To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  “Thank you, Aunt.” Olivia gave her another quick hug. She hadn’t mentioned Ridley being invited as well. In light of everything, it just seemed easier that way.

  “Oh!” A cry drifted down from upstairs, followed by what sounded like something being thrown against a wall.

  Selene sighed. “It’s Mary! Chloe fixed her hair but she doesn’t like it. I told her it looks fine for her age, but I think she wants it to look more like mine. If her dawdling causes us to miss the opening waltz …”

  Aunt Elizabeth started toward the spiral staircase.

  “Elizabeth!” The general shook his head, then looked up the stairs. “Mary Elizabeth! Get down here at once. The carriage is waiting.”

  “I’m not going anymore,” came a weak voice.

  Elizabeth turned. “Please … let me go to her, General. I remember what it’s like to be that age, and —”

  “Selene and Lizzie managed to be ready on time. There’s no reason why Mary shouldn’t be as well.” General Harding glanced at his pocket watch then toward the stairs again. “You have exactly eight minutes, Mary Elizabeth. At which time I will expect you to be in that carriage.”

  The general ushered the women out the door before him, then followed. From the porch, Elizabeth looked back and cast a parting glance at Olivia, her look of excitement replaced by one of distress. The second the latch clicked on the door, Olivia hiked her skirts, sprinted up the staircase, and down the hall to Mary’s room.

  Slumped at the dressing table, Mary lifted her head as Olivia entered. Tears streaked the girl’s cheeks.

  “If Mother sent you up here, then —”

  “She didn’t.” Olivia put her hand to her chest, out of breath. “I came of my own volition. To fix your hair … if you want me to.” She filled her lungs again, the words spilling out. “But we only have eight minutes! Actually … more like seven now.” Olivia smiled at her in the mirror. “But I’d love to help … if you’d let me.”

  Mary stared, her gaze suspicious, her struggle evident. But if what Aunt Elizabeth had said about their similarities was true, Olivia knew she and Mary stood a good chance of being friends. If they could start again.

  “Six minutes, thirty seconds,” Olivia whispered, praying Mary could feel her sincerity.

  Mary sat straighter in the chair, but teared up again. “Yes, please,” she whispered. “But we have to hurry! Papa will be angry if I’m not down there on time.”

  Beyond thrilled, Olivia had no time to show it. “Would you like your hair to look like Selene’s?”

  Mary shook her head. “I want it to look like yours.”

  Olivia felt a flood of love for the girl. “Well, you’re in luck then. Because this is a style I could do blindfolded.” She took inventory of the hair accessories atop the dressing table. “Where are your hair combs? Some long ones …”

  Mary’s shoulders slumped again. “Selene used them. All I have are these.”

  Seeing the tiny clips in Mary’s hand, Olivia took one look at herself in the mirror … and pulled the combs from her own hair. Mary gasped. “What are you —”

  “Just do exactly as I say, all right?” Olivia winked. “And keep track of the time.”

  Hinting at a grin, Mary nodded. “Five minutes!”

  Olivia grabbed the brush.

  With seconds to spare, she and Mary all but flew down the stairs. At the door, Mary turned. “Thank you, Mrs. Aberdeen. I feel so … pretty!”

  “It’s Olivia, remember?” Olivia touched her face. “And you are pretty, Mary. Now please, remember every detail about tonight. I’ve always wanted to visit Belmont.”

  Grinning, Mary nodded and raced out the door. Olivia followed as far as the porch, tensing when she saw the general waiting by the carriage. Please … let him be gentle with her. But to her surprise, it was Mary who took the lead.

  “I’m sorry for having kept you all waiting, Father. It was foolish and selfish of me, and … I hope it won’t spoil our evening.”

  From where she stood, Olivia could see the general’s surprise.

  “Yes, Mary Elizabeth,” he said sternly. “You have kept us waiting.” Mary bowed her head. “But obviously” — the general urged her chin up a fraction — “with good reason. Because you look lovely tonight, my dear.”

  Mary beamed, and so did Olivia.

