To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  Mr. Pagette leveled a stare. “Is that your final word on this, General Harding?”

  Olivia looked back at the general, silently hoping.

  “It is, Mr. Pagette.” General Harding crossed to the door. “Again, before you go, sir, I hope you’ll seek refreshment from the kitchen. It’s quite a long ride back to town.”

  Mr. Pagette offered his hand. “Thank you for your time, General.” He looked Olivia’s way. “Mrs. Aberdeen, a pleasure, ma’am.”

  “All mine,” she whispered, still trying to grasp what the general had just said. And done. And what it meant.

  The office door closed. General Harding returned to his chair, picked up the report, and began reading it as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn’t just decided the futures of over a hundred people.

  Including hers. For a second time.

  Olivia watched the clock on the wall, wanting to leave the general’s office. But he kept on asking question after question, and she couldn’t exactly not answer. As excited as she’d been to share her ideas with the general, all she wanted now was to find Mr. Pagette before he left.

  “I’m impressed, Olivia.” The general looked up from his desk. “And frankly, I wonder why none of the men in charge of ordering in the past have thought about this before.”

  Olivia glanced out the window. “Thank you, General. With your permission, I’ll combine the separate orders from all the different supply areas across the plantation, and we’ll start ordering the common items in greater bulk. The prices you see here …” She gestured to the paper, sneaking another look at the clock on the wall. Twenty-five minutes had passed since Mr. Pagette took his leave. “They are already negotiated with Mr. Burkett, the owner of the feed store. Mr. Burkett came in second lowest on the bidding. All we need is your approval, and we’ll move forward.”

  She hoped the women in the kitchen were stuffing Mr. Pagette full of rhubarb cobbler.

  The general looked up. “Do tell me, Olivia, why we aren’t going with the lowest price.”

  “Because, sir, the last two times we’ve ordered from Mr. Hankler, he’s been late in delivery and his product has been inferior. So actually, ordering this way, we’ll receive higher quality goods for appoximately the same price. As indicated in the total in this column.” She pointed, resisting the urge to tell him she’d already explained this once.

  General Harding gave a nod. “Well done, Olivia. Proceed with ordering from Mr. Burkett, and” — he pushed back from his desk, and she took that as her cue to move toward the door — “obtain bids from the other suppliers as you’ve noted. Then we’ll speak again.”

  “Very good, sir. I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  Smiling, she exited the office, walked as casually as she could past the open front window, then skedaddled across the porch to the kitchen. She found Chloe inside alone. “Chloe, have you seen Mr. Pagette, the general’s guest?”

  “Yes, Missus Aberdeen. He stopped by, and I give him a cup o’ cider and some salt pork on a biscuit. Then he left. Been a while now.” Chloe pulled a steaming skillet from the oven.

  “Did he say where he was going next?”

  “No, ma’am.” Chloe shook her head, intent on her work. “He didn’t.”

  Olivia searched the front of the house. No carriage was parked in the drive. Then again, she didn’t remember seeing one earlier either. If she didn’t find Mr. Pagette before he left, chances of their crossing paths again was slim. It wasn’t as if she could inquire to the general about him. And since she never ventured into town …

  She half walked, half ran to the mares’ stable, hearing her mother’s voice the entire way. A lady always walks with grace and purpose, Olivia. She never runs.

  Well, this lady sometimes does, Olivia thought. With purpose too. Albeit, minus much grace.

  She searched the stable. Mr. Pagette wasn’t there. Neither was Ridley. But Grady Matthews was.

  “Mrs. Aberdeen! Nice to see you again today, ma’am.”

  She’d seen Mr. Matthews several times since that day in the storage room of the stable. He hadn’t mentioned anything further about the teaching. Surely he’d seen her with Jimmy and Jolene. But other than seeking ways to prolong conversations with her and making inquiries that were none of his concern, he hadn’t bothered her — or touched her — again.

