To Whisper Her Name (12 page)

“When you get ready to shave all that hair off your face, you let me know. I can shave the fuzz off a ripe peach with nary a nick.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He rubbed his beard. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that,” she said. “‘Cause I’m guessin’ that underneath all them whiskers, you’s probably
real
nice lookin’.” Her smile turned surprisingly sweet. “For a white man!”

Halfway to the stable, Ridley could still hear their laughter.

R
idley waited until they reached the mares’ stable, then glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Uncle Bob … what we were talking about back there …” He gestured. “About the widow,” he said, lowering his voice. “And her late husband …”

Green looked over at him, reaching for a harness.

“What was all that about?”

“You ain’t from here, Ridley, so I’m guessin’ that’s how you ain’t heard about it. But it ain’t no secret.
Everybody
knows. It was all over the newspapers, or that’s what they tell me. I heard ‘bout it from Susanna. She reads — and writes too.” A spark of pride colored his tone.

As they walked toward the back of the stable, mares sauntered to the stall doors, nickering. Green touched each as he passed.

“Susanna read off to me what the paper said, and the widow’s husband … he done wrong. He was an important man too. Worked for the government. Had hisself a office up in Nashville. Supposed to be headin’ up some new plan, Susanna told me. Makin’ things better for people. Helpin’ ‘em get jobs. But instead of doin’ that, he lied to ‘em and took their money.”

Green paused by a stall door, and one glance inside told Ridley what they were here to do. The pretty little bay mare raised her head, then backed away, snorting. Dried blood crusted the gash on her leg.

“And some of them folks …” Green sighed, shaking his head. “They finally had enough, and they killed him. Right there in town. Not far from that fancy office of his. Shot him, drug his body through the streets, then strung him up for all to see.”

“Strung him up?” Ridley got a familiar feeling. “Wrote the words
traitor
and
scalawag
above him?”

Green frowned in question. “That’s right.”

“I read that article,” Ridley explained, “when I first got into town.” But he couldn’t believe
that
man had been Olivia Aberdeen’s husband. “The article had the words” — he glanced behind them, making sure they were still alone — “
Northern Sympathizer
in capital letters at the top. That caught my attention.”

“Mmmm …” Green nodded. “I’m guessin’ it would.”

Ridley read caution in Green’s eyes but needed no reminder of how people around here felt about the “other side.” Still, he couldn’t get the impression he’d formed of Olivia Aberdeen to marry with this new one.

Green opened the stall door and the mare reared. Stopping right where he was, Green indicated for Ridley to do the same. Then he lowered his eyes and, after a minute, the mare calmed. But her attention never wavered. Moving slowly, Green reached for a handful of feed and held it out to her. She looked at it, then at him, then tossed her head.

“You’s a pretty girl,” Green said softly. “And I’s sure sorry ‘bout you bein’ hurt.”

The mare stared at him, then snorted. Her haunches quivered, calling attention to the welts left by the whip.

“Come on, girl.” Green inched his hand closer. “Just take a little.”

Though he tried repeatedly, whispering things Ridley couldn’t always hear, the horse refused to oblige. Finally, Green left the stall and closed the door behind him. He dumped the feed back in the barrel and brushed his hand on his pant leg.

“Last night …” Ridley gestured. “She was in the other stable with the stallions. I didn’t think mares were supposed to be in there.”

“They ain’t. Same fool who put her in there is the one who left those marks on her backside. I sent him on his way last night. I won’t abide a whip bein’ taken to one of my horses. And the general won’t abide a chance meetin’, so to speak, between one of his stallions and a mare. Not with what he charges to stud.”

Ridley glanced beside him. “How much does he charge?”

“Depends on the stallion. But with Jack Malone …”

Ridley nodded, listening closely.

“A hundred dollars.”

“A hundred dollars! To stand with a mare?”

Green smiled. “Well … they’s doin’ a little more than just standin’.”

Ridley laughed, but couldn’t imagine that kind of money.