  “Thank you, Father.” Mary gave a little curtsey.

  The general held his daughter’s hand as she ascended into the carriage. Then he turned back toward the house. “Good evening, Olivia. We won’t be home until daybreak, I’m sure.”

  Olivia curtsied much as Mary had done. “Good evening, General Harding. And have a wonderful time.”

  “There you go, Missus Aberdeen. All fastened, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Rachel.” Mindful of the scar usually hidden by her sleeve, Olivia kept her arm close to her side as she craned her neck to see the back of the dress in the mirror and to admire Rachel’s handiwork again. An idea suddenly came, and she decided to test her theory about Ridley being the benevolent fashion financier. “Are you certain, Rachel, that you were compensated adequately for your work on this gown? Because if not, I’d be happy to give you something as well. Who was it again who paid for the alterations? I’ve forgotten.”

  Slowly, Rachel smiled and wagged her finger. “That is the most pitiful try at gettin’ to the truth I ever done heard, ma’am. You should be ashamed.”

  “I am.” Olivia grinned. “Mostly … But I do wish you’d tell me so I could thank them properly.”

  “Some gifts are meant to be given in secret, Missus Aberdeen. And I think this is one of ‘em. And don’t you worry, I was compensated adequately, like you said.”

  Olivia nodded, determined to let that be the last word on the matter. At least until Ridley arrived.

  Rachel frowned. “You plannin’ on wearin’ those this evenin’, ma’am?”

  Olivia saw her looking at Aunt Elizabeth’s gloves laying on the bed, and could guess what she was thinking. The gloves — more gray than a true black like Aunt Elizabeth had remembered — didn’t match the dress very well. In fact, they almost detracted from it. But Olivia wasn’t about to parade around with her arm bare for all the world to see. It was her own fault. She should have asked to see the gloves before tonight.

  “Yes, I thought I would.” She tried for nonchalance. “They might come in handy if it gets too chilly.”

  Rachel didn’t smile or nod. She just looked at her. And Olivia would’ve sworn the woman could read her thoughts. “With you lookin’ like you’s lookin’ in that dress, Missus Aberdeen … Ain’t nobody gonna be lookin’ at your arm, ma’am.” Rachel’s gaze lowered. “‘Sides, it ain’t that bad. No need to be ashamed. How did it happen, ma’am?”

  Olivia ran a finger over the furrow of white puckered flesh. “I was thrown … from a horse.”

  A moment passed. “How old was you?”

  “I was ten.” Olivia finally looked up. “And I’ve been scared to death of horses ever since.”

  Awareness dawned in Rachel’s smooth brown features. “And here you is … livin’ on a thoroughbred farm. Funny how God works things sometimes, ain’t it?”

  “Funny wasn’t quite my first thought when coming to Belle Meade.” Olivia smiled. “But yes, I can see the irony in it now, I guess.”

  “You need help puttin’ ‘em on, ma’am?”

  “No, I can do it. But thank you.”

  “All right then. I best run and get myself ready. I see you there shortly.” Rachel closed the bedroom door behind her.

  Olivia finished getting ready, tucking wayward strands of hair back into place. Without her long combs, she wasn’t sure how well her hair would hold on the sides, but she didn’t regret sharing the combs with Mary. She only hoped the girl’s dance card was already filled.

  A quick dab of perfume behind each ear, and she wondered again what the party would be like tonight. She assumed food and dancing. What else did you do at a party? Sure
ly she’d be teaching some of Belle Meade’s servants in the freedmen’s school. Did they know yet that she would be their teacher? She felt both honored and nervous at the prospect.

  She slipped the gloves on. They reached past her elbows, three-quarters of the way up her arms. Plenty long enough. And warmer than she’d thought. She reached for her shawl when a coo, like that of a mourning dove, sounded outside her front window. She smiled.

  It was dark, but she could just make out Ridley standing below. So he’d come for her after all … She pushed up the window.

  “You ready for the biggest party of the year?” he called in a hushed voice.

  “Almost! I can be down in three minutes!”

  “But I’m only giving you two.”

