To Whisper Her Name

by Tamera Alexander

  “Come on now, Missus Aberdeen,” Betsy shouted. “I know you can do more than them stuffy ol’ fancy dances!”

  Olivia shook her head again, but felt Ridley grab her hand tight.

  Big Ike jumped up on a bale of hay and yelled something, and couples began forming lines. Ridley steered her through the crowd to join Chloe and her husband at the end. Olivia didn’t know what on earth they were doing, but Ridley had said to stay close, so she figured that was best.

  “Give your partner a quick little hug,” Big Ike called out in time with the music. Ridley did just that, as did the other men with their women. “Then turn her around and give her a tug.”

  Olivia raised a hand to object, but Ridley already had her spinning before giving her bustle a quick yank. She felt her mouth slip open, then saw Uncle Bob and Rachel watching her from the side. Rachel was laughing so hard tears rolled down her face. And Olivia laughed too, trying to fix her hair where it had fallen down on the sides.

  “Let it go,” Ridley whispered. “You look beautiful.”

  “Pick up your ladies and give ‘em a twirl,” Big Ike called out, and Ridley obliged without a second’s hesitation. “Then give her a kiss and make her your girl.”

  Seeing husbands and wives exchange quick but full-on-the-mouth kisses, Olivia started to panic … until Ridley placed a chaste little peck on her cheek. That earned him playful jeers from the men on either side of him, but he just grinned.

  “Right foot up and a left foot down …”

  Olivia did her best to follow along, taking cues from Ridley and Chloe, who had obviously done this before.

  “And make that big foot jar the ground.”

  She pounded her right foot on the floor, out of breath but determined to keep up.

  “Chew your tobacco and pinch your snuff …”

  Feeling more than a little conspicuous, she mimicked those around her, chawing like an old woman.

  “Now gals, meet your honey and show him your stuff.”

  She joined hands with Ridley but had no idea what “show him your stuff” meant. She tried to walk sassy like Chloe was doing, but her imitation only drew more laughter from those around her. From Ridley especially. But she didn’t mind. Like that night at Julius and Betsy’s cabin, she was having more fun than she could remember.

  The song went on and on, and she was certain after a while that Big Ike was just making up phrases as he went. That dance led to another and another. And the later the night got, the funnier and more nonsensical the phrases became. But Ridley always acted the gentleman and, true to his word, stayed close to her, even when other couples parted to dance separately. Olivia had never danced or moved like this in her life, and she loved every minute of it.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Ridley finally asked over the music, leading her to the side.

  She nodded and claimed a seat on a hay bale, holding her hair up and fanning the back of her neck. “Yes, please!”

  Ridley returned moments later with some cold cider that tasted like heaven — with a kick! With the back of her glove, Olivia dabbed her forehead, burning up. It might be mid-December outside but it felt like July inside.

  “Why don’t you take those off?” Ridley moved to help her take off the gloves.

  “No!” she said, pulling away. “I mean … I’m fine. They … go with my dress.”

  “Olivia,” he whispered. “You’ve already told me you have a scar.” He glanced down. “May I see it?”

  “No.” She shook her head and tugged the left glove higher. “I’d prefer you not. It’s … not attractive.”

  He leaned close. “Olivia, no scar of any kind could ever make you unattractive to me,” he whispered, then brushed a feather-soft kiss on her cheek.

  Whether it was the warmth of the room or her last defenses melting in a puddle at her feet, Olivia couldn’t be certain. But she felt herself sway.

  “If I show you my scar,” he said softly, his tone playful while his expression was anything but, “will you show me yours?”

  She stared, searching his eyes, and the curiosity was too much for her. She nodded. Having already shed his jacket, he unbuttoned the first four buttons of his shirt, then pulled it to the right. Her breath left her.

  “You were shot … in the war?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  He nodded.

  Instinctively, she reached out to touch the scar about the size of a coin on the upper right side of his chest, in his shoulder. Then pulled back, thinking better of it.

