To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  And would. Before the yearling sale.

  Chapter

  FORTY

  Ridley stood just inside the stable watching the handsome couple stroll the estate in the distance. He didn’t like Colonel Burcham to begin with or the uniform the man insisted on wearing. But he especially didn’t like his spending time with Olivia. For the past few days, much to Ridley’s irritation, he’d had to endure the colonel’s attentiveness to her, as well as the man’s all-too-frequent visits to the stables and his arrogance with the workers. Especially young Jimmy.

  The only bright note about the colonel being here — something which gave him great pleasure — was seeing Olivia’s almost-comical attempts to keep her distance from the man. Even now as she walked beside him, she kept at least a foot of space — if not two — between them, something the colonel persistently tried to lessen and Olivia — equally persistent — resisted.

  Like now. Ridley bristled as Burcham reached for her arm and tucked it through his. Tasting metal, Ridley counted the seconds, anticipating Olivia’s response. She hadn’t disappointed him so far.

  One … two … three … four … fi —

  Right on cue, Olivia knelt and picked up a leaf, effectively disengaging herself from the colonel. She studied the leaf as though it were a work of art and not at all similar to the one she’d stooped to pick up moments earlier — right after the colonel had attempted the same fruitless maneuver. No doubt Burcham saw through Olivia’s polite rejection, but from all appearances, her rebuttals weren’t discouraging his efforts.

  Growing more rankled the longer he watched, Ridley turned and went back inside, hoping the colonel would take Olivia’s hints and leave. Soon.

  He picked up a bridle that had slipped from the hook, grateful when his world remained steady. He fingered the side of his head. The wound was still tender to the touch and would be for a while, but at least the constant ache had abated.

  He joined Jedediah and a few of the stable hands out back and worked with the foals, turning ideas for the spring sale over and over in his mind. During the course of the afternoon, it became obvious that some of the men had developed favorites among the colts and fillies. And watching the hands who were more experienced, Ridley could already see a difference in the quality of those foals and the trainable demeanor of the animals. The observation took his thoughts about the yearling sale down an entirely different trail.

  A while later, brushing down Seabird in her stall, his thoughts churning as the idea took shape, he heard the crack of a whip somewhere outside, followed by what he could only describe as a primal scream.

  “I said keep her still, you lazy —”

  Ridley bolted, grabbing gloves from a shelf as he ran. He reached the stable’s side door in time to see Colonel Burcham raise a whip — for the second time, judging by the bloody welt on the mare’s haunch.

  Jimmy, sprawled in the dirt, scrambled to his feet with Uncle Bob’s help. “Colonel, please,” the boy cried. “Don’t whip her, sir. I get her for ya!”

  Uncle Bob tried to grab hold of the colonel’s arm, but Burcham flung him aside and let loose a string of obscenities that boiled Ridley’s blood. Burcham brought the whip back a third time, his face mottled in fury. The thin strip of leather cut the air with a sharp whistle —

  But Ridley was ready. He caught the tail end of the whip in his gloved hand and jerked hard. Colonel Burcham lost his grip and stumbled a step but didn’t go down. When he turned and saw Ridley, his expression hardened with rage.

  Uncle Bob picked himself up just as Jimmy started toward the mare, but Burcham grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck.

  “If you’d have just held her still, you ignorant little nig —”

  Ridley brought the whip down with a crack. The colonel stumbled back from Jimmy, holding the sleeve of his uniform.

  “You touch either of them again, Colonel, and next time, I’ll go for skin.”

  Burcham looked ready to explode. “How dare you!” The colonel started toward him. “Do you have any idea who I am or what I could do to someone like you?”

  Ridley brought the whip down a second time, skimming the tip of Burcham’s boot. The colonel stopped cold.

  “I don’t care who you are, sir. No one takes a whip to General William Giles Harding’s horses — or workers — here at Belle Meade. Is that clear?”

  Ridley heard the shuffle of steps behind him and grew aware of stable hands gathering.