  “Hello, Mr. Matthews. I’m looking for a guest of the general’s and thought he might have come in here. Have you seen him, by chance?”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Mr. P — “Olivia almost said it, then caught herself. “That’s all right, Mr. Matthews. I don’t see him here. I’ll look elsewhere.”

  Leaving before the stable hand could think of another question, Olivia walked back outside and scanned the meadow, then recalled something Mr. Pagette had said back in the office about being shown a building when he first arrived. She covered ground as quickly as she could without running full out and minutes later — winded and overly warm — she rounded the corner leading to the church. And there he was, climbing into a carriage.

  “Mr. Pagette!” she called, a stitch in her side slowing her pace.

  He gathered the reins and released the brake, not turning.

  She called again, louder this time, and he glanced in her direction. She waved and closed the distance between them, fighting to catch her breath.

  She stopped a few feet shy of the horse. “I’m … so glad I … caught you, sir.”

  He smiled, setting the brake again. “And I’m sorry to have caused you to overexert yourself on my behalf, madam.”

  She held up a hand. “It’s all right …” The burning in her lungs gradually lessened. “I’m simply … unaccustomed … to running.”

  He laughed and climbed from the carriage. “And I’m unaccustomed to having lovely young women pursue me across massive estates. So that makes us even.” A twinkle lit his eyes. “While also making this old man’s day.”

  Olivia smiled, finding the ease with which he bantered both surprising and engaging.

  He gave a slight bow. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mrs. Aberdeen?”

  There it was again, the way he said her name and that feeling they’d met before. “By chance, Mr. Pagette, have our paths had opportunity to cross before today?”

  A fleeting look clouded his expression. “No, ma’am, we’ve never been properly introduced, but …” His voice softened. “I knew your father. We served on a number of committees together through the years. I had the utmost respect for him, God rest him. And your mother, as well. Whom I had the pleasure of meeting on several occasions.”

  Maybe it was being here at Belle Meade all these months, cut off from the outside world, or maybe it was the fact that he’d known her parents, but she felt a connection to the man.

  “I’ve also seen you in town on occasion, Mrs. Aberdeen. Though it’s been some time. At social events …” He glanced away briefly, before looking back. “When you accompanied your late husband.”

  Olivia read awareness in his eyes. So he knew who she was. Or more rightly, whose widow she was. “Did you know him, sir? My late husband?”

  “Not personally, no. But I am familiar with … the circumstances, of course.”

  The circumstances. The words prompted a sense of melancholy as her smile came and went. “Of course.”

  “Please allow me to extend my condolences, ma’am, for the pain you must be enduring upon your husband’s passing.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pagette. You’re most kind.” But his sincerity cut her to the quick. She wanted to tell him he needn’t feel badly for her, that she hadn’t loved her husband. But such honesty with a stranger hardly seemed proper. And yet, this man hardly seemed like a proper stranger.

  “Pardon me for rushing our conversation, Mrs. Aberdeen. But I have another appointment to make yet this afternoon. Dare I presume your pursuit of me pertains in some way to my discussion with General Harding?”

  “Yes, sir. It does.”
<
br />   He waited.

  Contemplating what she was about to propose, Olivia felt her pulse kick up a notch. “It’s about … starting a freedmen’s school.”

  He sighed. “I sensed you felt badly for me in that regard. But I knew the odds of the general granting my petition weren’t in my favor when I came here. So his disposition on the topic — as cool as an iceberg, you might say — wasn’t surprising. Still … I had to try.”

  “Mr. Pagette?” She took a deep breath. “If you had a building in which to meet, would you be able to start the school?”

  He studied her for a moment, and she could see his thoughts churning.

  “A place to meet is necessary, of course, ma’am. But the bureau also needs to find a teacher. Then there’s the business of books, which are quite expensive and —”

  “If you had a teacher” — Olivia felt a quickening inside her — “and if that teacher somehow found a way to provide books …”

  Gradual understanding deepened his gaze. But to her surprise, he shook his head.