  “It’s all right.” He took her hand. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  Gently, she touched the healed wound. She’d seen him shirtless before, but only at a distance. The puckered skin looked so familiar. Only her scar was much bigger. And jagged. And ugly. Yet, she felt him waiting. And she had agreed …

  She edged the left glove downward, one inch at a time, feeling as if the marred flesh might go on forever. She watched his face and, to his credit, his features didn’t change.

  He held her arm, his thumb moving slowly, gently over the furrowed flesh. “It wasn’t a clean break.”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Was it painful?”

  She nodded. “Though no more than yours, I’m sure.”

  He lifted her hand as though he were going to kiss it. Or even worse, her scar. She quickly pulled the glove back on. The look Ridley gave her said he thought her actions uncalled for, but he didn’t argue.

  They danced the next two dances, slower tunes this time, and she felt a difference in the way he held her. Closer, more possessive, and she liked the change.

  The twang of a banjo announced the next tune would be another lively one, and Olivia politely waved off Ridley’s invitation, wanting to rest. He led her to the side.

  “Would you mind if I asked Rachel to dance?” he asked.

  She looked over and saw Rachel standing against the wall, smiling but alone. “Not at all. My feet will thank you.”

  He grinned and squeezed her hand. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for coming tonight. And for being with me.”

  “I’m always proud to be with you, Ridley.”

  He stilled and touched her face. “I’ll be back,” he whispered.

  She enjoyed the chance to sit and watch but was glad when Uncle Bob made his way over. He pointed to the empty space on the hay bale beside her, and she motioned for him to sit. She hadn’t seen him dancing at all. Maybe he had an aversion to it. Some men did.

  “You enjoyin’ yourself, ma’am?”

  Olivia grinned. “Doesn’t it look like it?”

  He laughed. “Yes, ma’am. It sure do. It’s good to see you havin’ fun, Missus Aberdeen.”

  She might have been imagining it, but she could almost hear a silent after all you’ve been through tacked onto the end of his sentence. “Thank you, Uncle Bob. It feels good to laugh.”

  “Hmmm.” He nodded. “Laughter sure helps you through the hard times. And makes the good ones even better.”

  She studied his profile, imagining what hard times he must’ve seen in his life, here, at Belle Meade. “Ridley says you’ve taught him so much. He admires you a great deal.”

  “He’s a good man, ma’am. And I feel the same ‘bout him. Wish he wasn’t leavin’ come June.”

  Wishing the same thing, Olivia sought Ridley out in the crowd. He was still dancing with Rachel. If anyone knew Ridley, it was Uncle Bob. Maybe the man could shed light on why Ridley seemed so bound and determined to leave here. And to leave her.

  “Who knows, Uncle Bob. Maybe something will happen and he’ll choose to stay. Maybe he’ll decide he likes the South, after all.”

  Seconds passed. Uncle Bob finally turned to her. He studied her with old-soul eyes and a careful regard that told her he knew she was fishing.

  She bowed her head.

  “You ever said that to him, ma’am? What you just said to me?”

  She looked up and nodded. “He said that come June, no
matter what, he will be leaving.”

  Uncle Bob turned back to the crowd. She waited and had all but given up on his responding when she heard his voice.

  “Life is full of choices, ma’am. Most we live once, then move on and forget. But others” — he narrowed his eyes — “we live a thousand times over and remember for the rest of our days. What’s important is knowin’ how to tell ‘em apart. And then decidin’ if you’s willin’ to pay the price. ‘Cause choices … they always come at a price.”

  Olivia stared, knowing they were still talking about Ridley but not understanding what Uncle Bob meant. She could easily see her own life in light of his words. Charles Aberdeen had been a choice made for her. General Meeks was a choice being made for her. When would it be her turn to choose? Or would that time ever come without her making a choice first?

