To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  “I feel foolish — and more than a little selfish — in telling you all this, Livvy.” Elizabeth brushed away a tear. “Because I know your own marriage was far less than what you desired. And deserved. And though you haven’t said it outright … I sense that Charles Aberdeen was …” Elizabeth hesitated. “A very hurtful and cruel husband.”

  Olivia felt her aunt’s attention but deliberately kept her focus on the meadow, the scene going blurry. She’d often wished she could share that part of her life with Elizabeth, yet hadn’t felt at liberty to. And she found it oddly comforting to discover that, somehow, Elizabeth already knew. “Yes,” she whispered. “He was.”

  Elizabeth squeezed Olivia’s hand, and they rocked, side by side, the gentle creak of the chairs keeping odd time with the crickets’ chirrup. Olivia caught sight of Ridley and Uncle Bob leaving the stable. The men headed for the front pasture. They opened the gate, and Olivia warmed when she saw the number of horses that swarmed to Uncle Bob. But what encouraged a smile was how Seabird immediately trotted toward Ridley. Please, Lord, let that foal be healthy and strong … For him. And for his dream.

  Elizabeth leaned slightly forward, and Olivia trailed her gaze to where General Harding stood on the front porch of the old cabin, his head bowed. At first she wondered why he was there. But the cabin was his birthplace, after all, built by his father. After a moment, the general started back toward the mansion, his steps unhurried.

  “I didn’t know,” Elizabeth continued, “until Susanna told me today … Selena gave the general that satchel, Livvy.”

  Olivia turned, her eyes widening.

  “Susanna said she overheard the general talking to John Jr. about it years ago. She never said anything to me, of course, knowing how I felt about the subject. And I don’t blame her. I’m sorry, Livvy … I never would have given the satchel to you had I known.”

  Olivia thought of the satchel now tucked in the bottom of her wardrobe. “I tried to return it to his office earlier today, but he was holding a meeting with his foreman. I’ll do it first thing in the morning, right after he leaves.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “I’m sorry about Nathaniel, Aunt Elizabeth. Susanna told me. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Elizabeth responded with a sad smile. “Not at all. He was an adorable boy. So full of life. I think his death was especially hard on the general because Nathaniel was so like her. Oh, we still had John Jr., and he was a wonderful boy. Perfect in many ways, actually. And he’s grown into a fine man. But Nathaniel … He was so young when she died, and he’d been so close to his mother. He was the spitting image of her too, as William told me. Many times …”

  The words, heavy with meaning, hung in the night air as the sun sank lower behind the hills.

  “Both of our daughters are named after her, you know,” Elizabeth whispered. “Mary … Selena … Harding. William asked me if I would mind. And, of course, I told him no. Which I’d do all over again.”

  “Because you love him,” Olivia whispered.

  “With all my heart.”

  After a moment, Elizabeth rose and moved to the railing. She looked out onto the meadow bathed in the soft, golden glow of twilight. Olivia would have thought her aunt almost serene — if not for the way she gripped the banister tightly.

  “Livvy … Have you ever had a … premonition of sorts?”

  “A premonition?”

  Elizabeth looked back, then nodded.

  Olivia shrugged. “A premonition about what?”

  “About anything. Just a feeling that something was going to happen. And then it did.”

  Olivia thought about it for a moment. “I suppose. Once or twice. Why?”

  When Elizabeth didn’t answer, Olivia felt a disquiet.

  “Have you had a premonition, Aunt Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth held her gaze, then looked back out over the meadow. “No.” She laughed softly. “Of course not. But I do sometimes feel as if … a moment I’m living in was one I’d felt coming. If that makes any sense.”

  It didn’t, but Olivia shied away from saying so.

  Elizabeth laughed again. “Pay no mind to me, Livvy. I’m a silly old woman.”

