To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  “Olivia.” General Harding’s somber tone held warning. “Would it be asking too much to allow me the courtesy of expressing my thoughts on the subject in entirety, before you seek to assert your own?”

  Her face burning, Olivia shook her head, knowing better than to offer further argument. “I beg your pardon, General. And no, sir. Not at all.”

  Betsy handed her a cup of tea, and Olivia avoided the woman’s eyes.

  “Will there be anythin’ else, Missus Harding?”

  “Not right now, Betsy. This is all very nice. Thank you.”

  Betsy nodded once and left the room.

  Waiting for the general to speak, Olivia sipped her tea and sneaked a look beside her. Elizabeth’s hands were clasped tightly around her tea cup, her aunt’s gaze confined there as well, and Olivia felt a twinge of regret.

  The general cleared his throat. “As your guardian, Olivia, I assure you I have carefully considered Colonel Burcham’s professional and personal attributes. I’ve also weighed the sentiments expressed in his letter, which, I believe, ring true. I also think that …”

  Olivia felt sick. She struggled to listen while also scrambling to find the words that would convince the general to change his mind. That would convey to him the heartache of living with a man like Charles Aberdeen. And like Colonel Bryant Burcham.

  She wouldn’t do it. Not again. She willed Aunt Elizabeth to say something, to speak in her defense. But Elizabeth — silent, submissive — said nothing. And Olivia couldn’t blame her. She knew only too well the cost of crossing a husband’s opinions.

  “The Colonel and I have long been friends, as you know, Olivia.” The general’s voice registered again, and Olivia blinked back angry tears. If she wanted a choice in this, she’d have to fight for it. However much in vain her efforts might prove to be. “And this decision,” he continued, “was not an easy one for me. But my opinion on the matter is fully formed. And I am of the mind …”

  Olivia took a deep breath, the words of her rebuttal forming swiftly now.

  “… that Colonel Burcham is not the best match for you.”

  “General Harding, I greatly respect you and appreciate your generosity, but I simply cannot agree to …” Olivia blinked, suddenly hearing what he’d said. Yet, seeing his scowl, she was slow to embrace the relief lest she’d misunderstood. She swallowed. “My apologies again, General, but … did you say that you don’t think Colonel Burcham is the best match?”

  “That’s precisely what I said, Olivia. And it’s what I believe is best. For all involved.” Shifting in his chair, the general shot a quick — but telling — glance at Elizabeth, and the simple gesture revealed a counsel his words had not.

  Relief pouring through her, Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if Aunt Elizabeth had spoken to him on her behalf after all.

  The general set aside his empty cup. “Let me be clear, Olivia … My decision does not diminish my obligation, nor my determination to find a suitable match for you. Which, of course, I immediately began pursuing again once I believed the colonel had withdrawn his interest.”

  As swiftly as relief had come, Olivia felt a portion of it flee. There was only one other person he could be referencing. “General Meeks,” she said softly, remembering the gentleman well. Feeble, paunchy, and dull …

  “Yes, precisely! General Meeks was under the impression, from the colonel, no doubt, that your affections were engaged elsewhere. However, I’ve written to him and he’s already responded. Very enthusiastically, I might add.” The general smiled. “You can expect a visit from him no later than Christmas.”

  Later that evening, Olivia crawled into bed earlier than usual and pulled up the covers. The trip to the quarry and back had been enjoyable, though tiring, but tea with General Harding and Elizabeth had drained what little stamina she’d had left. Feeling the tears coming, she turned her head into the pillow and wept. Yet even as she did, she felt a trace of guilt. She had so much compared to many who had so little. Still, she hurt.

  She gave herself one full minute to empty herself of tears — then another, because one hadn’t been enough — then she took a deep breath and turned onto her back, determined to view her situation in a brighter perspective. Marrying General Percival Meeks wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her. She knew that from having lived with Charles. And judging by what she knew personally about General Meeks — and based on stories the general had shared about the man over dinner tonight — he actually seemed like a very kind and decent person. The Hardings had both known the late Mrs. General Meeks, Sarah, which Olivia hadn’t realized.