  She’d chosen to teach at the freedmen’s school, and God had opened that door. She glanced back at Uncle Bob, wondering if he knew about the school and that she’d be the teacher, and if maybe that was part of his reason for talking about choices just now. Something told her yes. She looked around, wondering if others here knew as well.

  “Ho!” Uncle Bob grinned. “Finally! It’s a slow one comin’ up, Missus Aberdeen. You best get yourself back on out there, ma’am. Ridley’s gonna be lookin’ for ya.”

  Hearing the music, Olivia had a thought. “Do you like to dance, Uncle Bob?”

  “Sure I do. Just some nights I can’t get this ol’ leg of mine” — he gripped his right thigh — “to stay up with me.”

  “Well.” Olivia rose and fluffed her skirts. “They’re playing a slow one now.”

  He looked up at her like she’d suddenly grown a third eye.

  “Life is full of choices, Mr. Green. Is it not?”

  He stared at her for the longest time, then stood. “Yes, ma’am. It is. But they come at a price, like I said. Some of ‘em awful high.” Her heart fell a little, and she moved to sit back down. “But once you make a choice, ma’am, you got to stand on it. Firm and strong. Can’t let nothin’ move you from it.”

  Understanding even more now why Ridley admired this man so much, Olivia took her place on the dance floor and slipped her hand into Uncle Bob’s.

  Chapter

  FORTY-SIX

  Her stomach in knots, Olivia was so excited she could hardly stand it. Her first real class tonight. Well, their first meeting, anyway. She checked the clock on the dining room mantle. Twenty-five minutes past seven. She still had thirty-five minutes before the appointed time, and it was only a twenty minute walk through the woods to the cabin. She’d timed it a week ago. Though she’d never walked it in the dark before.

  She glanced around the table and caught Mary’s eye. The girl smiled, and Olivia returned it. Ever since the night of the reception, things had been different between them. In a good way. Over brunch that next day, Mary had given Olivia a lengthy and delightful summary of the evening, complete with details of Adelicia Acklen’s home. But it was what Mary had done — or was doing — with the party favor the Harding family had received that truly touched her.

  The clock on the mantle chimed. Olivia looked over. Half past the hour. She glanced around the table. They’d started dinner later than usual, and she couldn’t very well ask to be excused while others were still eating.

  But she still had time …

  The meeting tonight was an opportunity for her to introduce herself and meet the students. She only hoped people showed up. What if, after all this, it was only Jimmy and Jolene?

  Guilt chided her. She knew she was making a difference in their two lives, but was it so wrong to want to do more? Obliging Mr. Pagette’s and Elizabeth’s counsel, she hadn’t told anyone about her teaching. Not even Ridley. Though she’d wanted to tell him many times during the past month, imagining how proud he’d be.

  Since the night of the party, she’d thought often about what Uncle Bob had said to her about choices. She glanced down the table at the general.

  She could choose to object to this arranged marriage with General Meeks. But in doing so, she’d not only be spitting, as it were, in the face of tradition, but in the face of this family’s honor and generosity. She’d had nowhere to go and they had taken her in. They’d given her a home and welcomed her into their family. A union with Percival Meeks would provide for Belle Meade’s financial future. How could she not agree to this?

  Especially when Ridley had said nothing about desiring a future with her. Nor had he indicated any intention of changing his mind about leaving. So what choice did that leave her?

  “Thank you for dinner, Mother.”

  Across the table from her, Selene tucked her napkin by her plate. Olivia checked the mantle clock again. Seven-thirty-five.

  Mary and Cousin Lizzie asked to be excused, and Olivia quickly followed suit.

  “Thank you for dinner, Aunt Elizabeth.” Olivia smiled. “You as well, General.”

  “Olivia, do you have a moment?”

  Hearing the general’s voice, Olivia hesitated in the doorway.

  “It won’t take long, I assure you.”

  Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded and followed him into the library. General Harding stood before the mantle, above which hung a recently commissioned, near life-sized portrait of himself that stared down in austere fashion. It was as if there were two of him. And for a moment, Olivia couldn’t decide which one was more intimidating.

