To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  The limbs above them shifted with the breeze, and Olivia blinked against a flash of sunlight. Rationality returned to Ridley on a wave. He could no more tell her about fighting for the Union or about being at Andersonville than he could admit it to General Harding. She was a Southern belle through and through, and — in her eyes — he’d be a traitor, a turncoat. Maybe not exactly like her husband, but that’s how she’d see him. As would everyone else, once they knew. And his time at Belle Meade would be done, and everything he’d worked for would be lost.

  But perhaps he could share a piece of the truth with her. Just a sliver. Enough for her to see a shadow of what he wrestled with inside. Maybe that would be enough.

  “During the war,” he started, parsing each word as he went, “I did things … experienced things … I can’t seem to put behind me. When I close my eyes at night, they’re still there. Right in front of me, in the dark. The faces, the scenes, the sounds …” He winced. “The cries.”

  The compassionate blue of her eyes drew him in.

  “I didn’t feel close to God at all during those years, Olivia.” His laughter came out flat. “Or feel like he was very close to me. Felt more like he’d forgotten me. Along with everyone else. Had just turned his back and left us. It didn’t feel right.” He tried to smile, hoping to lessen the emotion filling his throat, but couldn’t. “Looking back, it still doesn’t.” He briefly bowed his head, the sliver of truth cutting him more in the sharing than he’d thought it would. He took a steadying breath, then gave it slow release. He searched her expression for the slightest sign of rebuff or judgment. And saw neither. “So when Uncle Bob asked me to stand up there today and read from the Bible …” He shook his head. “I …”

  “You felt out of place,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Like you didn’t belong. Those are feelings I understand quite well.” The lines in her brow bespoke painful recollections, and she lowered her head. “I assume you’ve heard at least something … about my late husband.” She peered up, and Ridley nodded. She held his gaze, as if trying to gauge how much he knew. Then she smiled. Or tried to. “I think I’ve known for a while that you knew about him. I just didn’t want to acknowledge it.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me, Olivia. Your late husband did those things. Not you.”

  “The rest of Nashville doesn’t feel that way. That’s why I don’t go into town, Ridley. That, and …” She sighed. “I’ve hated horses since I was a little girl.”

  “Hated them?”

  “Have been scared to death of them since I was thrown as a girl. And broke my arm.” She covered her left sleeve with her hand. “Then … last year, my late husband insisted that I ride. A stallion.” She briefly closed her eyes. “The horse threw me, then nearly trampled me in the process.”

  Understanding her fear better, Ridley placed his hand on hers. “Where was the break?”

  She seemed hesitant to tell him at first. “Along here.” She drew a lengthy line along the top of her arm.

  Ridley traced the path slowly, knowing how much that must have hurt. His fingers were rough against the soft lace of her sleeve, and he didn’t miss her slight shiver. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to you too.”

  He searched her eyes, reminding himself of his vow to be patient. But when her gaze lowered slightly from his, and her lips parted …

  Ridley drew her against him, the feel of her igniting him even before his mouth claimed hers. Her lips were heaven, and the softness of her mouth … With one arm, he held her, and with the other, he explored the curve of her back. But it was the way she touched him … Responded to him. Her hand on his chest, gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. Ridley deepened the kiss, tasting not just her sweetness, but her desire. She slipped her hand around his neck and wove her fingers into his hair, and like a bolt of lightning, he remembered where they were —

  But she broke the kiss first. Quickly. Without warning. And even before he took a breath, he missed her.

  “I’m still” — her breath came quickly — “in mourning.”

  “I know,” he whispered. The sharp rise and fall of her chest reflected his own desire and made him want to kiss her all over again.

  “And …” She put a hand up as though warning him. “I don’t want to get married again. At least not yet.”

  He had to laugh. “I know I had a couple glasses of Betsy’s cider back there. But … did you just hear a proposal?”

  Her cheeks flushed red. “Well, no. Of course not, but … we kissed, and … I didn’t want you to think that …”

  He moved closer and her eyes widened. But she didn’t move away, he noticed.

  “Olivia Aberdeen, I’ve been wanting to kiss you almost since the first time I laid eyes on you.” Her eyes softened, tempting him again. “But that aside, should the time ever come when I’m seeking your hand in marriage … Believe me, woman, you’ll know.”

  A ghost of a smile touched her mouth, and he steeled himself against what he wanted to do versus what he knew was best. But seeing traces of yearning in her eyes and the fullness of her still-parted lips made it a battle and robbed him of a freedom he’d never known he possessed.

  Because he’d never known a woman he didn’t want to live the rest of his life without. Until now.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-THREE

  Livvy?” Elizabeth whispered, her voice absent its usual vibrance. “Would you mind staying with me for a while? Instead of going to the stables just yet?”

  “Not at all.” Olivia laid the stationery box aside and pulled the covers up to Elizabeth’s chest. She crossed the bedroom and adjusted the brocade curtains so the morning light wouldn’t fall directly across the bed. “Are you certain you feel all right?”

  “Oh, I feel fine, dear. I’m simply” — Elizabeth shrugged — “not myself today. I think resting will help. But I appreciate your company.” Elizabeth reached for her hand. “Even when we’re not conversing.”

