To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  Elizabeth laughed. “Well, I know it’s tea, dear. I meant … do you know what’s in it? I detect a hint of orange.” She took another sip, her eyes narrowing. “And clove, perhaps. But also something else I can’t quite identify. It leaves a strong, though not unpleasant, aftertaste.”

  Olivia smiled, feeling a flutter of triumph. “There is some orange peel in there, I believe. And cloves, as you’ve said.” She took a sip, remembering how she’d questioned the very same thing. “But I think what you’re tasting might be gingerroot.”

  Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I imagine you’re right. I love ginger!”

  Smiling, Olivia imagined how pleased Rachel would be when she told her about Elizabeth’s response.

  After personally experiencing the benefits of Rachel’s herbs herself, Olivia hadn’t wasted any time in sharing with Rachel the specifics about Elizabeth’s condition. Though not the doctor’s prognosis. She felt certain the herbs could be of help to Elizabeth as well. And over the past several days, Rachel had gathered the necessary ingredients and worked to perfect what she’d since named “Missus Harding’s Special Blend.”

  The first dozen or so batches of dried herbs and fruit — while no doubt beneficial to the body — had not been pleasant to the palate. So Rachel had mixed and remixed, then brewed and brewed again. Olivia’s job had been not only to taste but to determine how it settled on the stomach. Finally, Rachel came upon a combination she deemed “nature’s perfect ingredients,” which Olivia then deemed as delightfully tasteful and — over the course of the past two weeks — also friendly to one’s digestion.

  Olivia sneaked a look at Elizabeth. She’d made the decision to introduce the tea to her quietly, knowing some people weren’t open to trying what many termed “Negro remedies.” She didn’t consider Aunt Elizabeth to be among them, but she wasn’t as certain about the general and didn’t want to take that risk. Not when she truly believed Rachel’s herbs could be a factor in Elizabeth regaining her strength.

  Olivia sipped her tea, slowly rocking back and forth. Then on a whim, she stuck out her leg, smiling and angling her foot this way and that until Elizabeth took notice. “Thank you again, Aunt Elizabeth, for the loan of your boots. They fit perfectly.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “I’m so glad. They were always a little snug for me so I rarely wore them.” She frowned. “But really, Livvy … Next time, ask Susanna or Jedediah to call for a wagon if both of the carriages are gone. There’s no need for you to walk all that way.”

  Olivia simply smiled and let the comment go by.

  Elizabeth stretched her legs out on the chaise. “The general is speaking very highly of you these days, my dear.”

  “Is he?” Olivia glanced beside her, pleased at the news.

  “He said the inventory report you prepared was the most detailed he’s received from an employee, especially for the stable supplies, which reflects most positively on you and your talents, dear.” She smiled. “And likewise on me for recommending he hire you.”

  Olivia laughed. “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth. I’m so glad he approves.” If the woman only knew why the report for the stables had been so extraordinarily detailed …

  Olivia looked toward the corrals, then the mares’ stable, and as she did with growing frequency these days, she wondered if he was working there or perhaps with the stallions today. Ridley Cooper was the reason she’d spent nearly a full week doing what should have taken her no more than three days. He was her “reward” for braving the stables, and — contrary to lording it over her as she’d first thought he might do — he, too, had complimented her on the thorough manner in which she inventoried all the items.

  The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to spend. He made her laugh. Not only at things he did, but also at herself. Though she felt guilty about it at times. She was in mourning, after all. Yet if not for the dull gray and black dresses she wore day in and day out and the reminder of her social standing — or lack thereof — she could almost forget about being in mourning when she was around him.

  Almost.

  Two days ago she’d seen him in the kitchen, and he’d said there was a favor he wanted to ask of her. Then they’d been interrupted by one of the stable hands needing Ridley’s assistance, and she hadn’t seen him since. Partly for that reason, she’d decided to begin with inventorying the horse tack this month. She wanted to know what favor he wanted. But she also dreaded the long walks to the other destinations. Not that she was about to complain. She’d made six dollars in the past three weeks. Six. And she still had three dollars and sixteen cents left of her earnings. And this after sending her measurements with Selene to the Hardings’ personal dressmaker. Per Olivia’s request, the seamstress was sewing her a simple shirtwaist and skirt in appropriate mourning colors. Something more practical for everyday. Olivia had never known earning a wage could be so rewarding.

