To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “It was terrifying!” She gave him a little shove in the chest. “But exciting too!” She untucked her skirt from her waistband and shook some fullness back into it.

  He bowed at the waist and offered his arm, pale moonlight illuminating his handsome face. “And now, m’lady … Would you care to accompany me on a walk?”

  Surprised at her own willingness to tuck her hand so easily through the crook of his arm, she did just that, enjoying the feel of the earth beneath her boots — something she doubted she’d ever take for granted again.

  They strolled around front of the darkened house, then by the gardens, keeping their voices low. The Belle Meade she knew by day seemed another world this time of night. Usually the grounds were bustling with activity, servants, and animals. But under the July moon, all was hushed. Only the occasional nicker of a thoroughbred drifted toward them from the stables. A quiet peace settled over the rolling waves of earth that gradually crescendoed to the hills surrounding the meadow, and Olivia drank it in. No wonder General Harding’s father had chosen this spot so many years ago.

  The darkness shifted up ahead, and Olivia stopped cold. “Ridley!” she whispered, tugging on his forearm. “I saw someone! Up by the smokehouse!”

  He covered her hand. “I saw him too. That was Big Ike Carter.”

  “Susanna’s husband?” He nodded.

  “What’s he doing out here at this time of night?”

  “He’s keeping watch.”

  She looked at him, not understanding.

  “Since the night of the fire, men have been patrolling the grounds at night. General Harding’s orders. At first, every man just took a turn at it. But that was hard … working the night shift, then your regular job the next day too. Someone suggested breaking the time into two shifts, and letting the men sign up to do it if they wanted. For pay. General Harding agreed. The men don’t earn much, but it’s enough to give them an incentive. And it’s worked out well so far. Big Ike’s taking the first shift tonight.”

  She frowned. “I’ve never seen any of these … sentries out after dark before.”

  “Good.” He resumed walking, and she did likewise. “That means we’re doing our job.”

  “So you take part in it as well?”

  “I did at first. But since we started compensating the men, I haven’t. I make a good enough wage already. Most of the men — the former slaves — don’t.”

  She didn’t have to think long before she realized something. “You’re the one who suggested the idea to the general, aren’t you?”

  He stared ahead, then finally nodded. “I believe a man should be paid a fair wage for honest work. No matter who that man is.”

  She studied his profile, something else occurring to her. “Were your parents abolitionists, Ridley?”

  “No. But they never owned slaves. Never had enough money to. Which suited me fine.”

  She turned these thoughts over, and as she and Ridley passed the smokehouse, she barely made out Big Ike’s mountainous form in the shadows at the far end. He tipped his hat in silent acknowledgement, and Ridley gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “So,” she continued, her curiosity roused, “as a Southern man, you fought in the war, all the while holding that slavery was wrong.”

  “I wasn’t the only Southern man to do that,” he said quietly.

  “No, I’m sure you weren’t. But you’re the only one I know.”

  He opened his mouth as if to respond, then apparently changed his mind.

  This was nice, strolling beside him. She enjoyed the feel of her hand tucked in his arm.

  “You’re enjoying teaching Jimmy and Jolene.”

  It wasn’t a question, and she nodded. “Very much.”

  “I’m glad. They seem to like it too.” He nudged her. “I told you you’d make a good teacher.”

  She grinned. “Yes, you did.” Spotting something ahead, she squinted to see it better, then gestured. “What happened to the other wheels?”

  Ridley stopped by the carriage, the one she’d arrived in on her first day at Belle Meade. “We stripped them a while back. Took off everything that was still salvageable. We’ll chop the rest and use it for kindling for the smokehouse.”

  Huddled in the dark, the dismembered carriage looked sad and squatty with its wheels gone, the good door too. Olivia walked around to the damaged side and peered in. The seats were absent as well. She ran a hand along the side that had been crushed by the impact, marveling again that she hadn’t fallen out.

  “Careful of splinters.” Ridley came alongside her. “It’s pretty chewed up on this side.”

  Briefly closing her eyes, she could still see the ground rushing up to meet her. “I remember the door flying open,” she said softly. “I still don’t know how I managed not to fall out.”

  She remembered the day Elizabeth had seen the extent of the damage and how shocked she’d been. “Aunt Elizabeth believes God closed the door for me. That he kept me safe for a reason. I’ve nearly come to believe she’s right.”

  Ridley’s silence proved even louder than the night’s.

  Finally, she turned to him. “You don’t agree?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Your silence suggested it.”

  He walked back around to the other side, pausing where the door had been.

  She peered through to him. “Do you not believe in God, Ridley?”

  “Oh, I believe in him, all right. It’s not that. It’s just …”

  She sensed his tension from where she stood.

  “I just think that crediting those kinds of things to the Almighty …” He shook his head. “Well, it may not always be the whole truth of the matter.”

  She frowned. “You don’t think God could have shut the door, if he’d wanted to?”

  “Of course, I do. I’m not saying he couldn’t have — or didn’t — work to keep you safe in this carriage that day. But knowing you like I’ve come to, my guess is that you were doing a pretty good job of trying to save yourself.”