  Elizabeth’s fingers were cold, and Olivia covered her aunt’s hand with her own. Elizabeth had been active over the past three weeks, more so than Olivia could remember since coming to live here. Her color looked good though. There was a rosy hue to her cheeks. And her strength still seemed to be improving. They’d been on a walk earlier that morning and though reticent — even melancholy, perhaps — Elizabeth had appeared well.

  Everyone was entitled to doleful days, as her mother used to call them. Heaven knew her own mother had dealt with such days, and Olivia had certainly borne her own fair share of them too. Though … not so much since being at Belle Meade.

  Seeing Elizabeth’s eyes slip closed, she gave her aunt’s hand a gentle squeeze and tucked it back beneath the covers, then tiptoed to the far window and peered out, wondering if the view had changed since earlier. And hoping it hadn’t.

  She was pleasantly rewarded.

  Ridley and a handful of other men — Ridley now shirtless, along with two others — continued to wage an assault on the defenseless, crippled carriage, their axes and sledgehammers swinging. Ridley’s back and shoulder muscles glistened brown in the late-September sun, his body lean and hard, accustomed to work. Although the task the men undertook appeared monumental — and beyond horrendous to her — their occasional banter, punctuated with laughter, drifted through the open second-story window, telling a different story. Men … They were enjoying every minute of it.

  Running a finger over her lips, remembering, Olivia sighed. And what a man …

  She kept to the edge of the window, careful not to stand where Ridley would see her if he looked toward the main house. Which he did, she’d noticed, with odd frequency.

  Things had changed between them since the kiss. Yet not in a way easily defined. She smiled again recalling his comment about the proposal — after she’d blurted out about not wanting to remarry any time soon.

  He hadn’t kissed her since. Hadn’t even tried. And they’d b
een alone often enough that he could have. Disappointed didn’t describe her feelings as much as confused. She didn’t regret the kiss. But in hindsight, neither did she look upon it as a good idea. No matter how good it was. She was in mourning, after all.

  But the way he’d held her so closely, the solidness of his chest against hers, the race of his heart beneath her palm.

  She knelt to let the breeze blow directly on her face.

  Never, in all the times she’d been with Charles in a wifely way, had she experienced the sense of intimacy she’d had when Ridley had taken her in his arms. It was almost as if Ridley hadn’t merely been kissing her, but had been … cherishing her. Savoring … That was an entirely new sensation and exactly what she’d done with him in that moment — and was still doing.

  Her face flushed warm again as an ache of desire took her thoughts and emotions in a direction she knew they shouldn’t wander. Not for long, anyway. And for good reason. Because in a handful of months, he would be gone. And she would be here. Without him. He’d made it clear the Colorado Territory was his first priority. That, and Seabird having a healthy foal. Which all seemed to be going well so far.

  Ridley suddenly straightened and shielded his eyes.

  Olivia started to duck, but before she could, he waved right at her. Shaking her head, she waved back and saw him grin. She felt like a silly school girl. And loved the feeling. Along with knowing he’d wanted to kiss her almost since the first time he’d seen her.

  Ridley pointed toward her, then back at himself, and she stared, not knowing what he was trying to say. Then he did it again. Pointed up at her, then back at himself. She shook her head and shrugged. He glanced around him, moved off to the side and away from the other men, then dropped his axe and started doing … something. Grabbing the air above his head and stepping up and down.

  Olivia leaned closer to the open window, wondering what on earth the man —

  Then it suddenly made sense. And she couldn’t keep from giggling. He was mimicking climbing a ladder. But she knew better. The lattice outside her window. He pointed to her again, then to himself. And waited.

  Olivia stared at him, standing in the sun, watching her watch him, and she recalled the taste of his kiss and, even more, what it felt like to want something more than a kiss from a man.

  Reluctantly, knowing she probably shouldn’t but that she couldn’t not, she nodded. Then pointed to herself, then back to him, just to be sure he understood. Smiling, he retrieved his axe and renewed his battle with the carriage with far more stamina than before, it seemed.

  Gripping the windowsill, she stood, imagining climbing down that trellis with him again. And — to her surprise — she found the prospect more exciting than terrifying.

  The shushed rhythm of soft breaths behind her told her Elizabeth was asleep. Olivia retrieved her satchel and eased into the chair by the desk. She unlatched the main flap and withdrew the stack of teaching materials for the coming week.

  Customarily, she didn’t work on her lessons around Elizabeth. She’d told herself it was out of politeness — wanting to focus on Elizabeth’s needs, since she was, after all, the woman’s companion. The truth was she wasn’t entirely certain how Elizabeth would feel about her teaching the children of a servant. But …

  Elizabeth was asleep, and she had so much to do. Olivia opened the file.

  Jimmy and Jolene were both progressing nicely. Jimmy talked incessantly about the Sunday he read “the Good Book” in front of everyone, and she knew he wanted to do it again. “But better next time,” he’d said. “And longer, like Mr. Cooper done.” She wanted to help him make that happen. There were other children too — she’d seen them at church — and she wished she could teach them as well. Not that they’d asked or indicated interest. But there was scarcely even time to teach Jimmy and Jolene, what with being companion to Elizabeth and working for the general.