  Twenty-nine years …

  That’s how long Percival and Sarah had been married. Olivia found the number unfathomable. She was only twenty-four and sometimes it felt like she’d been alive forever.

  Wishing the pounding in her head would stop, she applied pressure to her temples and prayed for God to remove her desire for the handsome face, laughter, and smile of the one man who filled her thoughts every day and her dreams every night. Because while she could marry a man she didn’t love, she couldn’t live the rest of her life loving a man she wasn’t married to.

  She didn’t know when she’d started loving Ridley Cooper. She only knew that she did. But since that day in General Harding’s office when he’d found her hiding behind the chair, he hadn’t even attempted to kiss her. Not once. Well, not on her lips anyway. Remembering what he’d said about her bustle that day warmed her heart — and made her cry all over again. She knew he felt more for her than friendship. Or had, at one time. But apparently something had happened to change —

  A knock sounded on her door.

  She sat up in the bed, her breath coming hard. She sniffed and swallowed and hoped she sounded halfway normal. “Yes? Who is it?”

  “It’s me, dear. Aunt Elizabeth. May I speak to you for a moment?”

  “Of course.” Wiping her cheeks, Olivia quickly lit the lamp on her bedside table, then checked her reflection in the mirror. Oh … a mess. She smoothed her hair, took some deep breaths to clear her head, pasted on a weak smile, and opened the door.

  Chapter

  FORTY-TWO

  Aunt Elizabeth took one look and drew her into a hug. “Oh, Livvy, dear …”

  “I-I’m fine,” Olivia whispered, knowing she didn’t sound it.

  Elizabeth closed the door, and they sat together on the bed like Olivia and her own mother used to do.

  “I’m sorry to be so late, Livvy. I wanted to come to you after dinner, to see how you were faring after the news this afternoon. But the general felt it was better to let you have some time alone. Men …” Elizabeth gave a short laugh. “So I waited until he was asleep!”

  Olivia smiled. “Such a rebellious spirit, Aunt. It’s almost scandalous. But truly … Thank you for checking on me … I’m fine.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “My dear, you are not fine. Not yet. But I trust that in time, you will be.”

  Olivia bowed her head.

  “General Meeks is a good man, Livvy. Oh, I know … He’s not quite dashing or engaging or handsome in the way a youthful girl — or young woman — dreams about. Except, perhaps, for being enormously wealthy and having a mansion on a hillside.” Elizabeth squeezed Olivia’s hand. “But he’s caring in every way Charles Aberdeen was not, my dearest.” Fierce love deepened Elizabeth’s eyes. “And he will never hurt you in that way, Livvy,” she whispered. “Never.”

  Tears Olivia thought were drained dry began again. “I know,” she whispered. “But …” She glanced downward. She wanted to share with Elizabeth about Ridley. But what good would it do? None. And with the way things stood between her and Ridley now, what did she really have to tell? From all indications — both public and private — they were friends. Perhaps good friends. But still … friends.

  “I realize,” Elizabeth continued, “that getting married again isn’t something you would choose to do. Many a woman in your position, Livvy, would marry for the money a
lone. But you …” She brushed a strand of hair from Olivia’s forehead. “You’re different. And those qualities are so commendable. You want more from life than a marriage such as this. Which, believe it or not, is something I can understand. But the fact remains …” Elizabeth glanced downward. When she looked up, her eyes glistened. “The general and I won’t always be here. And you’re so young, Livvy. You have so much of life ahead of you. And you need to live your own life. Not live in the shadow of a cloistered life here.”

  Olivia didn’t respond, afraid if she did, she’d start crying again.

  “When I look at my girls and the world in which they’re growing up” — Elizabeth’s laughter came softly — “or have grown up in … It’s very different from the world I knew when I was their age. And yours.”

  The wind whipped around the corner of the house, whistling as it went. Finally, December was delivering on the promise of winter.

  “Would you make me a promise, Livvy?”

  Surprised by the question, Olivia squeezed her hand. “Anything.”

  Elizabeth searched her gaze. “Mary is so much like you. Even as a young girl, she wanted to go her own way, to brave the untrod path, as it were. So unlike Selene.”