  “The only thing clear to me, Cooper, is that you’re about to lose your … position here.”

  Ridley smiled at the smugness in the man’s tone. “That may be, Colonel. But something tells me I’ll be around long enough to see you gone. Which …” He nodded beyond Burcham to where General Harding strode toward them. “Should be anytime now.”

  Ridley leaned against the porch railing outside the general’s office, feeling a little like he had when he and Alfred and Petey used to get into trouble at school. Thinking of his brothers, he closed his eyes for a second, feeling a sigh work its way up from down deep. Lord, I hope they knew how much I still loved them. And that I never stopped being proud to call them brothers.

  He stared out across the meadow, not surprised by the thought, but deeply surprised in the form it had taken. Not so much a thought as a prayer. Whether the general fired him or not — Ridley smiled a little — he was going to have to find a new place to live. Because living with Uncle Bob was apparently rubbing off on him more than he’d realized.

  The door to the general’s office opened, and Ridley straightened. Colonel Burcham walked out, his features set, his manner still seething. Ridley wondered what it would have been like to have faced him on the battlefield. Then just as quickly wondered if he already had. But guessed he’d never know.

  Burcham shouldered past him, then turned. “You’re a disgrace to the Confederacy, Cooper.”

  Wanting to say something he knew he couldn’t, Ridley merely glanced down at the clean slice in the colonel’s sleeve. “Might want to get that sewn up, sir.”

  “Mr. Cooper!” General Harding stood in the doorway. “Come in, please. Now.”

  Ridley did as the general requested, feeling daggers in his back.

  Harding closed the door. “Have a seat.”

  Ridley did, his head beginning to throb.

  General Harding reached for his chair as though to sit, then gripped the back of it instead. “Mr. Cooper, I’m certain you have no idea what a precarious position you’ve placed me in.”

  Ridley nodded, having already thought this through. “He was one of your superior officers.”

  “Yes. And a potential partner in a business venture who has now” — Harding’s laughter came out bitter — “needless to say, suddenly decided to withdraw his support.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Are you, Mr. Cooper? Because what I just witnessed out there on the porch did not sound like someone who regrets what they did.”

  Ridley sat a little taller. “I don’t regret what I did, sir. The colonel’s actions were wrong.”

  “I know they were wrong, Mr. Cooper. But there was a way to handle that situation that would have allowed the colonel to save face.”

  “Save face, sir? He was whipping one of your mares. And would have likely done the same to Uncle Bob and Jimmy if given the chance.” Ridley stood. “I apologize for any repercussions my actions have brought upon you personally, General. But allowing a man like that to save face is the least of my concerns. He was wrong. I don’t regret doing what I did. And with all due respect, sir … I’d do the same again.”

  Harding stared across the desk. “You’re a stubborn-minded man, Mr. Cooper. With a streak of pride that runs deep. I knew that the first time I laid eyes on you. I simply didn’t realize how costly those character traits would prove to be for me. Both personally and professionally.”

  Sensing what was coming, Ridley felt his Colorado Territory dream slipping away, along with everything he’d wor
ked so hard for. Yet he’d done the right thing, no question in his mind. But choosing to do the right thing didn’t always get a person what they deserved or even what was fair. The war had taught him that well enough.

  He turned to leave.

  “Fortunately for you, Mr. Cooper …”

  Ridley stopped.

  “Those are character traits which I have long admired. And if you listen to my critics, ones I also share.”

  Ridley turned back.

  General Harding took his place in the chair behind the desk and gestured for Ridley to return to his. “Now let’s get down to business, Mr. Cooper. By my estimation, your actions today cost me approximately … seven thousand dollars. So I’m very interested to know … What are your ideas for the yearling sale? And I hope, for your sake, they prove to be lucrative.”

  Chapter

  FORTY-ONE

  Olivia had never laughed so much in her life or seen people more eager to find joy in the everyday. Even in the painful parts. After what had happened earlier that afternoon, Ridley was the talk of Belle Meade — at least among the servants — and Julius and Betsy’s tiny cabin was overflowing with folks who’d come to thank him.

