To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  “Would you read more from that book to me, Livvy? The one we started yesterday?”

  Her attention nudged back to her aunt, Olivia nodded, still keeping an eye on Ridley Cooper. “Certainly, Aunt Elizabeth.”

  Leaning forward in the rocker, she retrieved the book, frowning at the cover the same way she had the first time she saw it. The image on the front was a picture of a rope looped in a very peculiar fashion — a knot in the making, she guessed — and below it the very simple and un-enticing title: The Horse, by William Youatt and John Stuart Skinner.

  She’d thought American Turf Register and Sporting Magazine had been an odd choice for Elizabeth. But this? “You’re certain you wouldn’t prefer a novel, Aunt Elizabeth? I could check your library, see what’s there. Perhaps something you haven’t read yet.”

  “No, no.” Elizabeth laughed. “This one’s fine, dear. The general has read it many times. It’s a favorite of his.”

  Olivia nodded. Of course it is. She settled back in her chair. “And you’re certain you’re not too warm? Or wouldn’t like more tea?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine. But this new chaise is splendid.” Elizabeth stretched her legs out on the overlong chair and arranged her skirt over her ankles. “I’m glad the general paid me no mind when I told him I thought this was needless.”

  Olivia only smiled, not about to admit that after Elizabeth’s objection, the general had dismissed the idea of purchasing the chair. He’d placed the order only after Olivia had gone to him privately and insisted the chaise would be of benefit.

  Following Elizabeth’s fainting spell, the family doctor had ordered a week’s bed rest. This past week he’d approved Elizabeth to rise and move about the house for a couple of hours each day, which included coming outside to sit.

  Olivia opened to the page holding the marker. Yesterday Elizabeth had requested she read the preface, so they hadn’t gotten far. “Chapter One,” Olivia read now, ready to infuse enthusiasm into the text that she was certain it would lack. “‘The Horse in England and America, as He Has Been, and as He Is.’” Truly? She stifled a sigh. A novel would have been so much better. “‘Of all the beasts of the field, which, as we are told, the Lord formed out of the earth and brought unto Adam to see what he would call them, none has more engaged the attention of the historian and the philosopher — none has figured more in poetry and romance — than the horse …’”

  She glanced up as she read, watching Mr. Cooper who, none too surprisingly, was standing in the middle of the corral looking at the horse. Not wanting to give Elizabeth the impression she was disinterested in the book, she alternated reading a line or two with watching the events in the corral. Each time she looked up it was to find the horse and Mr. Cooper still staring at each other, Uncle Bob off to one side.

  Mr. Cooper would take a few steps forward, then stop. The horse would take a few steps back and stop. It was like a dance. Only … not.

  After reading two more paragraphs, Olivia looked up to see Mr. Cooper kneeling down, his hand outstretched to the horse. The mare just stood, staring at him. She smiled, the scene so comical. But it was also sweet, in a sense. Until she remembered how close that horse had come to biting her. She hoped Mr. Cooper knew what he was doing.

  She read a few more lines, ending a particularly long paragraph with a flourish, then looked over to catch Elizabeth’s reaction, only to find her aunt’s eyes closed, her head resting against the cushion.

  Marking their place in the book, Olivia rose from her chair, slipped the book in the basket, and decided to get a closer look at Ridley Cooper and that mare.

  Wanting to appear as if she were simply out on a stroll instead of coming to see him, Olivia took an indirect path to the corral, around a rose garden on the north side of the house. As she drew closer, she slipped behind a dogwood tree, welcoming its partial privacy. She heard Uncle Bob speaking, his voice soft.

  “There you go, Ridley. That’s better.”

  She looked to see what the head horse trainer was referring to, but again, all she saw was Mr. Cooper kneeling, holding out his hand, a good six feet from the horse that looked ready to bolt at any second. And then …

  The horse took a step toward him. Just one, so tentative. The mare shook her head from side to side and whinnied, then looked at Mr. Cooper straight on.