  “No, ma’am. No … The bureau would never agree to that. Nor would I.”

  “But why? I’m capable of —”

  “Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be for you, Mrs. Aberdeen? A white woman? Teaching freedmen? Just last week, a male teacher in Memphis was beaten almost to death. Pardon my candor — and I don’t mean to offend you — but you think the city of Nashville shunned you over what your husband did?” He looked down at the ground, then back up. His eyes were fierce. “Taking into account current public opinion, they’d likely do to you what they did to him, if they ever found out.”

  Olivia fought back a shudder, the images of Charles’s body burned into her mind. “Then, we’ll make sure they don’t.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying, ma’am. I’m not unaware that your personal …” He clenched his jaw tight as if trapping the words before they leaped free. But Olivia could guess at what he’d been about to say, and considering what she was proposing, she felt it important for him to know the truth.

  Surprisingly, her voice came smooth and strong. “Mr. Pagette, since we’re speaking with candor …” Seconds passed. He nodded. “You offered your condolences a moment ago on my late husband’s passing, and I appreciate them. But it always feels so false to respond with ‘thank you,’ as etiquette demands, when my feelings are … quite the opposite. The truth is, I haven’t suffered as greatly in my late husband’s death as I did while he was living.”

  The lack of surprise in Mr. Pagette’s expression revealed she’d guessed correctly.

  “I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Aberdeen, and will certainly keep your confidence. When I stated that I didn’t know your husband personally, that was true. But I did know personally of his dealings, more so than the newspapers reported. And …” A sheepish, almost regretful expression swept his face. “It’s not difficult for me to imagine what a woman such as yourself might have suffered at the hand of such a man. And since we’re being so honest …” He smiled. “It was that pain for which I was truly offering my condolences moments ago.”

  Olivia slowly returned his smile. “So we’ve come full circle then, Mr. Pagette.”

  Neither spoke for a moment. A cool breeze rustled the trees lining the road, and Olivia caught the first sure hint of fall on its wings.

  “I realize you suffered at the hand of your husband, Mrs. Aberdeen. And for that, I’m deeply sorry. But you’ve lived a sheltered life in comparison to what these recently freed —”

  “I know that, sir. Though I didn’t know it … until coming here. And until …” Her throat tightened. She motioned past him. “Until going to church there.”

  He glanced behind him, then turned back. “That’s where you go to church, ma’am?”

  She nodded. “They welcomed me … when no one else would. I’m already teaching two of the children. They’re very bright. They’re learning to read and write. We’ve started arithmetic now too.” She told him about how Jimmy stood up in church the previous week and read a series of verses they’d practiced. But she could tell he wasn’t impressed. “What I’m saying to you, Mr. Pagette, is that I’d appreciate the opportunity to at least be considered as a teacher for a freedmen’s school.”

  A moment passed, and she felt her hope passing with it.

  He glanced back in the direction from which she’d come. “How will General Harding feel about your teaching, ma’am?”

  “I … hadn’t planned on telling him. But remember,” she hastened to add, “he said himself he wouldn’t stand in the way of it. Only that he couldn’t be party to it. And one thing I would insist on, out of respect for him — and I do respect him, Mr. Pagette, even though I don’t agree with him on this issue — is that the school could not be on Belle Meade property.”

  Mr. Pagette looked off in the distance. “A freedmen’s school burned over in Alabama last month. Killed fourteen people. Most of them children. If anything like that were to happen to you, the daughter of a trusted friend …” He turned back. Emotion lent a sheen to his eyes, and Olivia felt the same in hers.

  “And yet,” she whispered, “these people deserve the right to learn. To have the chance to improve their lives.”

  “I agree,” he said softly.

  “So please, sir … Let me help them learn. Allow me to have a … meaningful purpose for my life again.”

  She searched his expression and saw compassion and gratitude, along with his struggle. But no clear answer.