  “Well, of course I was. But I saw that door come open, Ridley. I felt myself falling out.”

  “I don’t doubt that. But too many times in my life, I’ve heard people say, ‘Well, this happened for a reason, so it must be God’s will.’ When in my mind, I look at the situation and think maybe he’s just expecting them to get off their sorry —” He glanced away. “To stop sitting around waiting on him to do everything, and to get to work themselves to change things.”

  Olivia studied his profile in the moonlight, recalling what he’d said to the general earlier that evening. “Some things are the way they are because we’ve never changed them.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he nodded. “That’s right.”

  “General Harding obviously doesn’t believe that. Not in the same way you do, at least. But you knew that before you said it.”

  “I did.”

  “And yet you said it to him anyway.”

  “Because it needed to be said. I don’t think it’s fair to try to chalk up the way we choose to do some things as being according to some … divine plan. Same thing when certain things happen, like this.” He patted the side of the carriage. “Because a lot of what happens in this life is just dead wrong.”

  Pain etched his voice, as did a harshness, both of which Olivia understood — and shared. How many times had she questioned God’s fairness? It hadn’t been fair that Charles treated her the way he had. Yet God had seemingly looked the other way. Just like he had during the war and when the North had finally, and profoundly, proved victorious.

  Looking at Ridley now, she could almost see an invisible weight bearing down on him, and she wondered if the years of fighting were to blame. If the defeat of the Confederacy had done to him what it had to so many other Southern sons. Perhaps that was why he’d seemed so eager to leave the South at first. Yet she hadn’t heard any of that kind of talk
from him in a while.

  He walked back to where she stood. “I’m sorry, Olivia.” Frustration darkened his tone. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to walk with me tonight.”

  Funny, she was thinking the same thing. “That’s all right. I …” She shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the subject of —”

  “No … I want us to be able to talk about things. Even things we don’t agree about. Especially those things.”

  She nodded and bowed her head. But with a finger beneath her chin, he gently urged her gaze upward. He tugged a curl at her temple, like he might have done with little Jolene. And though it wasn’t an intimate gesture, something about it didn’t feel like that of a mere friend either.

  “Whether God closed that door,” he whispered, “or you did, or whether it was the two of you colluding together …” Warmth deepened his voice. “I’m grateful you’re still here, Olivia Aberdeen.”

  His simple admittance ignited a spark in her and made her feel appreciated, wanted.

  He offered his arm for a second time. “Would you allow me the honor of escorting you back to your window, m’lady?”

  Of course was on the tip of her tongue, but Olivia felt a spontaneity she couldn’t explain and shook her head. “No, I won’t, Mr. Cooper.”

  He grew very still.

  “You promised me a walk, and so far, all you’ve given me is a mere stroll and a conversation-turned-near-argument. So, no.” She tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling emboldened and liking it. “I’m not ready to go back to my window just yet. I’d very much like that walk you promised instead.”

  Ridley had to smile. The woman was adorable. There was no other way to describe her. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Her features soft with moonlight, her lips turned in a pouty little I’ve-got-you-now smile, there were other words that came to mind. But adorable was the safest.

  Appreciating her challenge, he wasn’t about to let her off the hook easily. “That’s fairly impertinent talk, don’t you think? Coming from a woman who still needs my help climbing back up to that window.”

  “Impertinent?” She laughed. “You, who speak your mind about everything, regardless of whether the other person agrees with you or not, are calling me impertinent?”

  Knowing she had him there, he ducked his head. “Well said, Mrs. Aberdeen. All right, you win this round.”

  “And your vocabulary, Mr. Cooper. First the word modicum. And now impertinent.” Her tone said she was more than enjoying the opportunity to tease him for a change. “Careful, or I’m liable to start believing I don’t know you as well as I think I do.”

  He had to laugh again, though more thoughtfully this time as he considered just how true her last statement was. Wishing it wasn’t, he covered her hand on his arm. “Shall we walk?”

  The day’s heat made for a sultry midnight stroll, but she didn’t seem to mind and neither did he. He was just grateful for the time alone with her, and that she’d trusted him enough to climb down. Not once had she slipped either. His mother would’ve been proud.

  They strolled the grounds in comfortable silence, conversation coming easily, and he sneaked looks at her, knowing whatever this … friendship was between them, it had taken a definite turn. A turn that part of him welcomed, while another didn’t. When he’d first set sights on this lady, his plans had been to be at Belle Meade for only a few weeks. But now … With months stretching before him, and getting to know her as he was, his interest in her had deepened in ways he’d never expected.

  She was a captivating woman and had proven to be so much more than he’d thought upon first impression. Unfortunately, he doubted her opinion of him would be the same if she knew the truth. Not that it mattered in the end. Their paths might have intersected for a few months at Belle Meade, but their futures were as distant from each other as the east was from the west.