  “It’s all right, girl,” he whispered. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  Olivia couldn’t see his face, but she heard a smile in his voice. She also sensed fear in the horse’s stance, in the way it pawed the ground. The horse looked over in Bob Green’s direction, and although Olivia knew it was silly, she would’ve sworn the mare was looking at Uncle Bob to see what he thought about Ridley Cooper.

  The horse inched forward. Closer, closer …

  Only three feet separated man and beast now. Olivia silently cheered the animal on. She didn’t like horses. But even more, she disliked seeing someone — something — so afraid.

  “That’s it,” Mr. Cooper spoke softly. “You can do it, girl …”

  Ever so slowly, he rose, hand still outstretched. The mare’s ears pricked. Then it lunged forward — only a foot — snorting and pawing the ground. Olivia’s breath clamped tight in her throat. If she’d been Ridley Cooper, she would’ve run screaming for her life.

  But he didn’t move.

  He stood motionless, his head slightly lowered — his hand still outstretched — his attention anchored on the mare. As quickly as the horse had lunged, it quieted, and they just stood staring at each other.

  Something about the scene brought a warmth to Olivia’s eyes, and when Mr. Cooper inched his hand closer, part of her wanted to say, “No, don’t. Not yet.”

  But it was too late.

  The mare bolted and ran full out to the other side of the corral. Olivia’s heart squeezed tight. Especially when she saw Mr. Cooper bow his head.

  She stepped out from the tree, and Uncle Bob turned. She’d only met the man once, in the kitchen one morning when he and Mr. Cooper were having breakfast, and he’d seemed as nice in person as she’d imagined him to be at first glance.

  Uncle Bob tipped his black derby. “Afternoon, Missus Aberdeen.”

  Ridley Cooper turned and saw her and gave a shy laugh. “Did you see all that?”

  Olivia debated, then nodded. “You almost had her convinced.”

  He dragged a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, almost doesn’t count for anything.”

  Uncle Bob briefly gripped his shoulder. “It’s a whole lot closer than where you were, Ridley. For both of you.” Tipping his hat to Olivia again, Uncle Bob headed in the direction of the mare.

  Mr. Cooper approached the fence. “What brings you out here, Mrs. Aberdeen? I thought you considered corrals and stables off limits.”

  “I do. That’s why I’m still staying a good ten feet on this side.”

  He gestured. “You can come closer. It’s all right.”

  Hearing the teasing in his voice, she shook her head. “I’m fine right where I am, thank you.”

  He gave her that smile, the one she was becoming more familiar with. As familiar as she could be considering that beard hid half his face. But as wild and wooly as Ridley Cooper appeared to be, she was beginning to think that beneath his rough exterior there might actually reside a caring man. Even if he did lack the manners and upbringing of a gentleman.

  “I’m glad you came out here.” He rested his forearms on the top rail. “I … ah, wanted to give you something.”

  She studied him, aware of how he was watching her, similar to how he’d watched the mare. “And just what would this something be, Mr. Cooper?”

  He reached into his shirt pocket, then hesitated. “I’m not fully sure why I did this, Mrs. Aberdeen.” He rubbed a hand over his beard. “I guess it was because of what you said the other day.” His voice lowered. “About envying my having a dream.”

  Her curiosity more than piqued, Olivia glanced at his shirt pocket.

&
nbsp; “I know you said you’re going to serve as Mrs. Harding’s companion, and I’m sure that’ll work out fine.” He nodded as though trying to assure her it would. “But when I saw this advertisement” — he withdrew a piece of newsprint from his pocket — “I thought the position might suit you. And that maybe you could do both.”

  Seeing the mare was a safe distance away, she closed the gap, took the clipping from him, and began to read.

  “The notice says twenty hours a week,” he continued, “but there at the bottom it says the hours are negotiable. Mornings or afternoons. If it’s something you’re even interested in.”