A moment passed.

“She lost a foal last year.” Green’s voice went soft. “Stillborn. Handsome little black colt. She kept lickin’ his head, tryin’ to get him to move.” He blew out a breath. “She ain’t been the same since.”

They stood watching her, and she stared back.

“Was she bred here?” Ridley asked.

“Sure was. Triumph was her sire, Exquisite was her dam. General had real high hopes for her. For her foal too. But after that birth …” He shook his head. “We was just talkin’ ‘bout breedin’ her again, and now this. General already said to put her down, but I know she still got somethin’ left in her — if her leg’ll heal. Used to be, she could outrun the wind.” Green held out his hand and made a clucking noise with his tongue. The mare didn’t move. “She still a fine lady, she just don’t know it anymore. Do you, Miss Birdie?”

“Birdie?”

“It’s short for Seabird. That’s her name.”

“There you are, Uncle Bob!”

They both turned. General Harding strode toward them. Just seeing the man again made Ridley tense.

“Mornin’, General Harding,” Green said.

Ridley nodded. “Morning, sir.”

The general gestured to the stall. “You’re here to take care of Seabird, I assume. She’s been a good horse, Uncle Bob. But it’s her time.”

“Actually, sir —” Green ducked his head. “I been rethinkin’ that. She’s a fine mare, and I figure she still got some good years left in her. With your say so, I wanna spend time workin’ with her, seein’ if we can’t get her back. Her chances for foalin’ again would be good. And with Jack Malone here, I thought she might —”

The general shook his head. “I’m afraid I overestimated her, Uncle Bob. We both did. Seabird doesn’t have the stamina or strength we thought. Besides, you’re not going to have time to work with her. Not with what I have planned.” Harding shot Ridley a glance, obviously enjoying the moment. “I’ve given this a great deal of consideration, and next summer — June to be exact — Belle Meade will host its first annual yearling sale.”

For a moment Green said nothing. Then he glanced down the long aisle bordered with stables, each one filled with either a mare or a foal or mares about to foal. “A yearlin’ sale? We sure got enough stock for that, sir. And I’m bettin’ people will come. Lots of ‘em will come.”

Harding briefly laid a hand on Green’s shoulder. “If we work this right, people will come from miles around, Uncle Bob. But we have our work to do in getting these colts and fillies ready for sale.”

“Yes, sir, we do,” Green said, then glanced behind him.

Ridley trailed his gaze to the mare and remembered how she ran yesterday, even with a busted leg. That horse wasn’t short on stamina or strength, and looking at her now, he would have bet she was thinking the very same thing. He felt the outline of the shell in his pocket.
Seabird
, what a name for this horse …

He couldn’t decide if what he was considering was the wisest or most foolish thing he’d ever done. But whichever it was, he couldn’t let it go.

“So let’s have no more talk of Seabird, Uncle Bob,” the general finished. “Take her out to the meadow. To the high pasture, if you want. But get it done.”

“General Harding?”

His focus swung to Ridley. “Yes, Mr. Cooper?”

“What if
I
were to agree to take care of the mare, sir? To work with her. See if she can regain her strength. You’ve already made an investment in her, give me a chance to prove your investment was sound.” Ridley glanced back at the horse who, at the moment, looked decidedly less imbued with the ability to reason. Then he caught Bob Green’s hopeful expression and forged ahead. “But if it turns out you’re right, sir, and her time
has
passed, I’ll put her down myself.”

General Harding said nothing at first, and Ridley knew the man was sizing him up. “When I agreed to hire you, Mr. Cooper, it wasn’t so you could nurse a horse back to health. I appreciate your concern about my investment, but I know a thing or two about horses. And I’m not a believer in throwing good money after bad.”

“Neither am I, sir. But …” Ridley knew he needed to tread carefully. He also knew Bob Green believed in that horse. But more than anything, he wanted to prove General William Giles Harding wrong. For so many reasons. “I’m certain Seabird has something left in her. I’ll work with her on my own time. After regular hours.”