  Standing by the window with Rachel, sipping cider, Olivia enjoyed watching several of the men who’d witnessed Colonel Burcham’s comeuppance take turns reenacting the event. Much to Ridley’s chagrin, it seemed. But it was Big Ike who made everyone laugh until they could scarcely draw breath.

  “You got any idea who I is,” Big Ike thundered, mimicking what Colonel Burcham had supposedly said. “Or what I could do to the likes o’ you?”

  Jimmy jumped up, brandishing a towel high over his head like a whip. Then he tucked his chin tight against his chest, obviously trying for his lowest voice. “I don’t care who you is, sir. No one takes a whip to the general’s horses or workers here at Belle Meade!”

  Jimmy brought the towel down with a snap against Big Ike’s boot, and the comical look of surprise mixed with terror on Big Ike’s face drew a fresh wave of cheers and applause. Uncle Bob laughed and patted Ridley on the back. Ridley just smiled and shook his head again, then sneaked a look in Olivia’s direction. She was so proud of him her heart ached with the force of it.

  Some time later, Ridley rejoined her side. “It’s getting a little late. Are you ready to go?”

  She nodded. “If you are.”

  It took another ten minutes to say good-bye and thank Betsy and Julius for their hospitality. As they walked out the door, Olivia drew her shawl closer about her, and Ridley offered his arm. Mindful of the bandage on her palm, Olivia slipped her hand through. The gash hadn’t needed stitches and still hurt a little, but it was healing nicely.

  She glimpsed Rachel walking ahead, and as if reading her mind, Ridley called out.

  “Mrs. Norris!”

  Rachel paused and waited for them. Ridley offered his other arm when they came close. With a grin, Rachel accepted.

  “Been a long time, Mr. Cooper, since I been escorted all proper-like. But you quit callin’ me Mrs. Norris right this minute! Makes me feel old as the hills.”

  They laughed and talked all the way back to Rachel’s cabin. Rachel let herself in and lit a lamp by the door.

  “I thank you both for walkin’ me home. Bein’ with everybody like this tonight sure makes me look forward to the shindig next month.”

  “Shindig?” Olivia looked between them.

  Rachel smiled. “You ain’t heard ‘bout that yet, ma’am?”

  Ridley laughed softly, but Olivia shook her head.

  “Oh, Missus Aberdeen … You got to come. It’s only the biggest party of the year.” Rachel winked. “This year we havin’ it on the same night the Hardings are goin’ to some rich lady’s fancy house across town. It’s our time to get all fancied up and act like we’s the kings and queens of the world.” Rachel lifted her nose in the air, then laughed. She glanced at Olivia’s gray dress, her expression softening. “You got somethin’ else to wear other than them mournin’ clothes, ma’am?”

  Olivia shook her head a second time. Then thought better of it. “I have a dress that belonged to my mother. It’s beautiful, but … She was a good deal shorter than I am.” She gave a tiny shrug. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. Because … I’m still officially in mourning.” She felt a little odd saying it, especially with her arm still linked with Ridley’s. But it was the truth.

  Rachel gently touched her hand. “This is the one night we take all year long to forget about all the bad and live like there’s only good. And, no offense, ma’am …” Rachel arched a delightfully caustic brow. “But none of us want to see you comin’ in this drab ol’ raggedy thing.”

  Olivia giggled, Rachel’s smile warming her heart.

  “So you bring me that dress from your mama, Missus Aberdeen. And you and me, we’ll work to get it right.”

  Olivia was grateful for the few moments alone with Ridley as he walked her back to the mansion. The house was dark save the warm glow coming from Cousin Lizzie’s bedroom window. When they reached the staircase leading to the second-story porch, Ridley brought Olivia’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he whispered. “The whole … debacle … was embarrassing.” He laughed. “But it was also nice to have you there.”

  “I’m grateful you invited me. And I’m so proud of you.” She looked down at their hands clasped between them. “I only wish I could have seen what happened for myself. Although … thanks to Big Ike and Jimmy, I think I have a fairly good idea.”

