To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  “Rachel,” Olivia whispered, grasping Rachel’s outstretched hands.

  “Welcome to your class, Missus Aberdeen.” Rachel gestured to everyone gathered. “I think I can say for all of us, ma’am, that we’s grateful you came.”

  But Olivia shook her head, knowing the far greater truth. “I’m the one who’s grateful … for all of you.”

  Chapter

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Mindful of Seabird being with foal, but knowing the exercise was good for her, Ridley kept the mare to an amble and urged her back up the meadow toward the main house. A thin dusting of snow that would be gone by mid-morning lay across the land like lace on a freshly made bed, and he cut across the south pasture, his and Seabird’s breath puffing white in the cold.

  When he topped the hill, the sun peeked through the clouds causing the iced tree limbs to sparkle like diamonds. Belle Meade rose in the distance like a crowning jewel. How he’d happened into all this, he didn’t know. Then again — his gaze moved to the old Harding cabin — he did. And he knew it wasn’t by accident.

  Near the end of January, almost two weeks ago, he’d ridden up to the high pasture, just him and Miss Birdie, and after scouting the hills, he’d finally found the ridge where he and Uncle Bob had first met. He’d camped there for the night, needing some time to think. It had been good for him. It wasn’t until he’d unpacked his bedroll that he found the Bible Uncle Bob had sneaked in before he left. The Bible he’d been reading from at night, at Uncle Bob’s request.

  He felt a stirring inside him. So much for that book being just words dried on a page, like he’d thought that first Sunday when he’d read aloud in church.

  As he neared the main house, he thought he heard someone yelling. He cocked his head, listening.

  But … nothing.

  His gaze trailed up the lattice to the bedroom window on the second floor. It’d been five days since he’d seen her, and it felt like a lifetime. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel come June, just four short months from now. Winter months at Belle Meade were busier than he’d thought they would be. Olivia seemed busier too. But also happier than he’d ever seen her. Which bothered him a little, seeing as he missed their time alone together. But the evenings she visited him and Uncle Bob at the cabin were good ones. And it wasn’t as though he could just go calling on her at the mansion.

  He reined in by the kitchen, having foregone breakfast before riding out earlier, and heard laughter — or more like a commotion — coming from inside. He recognized Betsy’s cackle above it all.

  “Oh, come on, Missus Aberdeen. You can do better than that!”

  “Hit it harder, ma’am!”

  “Smack it good this time!”

  “Show it what for, ma’am!”

  He dismounted, looped Seabird’s reins around a limb, and peered through the partially opened kitchen door. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Olivia wielded a rolling pin high above her head and — with a grimace — brought it down with a thwack on a mess of dough spread out over the table. All while Susanna, Betsy, Chloe, and Rachel cheered her on.

  He pushed open the door. “What in the world are all you women doing in here?”

  Olivia looked up, saw him, and beamed. “I’m making biscuits, Ridley! This is the part where we beat them!”

  Betsy laughed even louder, holding her side. “Oh Lawd, I ain’t laughed this much in ages. You here just in time, Mr. Cooper. She been namin’ everybody who ever done her wrong!”

  Ridley laughed. He reached over to wipe the flour from Olivia’s cheeks before realizing it would be a losing battle.

  She held out the rolling pin. “Do you want to have a try?”

  He backed away, hands raised in a truce. “Unfortunately, I have a meeting with the general.”

  Her shoulders sagged.

  “But!” He smiled. “I’ll stop by later for one of your biscuits.”

  “Is that a promise, Mr. Cooper?” she said, one pert little eyebrow raised.

  He didn’t miss the looks the other four women exchanged. But he knew they were good at keeping secrets. The secrets that mattered, anyway.

  “It’s a promise, Mrs. Aberdeen. I will be back for that biscuit.”