  Olivia stood and joined her at the railing. “You’re not that at all, Aunt Elizabeth. You’ve had a difficult few months. Years, perhaps. But …” She smiled. “You’re getting stronger. And you’re feeling better every day, aren’t you?”

  Elizabeth reached up and brushed a curl from Olivia’s forehead. “Yes,” she whispered. “I am, dear. Thanks to you.”

  Later, as Olivia sat by her bedroom window waiting for Ridley, it occurred to her how differently she viewed the Harding family now than when she first arrived. She’d thought of them as having everything, as being so perfect. But perhaps there were no perfect families. Only perfect misperceptions of them.

  And perhaps marriages were that way too.

  The discovery encouraged her in a way. To know that though the general and Aunt Elizabeth’s marriage wasn’t perfect, they’d still made a success of it. Perhaps it wasn’t everything the younger Elizabeth had desired at twenty-one. But better than most, certainly. Olivia stared into the dark night. If she knew this, why could she still not let go of that childish dream of finding a man who would love her as she loved him?

  When the mantle clock marked half past eleven, then midnight, and there was still no sign of Ridley, she finally changed into her nightgown, blew out the oil lamp, and climbed into bed.

  One step closer to relinquishing that dream.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The next morning, after watching General Harding ride away on his stallion, Olivia waited five more minutes to make sure he didn’t ride back over the hill, having forgotten something. Then, with the satchel in hand, she hurried downstairs, crossed the porch to the general’s office, and knocked on the door.

  As expected, there was no answer.

  She opened the door and slipped inside, then closed it behind her.

  The room was cool and dark, the window shades mostly drawn. The bison head above the fireplace loomed larger than life, staring down at her with its brooding, onyx eyes. But she returned the stern look this time, refusing to be intimidated. Eager to complete her task, she crossed to the concealed bookshelf to the right of the fireplace where she’d seen Elizabeth get the satchel. Clever — bookshelves hidden behind a door. She’d never seen such a thing.

  She scooted around an overstuffed chair to open the door, then knelt in the tight space, relieved when she saw the satchel’s home still empty. She peered inside the front pocket, checking again to make sure the letter was in the envelope as before. It was. Remnants of her conversation with Elizabeth came back in snatches, and Olivia ached for her aunt all over again.

  She couldn’t decide which was more painful: being married to a man you didn’t love or being married to a man you loved with all your heart and wishing he loved you the same in return.

  She tucked the satchel in its place on the bottom shelf, closed the door, then rose, dusting off her skirt. Three hard raps sounded on the office door, and Olivia froze. But seconds later, when she heard the click of the latch, she dove down behind the chair, grateful the room was dark. Remembering her skirt, she reached behind her and yanked it close just as the door opened.

  Someone entered. A man, judging by the weight of his tread. He stepped inside the room and paused. Afraid she’d be heard in the silence, Olivia held her breath. She wished she could see around the chair but didn’t dare move.

  The telling sound of paper rubbing paper made her think he was reading something. Then she heard a soft thud. Then … nothing.

  Her lungs started to burn. What was he doing? Did he see her? Oh … How did she manage to get herself into these —

  Footsteps again. The door opened … She waited, praying. Then it — blissfully, mercifully — closed. She exhaled, then began to untangle herself from her wad of skirt. Gripping the back of the chair, she
managed to stand without the least semblance of grace.

  “Lose something back there?” a deep voice said.

  Her heart catapulted to her throat. She turned and — seeing who it was — felt a flood of embarrassment, followed by a flash of anger. And hurt. “Ridley Cooper!” She pressed a hand to her bodice, willing her lungs to start working again. “What are you doing in here?”

  “What am I doing?” He laughed. “What are you doing, is more like it.”

  Attempting to salvage the remaining shreds of her decorum, she smoothed the sides of her hair and stepped from behind the chair, still tender over his not showing last night. “I was … returning something.”

  He eyed her and slowly nodded.

  “I was!” Wanting to shift the attention away from herself, she gestured toward him. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m turning in a report the general asked for.” He pointed toward the desk, but never broke eye contact with her.

