To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  Uncle Bob scratched his whiskered chin. “White folks,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes they talk ‘round us. Almost like they forget we’s even in the room.”

  Ridley got a funny feeling, like he was about to hear something he wasn’t going to like. And the solemnity of Uncle Bob’s gaze confirmed it.

  “Word is, Ridley … The general’s plannin’ on marryin’ her off to one of his war buddies. Whichever one makes the best match. I hear tell he’s already got an officer in mind.”

  Ridley had trouble hiding his surprise on two levels. First Uncle Bob had picked up on his feelings for Olivia … He thought he’d done a fairly good job of masking all that. But Ridley didn’t know which surprised him more — Uncle Bob’s perceptiveness or that General Harding had taken the fatherly role upon himself to find Olivia another husband long before her mourning period would end.

  “I’m guessin’ she ain’t said nothin’ ‘bout all this to you yet, sir.”

  “No.” Ridley glanced back toward the house and saw Olivia walking toward them, still some distance away. She waved, and he waved back. “She hasn’t.”

  “I don’t know if I’s right or not in tellin’ you that. But I figured if it was me in your shoes, I’d wanna know.”

  Ridley nodded, not liking the sour feeling creeping up on him inside. It wasn’t as if he’d never thought of Olivia marrying again someday. She was young, beautiful, intelligent. What man wouldn’t want her for his wife? It was just that he didn’t like thinking about it, so he chose not to. Most of the time. Except for now. When he couldn’t think of anything else, thanks to Uncle Bob. And General Harding.

  “There’s somethin’ else, sir. Somethin’ I need to ask you.”

  Ridley looked over, not liking the caution in Uncle Bob’s voice.

  “You ain’t said nothin’ to her, have you? ‘Bout the war or which side you —”

  “No.” Ridley shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t endanger your position here at Belle Meade. Or with the general. You can trust me on that, Uncle Bob.”

  Uncle Bob nodded. “Only reason I’m askin’ is ‘cause … if you was to start … enjoyin’ that view, sir, then it’d only be right to tell her. It’s true, she ain’t thought of too highly right now by folks in town, but she also ain’t just some woman either. She’s a proper lady, livin’ here under the charge of General William Giles Harding, and she —”

  “I know who she is, Uncle Bob.” The words came out harder than he’d intended. He sighed. “What I mean is …” He offered a placating nod, the truth twisting his gut like a knife. “I understand what you’re saying.”

  Uncle Bob walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “That was me talkin’ to you like the head hostler at Belle Meade Plantation and a worker for the general. But this is me talkin’ to you like a man.” He squeezed Ridley’s shoulder. “If that woman was to chose you, sir, she couldn’t chose no better.”

  Ridley heard the creak of the gate, then the rustle of a skirt, and Uncle Bob glanced beyond him.

  “Mornin’ there, Missus Aberdeen.”

  As Uncle Bob greeted Olivia, Ridley finished hitching up Old Gray, working out a knot in the reins, as well as in his gut.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ridley still hadn’t managed to coax Olivia into the cart, and he was all but ready to give up. “Olivia … do you want to do this or not?”

  “Yes, I want to do it. I’m just …” She put a hand to her stomach. “The cart is so close to the horse. I just need another minute to …”

  He started unhitching Old Gray.

  “Wait!” She tugged at his sleeve. “Why are you so impatient today?”

  “Impatient?” Ridley exhaled a laugh. “I’ve been standing here waiting, watching you walk back and forth, picking at your skirt and then your hair, talking about this and that. Just get in the cart, Olivia. Before Old Gray dies of old age. And me along with him.”

  Her mouth fell open. “I can’t believe you just said that to me. You know how I feel about horses. I’m just a little more nervous about this than I thought I’d be, but —”

  “I understand. But that’s why it’s best to just do it. Just take a deep breath and get in.”

  She eyed Old Gray. “What if he strikes off across the pasture like Copper did that day?”