  He closed the kitchen door on their laughter, wondering if Olivia had any idea how little she resembled the oh-so-prim-and-proper young woman he’d pulled from the carriage on the road to Belle Meade. And yet how much more of a lady — strong, confident, and caring … not to mention, desirable — she was in his eyes.

  A woman fit for the Colorado Territory if he’d ever seen one.

  “Before you share another new idea with me, Mr. Cooper …” General Harding eased back in his chair, the creak of fine leather competing with the crackle of fire in the hearth. “I’d like a report on the progress of the yearling sale.”

  “It’s progressing very well, sir. Uncle Bob tells me he’s never seen a finer group of yearlings here at Belle Meade. The stable hands are taking the training and care of the yearlings more seriously too — or most of them are — since they have a vested interest in the outcome.”

  “Most of them?”

  “Some of the men, a handful of the white men —”

  “Grady Matthews and his like,” the general said, a scowl forming.

  Ridley nodded. “They don’t like the Negroes being paid the same amount they are.”

  “I pay all my workers fairly, Mr. Cooper. And I’m proud of my contract system. So if any worker doesn’t like it, he can speak to me.”

  “That’s precisely what I told Grady and the other men. But … I wanted to make you aware of it.”

  The general nodded, eying him. “Now … about that vested interest for the stable hands …”

  Ridley’s defenses rose. How many times had they discussed this before the general had finally signed off on it? If the man changed his mind now …

  “I’m wondering, Mr. Cooper … You designed an incentive for the stable hands by assigning a specific foal to each of them whereby the more money the yearling brings, the higher percentage they earn. And yet … you ignored the most important part of the overall equation.”

  Not following, Ridley shook his head. “Sir?”

  “You failed to incorporate a similar incentive for yourself.” Hinting at a smile, General Harding wrote something on a sheet of paper. “So I’d like to propose that if the overall earnings on the yearling sale exceed a set amount, then you will personally receive 5 percent of that total.”

  Ridley knew better than to get excited. “And just what would that set amount be, General Harding?”

  The general turned the paper and slid it across the desk, and it was Ridley’s turn to smile.

  “That’s a very ambitious goal, General Harding. Has anything near that amount been earned by any yearling sale you know of?”

  “Belle Meade is known for doing what no other thoroughbred farm in the country can do, Mr. Cooper. After all, those silver cups and trophies lining the entrance hall didn’t just walk in here by themselves.”

  Ridley tried not to think of the money 5 percent would amount to if they reached the general’s goal. But the figure popped into his head and wouldn’t leave. That would go a long way toward building a ranch in the Colorado Territory. But they’d never reach that goal through a typical sale, which provided the opening he needed.

  “I told you, sir, that I had another idea I wanted to discuss with you.”

  “Another incentive, Mr. Cooper?”

  “No, sir. It’s actually a different way to approach the sale itself. Remember the thoroughbred sale we traveled to in Gallatin? Although it wasn’t a yearling sale, you said it represented every sale you’d ever been to.”

  The general’s hurried nod hinted at impatience.

  “I propose, sir” — Ridley leaned forward — “that we have an auction instead of a sale. We could invite buyers to come early in the day, view the stock, ask whatever questions they may have about the foals’ lineage.
Maybe we offer to give them a tour of the plantation, in case they don’t know what else Belle Meade offers. Then that afternoon, we’ll present the stock for the bidding.”

  Harding nodded slowly. “Go on.”

  “We could advertise not only in the Nashville papers, but Lexington, Mobile, and Charleston, as well as the Southern markets, which everyone knows have been hit hard. But also in the New York papers. And Chicago, Philadelphia, and Washington, DC. Up north where more of the money is. And instead of making it an event where only men come to buy yearlings, let’s invite the wives too. We’ll roast a few pigs. Maybe ask Susanna and the other women to make some of those beaten biscuits everybody loves.”

  The image of Olivia wielding that rolling pin like a weapon earlier came to mind, tempting him to smile. But seeing the thoughts churning behind Harding’s eyes, he continued.