  “But so like her father,” Olivia whispered.

  Elizabeth offered a nod, then seemed to focus on a point somewhere beyond the confines of the room. “I don’t worry so much about Selene. Selene will never leave Belle Meade. Not that the general would allow it, even if she wanted to.” She laughed softly. “But Mary … Mary has always been different. She’s got a courage, a strength inside her, much like you.” Elizabeth gripped her hand. “Promise me that when the time comes, you’ll help Mary find her way. You’ll help … give her wings. I see her watching you. In a way she’s never watched me.”

  Hearing an earnestness in her aunt’s tone, Olivia was quick to nod. But something in Elizabeth’s eyes, in her manner, also gave her pause. “I’ll do anything I can to help Mary. Though I’m not certain she’ll welcome it, coming from me. I don’t think she likes me much.”

  “It’s not you she doesn’t like, Livvy.” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “It’s me. And perhaps, the closeness you and I share.” She exhaled. “Looking back over the years, I see how I could have done better with her. And Selene. But I was either sick or grieving, it seems. Thank the Lord for Susanna. She was there for them when I wasn’t. But … I’m determined to change that … for however much longer I’m here.”

  “Which is going to be a very, very long time, Aunt. You’re going to see your daughters marry and have children. You and the general will grow old together and sit out there on the front porch, rocking and watching your grandchildren play. You have many happy years ahead. Don’t doubt that. All right?”

  Elizabeth’s gaze grew wistful. “Of course, my dear. I’m sure you’re right.”

  “And don’t for a moment think Mary doesn’t watch you, Aunt Elizabeth. She does. Every day. She loves and admires you more than you know.”

  Elizabeth drew in a breath. “Thank you, Livvy,” she whispered. “I’m so grateful God brought you here when he did.” They rose and hugged again, and Elizabeth walked to the door. She paused, hand on the latch. “However much things may still seem the same, Livvy, they are changing. The war alone has seen to that. And I, for one, welcome many of those changes.”

  “As do I,” Olivia said softly, thinking of the freedmen’s school but not daring to mention it. “I simply wish I could be more a part of them.”

  Elizabeth held her gaze. Olivia tried to read the emotion in her expression. Sadness? Fear? She wasn’t sure.

  “Your mother, God rest her,” Elizabeth whispered, “was the dearest friend I’ve ever had. Every time I look at you, Livvy, I see her, from years ago when we were younger. And not a day goes by that I don’t wish she were still here. If anything were to happen to you …” She shook her head, firming her lips. “I’d never forgive myself.”

  Olivia’s heart warmed, both at her concern and at how Elizabeth saw her mother in her — something Olivia had never been able to see. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Aunt Elizabeth. As you said yourself, General Meeks is a kind man. He’ll never hurt me.”

  A single tear slipped down Elizabeth’s cheek. She didn’t wipe it away.

  “Mr. Pagette contacted me two days ago, Livvy. The board reached their decision. You start teaching the freedmen’s school on the first of the year. And … while we’ll talk further about all this soon, I couldn’t be more proud.”

  Chapter

  FORTY-THREE

  Olivia awoke early the next morning and was up and dressed before sunrise. Teaching … in a freedmen’s school. She could still hardly believe it. And Aunt Elizabeth …

  She’d underestimated the woman, in so many ways. She still wondered though — considering the firm stance General Harding had taken with Mr. Pagette on the subject — how her aunt was managing to help. Whatever her reasons, Olivia was indebted to her. And had so much to do before January.

  She slipped her shawl around her shoulders and peered out the window, the chilled pane cool against her scarred-but-healing palm. Across the meadow, smoke curled from the chimney of the old Harding cabin, a pale gray against a swath of purplish dawn.

  Ridley.