General Harding gave a brief laugh. “Careful, Mr. Cooper. Determination and stubbornness are close cousins.”

“As are confidence and arrogance.” Ridley smiled. “Sir.”

Wordless, Green shifted his weight, looking between them.

Harding’s eyes narrowed, his demeanor reflecting more of a challenge.
“I’ve always held that if a man truly believes in something, he should be willing to stand behind his claim. And since I’ve already made an investment in this horse, as you yourself stated, Mr. Cooper, my only question to you is …” He drew himself up. “Seeing as you believe the mare still has some life left in her, are you willing to pay the cost of what her recuperation and retraining will require?”

Ridley quickly estimated the expense and wished he’d never started down this road. He didn’t have the funds to see this mare back to wholeness. He needed every penny for his venture west. Yet he had no choice. If he backed down now, Harding would win and would consider him weak and foolish. But what bothered him even more was that Bob Green might be disappointed in him.

And
that
was a price he wasn’t willing to pay.

“Yes, sir,” he answered. “I’ll pay the expenses.”

“Including the lease for her stall,” Harding added. “I’m running a business here, Mr. Cooper. Not a charity.”

Ridley bristled, wondering how much additional that would be and knowing Harding was taking advantage. It didn’t sit well, but if Seabird came back and was as strong and promising a horse as Bob Green believed … “Yes, sir. I’ll pay the lease for the stall too. But if the mare regains her strength and I can get her back to full health … then she’s mine.”

Harding’s expression shed a layer of congeniality.

“Because, sir,” Ridley continued, “I’ve always held that if a man truly puts his best into something and gives his all, he deserves to be compensated accordingly. And seeing as you had already decided to put her down …” Ridley let the silence fill in the words he knew were best left unsaid and waited. He tried to read General Harding’s reaction, yet couldn’t. But if the man agreed to his terms …

He’d have a Tennessee thoroughbred to take west with him. A horse of the finest breeding stock, one he’d never have been able to afford otherwise.

Finally, the general smiled, a tight, humorless curve. “Mr. Cooper, if you get that mare back on her feet and running again
and
under control, not skittish and shy as a new bride, I’ll not only sign her over to you” — Harding laughed — “I’ll invite you to dine at my table.”

Ridley couldn’t get his hand out fast enough. Dining at this man’s table wasn’t important to him, but this mare was.

“One more condition,” Harding added. He shot a look first at Bob
Green, then at Seabird. “Seeing as you’re using my facilities and my head hostler, if you ever get that lady to race again, and she wins a purse, I get fifty percent. No cap on earnings. For her lifetime.”

“Twenty,” Ridley countered.

“Forty.” Harding smiled.

“Twenty-five
and
”— it took Ridley everything he had not to grin — “when you want her to serve as dam to one of your sires, I’ll forego the first fee.”

Harding laughed out loud. “You’ll forego a fee? A fee for a
dam
? That’s rich, Mr. Cooper. But …” He laughed again. “I like a man with a sense of humor and a touch of stallion in him.” Harding extended his hand and Ridley gripped it tight. “We have ourselves a deal.”

Y
ou’re certain you feel well enough, Aunt Elizabeth?” Olivia peered out a window in the front hallway. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect, especially after it had rained for the past two days. Olivia was positive a brief walk in the sunshine and fresh air would do Elizabeth a world of good. “We’ll be sure not to go too far. Because remember, this morning the general did encourage you to stay in bed and get some —”

“I am more than certain I’m well enough, Livvy. As for the general …” Elizabeth waved and made a
pfft
sound. “I know he means well, but if he had his way, all I would do is rest! Besides,” she whispered, “once he leaves after breakfast, he stays gone until dinner time. So he’ll never know.” She winked and reached for a set of pruning shears and a basket on a nearby table. “You arrived at Belle Meade four days ago, and I want the pleasure of walking the grounds with you, my dear. What with it having rained and me being abed, we need to make up for lost time! And with the girls gone into town for the day, we ought to do something fun as well!”