  Regardless of what her late husband had done, he was confident that, with time, she would be accepted by Nashville society again. Because of the woman she was, for starters. But also because wealthy widowers looking for wives — especially wives who were young and beautiful and still of child bearing age — had shorter, more forgiving memories than most. Dinner with General Harding’s military colleagues had proven that point.

  The question in his mind was whether or not Olivia reciprocated their interest. Or would, if the right Confederate general came calling after her period of mourning.

  Pushing that bothersome thought to the far edge, he chose a path that looped around the mares’ stable, choosing to focus on the present. The occasional neigh coming from the stables revealed their clandestine stroll was no secret to the horses.

  “Ridley, I’ve been meaning … to ask you something.”

  Noting her reluctance, he glanced her way. She wasn’t looking at him.

  “Has the … situation with Seabird been confirmed yet?”

  He smiled at her skirting around the question, understanding her hesitance now. “Not yet. Within a couple of weeks we should know for sure though. Whether or not she’s with foal.”

  She nodded, and he could almost see her making a mental note of how he’d phrased it. She questioned him often while inventorying the various items in the stables, either asking what something was called or what it was used for. She had an insatiable appetite for learning and never asked the same question twice.

  Her hand tightened on his arm. “What will you do if she is with foal?”

  “I haven’t made that decision yet. But my options are pretty clear. Either I pay General Harding the stud fee that’s owed him — in full — or sign over Seabird’s foal. And her foal isn’t something I think I want to give up, if there’s any way around it.”

  She kept pace with him, but he sensed something brewing in her reticence. So he gave her the silence he thought she needed.

  “Ridley?”

  Seconds passed.

  “Yes, Olivia?” he whispered, feeling her grip on his arm tighten again. An unconscious gesture, he was sure. But telling, all the same.

  “I … I wanted to let you know that I thought it was very good of you to go straight to General Harding and tell him like you did. About Seabird. To be so honest with him. Aunt Elizabeth told me you went that very day.”

  He shrugged. “Well, if Seabird’s with foal, that’s hardly something I’ll be able to hide over time.”

  “I know, but … other than the two of us, no one else saw the horses together that day. Another man might have tried to lie his way out of it. Or would have tried to figure a way around having to pay the fee. But you didn’t.”

  He started to respond with a simple thank-you, but that didn’t feel right — not in light of the secrets he still held from her. And not with the trace of melancholy in her voice that hinted that her comment went to something deeper. He wondered if she was referring to a man in her not-too-distant past. A man he’d read about in the newspaper even before coming to Belle Meade. Her late husband … hung for being a cheat and a traitor. They’d never discussed him. She hadn’t broached the subject. So, out of respect, he hadn’t either.

  “But you were honest,” she continued. “And forthcoming. Even when you knew there would be a price to pay. And I think that’s most commendable.”

  She lifted her face to him, and this time he managed a quiet thank you, grateful for the darkness as the underlying truth of what she said struck a nerve. She was paying the price of her late husband’s betrayal. But she was also paying the price that Ridley knew he himself should — and would — be paying, if people around here knew he’d fought for the Union.

  There were moments when he wanted to tell General Harding to his face. Like earlier this evening. But he didn’t dare. Not having given Uncle Bob his word that he wouldn’t. And not when realizing that everything he stood to gain here, as well as the good he hoped to do for the former slaves — Uncle Bob included — would be swept away like yesterday’s garbage.

  He gla
nced down at Olivia’s arm looped through his and tried to imagine her in the Colorado Territory. On the one hand, he could. The woman had a strength about her and an independent streak a mile wide, even though she did her best to restrain it — a habit of hers he was working hard to help her break. With a little encouragement, maybe even a little goading, there was no telling what this woman could do. But she’d certainly complicated things for him. In ways she wasn’t even aware of, he felt certain.

  Feeling her attention, he slid his gaze her way. “What?” He kept his voice low again as they neared the house.

  “I was thinking of how expensive that’s going to be … if the general makes you pay the fee. One hundred dollars!”

  “I know it.” He blew out a breath. “But that’s the going rate for Jack Malone to sire a foal. So if Seabird’s in the family way, I’ll just have to pay it. Having a thoroughbred foal like that, along with a mare like Seabird, is just too good an investment to pass up. I won’t find horseflesh anywhere near their equal in the Colorado Territory.”

  Her pace slowed. “So … you are still planning on going west?”

  Disbelief framed her question, as did disappointment, and Ridley couldn’t help but feel bad about it. But also good. Her disappointment gave him hope. “Of course I’m still going. The timing has been delayed, that’s all. You … didn’t realize that?”

  She stopped beneath her window. “With all that’s happened recently, I …” She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I guess I figured maybe Belle Meade had grown on you.” She gave a breathy laugh. “At least a little.”

  “Oh, it has, Olivia. In some very … definite ways.”

  She nodded absently, apparently having missed his not-so-subtle insinuation. Though tempted to be bolder, he didn’t want to risk scaring her off. She could be awfully skittish at times.

  “When will you leave?”

  “General Harding asked me to stay through the yearling sale to help out, and I gave him my word I would.”