  Closing the window on his smart remark, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and took a final glance in the mirror before turning down the lamp.

  Moonlight illuminated the second-story porch as she headed for the staircase.

  “Not that way, Mrs. Aberdeen. Not tonight.”

  She stopped and peered over the railing but didn’t see him.

  “Over here.”

  She followed his voice to find him standing on the front porch, the gas lamps on the walkway scattering the night. “What are you doing over there?”

  “I’m calling for you at the front door, like any proper gentleman would do.”

  Grinning, she quickly decided to play the part. She hurried through the door leading into the hallway outside the Hardings’ bedroom and then down the grand spiral staircase.

  A single oil lamp burned low in the entrance hall, its undulating shadows giving the tall-ceilinged room an almost otherworldly feel. She stopped for one last check in the hall mirror and her eyes were drawn to the Harding family portraits. She thought again of Rachel Norris — of “eyes lookin’ back out at you” — and recalled a scripture Ridley had read in church last week. Something about being encompassed by a great cloud of witnesses while running life’s race.

  If her father and mother were somehow able to see her now, she hoped they would be proud of her. Although, if they knew about her teaching — and her pupils — she doubted that would be the case. Still, who was to say … Perhaps heaven lent a perspective on this life that the earthly one had lacked. Maybe her parents were cheering her on even now.

  Reaching to open the door, she chose to think so.

  Chapter

  FORTY-FIVE

  Ridley knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. He realized in that moment that he’d never known what beautiful was … until Olivia Aberdeen. The woman was stunning. Especially in that dress. And if what Betsy had told him was right — and if General Harding had his way — come summer Olivia would likely be marrying Confederate General Percival Meeks.

  Ridley recalled the general’s aging military colleague. Meeks was plenty wealthy and seemed like a kind enough man, but it was still a match Ridley couldn’t envision and a possibility he couldn’t bring himself to accept. Not that it mattered if he did or not. At least Colonel Burcham was out of the picture, and it felt good to know he’d had a hand in that outcome.

  Olivia cleared her throat. “Mr. Cooper, I believe this is where you’re supposed to say ‘Good evening, Mrs. Aberdeen’ to me, at which time I’ll say something similar in return. Except with your name inserted, of course.”

  Tempted to silence that quick-witted, pretty little mouth of hers with a sound kiss, he settled for a bow instead. “Good evening, Mrs. Aberdeen. A pleasure to see you again, ma’am.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Cooper.”

  She curtsied and extended her hand. He kissed it, preferring the softness of her skin to gloves, but appreciating the way the dress framed her neck and shoulders. And everything else.

  “Shall we go?” he asked, offering his arm.

  But she merely did a twirl in front of him, holding out her dress on the sides. “Thank you, Ridley. I know it was you.”

  He frowned, fairly certain it would be convincing. “You know it was me who … what?”

  “Who paid Rachel.”

  “Why would I pay Rachel?”

  “For the alterations.”

  She grinned, swaying from side to side like the belle she was, and looking so adorable, yet so womanly, he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to hug her or take her in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. Or both. But he knew he’d better ‘fess up soon before that last option got the best of him.

  He bowed slightly. “You’re most welcome, m’lady. And I must say …” He allowed himself to look at her, aware she was watching him. “I’ve never seen a more intoxicating sight.”

  He offered his arm a second time, and she slipped her hand through.

  Conversation came easily as they made their way across the property. Uncle Bob had told him this event was usually enjoyed only by the servants, so it was an honor that he and Olivia had been invited. Soon, they met with others walking in the same direction. The couples greeted them, and Ridley nodded in return, thanking them for the invitation. Olivia did the same, which made him proud. Without fail, all of the servants called her by name, which wasn’t surprising.

  As they drew closer to the building where they met for church, fiddle and mandolin music greeted them, joined by the lively tune of a harmonica. The succulent aroma of a roasted pig, compliments of General Harding, drifted toward them from a deep pit dug nearby.