Needing no further persuasion, Olivia grinned. “Then let’s get to walking!”

Olivia held open the front door then hurried to link arms with Elizabeth as she descended the stairs, once again reminded that doctors’ prognoses were not always the final word. Whatever “weakened constitution” Elizabeth had been plagued with, she seemed worlds better today. With loving care, nutritious food, and a moderate amount of rest, Olivia planned on making that a recurring theme. Just as she had with her mother.

They cut a leisurely path across the front lawn in the direction of the old cabin, the sun wonderfully warm and air redolent with the
scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. Servants and workmen dotted the grounds, busy at their tasks. Despite the gentle rains, the ground was barely spongy, and Olivia enjoyed the chance to be outside. Yet she couldn’t help but keep an eye out for General Harding astride his black stallion.

“How do you like your room, Livvy?”

Olivia glanced beside her. “I like it very much, Aunt. Thank you. I think the view may be my favorite part.” For the past two mornings, just as she’d done the first, she’d risen to watch the sunrise, then dressed and hurried through breakfast to be available to Elizabeth. Not that she’d done much. Elizabeth mainly rested.

Yesterday, the general and their daughters, Cousin Lizzie included, had attended church services in town. But Olivia volunteered to stay home with Elizabeth, knowing that would be best. For everyone. The widow of Charles Winthrop Aberdeen wouldn’t be welcome at any church Olivia knew of, and being seen with her in public would only hurt the Hardings. The general and the girls understood that. Only Elizabeth seemed shy of acknowledging the truth. That knowledge, coupled with the fact that chancing another carriage ride like the last wasn’t high on her list, Olivia accepted that her Sundays would be spent at Belle Meade.

Though Elizabeth had been abed, the past two days still held accomplishment. Olivia had managed to write several letters on her behalf, with Elizabeth dictating from bed. And she’d read to her as well — articles from
American Turf Register and Sporting Magazine
, a publication on horses, among other things, that the general kept on his bedside table. Elizabeth seemed to enjoy the stories, and Olivia had to admit they were entertaining.

“Well, I’m glad you like the room.” Elizabeth patted her arm. “It’s always been a favorite of mine for the view alone.”

“I love the porch too.” Olivia glanced up as they passed beneath it. “I sat out there last night with a blanket and rocked while I listened to the rain.”

“Are you having trouble sleeping, my dear?”

“Mmm, only a little. The rain worked like a tonic.”

“That’s good.” Elizabeth smiled. “It does the same for me.”

Worked like a tonic
was stretching the truth, Olivia knew, because she’d lain awake each night, waiting for sleep to come. But she didn’t want to sound ungrateful. After all, she had a safe place to live and
her needs provided for. She’d come to Belle Meade with the hope of finding a fresh start, a haven. And, in a sense, she’d gotten that.

Just not in the way she’d expected.

As they rounded the side of the house, she glimpsed the old Harding cabin and saw a Negro man coming out the door. “Does he live there now?” she asked, gesturing, noting that the man walked with a slight limp.

Elizabeth looked back and smiled. “Oh, yes, that’s Uncle Bob. He’s been here at Belle Meade forever it seems. Long before I came. He’s the head hostler and — according to my husband — has a way with horses like no man he’s ever seen.”

Olivia watched him from the corner of her eye. Something about the man inspired trust. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, with humility yet pride, in the best sense of the word. Or maybe it was the manner in which he surveyed the estate with obvious appreciation, as if drinking in the views. But to have to work around horses all day …

Olivia inwardly shuddered.

“Now, back there” — Elizabeth motioned — “is the smokehouse, which smells so delicious after the hog killing each December. Though I’m certain the hogs would disagree.” She giggled. “Then there’s the blacksmith shop. Over here, back toward the front, is the dairy. Beyond it are the servants’ and workmen’s cabins. And of course the paddocks out front where the mares are trained — oh, perhaps we can go to the stables after our walk and see the foals! I love watching them play.”