  “I’d also suggest having a meeting, or maybe a dinner, say — a couple of nights or so before the event, for your primary Southern buyers. A chance to show them the stock and explain the auction process, should you decide to go that route. While you’re inviting breeders from the North, I still think it would be wise, in the interest of local relations, to make sure Belle Meade’s neighbors feel a special invitation. Even if they’re outbid in the end, the hospitality will go far in relaying your gratitude for their support.”

  For a long moment, the general studied him over tented hands. Then he rose. “Mr. Cooper.” General Harding reached across the desk to offer his hand. “With men like you, I don’t see how we lost the war.”

  The comment hit Ridley like a blow square in the chest. Slowly, heavily he came to his feet, staring at the general’s hand. The room grew warmer, and he found himself confronted with all the opportunities he’d been given since coming to Belle Meade. He thought about how different his life — his future — would be without them and about how every one of those opportunities could be traced back, in some way, to this man.

  Not wanting to, but feeling as though he had no choice, Ridley shook the general’s hand.

  Harding rounded the corner of the desk. “Frankly, your understanding of this business surprises me, Mr. Cooper. It’s quite impressive.”

  Ridley cleared his throat, working to find his voice again. “Thank you, sir. But most of what I’ve learned, I’ve learned from Uncle Bob. The ideas I presented are all ones he and I have discussed at length together. He’s a good man. Belle Meade’s fortunate to have him.”

  The general nodded, reaching for the door. “Yes, I know. Now, about that percentage for you, Mr. Cooper. I believe the goal I set forth is realistic, especially with the idea of the auction.”

  Ridley followed General Harding outside to the covered porch, listening as the man expounded on the details. He welcomed the chill in the air, his conscience still stinging. It wasn’t as if he’d directly lied to the man. He’d simply never allowed their conversations to drift too deeply into areas he knew could cost him his job.

  As the general continued to discuss possibilities, Ridley followed along, nodding on occasion, commenting when necessary. All while trying to come to terms with why his omission of a very few — yet quite consequential — facts about his past hadn’t bothered him before nearly as much as they did now. And when he finally realized why, the reason struck him as humorous.

  “Is something about that idea amusing to you, Mr. Cooper?”

  Ridley looked beside him. “Not at all, sir. I think it’s a very good idea. The men will certainly appreciate it.”

  “Very well, then. Have Mrs. Aberdeen order whatever’s necessary.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.” Ridley turned to go.

  “By chance, Mr. Cooper … Have you given my job offer further consideration?”

  Ridley looked back.

  “It still stands, by the way.” The general fingered his beard. “Most firmly.”

  “I appreciate that, General Harding. More than you realize, sir.

  But —”

  “But you believe something better awaits you out west. Is that it?” Doubt thickened the general’s voice.

  “Yes, sir.” Ridley nodded. “I’d like to think so.”

  “What if, come June” — General Harding peered across the meadow — “assuming all goes as I believe it will, I were to offer you the position of head foreman? Would that be of interest?”

  “Belle Meade doesn’t have a position of head foreman.”

  “It can. And will. If I deem it so.”

  Not in a thousand years could Ridley have imagined this set of circumstances. The situation was full of irony. Here he was, a former Union soldier being offered the top position at the grandest plantation in Dixie, by a man who — at one time — was one of the largest slaveholders in the South. A position which he’d never have been offered, much less have been qualified for, without the help of Bob Green, a man enslaved by General Harding for almost the whole of his life.

  Ridley felt that sharp sting of guilt again and, with all traces of humor gone, acknowledged what it was. Even with all the differences between him and this man — and there were plenty — he’d come to genuinely respect General William Giles Harding.

  “I greatly appreciate your trust, General. But even if you were to offer me the position of head foreman, I would still politely decline, sir.”

  To his surprise, Harding grinned, something he didn’t see often.