  “General Meeks tells me you’ve been exchanging letters, Olivia. He also shared that you’ve been rather … forthcoming in yours.”

  Able to guess now why he’d requested to speak with her, Olivia resisted the urge to look away. What she’d done, she’d done with pure motives. “Yes, sir. I have. I believe General Meeks has a right to know who I am and … what my past has been. Just as I have inquired about his.”

  “Yes, I know.” The general picked up an envelope from the table behind him. “He’s written me in detail, quite eloquently in fact, about what you wrote to him. Were you under the impression, Olivia, that I was attempting to hide from him the details of your … situation, as it was, before you came to live with us?”

  “No, sir. Not … hide, exactly.” Seeing the arch of his eyebrow, she hurried to explain. “But I know how easy, even tempting, it can be to … frame details in a certain light when a person desires a specific outcome. I was merely attempting to be honest with him, General.”

  The general’s gaze grew appraising. “Very well stated, Olivia. But I’m not naive to the fact that you don’t want to marry General Meeks. Are you certain the tiniest part of you didn’t reveal this to him with the hope that he’d change his mind about you?”

  Feeling a tad exposed, and with good reason, she had to smile. “At first, yes, that was my motive. But I tore up that letter, General, and started again.”

  Surprise sharpened his features.

  “I did my best to be honest and forthright, without attempting to color General Meeks’s opinion of me. If I had the letter I sent him, I would happily let you read it.”

  General Harding pulled a folded piece of paper from the envelope. She recognized the stationery. “I have read it, Olivia. General Meeks returned it to me. With the purpose, he stated, of crediting your character. After reading your letter — and hearing you just now — I, too, wish to convey my appreciation for your candor with him and for how you’re approaching this entire situation. It’s” — he briefly looked away — “of significant importance to me. And to you too, of course,” he added quickly.

  She nodded. “Of course.” Seeing the time, she turned to go.

  “One last caution, Olivia … And I share this only because I’m aware of how others can sometimes form false impressions.”

  That drew her attention back.

  “Take care in who you spend your time with. Friendships, even those most innocent, can often be misconstrued by others and seen in a very different light.”

  It took a moment for what he sai
d to sink in, but when it did, she realized who he must be talking about. Ridley. Knowing the general was aware of their friendship gave her pause. But not overly so. Because as she watched him — his head lowered, his brow furrowed as he fingered the letter — she glimpsed a side of General William Giles Harding she’d not seen before. One Elizabeth had told her about. And she realized she wasn’t the only one agonizing over the decisions facing her. The only difference was …

  After all was said and done, she would be the one living with the choice a thousand times over. Not General Harding.

  Olivia tugged the collar of her coat closer about her neck and headed in the direction of the stallions’ stable, then kept walking. She only had ten minutes to get there, and it was so dark. She hadn’t stepped ten feet into the woods when she heard something rustle in the trees beside her.

  She turned, hand raised in defense.

  “Missus Aberdeen, it’s me, Big Ike.”

  She breathed again.

  “I come to see you there safe, ma’am.”

  “Bless you, Ike.” She laughed, but it came out high pitched and stilted. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

  “I guess you got reason to be, ma’am.”

  She didn’t find his admission comforting.

  With an ease surely born of experience, Big Ike led her through the woods, holding branches back and helping her over a fallen log until, finally, the hunting cabin came into view. The windows were dark, and Olivia wondered again if anyone had come.

  Then she caught a whiff of woodsmoke.

  Big Ike opened the door and the palest sliver of light jumped out, illuminating the darkness. She realized then that they probably had curtains on the windows. Readying her expression so her disappointment wouldn’t show, no matter how few pupils, she stepped inside and felt her fragile hope split wide open.

  The room was packed. People stood shoulder to shoulder. Sixty, at least. Maybe more. And of all ages. Most of the faces were familiar, but some were not. Men, women, boys, and girls. Even …