  Olivia crossed the short distance and picked up the pages, pretending to check whether his story was true. She flipped through the report, not really reading it. But very much aware of the wry smile tipping one side of Ridley’s mouth. She wanted to ask him where he’d been last night and why he hadn’t bothered to come as he’d led her to believe he would. But it felt so … girlish and simpering. Traits she’d never admired. And besides, if he hadn’t cared enough to come, she didn’t want to let on that she cared enough to have been hurt by his not coming.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come last night, Olivia.”

  “I waited for you until midnight!” The words were out before she could stop them.

  His smile deepened, drawing her focus like a magnet.

  “One of the mares delivered late last night. It was a difficult birth, and we nearly lost the filly. Uncle Bob and I took turns staying up with them.”

  “Oh, Ridley, I’m sorry.” Even in the dimly lit room, she noticed the signs of fatigue around his eyes. And realizing he had a valid excuse only made her feel all the more girlish and simpering. “Is the mare all right? And the filly?”

  “Uncle Bob thinks they will be. And you know Uncle Bob. He knows everything.”

  She smiled, appreciating the admiration and respect Ridley had for Bob Green. And the way he never shied away from showing it like some of the other foremen did, all of whom were white. A thought occurred to her. “How did you see me over there? I was behind the chair.”

  “You’re right. You were. But your, ah … bustle wasn’t.”

  Her face went warm. “Those infernal things. They always get me in trouble with you.”

  “Which suits me just fine,” he whispered, and moved closer. “I’ve missed you.”

  She laughed, surprised by the admission. “How can you miss me? We see each other nearly every day. And on Sundays … at church.”

  “I know. But … not like this.”

  He cradled her cheek, then traced her lips with his forefinger, an intensity in his gaze she’d seen before. And welcomed. But …

  He didn’t kiss her.

  His hand moved slowly up her arm, over the scar and slight bump hidden beneath her left sleeve, to her shoulder, then to the back of her neck. His hands were strong and sure and moved at a pace that belied the quickening of his breath. And hers.

  He tilted her face to meet his. And then … oh, finally, he kissed her. But slowly this time, patiently, unlike the last time. With each lingering touch of his lips, she felt herself being drawn closer. She’d never known a kiss could be so gentle, so … devoted. It had never been this way with Charles. Not before they were married and certainly not after.

  Ridley’s hands moved down her back and over the curve of her waist as though he wanted to memorize the feel of her. She wanted to do the same with him but didn’t dare.

  His arms came around her, and she slipped hers around his neck. Either she was floating, or her feet were no longer touching the floor. Either way, she didn’t care. The sting of emotion burned her eyes, and she was certain she’d melt right here in General Harding’s office.

  The name jarred through her like reverberations through a cracked bell. She pulled back.

  “Ridley!” she whispered.

  “What?” He moved in to kiss her again.

  “We’re in General Harding’s office!”

  He stilled, looked into her eyes, then up at the bison, then back at her. “We should probably leave.”

  The way he said it so matter-of-factly made her smile. That, and the fact that he didn’t move.

  She gestured. “You can start by putting me down.”

  “But that’s the part I really don’t want to do,” he answered. Though with a grin and a quick kiss to her forehead, he did.

  Several mornings later, Olivia returned to her room to find a package on her desk. She opened it and immediately tried on the boots. Then sought out Susanna in the kitchen.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, giving the woman a quick sideways hug. “I appreciate you getting these for me in town.”

  Susanna patted her hand, smiling. “It’s awful nice what you doin’, Missus Aberdeen. If you just leave them others with me, I’ll —”

  “No, I’d rather clean them myself … if that’s all right.”

  Susanna eyed her. “Yes, ma’am, that be fine. You ever done it before?”

  Olivia hesitated, then shook her head.

  “That’s all right.” Susanna gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I teach you. But you gonna have to let ‘em dry real good overnight.”

