To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  It wasn’t many a white man who would apprentice himself to a Negro. Even a Negro as obviously talented and respected as Bob Green. But then, as she was slowly coming to learn, Ridley Cooper wasn’t like most men.

  Deciding her question for him could wait, she grabbed her satchel.

  “Mrs. Aberdeen!”

  She turned to see Grady Matthews, one of the stable hands, walking toward her, and her guard instantly rose. His gaze swept her up and down as he approached. Not inappropriately so. But still, not in a manner she welcomed.

  “Mr. Matthews.”

  “How are you today, ma’am? You look might pretty.”

  She nodded a brief thanks. She attempted to avoid the man whenever possible. He’d never acted unseemly toward her. But she always got the feeling that he would if he thought he could get away with it.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Matthews, but you’ve caught me on my way to —”

  “Oh, this won’t take long, Mrs. Aberdeen. I was just wonderin’ if you could show me where the box of clips for the bridles are. I swear I been lookin’ everywhere but I can’t find ‘em. Mr. Cooper wants all the worn pieces replaced.”

  Not missing his snide tone when he said Ridley’s name, Olivia chose to ignore it. She knew Grady Matthews and a handful of other men weren’t fond of Ridley. But she chalked it up to jealousy.

  She glanced in the direction of the supply room. “They’re on the second shelf on the right. In a box marked ‘bridle clips.’ I know, because we received a new shipment of them last week. I put them in there myself.” She smiled a little in an effort to make her response seem less abrupt.

  Grady Matthews shook his head. “I just looked, ma’am. They ain’t there. Maybe we used ‘em all up. I’ll tell Mr. Cooper we ran out and need to wait until you get more —”

  “We didn’t run out, Mr. Matthews. That’s the entire purpose behind inventorying. So you won’t run out of something when you need it.”

  Huffing a little, she strode to the supply room, marched to the second shelf on the right and — sure enough — the box wasn’t there. She looked around. “It’s impossible that we used that many clips in only a week.”

  Leaning against the doorway, he gave a befuddled shrug, and it occurred to her how befitting that gesture looked on him. She set out to find the box, only too aware of him watching.

  “What’s this here?”

  She turned to find him looking at the copy of the McGuffey’s Reader that had been in the front pocket of the satchel.

  “That’s a book, Mr. Matthews. Used for teaching someone to read.”

  “Doesn’t have many pictures in it.”

  “Probably because it’s not a picture book.”

  “Would be a better book though, if it had more pictures.”

  “Perhaps.” Her patience waning, Olivia stood back to survey the highest shelves. “If your purpose isn’t to read.”

  There, she saw it. On the top shelf in the corner. It looked as though someone had simply tossed it up there.

  “Are you teaching somebody to read, Mrs. Aberdeen?”

  Hearing a distinctive difference in Grady Matthews’s voice, Olivia turned. Mr. Matthews stood with the book in his hand, all traces of befuddlement gone. And she saw the situation for what it was. And it wasn’t about bridle clips at all.

  “I found the box, Mr. Matthews.” She gestured. “Apparently someone put it back in the wrong place. Perhaps someone who doesn’t know how to read.”

  Seeing his expression darken a shade, she picked up the satchel and reached for the book. But Grady Matthews pulled it back and grabbed hold of her arm instead.

  “Some folks don’t think it’s right for darkies to be learnin’ how to read and write, Mrs. Aberdeen. And they feel right strongly about it too. I’m not sayin’ I agree with ‘em —”

  “Of course you’re not.” Olivia tried to pull away but he didn’t let go.

  “I am sayin’ that I think it’d be best for a lady like you to steer clear of all that, ma’am.”

  “Unhand me, Mr. Matthews!” She spotted Selene in the outer corridor. Selene glanced in as she passed.

  “All I’m sayin’ is that I think you should be careful to —”

  “Olivia!” Selene stuck her head around the corner at the same time Matthews released his hold. “I’ve finally found you! Oh.” Selene made a face. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  Grateful, Olivia smiled at her. “You’re not at all. We’re just finishing here. Mr. Matthews, if you’ll retrieve that box, I’d appreciate it.”