  “Would you please pour me another cup, Livvy? If there’s enough?”

  “Oh, there’s plenty.” Olivia refilled her aunt’s cup, praying the herbs would strengthen her the way Rachel thought they would.

  Despite the warmth of late June, Elizabeth cupped her hands around the delicate fine china. “I enjoyed attending church services yesterday with the general and the girls, even though I had to be in that horrid wheelchair.” She threw a look back over her shoulder. “It was wonderful to see everyone again.” She reached for Olivia’s hand. “But I certainly missed you being there, Livvy. I was glad to learn, upon returning home, how swiftly your headache improved.”

  Olivia didn’t miss the knowing look Elizabeth gave her and could tell her aunt knew the truth about her staying behind from church. Conceding the point with a gentle shrug, Olivia looked out across the meadow. “I used the time to read. And to think. Like I do every Sunday morning.” What she couldn’t say, but what was true, was that she missed the singing most of all. The hymns. The purity of the voices and harmonies rising to the rafters.

  “I understand your not coming with us, Livvy. Considering how many people know you at McKendree Church. But I do so wish you could go to church somewhere. I think you’d find it an encouragement now. Perhaps you could go someplace where no one knows who you are?”

  Olivia couldn’t help but smile. “Well, that’s an encouraging prospect, Aunt. Choose a church based upon no one knowing me and with the intent of hiding who I am.”

  “Oh, my dear …” Elizabeth’s expression turned pained. “Forgive me. How thoughtless … I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I only meant to say —”

  “No, no.” Olivia gently squeezed her arm, feeling badly now for having made light. “Forgive me for joking. I completely understand what you intended, Aunt Elizabeth. And I love you for it. But I think we both know that my going to church anywhere in Nashville is not advisable. Perhaps in time … But for now, I’m fine.”

  Elizabeth smiled and gave a semblance of a nod.

  Moments passed in easy solitude between them, as they often did. Then Elizabeth gently cleared her throat. “Livvy, I … I promised the general I would speak to you about something, dear.”

  Finding that prelude none too comforting, Olivia turned.

  “The general and I will be hosting a dinner party sometime next month for a number of his … colleagues from out of town with whom he fought in the war. Now before you say anything” — Elizabeth rushed her words, as though sensing the resistance building in Olivia — “I want you to know from the very outset that both the general and I realize you’re still in mourning and that you’re not interested in any way in marriage right now. Which is as it should be. This would only be a dinner party where you would meet and visit with our guests.”

  “All of whom will be older and unmarried, I assume?” Olivia asked, remembering the general’s comment awhile back, while also honing in on the phrase out of town.

  “But, Livvy dear, we can’t help but think that if the right gentleman were to come along — in time — you mi
ght be willing to consider his proposal. Someone kind and gentle. Someone with whom you got along. Someone who was nothing like … your late husband.”

  Although Olivia loathed the idea of remarriage, she knew it was inevitable. After all, despite what Aunt Elizabeth had said to the contrary, she couldn’t — and didn’t — expect to live at Belle Meade forever. And honestly, why would she want to? While she was carving out some friendships here, she wasn’t welcomed by anyone in Nashville. And there would come a time — a time Olivia was loathe to even consider — when Elizabeth would no longer be here, and her own time of being here at Belle Meade would end.

  She had no idea where she’d go then. Charleston and Savannah were lovely cities, she’d heard. As were Mobile and Chattanooga. But she had a feeling once Elizabeth was gone, which she prayed again would be a long way off, almost anywhere in the South would be preferable to Nashville.