As wonderful as it was to see Elizabeth so exuberant, Olivia recalled the wounded mare that nearly took a bite of her face, and she quickly decided a visit to the stables wasn’t high on her list. So she nodded, then pointed. “What’s that over there?”

Elizabeth looked. “That’s the greenhouse. I’d love to show it to you!”

For the next half hour, Olivia drank in every imaginable color on nature’s palette, along with every heady scent. Elizabeth knew every flower and greening shrub by name, and nearly all of them, it seemed, were in bloom.

“Most of these” — Elizabeth indicated a table laden with flowers and herbs — “came from Carnton, my childhood home. My mother, God rest her soul, planted her garden with the help of her friend, Rachel Jackson.”

Olivia felt her brow furrow. “
The
Rachel Jackson?” she whispered. “The first lady?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Rachel and my mother were friends. Rachel was kind enough to furnish my mother with slips and seedlings from her own garden at the Hermitage. So these plants are all very special to me.”

“As well they should be.” Olivia had known that Elizabeth’s father, Randall McGavock, had once been mayor of Nashville. So it shouldn’t have surprised her to discover Elizabeth’s family had been closely acquainted with that of the late President Andrew Jackson. Still, it served as a reminder of the caliber of people who had opened their home to her.

Yards of roses, clematis, coral honeysuckle, and fragrant jasmine covered the length of a white paling fence separating the back of the house from the garden. Elizabeth took snippets of flowering vines and rose blossoms and laid them in her basket. A gravel walkway that divided the long beds nesting both vegetables and flowers extended from the smokehouse all the way to what appeared to be a cave nestled in the side of the hill.

“Our gardener, Mr. Hunsaker, lives there.”

Olivia turned to see Elizabeth pointing to a quaint little house that seemed precisely what a gardener would call home.

“The general brought Mr. Hunsaker all the way from Switzerland. He’s likely out in the orchard today.” They walked together, arm in arm, on around the house. “One day soon, I promise to show you the cashmere goats and the deer park, which are located just past the yards housing the beef and dairy cattle. Selene will insist you see the Shetland ponies as well. And perhaps we’ll catch sight of a buffalo while we’re out. Though we won’t dare venture a closer look as one of them nearly —” Elizabeth inhaled sharply. “Is that the carriage you were in on your way here?”

Olivia trailed her gaze and saw the conveyance — or what was left of it — sitting abandoned beside one of the stables. “Yes, ma’am, it is,” she answered, finding it sobering to view the damage from this perspective — also finding it odd that seeing the carriage again would make her think of
him
.

Mr. Ridley Adam Cooper.

Where was he now and what was he doing? Remembering something he’d said —
I may not get what I’ve come for
— she felt a little sad
to know whatever his purpose in traveling to Belle Meade had been, he’d left empty-handed.

“Oh, Livvy.” Elizabeth shook her head. “The general told me the accident involved a broken wheel, but I never dreamed it was so serious. How frightening that must have been for you.” Elizabeth looked back at her. “And yet you haven’t said a word about it.”

Without wanting to, Olivia recalled what it felt like to be falling toward that open door, the ground rushing up to meet her. She relayed the experience to Elizabeth, watching her eyes go wide. Olivia’s own eyes watered at the memory. “It
was
frightening.” She gave a breathy laugh. “I have no idea, Aunt Elizabeth, how I didn’t fall out.” Even now, she shuddered to think what might have happened to her if she had.

“Oh, my dear.” Elizabeth covered Olivia’s hands with her own. “I have to believe that God somehow closed that door for you. And that he kept you safe for a reason.”

Olivia nodded, though not fully convinced. Because why would God choose to close that door to keep her safe, yet allow her to live with a man who — for five
long
years — had treated her with such disregard and lack of feeling? None of which she’d shared in letters to Aunt Elizabeth. Though she’d sometimes wondered from Elizabeth’s responses if she’d managed to read between the lines.