  Ridley had a fairly good idea of the frivolity that would go on here tonight but doubted Olivia did. Watching her eyes widen in church when someone said a loud amen or thank you, Jesus! had become a favorite Sunday pastime for him, so he could hardly wait to see her reaction.

  The building had been emptied of pews and chairs, and a crowd of couples stood on what was now the dance floor, paired off and waiting. Magnolia leaves, still waxy green in winter, had been strung together into wreaths and hung from the ceiling. Hay bales lined the walls, and the only furniture was a makeshift table of lumber and two sawhorses, laden with the most delicious-looking food he’d ever seen.

  He led Olivia to the dance floor and leaned close. “In case I forget to tell you, you look radiant this evening, Olivia.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you, but …” She glanced down at her dress. “I feel a little out of place.”

  Only then did he notice what the others were wearing. The men either had on suits of varying styles, similar to his, or trousers with freshly pressed shirts. But the women … they looked the most different. Many of the ladies wore dresses similar to Olivia’s, though not as fancy — likely hand-me-downs from the Harding family. A handful of others wore vibrant-colored clothing that draped around their bodies like togas. Still, he couldn’t quite place what it was that —

  Then it occurred to him … Every one of the women was without a head wrap, something usually required for servants. But not tonight. Tonight, the women wore their hair like their crowning glories. He reached for Olivia’s hand, eager to ease the worry in her eyes. “You don’t look out of place to me. In fact …” He wove his fingers through hers. “I think you’re right where you need to be.”

  The look she gave him not only made him wish they were alone, but was one he was pretty sure General Percival Meeks had never seen. Or likely would. Not that the elderly man would survive it if he did.

  Hollering started from up front where the fiddle and harmonica players were. Ridley spotted Jedediah on the banjo, another man with a washtub bass, and Julius climbing atop a hay bale, holding onto Betsy’s hand.

  “It’s time to grab your partners, men!” Julius yelled.

  Some of the women squealed as though their partners had taken Julius’s suggestion literally, and laughter filled the room. Ridley grinned, especially when Olivia’s eyes went wide. She tried to hide her smile behind her hand.

  “All right, now,” Julius continued, raising an arm, attempting to quiet the crowd. “Everybody knows how this works. Our first dance tonight” — he raised his ch
in a little — “be the waltz.”

  People clapped, including Olivia.

  “Oh, good,” she whispered. “I know this one.”

  Ridley just nodded, reading humor in the faces around him and already guessing where this “waltz” would lead.

  “All right, fellas.” Julius briefly turned to the musicians. “Do it all proper-like now … And all y’all out there, get your places!”

  Ridley clasped Olivia’s left hand with his and brought it up, then placed his right hand on the back of her shoulder, while she rested hers on his arm.

  “No matter what happens,” he whispered, giving her a wink. “I won’t leave you. Just follow my lead, all right?”

  She nodded as the music started.

  The fiddles’ sweet strains filled the building and the harmonica joined in, providing the downbeat. Couples whirled and twirled in proper form, elbows held high, shoulders stiff, women’s heads angled beautifully, if not slightly too much. Ridley had all but decided he’d assumed incorrectly when the twang of a banjo broke in —

  And the tempo of the music changed on a dime.

  Olivia felt her jaw drop as couples around them started breaking hold. Men and women began to clap and swing their arms and hips from side to side. Some of them even kicked up their heels. This wasn’t any waltz she knew.

  Men jumped and moved like they were standing on hot coals. Others started in with high-stepping antics that looked a little like a quadrille, but that was done with greater enthusiasm. Meanwhile, their partners danced around and around, clapping and laughing. Olivia had never seen anything like it in her life. The closest thing was church here on Sunday mornings. But church was tame compared to this.

  She heard Ridley laughing and looked over at him. She yelled to be heard over the commotion. “What are they doing?”

  But Ridley didn’t answer. He just smiled and began moving. She looked down. His feet were shuffling so fast she didn’t know how he kept his balance. He’d apparently done this before. And he was good! She giggled, but when he reached for her hand, she shook her head and backed away — and bumped into someone. She turned to apologize when Betsy’s grin greeted her.