  Olivia did her best to remove defensiveness from her tone. “I’m so grateful to you and the general for all you’re doing for me, Aunt Elizabeth. And, of course, I’ll attend the dinner. But please, please communicate to General Harding that I’m in no way interested in pursuing anything with any of these gentlemen. I’m simply not ready.”

  “I completely agree with you, my dear. It’s far too soon. The general will be certain to tell them you’re in mourning. And they’ll see your manner of dress of course, so there’ll be no misunderstanding, I promise.”

  Having no choice, Olivia nodded, determined not to dwell on this for now. After all, she had at least one year — if not two — before she would have to consider any man’s offer.

  If an offer even came.

  A while later, Olivia finished a chapter in a novel she was reading aloud to Elizabeth when she looked up to see Ridley striding toward the house, sun on his face, his dark hair disheveled. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, and his work trousers were caked eight inches deep in dust and dirt.

  He stopped a few feet from the porch, and even though she knew his smile wasn’t aimed only at her, it felt like it was.

  “Afternoon, ladies. Mrs. Harding, I hope you’re feeling better today.”

  “I am. Thank you, Mr. Cooper.” Elizabeth gestured. “Might I interest you in a glass of lemonade or perhaps a cup of hot tea? Though I doubt the latter will hold as much appeal today.”

  “No, thank you, ma’am. But I appreciate it.”

  “According to my husband” — Elizabeth smiled — “you have recently bested him in a gentleman’s agreement, Mr. Cooper.”

  Olivia looked from Ridley to Elizabeth, then back again, not having heard about this. Ridley looked down briefly. “I would hardly call it besting him, Mrs. Harding. Your husband and I did have an agreement though. I fulfilled my end of the bargain, and he did his. But he managed to gain a fair amount in the process, I assure you.”

  “He usually does.” Elizabeth regarded the man in the yard below, her expression hinting at pride. “But from what he tells me, one of his prize thoroughbreds now belongs to you.”

  Olivia stared. Ridley Cooper owned one of General Harding’s thoroughbreds? It had to be the mare she’d seen him working with so often.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, pleasure in his eyes. “And I’m grateful to have her. But I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to interrupt you ladies. I just came to see if Mrs. Aberdeen,” Ridley continued, hazel eyes moving to Olivia, “is coming to inventory today.”

  Olivia sensed a subtle hope in his tone, but wondered if it was her wishful thinking. “I am, Mr. Cooper. In fact, I was on my way there now.” She narrowed her eyes, enjoying her higher vantage point. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, ma’am. No problem. I just came across something else you might want to inventory. If you’re coming now, I’ll walk with you.”

  Olivia could tell by his behavior there was something he wasn’t telling her. But it didn’t matter. She wanted to go. “I need to get the ledger, and I’ll be right there.”

  She went upstairs to get the book and returned minutes later to find Ridley standing on the porch steps speaking to Elizabeth. Catching bits and pieces of what he was saying, Olivia padded softly to the open front door and paused to the side, not wanting to interrupt just yet.

  “Yes, ma’am, I was. I was assigned in Nashville. For most of the war, anyway.”

  “Did you have opportunity to meet the general?”

  “No, ma’am, but … I knew who he was.”

  “Of course you did.” Warmth softened Elizabeth’s voice. “I’m guessing every Confederate soldier in Nashville knew who he was. My husband is the type of man people seem to notice.” Wifely pride colored her tone. “You do know he was incarcerated, do you not?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ridley’s voice grew quiet. “I knew about that.”

  “The Federals took him from me and delivered him to a Northern penitentiary. Fort Mackinac. Have you heard of it?”

  “Yes, ma’am … I have.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “It was an awful, awful time for us all. I feared he would freeze to death up there. As it was, when he stepped from the train upon returning home I scarcely recognized him. He seemed so … changed.”

  “I’m sure it was a difficult time for you, Mrs. Harding.”

  The silence lengthened.

  Feeling guilty about having listened for so long, Olivia made a shuffling sound against the carpet and then bustled through the doorway, ledger clutched to her chest.