  Choosing not to allow Grady Matthews’s only-too-prevalent opinion to sway her, she took the book from him and walked outside with Selene.

  Olivia couldn’t remember Selene seeking her out before. And seeing the young woman dressed in her riding habit, she didn’t have to guess what she was up to. But the Harding sisters usually rode mares, not stallions. “Are you here to ride?”

  “I’m on my way, actually.” Selene gestured. “Mary and Cousin Lizzie are having the mares saddled.” Her dark brows shot up. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you, but I’ve got plenty of work to do.”

  Selene’s eyes narrowed playfully. “You always say that.”

  Olivia smiled and shrugged, deciding to let the comment pass unchecked. She liked Selene and felt a welcome and an ease with the older sister that she didn’t with the younger.

  “The reason I’m here, Olivia, is because of Mother.” Selene studied her riding gloves.

  Olivia glanced toward the mansion. “She hasn’t taken ill, I hope.”

  “No, no. It’s nothing like that. Mother’s fine. She had a lovely time at lunch, in fact. Several of her friends whom she hasn’t seen in a while joined us for lunch. I arranged it as a surprise for her, and she enjoyed it very much. The conversation, the teacakes. All the ‘lady’s refreshments,’ as she refers to them.”

  Olivia smiled but felt a sting at having been excluded. She understood why. She agreed with it. But still, the rejection stung.

  “All the visiting wore Mother out though.” Selene laughed softly. “So she’s resting.”

  Olivia nodded.

  Seconds passed.

  “I’ve been meaning to thank you, Olivia …” Selene averted her gaze. “For all you’ve done for Mother since you arrived. The war was hard on her, especially during Father’s imprisonment. But she’s much improved since you’ve come.”

  Olivia warmed beneath the unexpected praise. “Thank you, Selene. But whatever I’ve given pales in comparison to what you’ve all given me. So, thank you, in return.”

  Selene smiled, her gloved hands knotted at her waist. “There’s one more thing I wanted to speak with you about. Mary and I were discussing it earlier. Since Mother’s feeling so much better …” She bit the inside of her lip. “We thought perhaps we could do something special for her. Here, at Belle Meade. Something like the luncheon today.”

  Olivia brightened. “That’s a wonderful idea! And you’re right, she’d love that. I’m certain Susanna would be willing to make whatever we wanted. The ‘lady’s refreshments,’ as you call them. And though I’m not very good in the kitchen, I’d help in any way I could.”

  A shadow tainted Selene’s expression. “I know you would. And … that’s what makes this so hard.” Seconds passed, and she finally exhaled. “There’s no easy way to say this, Olivia, so please forgive me if I come across as rude. I don’t mean to, honestly. But … we’d like to invite women from town to come. Mother’s friends who may not feel comfortable accepting the invitation if they knew that —”

  Olivia raised her hand, her face on fire with embarrassment. And comprehension. “Say no more.” She forced a smile. “I understand. Simply let me know what your plans are, and I’ll be certain to … be occupied elsewhere that day.”

  “Olivia.” Selene reached out as though to touch her, then eased her hand back. “If it were up to me, I’d do things differently. But people
are still —”

  “Please.” Olivia shook her head. “You don’t need to explain, Selene. I’m fully aware of my” — her smile felt brittle to the point of breaking — “lack of social standing in the community.”

  “But I know it’s not your fault, Olivia. I don’t blame you. I want you to know that. I realize you had no choice in whom you married. Which makes me realize how fortunate I am to have a father who’s determined to take the time to choose wisely. A father who loves me and …” As though just now hearing what she’d said — and insinuated — Selene halted mid-sentence. Color heightened her cheeks. “That didn’t come out the way I intended, Olivia. What I meant to say is —”

  “It’s all right, Selene.” Olivia worked for a gracious tone, hearing the inaudible echo of the general’s attitude so clearly in his daughter’s voice. “Rest assured, I’ll help with the luncheon in every way I can.” She attempted a sincere smile. “Including making myself scarce that day.”