  The next morning, with black shoe polish still staining her fingertips, Olivia found Aunt Elizabeth reading in the study. A breeze billowed the floor-to-ceiling curtains framing the open window, and Elizabeth looked up as she entered.

  “Livvy, what a nice surprise. I thought you’d already be —” Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to the boots in Olivia’s hands, and she frowned. “Now Livvy … I told you those were a gift.”

  “I know you did.” Olivia placed the freshly cleaned and polished boots Elizabeth had given her on the floor. “But I ordered a pair with a little lower heel. Better for walking.”

  She inched her skirt up to show Elizabeth, who wore a dim smile that said she wasn’t entirely convinced.

  “You’re part of our family now, Livvy. You must allow me to give you things on occasion. Doing such gives me great pleasure.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth.” Olivia leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be in the stable working for the general if you need me.”

  “All right, dear. Thank you.”

  Olivia paused in the doorway to the foyer. “Oh, about the boots Elizabeth looked up from her book.

  “Perhaps someone else could use them. Maybe … Mary.” Olivia added a shrug for effect, hoping her words didn’t sound too rehearsed. “I think she commented once that she liked them. I know I always enjoyed wearing my mother’s things growing up.”

  Elizabeth seemed to think about that for a long moment. “Thank you, Livvy,” she said softly. “That’s very thoughtful of you. I’ll be certain to ask her.”

  Olivia continued into the foyer, feeling more than a little triumphant and wondering if she’d missed her calling for the stage. Reaching the front door, she heard something behind her and turned. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light of the front hall, but someone stood before one of the family portraits at the far end.

  “Rachel?” she finally asked.

  Rachel looked up. “Missus Aberdeen …” Sniffing, Rachel briefly looked away, then closed the distance between them. “How you doin’ this mornin’, ma’am?”

  “I’m well. How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, ma’am.”

  Though Rachel’s voice denied it, Olivia thought she detected a trace of tears in the striking blue eyes.

  Rachel pressed her forefinger against her lips. “I just brought a fresh supply of Mrs. Harding’s special blend,” she whispered. “I put it in the kitchen with Susanna
.”

  “Oh, good!” Olivia whispered back. “I had it on my list to ask you about that this week.”

  “Well, you can mark it off, ma’am. ‘Cause it’s all done!”

  Olivia returned her smile, resisting the urge to look down the hallway.

  “Well … I best be off.” Rachel gave her leather pouch a pat. “Need to gather some more herbs from the woods. Let me know if you need anythin’ else.”

  “All right, I will.”

  Olivia waited until the door had closed and Rachel’s footsteps on the porch faded before she walked to where Rachel had been standing — in front of the portrait of John Harding, the general’s father. For a long moment, Olivia stared into his likeness, seeing glimpses of General Harding in the angular features of the man’s faces, in the high forehead, and even in the commanding presence the artist had captured.

  But it was the striking blue of John Harding’s eyes that made Olivia look back at the door … and wonder.

  Later that next week, in the supply room of the mares’ stable, Olivia completed her inventory for October in a third of the time it had taken her in June. After five months of this routine, she finally had the supplies in all the various supply rooms across the plantation organized in the same manner. Some of the stable hands were better at returning things to their proper places than others, but the rudimentary pictures she’d drawn on the outside of the boxes and crates were helping the workers who couldn’t read a word.

  Which, unfortunately, included most of them.

  A little warm, she fluffed the bodice of her shirtwaist, grateful for the somewhat cooler temperatures but wishing fall would hurry up and arrive in all its glory. Autumn was her favorite season — the maples fiery red, the cool breezes at night — and she hoped this one would stay for a while instead of bowing so quickly to winter as it had last year.

  She reviewed the regular monthly report she’d prepared for General Harding, then the additional notes she’d included on the last page, wondering how he’d accept the suggestions coming from her. She would find out soon enough.