  Ridley lifted his gaze, looking almost relieved to see her.

  He was quiet as they walked to the barn, but when he bypassed the door and continued on around to the side, Olivia’s curiosity heightened.

  “I thought you said you came across something I needed to inventory.”

  He paused at the corner of the building, his reticence from moments earlier all but gone. “I said something you ‘might’ want to inventory. Big difference. And I need for you to close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  He smiled. “Just give me your hand and close your eyes, Olivia.”

  “There’s not a horse around the corner, is there?” She’d gotten the occasional feeling he wanted to help her get over her fear of horses, and she wasn’t the least bit interested.

  Hand outstretched, he gave her a look that said she should know better. “No, there isn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.”

  The way he said it, the way he looked at her, she knew it was true. Still, she was hesitant to put her hand in his. But that had nothing to do with horses.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-THREE

  Ridley led her around the corner, watching to make sure she didn’t peek. Her hand was so tiny in his, and she clung so tightly. None too certain he’d be able to talk her into trying this, he was determined to give it his best. Especially when remembering the blisters on her feet from last month. “Okay, stop here.”

  She did, her eyes still closed, holding the ledger against her chest.

  “And now, m’lady …” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Your chariot awaits!”

  She opened her eyes. And blinked.

  Judging from her expression, Ridley guessed she either didn’t make the connection to what it was or — more likely — didn’t like it.

  “It’s so small.” She released his hand. “But … what’s it for?”

  “It’s a horse cart.” He placed a hand on one of the wheels. “Something to get you back and forth between the businesses on the plantation.”

  She eyed him, then the cart again. “This is very generous of you. But a small cart or a regular carriage … It still has to have a horse to pull it, correct?”

  “Don’t make up your mind just yet.” Ridley gestured, and Jimmy walked from the stable on cue, cap tucked low over his ears, smiling for all he was worth — and leading a Shetland pony behind him.

  Ridley heard a bubble of laughter escape from Olivia before she clamped a hand over her mouth. A glint of possibility lit her eyes. As if he
’d rehearsed it, the miniature pony looked over at her, a bushy tuft of golden-brown hair hanging down in his eyes, his short stubby legs working to keep up with Jimmy’s pace.

  Olivia’s sigh held humor. “He’s adorable. But he’s still a horse.”

  “Actually, he’s more like a … quarter horse.” Ridley waited, seeing if she’d catch it.

  She cut her eyes at him and slowly … her mouth tipped upward.

  He shrugged. “At least it made you smile. Have you met Jimmy yet?” He gestured. “This young man helped me build this for you. We couldn’t run Belle Meade without him. Jimmy, this is Mrs. Aberdeen.”

  The boy doffed his worn cap, ducking his head as he did. “I know who you is, ma’am. I seen you walkin’ before. A lot. You must like to walk.”

  Olivia slid Ridley another look, and he gave her a quick wink, hoping she knew her secret was still safe with him. Her tiny smile made him think she understood.

  “Yes, Jimmy, I do like to walk. For the most part, anyway.”

  “Mr. Ridley here, he done fixed you up a real nice little ridin’ cart, ma’am.”

  “I didn’t do it alone, Jimmy. Remember, you helped me.”

  The young boy smiled. “Yes, sir. I did.” Jimmy pulled on the pony’s lead rope. “I get Copper all hitched up for you, Missus Aberdeen, then you can take him for a turn.”

  Olivia’s laugh came feather soft. “That’s not necessary, Jimmy. I … ahh … don’t need to go anywhere right now.”

  Jimmy’s smile slid away. “But don’t you wanna try it out, ma’am? Least see how it rides?”

  Ridley knew if he’d asked her that, she’d have turned him down flat. But Jimmy asking? That was different. He’d chosen his young apprentice wisely.

  Olivia’s lips started moving before the words were formed. “Well … I …” Then she stopped, and the prettiest smile spread across her face. “Why don’t you show me instead, Jimmy? First, I mean. Then maybe I could do it after you.”