  “You never disappoint, Mr. Cooper. But not to worry, I always get what I want … in the end.”

  Chapter

  FORTY-EIGHT

  These biscuits are even better now than they were two days ago.” Olivia glanced up from her notes. “You’re just being nice, Ridley. But thank you.”

  “No, I’m serious.” He shook his head, looking more like a little boy than the ruggedly handsome man he was. “I like them better when they get a little crunch to them.”

  Olivia smiled her thanks and looked back at the page, searching for the next entry. Though she was warm enough in her coat and gloves, the supply room in the mares’ stable did little to keep out February’s chill. She felt the urge to yawn. The late nights at the old hunting cabin were catching up to her.

  She’d been teaching for a month now, and she’d never done anything that gave her more satisfaction and a greater sense of accomplishment than teaching. The children — who she taught five mornings a week — were like little sponges, soaking up the knowledge. There were a handful of adults, Rachel and Jedediah among them, who were progressing well too. But the majority of the adults were taking longer to grasp reading and writing than she had anticipated. But who could expect otherwise when they worked all day, then attended classes for three hours at night, three nights a week, only to get back up a few hours later and start all over again? The schedule was demanding. Yet their dedication and enthusiasm was infectious. And Olivia was loving every minute of it.

  She found the entry she was looking for and made a check mark. “I’ve ordered the shirts General Harding wants for all the stable hands, so you can mark that off your list.”

  He did. “And when will they be ready?”

  “In a couple of weeks. No later than the first week of March.”

  “Very good.” He jotted something in the margin. “I came by last night but you didn’t answer.”

  Feeling his attention, Olivia kept her gaze on her notes, knowing her eyes would betray her. She didn’t like hiding the fact from him that she was teaching in the freedmen’s school. It didn’t feel right. But she’d given her word.

  “You came by? Do you mean … you knocked on my bedroom door?”

  “No, on your window,” he said softly. “But not to worry, I didn’t peek.”

  She lifted her head and, seeing his grin, she had to smile. “I’m sorry I missed you coming by. What time was it?”

  “Mmmm …” He shrugged. “Around eleven or so.”

  She returned her attention to the page. “Aunt Elizabeth and I visited late into the night, I’m afraid
.” Which was true. But they’d visited after she’d returned from teaching her evening class, which hadn’t been until close to midnight.

  She stifled another yawn.

  “You sure seem tired recently. I’m sorry that a lot of the extra work for the auction is falling on you.”

  “Don’t be. I’m enjoying it.” She pointed to his notebook. “What else is on your list?”

  She watched him as he read silently, looking at his hands, then his muscular forearms. She was chilly, yet he seemed comfortable in a chambray shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Working on the auction was adding to the weight of teaching, managing the plantation’s inventory, and still being a part-time companion to Aunt Elizabeth. But it also added to the time she could spend with him, so she wasn’t about to complain.

  But she did feel the clock ticking.

  Her motivation for wanting to make the auction the best it could be wasn’t selfless either. If the event was as successful as she anticipated, General Harding would surely make Ridley an offer he couldn’t refuse. One that would make Ridley realize the South was still his home.

  At least that was her hope.

  Her other hope was that General Meeks — whose rheumatism, per his last letter, had seen some improvement, perhaps due to his recently employed live-in nursemaid — was a proponent of faithful yet very platonic marriages. Because try as she might, and she was trying, she simply couldn’t imagine living with the man as husband and wife.

  Not after having been kissed — and quite thoroughly — by the man in front of her, who was the last man on earth who needed a nursemaid.

  “Olivia?”

  She blinked.

  “You look a little dazed. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to do this later?”

  Glad her thoughts were hidden from him, she gave him a tiny smirk. “Not at all. I’m just waiting on you.” She eyed him. “Why? Are you trying to get out of work, Mr. Cooper?”

  He smiled. “You finally figured me out, Mrs. Aberdeen.”

  She looked at him, wishing that were the case.