She said nothing, and Ridley realized he’d been going on like some old woman. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Cooper.” The perplexed look on her face slowly gave way to a smile. “I envy you.”
He recalled what she’d said about never wanting to leave Tennessee. “You envy me my dream, Mrs. Aberdeen?”
Her smile faded. “I envy you having one.”
“Now take it slow this time, Ridley.” Uncle Bob spoke in a hushed tone, adjusting his weathered black derby on his head. Sweat from the afternoon sun moistened his face. “Like I done told you … don’t rush it. Give her time.”
Ridley wiped the perspiration from his brow, heeding Green’s advice — or trying to — just as he’d been doing every afternoon for the past two weeks. They’d managed to meet regularly enough, but never for very long. Work in the stables always kept coming. At this rate, he wondered if his plan to be here only a month — six weeks at most — had been too shortsighted.
Taking a deep breath, he eyed the mare and lowered his head a little, like Uncle Bob had instructed. A friendly act, he’d called it. Then, keeping eye contact with her, he inched forward, still believing he could do this. But his patience was wearing thin. He was beginning to think that learning this “gift” was going to take much longer than planned.
Seabird took a cautious step backward, the corral fence behind her. Her ears pricked like they had when Uncle Bob put the harness on her. Uncle Bob was the only one she would let come close so far. Nobody else.
“Real gentle like,” Uncle Bob urged behind him. “So she knows you don’t mean to hurt her.”
Resisting the unexpected urge to say, I heard you the first twenty-seven times, Ridley slowly brought his hand up, determined to make this horse trust him. To show her that if she’d just let him —
The mare pawed the ground and snorted.
“Come on, girl,” he whispered, tired of her mulishness. He’d only treated her well, so she had no reason to distrust him. “It’s all right. I just want to —” He reached for the harness and the horse reared, a hoof slicing the air inches from his face. He ducked to one side, then backed away, biting back a harsh word. His last thread of patience snapped. “Did you see that?!”
Uncle Bob raised his eyebrows, as if surprised at the outburst. “Mmm-hmm … I saw it.” He took a long drink of water from his tin cup. “Thought I told you to take it slow.”
Ridley stared hard. “I did take it slow.” His jaw hurt he was clenching it so tightly. “She’s just plain mean, that’s what it is. Mean and ornery.”
The mare blew out a breath that resembled a snorting laugh, and Ridley eyed her.
Uncle Bob sighed. “Take five minutes to cool down.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need —”
“I said … take five minutes to cool down.”
Ridley strode to a bucket of fresh water he’d brought out earlier, downed a few ladles, then tilted his head back and doused himself with the rest, aware of Uncle Bob doing the same a few feet away. Ridley heaved a sigh, not welcoming this challenge like he’d thought he would, nor this short fuse on his patience. It reminded him of former years and a part of himself he thought he’d left behind.
Not a breath of wind stirred. He wondered what the weather was like in the Colorado Territory and wished he was already there. But, surprisingly, thinking of being there made him think of somebody he would miss a little if he were.
He looked toward the house, figuring she was inside tending to Mrs. Harding. He’d only seen her a handful of times in recent days, but he found himself watching for her, hoping to run into her, which didn’t happen often since he mainly worked in the stables and that was the very last place Olivia Aberdeen wanted to be.
She’d informed him she would be serving as a companion to Mrs. Harding, at least for the time being. Forced enthusiasm had colored her tone when she’d told him about her new position, and he wondered if that’s what had prejudiced his opinion about it. Being a companion to a lady was an admirable occupation for a young woman. But he sensed Olivia Aberdeen wanted more out of life than that. Whether she knew what that was yet or not. What she’d said the other day had returned to him, again and again: I envy you having one.
A dream, she meant.
He hung the empty bucket back on the fence post, thinking of the advertisement he’d torn from the paper a day earlier. He might be chasing a wild hare, but it was an opportunity he’d thought she might like. He didn’t know if her duties with Mrs. Harding would allow it, but it was worth a shot.