  “If this decrepit gelding strikes off anywhere, I’ll douse Uncle Bob’s hat with Susanna’s gravy and eat it for lunch.” Tempted to smile at the look on her face, he didn’t. He remembered how her late husband had pressured her to ride a stallion and knew he was taking a similar tactic. Only, the chances of Olivia getting hurt doing this were next to nothing. And riding in this cart — so close to the horse — was a definite step in the right direction. “Now, please … get in the cart.”

  “Ridley,” she whispered. “I really want to do this, but —”

  “I’m going to count to three, then I’m putting Old Gray out to pasture. Literally. One —”

  “Ridley, please, I just —”

  “Two —”

  “This isn’t very gentlemanlike behav —”

  “Three!”

  Giving him a scathing look, Olivia stepped into the cart, sat down, and gripped the edge of the seat, then stared at the back of the horse as if the animal might turn on her at any moment.

  Ridley climbed in beside her. “See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Feeling a little guilty about pressuring her, yet knowing she could do this — and would be glad about it later — he gathered the reins and released the brake.

  He was taking out his frustration on her when really he was frustrated with himself. Why he’d ever allowed his feelings for this woman to grow into what they were, he didn’t know. Caring about her the way he did, wanting her like he did — even now, with her wedged up beside him. Very close beside him. Turns out the miniature cart was probably better suited for one person than two. Not that he was complaining.

  Old Gray sidestepped — or tried to — and the cart rocked.

  “Ridley, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  He curbed a grin. “That’s fine. Just lean over your side.”

  She nudged him hard with her shoulder. “You’re mean today.”

  That made him smile. This woman could go from sweet to sassy in nothing flat. And he loved that quality about her. Just like he loved all the rest. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I don’t mean to be mean. I just have a lot to do and —”

  “Well, if you don’t have time today, then …” She started to get out, but he quickly reached across the short bench.

  “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting out of here until we’ve taken a turn around the meadow.”

  Looking more rebellious now than scared, she exhaled.

  “You ready?”

  She gave the faintest nod. He seized the moment and slapped the reins. And Old Gray set off. At a snail’s pace. Yet with the way Olivia held on, watching Old Gray’s every move, one would’ve thought they were rounding the final turn at Burns Island track.

  As the ancient gelding took them around the meadow, Ridley was certain he could’ve counted every blade of grass if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t mind too much. He enjoyed being with the woman beside him.

  A late-October breeze bowed the knee-high grasses feathering the pasture and stirred the sweet scent of sunshine through wild-flowers dotting the meadow. The soft whoosh of wind through the field grass reminded him of the faint echo of waves from home, and in his memory, he caught a whiff of ocean and sand. A pang of homesickness hit him hard. That happened from time to time, and he guessed it would always be that way.

  Instinctively, he reached for the seashell in his pants pocket, but sitting so close to Olivia, he quickly gave up the idea. She shifted beside him and her thigh rubbed the length of his, sending heat like the dog days of summer spiking right through him. He tried to move over, but there was nowhere to move. Why on earth had he made this bench so doggone narrow? Every time Olivia moved, he
r thigh brushed his. If she didn’t stop shifting around, he was going to have to get out and walk. Either that or burn alive.

  Needing to think about something else, he peered over at her. “May I ask you a question?”

  She nodded, her grip on the seat easing.

  “What made you change your mind? About taking this extra job at the quarries? And what about being even closer to a horse?”

  She looked out across the pasture. “Several things. Aunt Elizabeth, for one. A while back” — the cart hit a gopher hole, but Olivia only gave a fleeting frown — “she and I were talking. And she told me about their son … Nathaniel. Who died,” she added softly, “just before his tenth birthday.”

  Ridley listened as she spoke, but he also watched as her body relaxed against him. He’d noticed that about her before. If he could get her talking, or maybe sparring with him, she would all but forget her nervousness about horses.

  “So,” she continued, “I figured if Aunt Elizabeth — after losing a son that way — could be around horses again, then surely I should be able to as well.” Ridley nodded. He hadn’t known that about the Hardings. “It’s odd, isn’t it?” She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “How learning about someone else’s past and what they’ve been through makes you look at your own life so differently? I’ve felt the same way sometimes on Sunday morning when …” She looked around. “We left the pasture?”