“Livvy.”

Olivia refocused.

Elizabeth’s eyes glistened. “Your mother was my dearest friend in all the world. And while I would never seek to take her place in your life, I do hope you’ll confide in me, if you need to. Because … I have a feeling that there’s much you need to share. And I’ll have you know I’m a
very
good listener.”

The sincerity — and safety — in Elizabeth’s voice coaxed Olivia’s guard down and emotion tightened her throat. “I’m so grateful you invited me here,” she whispered, barely able to force out the words. “I had nowhere to go. No one …
No one
has spoken to me in town since … the incident. And all of our friends” — her voice caught — “or what few we had … blame me too. But Aunt Elizabeth, I didn’t know. I promise, I didn’t. I knew he wasn’t a good man, but I didn’t know the extent of what he was doing. If I had —”

“If you had, Olivia, what would you have done? Turned your own husband in to the authorities? Who most likely, with this current government, would have simply slapped his wrists and sent him back
home? To you? Just imagine what he might have done then, being the kind of man he was.” A shadow eclipsed Elizabeth’s features.

Olivia knew she should say something. Right then. She’d wondered how to tell Elizabeth the truth about her and Charles’s relationship — or lack thereof — and how cruel he had been at times. Not only when delivering a well-placed slap across her cheek or gripping her arm so tightly it left a mark, but the emotional hitting he’d done. The marks on her cheek had faded, as had the bruises on her arms. But the things he’d said — as well as all the things he hadn’t — had left a far deeper wound. And now was the moment for her to tell Elizabeth. To say it out loud. And yet … the words wouldn’t come.

“It’s not commonly spoken of, Livvy.” Elizabeth lowered her gaze. “At least not in our circle. But I know for a fact there are husbands — even among the higher stations in life — who often resort to … violence. It’s disgraceful.” She shook her head. “Both for the men
and
women. And it would pain me beyond words to think of that ever having happened to you.” Elizabeth took hold of her hands. “So don’t for one moment blame yourself for not turning him in to the authorities. Not for a minute! Promise me that. All right, my dear?”

Seeing the urgency in Elizabeth’s expression, hearing the taint in her tone at the mere mention of the subject, Olivia could only nod. “I promise,” she whispered, swallowing back the truth, as she’d done a hundred times before, not wanting to say anything that would bring Elizabeth pain or further disgrace herself in this dear woman’s eyes.

Elizabeth smiled and held out her arm. “Walk with me?”

Olivia slipped her hand through. Gravel crunched beneath their boots as they strolled the garden path. Elizabeth continued to provide colorful and interesting commentary about Belle Meade, but Olivia could only half listen. Two questions kept weaving their way in and out of her train of thought. How was it she could feel such shame over something she hadn’t done herself, but that had been done
to
her? Never had she considered herself deserving of Charles’s outbursts of anger. Only unable to escape them. And the second question — one that haunted her almost as much as the first: would she ever be rid of this heaviness within? She prayed she would. It only seemed fair, considering. But based on personal experience, she’d learned that God didn’t always answer prayers in a way that seemed fair.

“… and that, my sweet Livvy, is a brief tour of Belle Meade.”

Olivia exhaled, returning fully to the moment. “I must admit, Aunt
Elizabeth, I had no idea the extent of businesses the general was involved with here. I thought Belle Meade mainly consisted of the horse farm.”

“That’s what we’re known for.” Elizabeth took a deep breath, seeming to relish being outdoors. “But my husband is quite an enterprising man, if I may boast on his behalf.”

Olivia nodded, then paused. “What is that?” She pointed to a post sticking up from the ground, a glass jar mounted on one side.

Elizabeth chuckled. “It’s a contraption the general designed years ago to measure rainfall. He says he grew tired of farm hands returning from the fields saying the ground was too wet to plow. So …” She touched the side of the glazier’s jar. “He had the servants construct this. And when it rains, he checks it and knows.”