Hearing steps behind him, he turned.
Uncle Bob’s gaze was firm. “You ain’t earned her trust yet, Ridley. That’s the reason she reared up on you. You can’t do nothin’ ‘til you earn her trust.”
Glancing back at the mare, Ridley exhaled a spent breath, wishing he could be rid of his frustration so easily. “I’ve fed her. I’ve watered her. I’ve helped you change her poultices — while managing to dodge her hooves.” He leveled a stare. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do, Uncle Bob. But she still isn’t warming up to me. Or haven’t you noticed?”
Uncle Bob looked at him a long moment. “I told you from the start … this ain’t gonna be easy. I told you it was gonna take some time too. And you said to me, ‘Time is somethin’ I —’”
“I know what I said to you, Uncle Bob. I was there, remember?”
“I ain’t sure you was. Cause this man I’s seein’ now,” he said, pointing at Ridley’s chest, “ain’t the man who asked me to teach him. All this man before me wants is to get what he come for and then hightail it outta here, headin’ west.” Uncle Bob narrowed his eyes. “You tell me that ain’t right.”
Ridley ran a hand over his beard, an ache starting at the back of his head. And in the pit of his gut.
“Hey! Uncle Bob!”
Ridley turned, and — seeing who it was — his mood went from bad to worse. Grady Matthews stalked toward them. With the exception of Grady Matthews and two or three of the men Grady consorted with, Ridley got along with everyone. More than got along, actually. But Grady flat rubbed him the wrong way.
As the man got closer, Seabird trotted to the opposite side of the corral. Open dislike showed in Grady’s face, which didn’t bother Ridley a bit. For reasons right or wrong, he returned the sentiment.
Grady gestured. “Uncle Bob, Mr. Ruel just arrived with his mare. We need to know where you want to put her. He’s also wantin’ to know when she’s gonna get covered.”
“Put her in number seven. And tell him his mare ain’t meetin’ Jack Malone ‘til the general has his hundred dollars in hand and I know for sure she’s healthy. I’ll be there directly.”
Grady nodded and shot a look at Seabird then back at Ridley. “Me and some of the boys are takin’ bets she splits your skull before you’re done.”
Ridley forced a smile. One good punch. Just one. “How’s that jaw doing, Grady?”
The man’s smile vanished, which only encouraged Ridley’s.
“Grady.” Uncle Bob stepped forward. “Mr. Ruel’s waitin’.”
With a final glare, Grady stalked off.
One look at Uncle Bob and Ridley’s smile flattened out. He didn’t care for the shadowed look in the man’s eyes. Made him feel like a recalcitrant youth.
Ridley grabbed a rope and started walking. “I’ll see if I can coax her back over here. If not, maybe we should think about using another horse.”
“Leave her! We done for today.”
Bob Green’s clipped response brought him around. “We’re done? But you said —”
“I said we’s done!”
Ridley stared for a second, then trailed Uncle Bob to the gate. “What are you upset about?”
“The problem ain’t the horse, Ridley. You’s the problem, sir.”
Ridley could only stare. Grady Matthews could’ve punched him square in the jaw and he could’ve taken it standing. But hearing Bob Green speak tho
se words about him threatened to buckle his confidence. Not that he was about to show it.
“What do you mean I’m the problem? I’m doing everything you’ve told me to do.”
“No you ain’t. You ain’t listenin’ to me. Oh, you say you is. But I can see inside that head o’ yours. You’s talkin’ up a storm in there. And that horse, she hears it too.”
The muscles in the back of Ridley’s neck started to tighten up, making his head hurt worse.
“She ain’t only listenin’ to what you sayin’ here.” Uncle Bob touched his own mouth. “She listenin’ to what you sayin’ here.” He pointed his index and middle finger at Ridley’s eyes, then laid a hand over the vicinity of his heart. “And here. But you …” Uncle Bob exhaled. “You’s just so busy talkin’. Just like with Grady there.”