  Olivia nodded, feeling him watching her. She acted as though she were reading the verbiage again, when really she was buying time, thinking of what to say. She was touched he’d thought of her. More than touched, actually. But she knew something he didn’t. No family in Nashville would ever allow her to teach their children. Not in a school and certainly not in a tutoring position such as this.

  “You may not believe this, Mr. Cooper, but … teaching is something I wanted to do when I was younger. But when my father arranged …” She caught herself and glanced away, reaching for a pleasantness she didn’t feel. “When I married, of course, I put those plans aside.”

  He didn’t nod like people usually did in the ebb and flow of conversation, whether they agreed with what you were saying or not. He didn’t say anything. He simply watched her with those hazel-blue eyes, and she found it unnerving to be so closely regarded.

  She folded the clipping down the middle, watching the crease become more prominent with each pass of her thumb and forefinger. “And then of course there’s the business of getting to and from town, and I’d —”

  “Have to ride a horse,” he said matter-of-factly.

  She looked up, knowing better than to be startled by his directness. “I was going to say that I don’t wish to inconvenience the Hardings. But yes, that is a consideration too, and —”

  “I could take you, either on horseback or by carriage. I don’t mind. I’ve already spoken with Uncle Bob, and he seems to think we could work it out. We’d still need to run everything by the general to be sure. But” — his eyes narrowed playfully — “if those three boys who need tutoring also need to learn how to climb out a window, there’s nobody better to teach them than you.”

  Olivia tried to laugh, knowing he’d intended to be humorous, but she couldn’t. A bitter taste tinged her mouth. “You addressed this issue with someone else before addressing it with me, Mr. Cooper?”

  He stood a little straighter. His humor faded. “I wouldn’t call asking Uncle Bob if I could borrow a buggy to take you into town ‘addressing the issue with someone else,’ Mrs. Aberdeen. I was merely seeing if this would be a plausible opportunity before I presented it to you.”

  Olivia felt a heat building within. Charles had controlled everything for her from the very beginning — choosing what committees she would serve on and with whom, arranging her schedule, including who she could and couldn’t see, and when. Even demanding to approve her choice of gown for formal events they’d attended. She reminded herself this man wasn’t Charles, but despite that …

  Like morning dew beneath an August sun, every trace of gratitude within her evaporated. She looked at the advertisement clutched in her hand and saw it through different eyes. It hurt her cheeks to smile. “Thank you for thinking of me, Mr. Cooper, but I’m afraid this opportunity isn’t one I can pursue at this juncture.” She held it out.

  But he didn’t take it. He just studied her with a patience that wore hers thin. “Don’t you ever find that exhausting, Mrs. Aberdeen?”

  “Don’t I ever find what exhausting, Mr. Cooper?”

  “Being so proper all the time. Always having to say the right thing. Do the right thing.”

  She wished now that she’d never come down here. “I wasn’t attempting to be proper, Mr. Cooper. I was simply trying to express my gratitude for your kindness in —”

  “Well, you’re obviously not feeling too grateful right now, that’s fairly plain to see. The problem is, ma’am, I don’t know why. But I’d sure like to.”

  Chapter

  SIXTEEN

  The flush of Mrs. Aberdeen’s cheeks told him she was upset. But for the life of him, Ridley didn’t know why. He wasn’t about to take the advertisement back though. Not without her telling him the truth, which he sensed simmered just below that prim and proper exterior.

  “You’re mistaken, Mr. Cooper.” Her voice teetered on the edge of calm. “I am grateful to you, sir. But for reasons I’d rather not discuss, I simply cannot apply for this position.”

  She gave him a polite smile that made him want to climb over the fence. “Why can’t we at least discuss your reasons?”

  “Because I told you just now that I’d prefer not to. It’s my prerogative, as a lady, to —”

  “Is it because I spoke with Uncle Bob about the position first? Is that what has you all riled up?”

  “I’m not riled up, Mr. Cooper.”

  “Surely it’s not the comment about teaching the boys to climb through a window.”

  Her jaw clenched tight. “As I said, I’d prefer not to discuss my reasons, Mr. Cooper.”