  Only hours earlier, she’d grieved the loss of him, in a way. Yet with morning came renewed hope. Because if God could open a door for her to teach at a freedmen’s school, what else might he do? But as soon as the whisper came, she warned her sensibilities to pay it no mind. She wasn’t naive to the honor-bound traditions, duties, and expectations surrounding a woman in her situation. In securing a match between her and Percival Meeks, General Harding would profit in some form. Financially, most assuredly. That was how things were done. A daughter enhanced her family’s status through her appearance and accomplishments and later by marrying well. It was a Southern rite of passage. A daughter’s — or a ward’s — hand in exchange for stocks, bonds, or a promised alliance. Like a game of chess, only with flesh-and-blood pieces. And feelings. It was one tradition that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon. Not soon enough for her, anyway.

  As unsettled as her stomach had been at dinner the prior evening, she was hungry this morning, and the aromas wafting up from the kitchen caused her mouth to water. Susanna’s beaten biscuits and country ham and Betsy’s diced potatoes with rosemary and onions. Her taste buds knew the savory scents by heart. She crossed the open second-story porch and hurried down the stairs. Almost overnight, it seemed, winter had arrived. But fall had given them a memorable showing.

  Even with the chill in the air, the kitchen door was open.

  “Morning, ladies!” As she always did when she visited the kitchen, she hugged Susanna from the side, gave Betsy’s apron a firm tug, and flashed Chloe a smile.

  “Well, look at you, Missus Aberdeen.” Betsy grinned. “Up with creation this mornin’! What you doin’ up so early, ma’am?”

  Olivia leaned close to the pan of fried potatoes and inhaled. “I smelled all this and couldn’t sleep anymore.”

  Susanna laughed. “You sure didn’t eat much last night, ma’am. You hungry now?”

  “Starved!”

  Susanna filled a plate, then a cup of coffee, and Olivia ate at the kitchen table, talking with them as they cooked.

  Betsy glanced back from the stove. “You ready for the shindig comin’ up? It always means a good time and lots o’ fun!”

  “Mmm-hmm!” Susanna and Chloe remarked in unison.

  Olivia smiled, chewing her last bite of biscuit. “I am. And I’m looking forward to it.” She sipped her coffee, the brew warm to her throat. She’d thought Ridley might ask her to go with him. Or at least to walk together. But so far he’d said nothing.

  She’d seen Rachel several times since dropping off her mother’s dress by the cabin, but Rachel hadn’t said anything about it. And she hated to be the first one to bring it up. Rachel was doing her a favor, after all, by altering
the dress. And if it turned out not to be fixable, she’d already decided to simply wear what she had on today.

  “Lawd …” Chloe looked at the clock on the wall. “Where are them two men? They ain’t gonna have time to eat ‘less they get themselves up here.”

  Susanna gestured to Betsy. “You best pack it up and take it on down there to ‘em. Mr. Cooper told me him and Uncle Bob got to be on the road by seven-thirty.”

  Olivia looked up. “On the road? Where are they going?” Ridley hadn’t said anything to her about leaving.

  “Just up to Gallatin. ‘Bout two hours from here. Business with the general.”

  Betsy grabbed a tray and started piling plates high. “I still got to get the tea on for Missus Harding. Then get up there and help Miss Selene with her hair. Her General Jackson is s’posed to come callin’ today.” She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “Lawd, it never ends.”

  “I could take it for you.” Olivia rose from the table. “If that would help.”

  The kitchen fell silent. Betsy glanced at Susanna, who looked right back at her, then over at Olivia.

  “You sure you want to, ma’am?” Susanna’s tone was hesitant. “This tray be mighty heavy. And it’s a long way down to the cabin.”

  Olivia acted as though she were offended. “You don’t think I can carry a tray?” But she could tell the women didn’t believe her. Especially Betsy.

  “Oh, yes, ma’am.” Betsy nodded. “I think you can carry a tray. With them skinny little arms of yours, I’m guessin’ you get almost to the door ‘fore they give way.”

  Olivia laughed but narrowed her eyes. “Give me that tray right now. And put an extra biscuit on it for me.”

  Halfway to the cabin, Olivia was certain her arms were going to give out. How did the women do this? She saw them carrying trays even heavier than this every day, full of china plates and dishes and platters and silver tea services. Her arm muscles started to cramp, then her shoulders. But as sure as the sun was high above the hills, she could feel Betsy, Susanna, and Chloe watching her from the kitchen window, and there was no way she was about to stop and rest.