That, and the dream of getting out of there and leaving the South for good.”

  For the longest time, Green didn’t speak, didn’t even look at Ridley. He just kept rubbing the horse’s forehead. Finally, he lifted his gaze. “I’m guessin’ you know how the general feels about things. With the war, I mean. And the Federal Army.”

  Ridley thought of General Harding’s beard and of what Olivia Aberdeen had told him about it. He also considered the risk Robert Green would be taking if he said yes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered it before. He had. He’d just never done it while in the company of the man himself, and the close proximity brought the risks into a harsher light.

  Ridley picked at a knothole in the side of the stall. “I don’t figure General Harding would take kindly to the idea of me being here.”

  “Lieutenant Cooper, that don’t even come close to the truth. If I was to say yes to you and the general was to learn who you are — or were …” Green exhaled. “We’d both be long gone from here. Maybe end up dead somewhere too. Not by the general’s hand. He ain’t that kind of man. But some of the others ‘round here … They hold a grudge for a mighty long time.” He sighed, rubbing his beard. “I been here at Belle Meade all my life. Everybody I know is here. I got nowhere else to go, sir. And I don’t want to. This here’s my home.” His hand stilled on the horse. “And … if the general see fit to lettin’ me stay, I wouldn’t mind dyin’ here neither.”