  That made him laugh again.

  She wanted to tell him how much his actions today meant to her personally. But she hadn’t yet confided to him about General Harding’s determination to find her a second husband. Specifically, Colonel Burcham. The topic wasn’t one she was eager to discuss with Ridley.

  The abrupt manner in which Colonel Burcham had departed, leaving without a word to her, instilled hope that whatever interest the colonel had in her had quickly abated. Burcham’s pride had been sorely bruised, and she knew only too well that a man like that, who fed on the constant affirmations and fawnings of others, was like a wounded animal looking for a place to lash out. And she never wanted to be on the receiving end of that kind of wounded pride again.

  Ridley touched the side of her face, and she turned toward his hand and kissed it. His lips parted, his gaze dropping to her mouth, and she knew he was going to kiss her. And oh, she wanted him to. He leaned down and she closed her eyes, remembering what he tasted like and wanting to feel his arms around her again like when they —

  He kissed her forehead — once, twice. Olivia opened her eyes in time to see him step back.

  “Good night, Olivia,” he said softly.

  Staring up, swallowing back disappointment, yet determined not to show it, she managed a smile. “Good night, Ridley.”

  She walked up to her room, the stairs feeling steeper than before. She paused by the railing and followed his silhouette as he crossed the meadow. More than once, the darkness swallowed him. When he reached the porch of the cabin, he turned and raised his arm, like she’d hoped he would.

  She waved back, telling herself that his choosing not to kiss her was nothing to be upset about. But somehow, it didn’t feel like nothing.

  “Olivia?”

  Clutching her shawl, Olivia glanced up to see the general on the front porch.

  “Mrs. Harding and I would appreciate it if you would join us for tea, please.”

  Olivia paused. She and Aunt Elizabeth had shared tea in the afternoon countless times. But with General Harding? She’d just returned from her first official trip to the quarries with Ridley, and her preference would be to freshen up first. But the general wore an insistent look. “Of course,” she said, reaching for a smile. “I’d love to have tea.”

  Negotiating the porch steps, she tried to imagine what news the general had for her. Whatever it was, it surely couldn’t be good. And this, afte
r she’d enjoyed such a lovely day with Ridley. All the way to the quarries and back, they’d asked each other questions and taken turns whistling bird calls, then trying to guess which was which. Games, Ridley had said. Ones he was especially good at. But she’d found herself either chirping or talking almost the entire time. So much so, she’d all but forgotten to be nervous about being in such close proximity to a horse. Ridley’s intentioned design, perhaps. She didn’t regret taking the additional work for the quarries. Besides spending time with Ridley, it would allow her to be more generous to Jimmy and Jolene — and perhaps others.

  Inside the front parlor, she claimed a seat beside Elizabeth on the settee. Her aunt smiled, looking remarkably rested after playing hostess to a houseful of family and friends during the Thanksgiving holiday the previous week. Elizabeth’s string of good days was gradually lengthening.

  Betsy wheeled in a cart, and when Olivia saw the silver tea service and Susanna’s pecan cheese wafers, her heart fell. The news must be worse than she’d thought.

  “Olivia.” The general settled into a chair opposite them. “A letter arrived today. From Colonel Burcham.”

  Olivia stiffened at the name, but the general held up a hand as though to say, Let me finish, please. Her throat suddenly parched, Olivia craved a cup of tea. But the steaming silver pot must have been heavy because Betsy poured each cup slowly, methodically.

  “The colonel has written to inform me that despite the … unfortunate circumstances under which he departed Belle Meade two weeks ago, he’s still very much taken with you. And he wishes to see you again at his earliest —”

  “No.” Olivia shook her head. “No, General Harding, I cannot.” Disapproval darkened the general’s eyes, and she hurried to temper her too-hasty response. “What I meant to say, General” — she included Elizabeth with a glance — “is that I have no interest whatsoever in Colonel Burcham, or in him pursuing a —”