  He climbed into the carriage and gripped the reins. “You’re a brave woman, Mrs. Aberdeen.”

  “No, sir. I’m nothing of the sort. I simply know what it’s like to live under someone else’s rule. Then to have a taste of freedom. However briefly.”

  Mr. Pagette looked beyond her, toward the mansion. “Even a brief taste of freedom is a powerful thing, isn’t it, ma’am?” He released the brake but held the reins taut. “I’ll contact you again, Mrs. Aberdeen. Though, it may be a month or so. And it will definitely be through someone else. A trusted third party. It’s best for you if we aren’t seen together. Do you understand?”

  Olivia nodded, already wondering who that third party would be. Susanna, perhaps. Or Jedediah. Even Uncle Bob.

  “The fewer people who know about this, ma’am, the better. But from what I’ve learned about you, Mrs. Aberdeen, I’d wager you know how to keep a secret.”

  “Yes, Mr. Pagette. Keeping secrets is something I do very well.”

  Chapter

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  No sooner had Ridley started hitching Old Gray to the miniature cart, than he spotted Olivia coming from the mansion. She paused on the front porch to speak with Mrs. Harding and Mary, who were seated in rockers.

  He still had no idea what had changed Olivia’s mind about taking the extra work for the quarries, but he intended to pry it out of her. Whatever her reasons, he applauded her willingness to give the horse cart a try.

  While he was glad to see her facing her fear, he was hesitant because it meant they’d be spending more time together. Something he’d once thought he would never get enough of. But after what she’d said to him that afternoon a couple of weeks ago — What I’m trying to say is you’re an honest man … You always tell the truth … Those are qualities I greatly admire — he’d gotten a glimpse of the man she thought he was. Her words, spoken with such sweetness, haunted him, burning a hole in his conscience and making the time they did spend together increasingly uncomfortable for him.

  Thankfully, they’d both been busy in recent days. Her with something Mrs. Harding was working on for a women’s committee, she said, plus teaching Jimmy and Jolene. And his own days began well before dawn and often went late into the night. What with the fall harvest, training the yearlings, the recent races at Burns Island track, and working with the stallions, he had more on his plate than he could manage.

  And even though he knew it was probably best they see less of each other …

/>   He missed her.

  It was so easy for him to lose himself with her. To enjoy the moment, her laughter, her smile, and the way she sometimes looked at him. And of course, he always enjoyed looking at her. He’d made it no secret that he was leaving for the Colorado Territory after the yearling sale, and she’d made it no secret that the Colorado Territory was the last place on earth she’d ever like to be. So, that pretty much left them at odds with each other. Only, at odds did not describe his feelings for Olivia Aberdeen. Or what he felt right now as she leaned down to give Mrs. Harding a hug, the comely shape of her bustle drawing his eye. And what about the churning he felt each time he imagined leaving her when he headed west in a few short months?

  “Lots goin’ on up at the big house this mornin’, Ridley?”

  Hearing Uncle Bob behind him — and not missing the man’s playful sarcasm — Ridley went back to work hitching up Old Gray. “Not that I know of. Why?”

  Uncle Bob wiped his hands on his apron. “Oh … I don’t know. Just seemed like you was enjoyin’ the view.”

  Ridley shook his head. “Not at all. I was just … checking those clouds.” He motioned. “Think we might be in for some rain later today.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Checkin’ them clouds. That’s what I thought you was doin’.”

  Ridley smiled and pulled a strap through the harness, then secured it. “But what if I was … enjoying the view, as you said? Would that be so wrong?”

  He looked over, expecting to see Uncle Bob’s customary grin. But the man wasn’t even close to smiling.

  Ridley straightened. “Something wrong?”

  Uncle Bob glanced toward the house, then back. “This ain’t none of my business, sir. That’s why I ain’t said nothin’ up to now.”

  His curiosity roused, Ridley eyed him. “What are you talking about? Up to now …?”