Ridley held up a hand. “He’s the one who —”
“You was talkin’ on the inside ‘fore he even got close. I ain’t sayin’ he’s in the right. He ain’t. But the truth of it is …” Uncle Bob glanced around, then looked back, his brow furrowed. “You’s better than that, sir,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I know you is. That’s the only reason I said yes when you asked me to teach you. Men like Grady” — he shook his head — “they could barely find their way out of a feed sack. But you …” He looked at Ridley with eyes so intent, so kind. “You’s different, sir. I knew it that night on the mountain,” he whispered. “And I know it now. Don’t go provin’ me wrong.”
Ridley said nothing as Uncle Bob walked away, unable to describe what he was feeling.
Even as he lay in bed that night, in the upper loft of one side of the cabin, staring out the window at a thumbnail moon, he still couldn’t define it. And the statement Uncle Bob had made before retiring didn’t help: You got to want this, Ridley. You gotta want it more than anything.
Sleep a long distance off, he made his way noiselessly down the ladder into the lower room of the cabin and into the dogtrot, careful not to wake Uncle Bob, whose soft snores came from a corner bunk.
Once outside, Ridley eased down onto the porch steps and stretched his legs out, willing some of the restlessness in him to calm. The night air was still warm, but a whisper of wind against his bare chest provided a welcome respite. He rubbed a hand over his beard and listened as the chirrup of crickets and the rustle of a breeze through the grass played a familiar, even comforting, melody.
It reminded him of the recent Sunday morning when he’d heard songs in the distance, coming from a gathering down near the servants’ cabins. Uncle Bob had asked him to go along, saying Susanna, Betsy, and the others would be there. But he’d declined. Still, he’d enjoyed listening to the songs from afar. Some of them comforting in melody, even though he couldn’t make out the words. Other songs he’d recognized from younger, more innocent years.
He glanced toward the big house, as Uncle Bob called it, and noticed the solitary glow of lamplight coming from a window above the kitchen. Apparently someone else couldn’t sleep either. He wondered which bedroom belonged to Mrs. Aberdeen and if she ever had trouble sleeping at night.
The light from the second story bedroom went dark, and somehow the night around him felt emptier. Lonelier. And the dream of the Colorado Territory another world away.
What if he couldn’t learn what he needed to learn by the time the end of June came around? He had the chance to own a thoroughbred in Seabird, if he could get her well and running and tamed again, which was an opportunity worth taking. He also needed what Uncle Bob could teach him too.
So many threads to tie together in so short a space of time, and he’d been living with this dream forever it seemed. Feeling an unexpected pang in his chest, he searched the night sky, a knot forming at the base of his throat. For the longest time, he’d known with the fullest certainty God had forgotten about him. Had forgotten about them all. That he’d just up and left this big mess of a world behind. Ridley swallowed, remembering the endless string of months at Andersonville — his belly empty for days on end, his flesh cold as a corpse’s when winter came.
Then on his way to Belle Meade, as he’d been coming through Atlanta, witnessing Sherman’s destructive path, he’d heard a street preacher. The man had said something that had not only stuck with him, but had somehow worked its way deep inside: God never leans over the balcony of heaven and gasps.
The idea had struck him as funny at the time, but the more he’d thought about it, the more he liked the idea — that nothing ever surprised the Almighty — and he hoped it was true. Because if it was, then maybe it meant God was still watching and maybe there was a reason behind some of the things that happened. Not all, probably. God couldn’t be expected to take all the blame. Men had made a fairly good mess of things, after all.
You’s different, sir. I knew it that night on the mountain … And I know it now. Don’t go provin’ me wrong.
What Uncle Bob had said drifted toward him in the dark, and Ridley sighed. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and he knew in that moment what he’d felt when Bob Green had spoken those words.
Humbled. And it was a different feeling for him.
A part of him had been ashamed, while a greater part of him had wanted — and still did — a chance to prove himself. To show Uncle Bob he wasn’t wasting his time. Ridley ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. There used to be a day when a man wouldn’t have spoken to him like Uncle Bob had and stayed standing. But somehow it was different hearing it from Bob Green. An iron grip worked its way around his throat, and Ridley slowly realized part of the reason why he’d come all this way — walked over five hundred miles from the South Carolina coast to get back to this place.