  Frowning, she flipped through the teaching materials on the desk. Where were her lesson plans? She’d completed them late last night and slipped them into the satchel before crawling into bed, she was certain of it. She peered inside the main compartment.

  Empty. She sighed. Then remembered.

  She slipped her hand into the smaller front pocket, pulled out the McGuffey’s Reader, and, sure enough, there were the lesson plans, just where she’d —

  An envelope, badly creased and wrinkled along one edge, protruded from the pages of the book, as though it had been in the pocket when she’d inserted the book last night. She turned the envelope over, trying to remember if she’d used the front pocket before. The envelope didn’t look familiar. It was blank on the outside. No name on the front. No writing whatsoever. And it was yellowed, from time, perhaps, or maybe the leather. She couldn’t be certain. But there was something inside.

  And the seal was broken.

  She glanced over at the bed, then back at the envelope, debating. How private could it be if someone had left it in a satchel, forgotten on a bottom shelf? It could be a letter … or a list of errands. Or an old family recipe. A recipe Elizabeth would be grateful to have.

  Hearing the thread of her thoughts, Olivia knew what she should do. But … she held the envelope up to the window, her curiosity getting the best of her. She laid the book on the desk and lifted the flap.

  The aging stationery crinkled overloud in the quiet. Elizabeth stirred and Olivia froze, her heart skipping a beat. She waited, watching.

  Seconds passed.

  Elizabeth slept on, and Olivia slowly released her breath, feeling both relieved and a little foolish at being so nervous. Deciding not to risk disturbing Elizabeth again, she took the envelope and the satchel into the private hallway off the master bedroom. She pulled the bedroom door all but closed behind her and peered around the corner to the second-story landing, the floorboards creaking in the quiet. The corridor leading to the other bedrooms was empty.

  Satisfied, she lifted the flap and withdrew the stationery. Then unfolded the pages. Letterhead with the Harding family insignia.

  Dearest Cousin Beatrice,

  I cannot refrain from saying something appertaining to our eternal destiny; a subject so interesting to me that I am oftentimes so delighted and absorbed in the contemplation as to forget my pains and afflictions, which are very great — often as much as weak human nature can bear. But thanks to God this is not to endure … My Saviour has suffered before me — even more than I …

  The missive continued, but Olivia’s patience wouldn’t. Curious as to its author, she peeked at the last page.

  Always, your loving cousin,

  Selena

  November 26, 1836

  Selena? Or was it Selene? Olivia squinted. The ornate script wasn’t clear. But Selene hadn’t even been born yet. Olivia studied the name again — along with the date — then went back to reading.

  If it is our lot to go first, let us depart rejoicing — Surely, B., if I can bid adieu to all earthly ties, it will not be a severe trial to you should it please God to remove you from this vale of tears.

  Olivia raised a brow. Awfully direct, this Selena.

  True, you have a fond husband and affectionate mother, from whom you would not wish to be separated. I have father, mother, sisters, and brothers, and a father- and mother-in-law, to all of whom I am devotedly attached. I have also a fond husband, who has not obtained the great promise of salvation and from whom I may be eternally separated.

  Olivia paused and reread the last sentence again, sensing the woman’s yearning. Charles had not been a fond husband by any stretch and — much as Selena had done with her husband, whoever he was — Olivia had questioned Charles’s salvation. Though, given the circumstances, she probably hadn’t sincerely questioned it as much as she should have.

  Acknowledging the sting of conviction, yet knowing nothing could be done in that regard now, she refocused her attention.

  I pray God it may not be so, and that he may yet learn to know the truth and feel its consoling and
comforting influence in life and its support in death. I would wish to live for his sake, that I might advise and admonish him to make preparations for the future. I, too, have three dear little babies; for them I would wish to live. But as I sense the dawn of eternity pressing ever closer, I would wish for William

  William? Olivia stared at the name, wondering. She scanned the remaining letter, searching for a snippet that might answer the question foremost in her mind. Who was this William? Along with the equally intriguing Sel —

  The hushed sound of crying lifted her head. Her first thought went to Elizabeth, and she peered inside the bedroom. But Elizabeth continued to rest peacefully. Olivia closed the door so her aunt wouldn’t be disturbed.

  “Oh, sweet child …” A voice drifted toward her from the corridor just feet away. “You know that’s not true.”

  “It is true, Susanna. And you know it.” Soft, heart-wrenching sobs. “And it’s only gotten worse.”

  “Come here, baby. And hear me good when I say this … Your mama don’t love you any less than she love your sister. It’s just that the first girl gets a little more ‘tention sometimes. You just as full o’ talent and sugar sweetness as Selene. And your mama loves you just the same. Even if she don’t say it as often as you might wanna hear it.”

  Olivia all but forgot the letter in her hand.

  A ragged breath followed. “Both she and Father care more about her than me. And about how she’ll soon be engaged to the perfect General William Hicks Jackson. While I’ll end up” — a fresh outburst of sobs — “I’ll end up with nobody, because … because I’m not as pretty as her.”