  After Selene left, Olivia waited a moment. Then she walked the distance to the mansion, reminded once more that Belle Meade would never be home and wondering whether she would ever feel that sense of belonging to Nashville or to any other place — or anyone — again.

  When she reached her room and saw the envelope on her desk, the return address written clear and sharp, she knew she had the answer to her question.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-ONE

  Giving Seabird one last rub behind the ears and trusting Uncle Bob’s diagnosis was right, Ridley rose from where he’d knelt beside her in the stall. “Just give her time.” Uncle Bob’s counsel returned. “She just tired for now. Adjustin’ to bein’ with foal, that’s all.”

  Ridley hoped he was right.

  Reaching to open the stall door, he heard the plod of hooves behind him and felt a firm nudge on his back. He turned, and Seabird moved closer, nuzzling his chest.

  He smiled. “I know what you want, girl. You can’t fool me.” He covered his shirt pocket where he’d tucked the remaining apple, and the mare sniffed and licked the back of his hand, then started in on his shirt. “All right, all right …” He quickly produced the treasure.

  Today marked the beginning of Seabird’s fourth month of being with foal. Three months behind them, eight to go. “You’re going to be all right, girl,” he whispered, running his hand along the sleek curve of her neck. “So’s that foal inside you.” You just have to be …

  He closed the stall door behind him and headed in the direction of the servants’ cabins. Specifically, to the old barn that now served as a church on the first day of the week and a gathering place on all the others.

  The calendar nailed to the stable wall announced September, but the heat and humidity hazing mid-morning insisted it was still summer, and he hoped church was meeting outside today. Glancing behind him toward the main house — a habit he’d developed over time and with purpose — he spotted the object of his interest rocking on the second-story porch, just outside her bedroom. He hesitated a full second before retracing his steps.

  She was reading a book, he thought. But as he drew closer, he saw the stationery in her hand. She didn’t look up as he approached.

  “Morning, Olivia,” he called up softly, not wanting to startle her.

  She lifted her face. Her expression had a faraway, misty-eyed look. “Good morning,” she whispered, dabbing her cheeks.

  Her voice was hushed, tranquil, like the first spoken words of morning. The image of her lying beside him in bed, her body warm and womanly, tucked against his, crowded out every thought in his head but one …

  He exhaled, glad she couldn’t read his mind. And here he’d come to ask her to church. The irony wasn’t lost on him. What was it about this woman that caused him to react this way? He’d wanted to kiss her so badly the other day. But the surprise in her eyes — no, the trepidation — had helped him keep his desire in check.

  When he kissed Olivia Aberdeen — and he would — he wanted her to want to kiss him back. Without reservation. Without fear. He was willing to wait for that. Or at least try. He just hoped it wouldn’t take long.

  He stepped closer. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

  She smiled. “You’re not.” She held up the pages. “I was just reading.”

  “Letters from a secret admirer?” He said it with a tone she often accused him of having. But the look she gave him made him wish he hadn’t. It also made him wish he could read whatever was written on those pages.

  She stood, the fading creak of the rocker marking off the seconds. She folded the stationery and slipped it into a book in her lap. “They’re letters … from my mother to Aunt Elizabeth. Elizabeth and I came across them the other day.” Olivia glanced toward her room. “There’s a whole bundle of them. I’m reading a new one every day. To make them last.”

  Ridley felt a tug down deep, knowing what it would mean to him to have something so precious from his mother after all these years. Almost like a visit from the hereafter. Looking up at Olivia, he wished now he hadn’t interrupted her. Yet the smile she gave him held welcome, and he decided to act on it.

  “Would you care to go to church with me this morning, Mrs. Aberdeen?”

  She eyed him. “To church?”

  “It doesn’t involve a carriage or a horse.” He winked. “I promise.”