  Ridley smiled. “I wondered when you were going to notice.”

  He guided the cart down the long driveway they’d first walked up together months ago, their conversation coming easily, like it always did. Enjoying the time together, he guided it back to where they’d started, set the brake, and helped her out.

  “That wasn’t so scary after all, was it?”

  “At first, yes. In the end …” She pretended to have to think hard. “No.” Her eyes lit from within. “Much as it pains me to say this to you, I rather enjoyed it. Thank you, Ridley.”

  “You’re welcome, Olivia.”

  His gaze lowered to her smile, then to the rest of her. She wore a skirt and jacket he’d seen many times, and the outfit suited her. But it was the color that caught his attention today. Gray, for mourning. Over a man who had been shot and hung for being a traitor to the South. Which is what Ridley knew he was. Not in his own heart. But in the hearts of most everyone else here at Belle Meade. And in Dixie. And in her heart. If she only knew the truth.

  Reminded of what had brought him here and of how quickly he’d be gone, Ridley bowed at the waist and bid her good day, playing the part of the Southern gentleman he would never truly be. Not in Olivia Aberdeen’s eyes.

  Not after what he’d been. And done.

  “An invitation? From Mrs. Adelicia Acklen?” Not certain she’d heard the general correctly, Olivia glanced at Elizabeth beside her at the dinner table, glimpsing the same note of surprise in the girls’ expressions. She knew of Mrs. Acklen, of course. Everyone who lived in Nashville knew the richest woman — and widow — in the Confederacy, if not the entire country. Olivia simply hadn’t realized Mrs. Acklen and the Hardings were close acquaintances.

  “Yes, dear. That’s right.” Aunt Elizabeth exchanged a look with her husband at the far end, her smile faltering. “Apparently Mrs. Acklen has returned from her grand tour of Europe and is hosting a reception. On the eighteenth of December. For Madame Octavia LeVert.”

  “The Madame LeVert?” Selene’s voice rose almost a full octave. “And our family has been invited?”

  The general nodded.

  Selene, Mary, and Cousin Lizzie all exchanged smiles, and Olivia didn’t blame them. But she sensed a reticence on the part of her aunt and the general, which made her suspect. Growing up in Nashville, she’d heard about the Belmont Mansion — Mrs. Acklen’s home — and had longed to visit. Her family had never received an invitation, of course, and she was certain this invitation didn’t include her name either. Not that she could attend anyway, still officially in mourning. But it was a nice thought. To be invited to a reception at Belmont in honor of the famed Southern socialite, Madame LeVert.

  Elizabeth rang the bell for dessert.

  “From what I hear,” the general continued, “it’s going to be the social event of the season. Reportedly, Mrs. Acklen is inviting over a thousand guests.”

  Cousin Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Her home must be enormous!”

  Selene sighed. “I hope General Jackson can attend with us.”

  “With you, you mean,” Mary said beneath her breath. Then she sat forward in her chair. “Mother! May I please be excused? I want to see if I have anything suitable to wear.”

  Looking slightly irritated but not enough to argue, Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, dear, that’s fine. You may all go, if you like.”

  Mary was the first to exit the room, but Selene and Cousin Lizzie were hot on her heels. Olivia remained where she was.

  Susanna arrived with the dessert tray and stopped short. “We done lost the girls already, Missus Harding?”

  “I’m afraid so, Susanna. And …” Elizabeth pushed her chair back from the table. “If it’s agreeable to the general, I suggest we retire to the front porch for dessert this evening. It’s so nice out.”

  “That’s fine, ma’am. I go back and get the coffee and bring it all outside.”

  Olivia intentionally loitered behind, waiting for the general and Aunt Elizabeth to take the lead. She wanted the opportunity to speak with Susanna. Or rather, give Susanna the opportunity to speak with her, if she wanted to.