  “Fine, Mrs. Aberdeen. But would you be kind enough to at least tell me what I said that upset you?”

  “I’m not upset.” Her mouth formed a tight curve.

  “Please.” He held up a hand. “Don’t smile at me like that. It doesn’t have the desired effect, I assure you.”

  Her politeness flattened. “And just what, may I ask, do you think is the effect I desire?”

  Finally, something he knew the answer to. Only, she wasn’t going to like it. “Your desire, Olivia Aberdeen, is that everything appear the way it should be, ma’am, instead of how it actually is.”

  Her mouth slipped open. “You have no right to —”

  “For instance,” he continued before she could protest, knowing she wouldn’t like being interrupted. Maybe if he got this woman angry enough, she’d let down that blasted guard of hers and he’d get a glimpse of who she really was. “When you’re asked a question, you respond in the way you think a ‘lady’ should, instead of honestly speaking your mind, which I believe you’re quite capable of doing, by the way. And,” he added, when she opened her mouth again, “you refuse to accept my assistance when climbing through a window, yet you’ll willingly climb through that same window yourself, as long as you think no one is watching.”

  Her eyes flashed, and he saw the sharp tip of truth hit its mark. He also knew if looks were fire, he’d be burned to a crisp right now.

  “As I was saying, Mr. Cooper —”

  “I’m not done yet, Olivia.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I don’t know why you didn’t get the position of head housekeeper here, but from what I’ve seen in you, ma’am, you’re smart and you’ve got spunk, which counts for a lot these days. And if I were over there right now …” He glanced at the fence separating them, hoping she’d hear the ‘olive branch’ in his tone. “I’d help you close that polite little mouth of yours.” He smiled when she clamped her pretty mouth shut. “That is, if I wasn’t afraid of losing a finger.”

  The hurt that slipped into her eyes told him the peace offering had floated right past her, and he felt bad now for trying to egg her on.

  She moistened her lips. “I’m pleased you find my predicament so amusing.”

  “No, ma’am.” Ridley looked at her straight on. “I never said that. All I said was —”

  “Let me be clear on a few things, Mr. Cooper.”

  Ridley felt his own eyes widen and closed his mouth with pleasure.

  “You have no right to speak to me in so casual a manner, sir.” Her voice, barely higher than a whisper, was tight with anger. “Our lack of acquaintanceship does not afford you the liberty to tell me what you think I should or should not do. To even suggest that you think you know what is best for me is beyo
nd the definition of absurdity. And arrogance.” Her chest rose and fell in quick succession. “I am more than capable of determining the course of my life, and I do not require your assistance in that regard.” She lifted her chin. “Nor do I desire it.”

  Proud of her in ways he couldn’t describe and intrigued by her all the more, Ridley took a step back from the fence to give her room. He had some idea about the kind of man her late husband had been from what Green had told him, and he’d pretty much drawn his own sketch from there. So even though it was only him and Olivia Aberdeen standing here, he couldn’t shake the feeling she was fighting with someone else.

  “Furthermore,” she continued, thrusting the folded newsprint toward him again, “I will thank you to take this advertisement and … and …”

  Seeing her struggling for the right words, he smiled. “Put it with the horse droppings?”

  She blinked, and her cheeks flushed a deeper crimson. She looked down as though just now realizing all she’d said, and from where he stood, Ridley found himself praying she wouldn’t back down. Not now. Not after having come this far. On the brink of saying something, he held back when she lifted her head.

  “You may put it wherever you like, Mr. Cooper.”

  As she strode back toward the house, triumph in her gait, Ridley watched the sway of her shapely hips and wasn’t nearly so bothered by the fact that he was going to be at Belle Meade a little longer than he’d planned.

  Something else occurred to him too.

  Although he respected a widow’s time to grieve, what if a particular widow didn’t necessarily need that time? What if her situation were different? He contemplated that, along with the bustle sashaying a right pretty little path away from him, and wondered … What would keep a man from testing those waters, stirring things up a little, just to see if there was interest there?