He not only wanted to learn what Bob Green had to teach him, he wanted Bob Green to be proud of him. Something his own father — with his dying breath — had made clear he hadn’t been.
Chapter
FIFTEEN
With June all but upon them, May was making its last stand a warm one. Sitting with Elizabeth in the shade of the front porch, Olivia stifled a yawn. As was becoming habit, she’d stayed up much later the previous night than she should have, unable to sleep. A comment the general had made in passing at dinner had been the culprit last night. A remark about hosting a dinner party for some of his older, unmarried colleagues.
At least she thought he’d made the remark in passing. That’s what had kept her awake. She wasn’t sure.
“If I’m not mistaken, Livvy, this last letter brings me current on my correspondence.” Elizabeth’s tone held contentment. “Thank you, dear.”
“My pleasure, Aunt.” Olivia fanned the last page of the letter, making certain the ink was dry before she folded the pages and slipped them into the envelope. She counted the remaining pieces of stationery in Elizabeth’s writing basket. “Aunt Elizabeth, you only have nine sheets left. I’ll order more, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, dear. You’re so organized, Livvy.” Elizabeth peered over at her. “And so attentive to details. I was telling the general that just yesterday.”
Questioning the catlike smile curving Elizabeth’s mouth, Olivia gave a tiny shrug. “I am my mother’s daughter.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened. “Yes, you are, dear. And though I don’t think I’ve told you this,” Elizabeth said, eyes crinkling at the corners, “sometimes when I look at you, I see Rebecca. In years past.”
Olivia smiled, warmed by the thought. And by seeing who had just exited the stable and was headed toward a corral: Mr. Ridley Cooper.
Carrying a rope and some gear, he opened the gate to the corral, moving with such confidence and authority, an unassuming fluidity about his actions. She hoped the horse training was going well, but from what little she’d glimpsed, she had her doubts. Unless standing and staring at a horse and having it stand and stare back at you was considered forward progress.
She felt a slight regret for having spoken the way she had to him at the creek that day, especially since s
he’d been mistaken about his intent. She wasn’t accustomed to speaking her mind, much less so plainly, but Ridley Cooper seemed to bring that out in her.
And she had to admit — even if it wasn’t all that ladylike — it had felt rather good.
Watching him, she thought again of how far away the Colorado Territory was. She’d checked a map to be sure and four of her fingers had fit in the distance spanning from here to there. Even on the map, it looked so different from Tennessee. Only a year ago, or maybe it was two now, she remembered reading in the newspaper about Indian wars in the Colorado Territory. The savages had attacked a town and, in turn, the settlers had retaliated. The descriptions in the newspaper had been graphic.
And yet, that’s where Ridley Cooper wanted to go.
He wanted to start a ranch out there. Without question, he’d see his dream to fruition. She could tell by the fire in his eyes when he’d spoken about it. Despite her reservations about him and how he tended to rub her the wrong way, he impressed her as a man who, when he saw something, went after it. And got it. Much like another man she knew at Belle Meade.
Like a stubborn tide, a recurring thought rose again, one she’d pushed aside multiple times in recent days: she had no dream for her life. Not like Ridley Cooper did. And knowing that only stirred the unsettling restlessness inside her.
Her focus shifted to the man following Mr. Cooper: Uncle Bob. He was leading a horse. Presumably the mare that had been injured in the carriage accident, if the horse’s bandaged leg was any indication. Olivia felt a shiver, glad to have some distance between her and that animal.
She felt a keen prick at her next thought. As soon as Ridley Cooper learned what he needed to from Uncle Bob, he’d be gone. She had to admit, doubtful as she’d been about Mr. Cooper on their first meeting, she’d found herself almost looking forward to the times they saw each other lately. And she enjoyed the chance to watch him from afar.
To Whisper Her Name Page 15