  It was the third of November — four weeks since she’d met Mr. Pagette and discussed starting a freedmen’s school with him. She was still waiting to hear from the trusted third party. She’d been so hopeful this would work out. She’d taken on the additional responsibilities at the limestone quarries, saving every penny she’d earned in anticipation of teaching and enjoying every minute of extra time with Ridley — even if it meant being in the horse cart.

  He’d been far quieter lately, but no wonder with the long hours he was keeping. It frightened her, seeing him working so closely with the stallions like he was. Rachel had joined her and Elizabeth for a walk the other day, and the stories the women told her about past incidents in which stable hands had been injured — or worse — made Olivia wish Ridley wasn’t so bent on learning from Uncle Bob like he was. Yet, watching him, it was impossible not to see his love for those animals.

  Susanna returned with the tray set with dessert and coffee for three.

  “Susanna, is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, ma’am, Missus Aberdeen. I got it.”

  Olivia followed alongside her in the dining room. “You’ve been doing well then?”

  Susanna glanced over. “Yes, ma’am. You been doin’ well?”

  “Yes, I have. Thank you for asking.”

  Susanna paused for Olivia to precede her into the front hall.

  Olivia stopped just short of the front door, the general and Aunt Elizabeth already outside. “Susanna,” she whispered, “is there, by chance, something you’d like to tell me?”

  Susanna paused, holding the tray. “I don’t reckon so, ma’am,” she whispered. Then her eyes got a twinkle. Her head lowered a little. “Unless …”

  Olivia perked up.

  “Unless there’s somethin’ you want me to be tellin’ you?”

  Olivia glanced up the spiral staircase to make sure they were alone. “I only want you to tell me … if you’re ready to tell me.”

  Susanna’s forehead wrinkled. “Is we talkin’ ‘bout the same thing, ma’am?”

  Olivia nodded, then paused, remembering what Mr. Pagette had said about not telling anyone. But surely it was all right to talk to Susanna. Still … “Why don’t you go first,” she whispered, feeling that was safest.

  Susanna glanced through the open front door, then back. “She give ‘em to her, ma’am. Just like you said you was gonna talk to her ‘bout doin’.” Susanna smiled. “I was there to
o. And Miss Mary? Mmmm … That child, she was so happy.”

  Olivia stared for a second. “The boots,” she said softly, realizing they weren’t talking about the same thing.

  Susanna nodded, then stopped. “That was what you was talkin’ ‘bout, right, ma’am?”

  Thinking fast, Olivia touched her arm. “I’m so glad Mary liked them.”

  Susanna smiled. “That was a good thing you done, Missus Aberdeen. Mary’s a good girl. She just needs to come into herself a little more. She will.”

  Nodding, Olivia continued to the front porch and, for the next hour, listened to the general talk at length about the upcoming yearling sale. But all the while, in the back of her head, a nagging certainty told her Mr. Pagette wouldn’t be contacting her after all. And that she would never teach in a freedmen’s school.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Lawd, sir! You all right?”

  Ridley staggered back a step from Jack Malone — his world reeling, his body numb. Dazed, he saw Uncle Bob running toward him across the corral and could barely make out the hazy outline of the prized stallion who had just tried to take his head off. Jack Malone stared down at him as if the animal knew exactly what he’d done. And was proud of it.

  “I ain’t never seen him rear up so mean-like, sir! Bent on doin’ harm. What’d you do to him?”

  Ridley squeezed his eyes tight, trying to focus, a dull ache starting on the right side of his head. “I just looked at him like you told me to.”

  “Did he clip you?”

  Uncle Bob reached up to touch his head, but Ridley brushed his hand away.

  “I’m fine.” Ridley took a deep breath, slowly regaining his balance. “But I’m pretty sure that horse tried to kill me.” He forced a laugh. “And still might.”

  The stallion snorted and pawed the ground, every move defiant, powerful. The horse was twenty times a man’s strength and stamina, and Ridley would’ve sworn the thoroughbred was flaunting the fact.

  He winced. Everything had happened so fast.

  Every day for the past couple of weeks, he and Uncle Bob had worked with the stallion. Jack Malone’s temperament made Seabird look like Old Gray by comparison. And Ridley had thought he was starting to get the hang of things.