  She laughed, moving closer to the porch railing. “And just where is this church?”

  He gestured behind him. “Down by the servants’ quarters.”

  Her gaze moved beyond him. “Do you mean … the Negro church?”

  He liked the way she tucked her chin when she tried to act like she wasn’t surprised but really was. “Yes, ma’am. Uncle Bob invited me awhile back. I finally went. I’ve been a few times since.”

  She leaned forward, elbows resting on the rail. “What’s it like?”

  “Well, let’s see …” Ridley curbed a grin. “This is the first Sunday of the month so you’re in luck. It’s the third Sunday you have to worry about.” He shook his head. “I had no idea what I was getting into that day.”

  Her eyes grew round as silver dollars. “Why? What on earth do they …”

  Finally grinning, he enjoyed watching her disbelief give way to that droll look he already knew by heart, accompanied by that spark in her eyes he didn’t think he’d ever tire of.

  She huffed. “After that, I have a good mind not to go, Mr. Cooper.”

  “But you will.” He smiled up. “Won’t you?”

  She smirked for a minute. “Will you be preaching?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “All right then.” She made a face. “I’ll go.”

  Olivia sneaked a look at Ridley beside her, grateful for his invitation. Spending Sunday mornings alone had grown old, and the past few days — the last three weeks, actually — had seemed especially long. Her twenty-fourth birthday had come and gone days ago without notice, though it hadn’t really bothered her.

  Aunt Elizabeth had been abed more than usual, needing to rest. For every outing the woman participated in, including the luncheon she’d hosted at Belle Meade, which had gone off without a hitch — and also without her, Olivia noted — Elizabeth required a day or two to recuperate. Olivia treasured the extra time together, reading and talking, but it had eaten into her time with Jimmy and Jolene. She’d missed teaching the children. Repetition was so important.

  Plus she was feeling that internal clock — the one counting down the days until she would have to remarry — ticking ever faster.

  She had yet to respond to General Percival Meeks’s two letters. But it was the letter from Colonel Burcham — the first of his missives to arrive — that concerned her most. The Colonel would be visiting Nashville toward the end of the year, around Christmas, he said, and he’d requested permission to call on her. The very thought made her ill. The Colonel was far too much like Charles for comfort, which made Percival Meeks all the more appealing.

  “Not walking too fast f
or you, am I?”

  She looked up to see Ridley a step or two ahead and hurried to catch up. “I’m sorry, Ridley. My thoughts were elsewhere for a minute.”

  “I noticed,” he said, one side of his mouth tipping. “Anything I can do to keep that from happening again?”

  Hearing the subtle insinuation in his voice, she thought back to the way he’d kissed her on the cheek and couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing comes to mind at present, sir. But if I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  “Mmm-hmm. You do that.”

  His boyish grin made her see him as anything but. How many nights had she lain awake contemplating what might have happened that afternoon if she had turned her head toward him ever so slightly at the last second. Oh, wouldn’t that have surprised him! Not that she’d ever do such a thing. She wouldn’t.

  But it didn’t stop her from thinking about it.

  She heard singing — and clapping? — before the old barn came into view. The song didn’t sound like one she’d heard before, much less in church. If she’d been alone, she would’ve turned back. But not with Ridley there, the man who feared nothing.

  The barn doors stood wide open and, at Ridley’s indication, she preceded him, glad they were entering at the back of the gathering instead of the front. She paused just inside to let her eyes adjust.

  So many people — sixty or seventy, at least — all crowded in together. A hodgepodge of roughhewn pews, overturned barrels, milking stools, straight-back chairs, and bales of hay served as seating. And every available seat appeared to be taken, as evidenced by the number of people still standing. A couple of them staring. At her.

  She suddenly felt very much out of place and also very … white. It occurred to her that — with her past, with what had happened with Charles — she might not be welcome here. Ridley apparently had been, but he worked among them. The men, at least. And they liked him. She could tell by the way they joked with him in the stable.