To Whisper Her Name (15 page)

Hearing steps behind him, he turned.

Uncle Bob’s gaze was firm. “You ain’t earned her trust yet, Ridley. That’s the reason she reared up on you. You can’t do nothin’ ‘til you earn her trust.”

Glancing back at the mare, Ridley exhaled a spent breath, wishing he could be rid of his frustration so easily. “I’ve fed her. I’ve watered her. I’ve helped you change her poultices — while managing to dodge her hooves.” He leveled a stare. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do, Uncle Bob. But she still isn’t warming up to me. Or haven’t you noticed?”

Uncle Bob looked at him a long moment. “I told you from the start … this ain’t gonna be easy. I told you it was gonna take some time too. And you said to me, ‘Time is somethin’ I —’”

“I know what I said to you, Uncle Bob. I was there, remember?”

“I ain’t sure you was. Cause this man I’s seein’ now,” he said, pointing at Ridley’s chest, “ain’t the man who asked me to teach him. All this man before me wants is to get what he come for and then hightail it outta here, headin’ west.” Uncle Bob narrowed his eyes. “You tell me that ain’t right.”

Ridley ran a hand over his beard, an ache starting at the back of his head. And in the pit of his gut.

“Hey! Uncle Bob!”

Ridley turned, and — seeing who it was — his mood went from bad to worse. Grady Matthews stalked toward them. With the exception of Grady Matthews and two or three of the men Grady consorted with, Ridley got along with everyone. More than got along, actually. But Grady flat rubbed him the wrong way.

As the man got closer, Seabird trotted to the opposite side of the corral. Open dislike showed in Grady’s face, which didn’t bother Ridley a bit. For reasons right or wrong, he returned the sentiment.

Grady gestured. “Uncle Bob, Mr. Ruel just arrived with his mare. We need to know where you want to put her. He’s also wantin’ to know when she’s gonna get covered.”

“Put her in number seven. And tell him his mare ain’t meetin’ Jack Malone ‘til the general has his hundred dollars in hand and I know for sure she’s healthy. I’ll be there directly.”

Grady nodded and shot a look at Seabird then back at Ridley. “Me and some of the boys are takin’ bets she splits your skull before you’re done.”

Ridley forced a smile. One good punch.
Just one
. “How’s that jaw doing, Grady?”

The man’s smile vanished, which only encouraged Ridley’s.

“Grady.” Uncle Bob stepped forward. “Mr. Ruel’s waitin’.”

With a final glare, Grady stalked off.

One look at Uncle Bob and Ridley’s smile flattened out. He didn’t care for the shadowed look in the man’s eyes. Made him feel like a recalcitrant youth.

Ridley grabbed a rope and started walking. “I’ll see if I can coax her back over here. If not, maybe we should think about using another horse.”

“Leave her! We done for today.”

Bob Green’s clipped response brought him around. “We’re done? But you said —”

“I said we’s
done
!”

Ridley stared for a second, then trailed Uncle Bob to the gate. “What are you upset about?”

“The problem ain’t the horse, Ridley. You’s the problem, sir.”

Ridley could only stare. Grady Matthews could’ve punched him square in the jaw and he could’ve taken it standing. But hearing Bob Green speak those words about him threatened to buckle his confidence. Not that he was about to show it.

“What do you mean I’m the problem? I’m doing everything you’ve told me to do.”

“No you ain’t. You ain’t listenin’ to me. Oh, you say you is. But I can see inside that head o’ yours. You’s talkin’ up a storm in there. And that horse, she hears it too.”

The muscles in the back of Ridley’s neck started to tighten up, making his head hurt worse.

“She ain’t only listenin’ to what you sayin’ here.” Uncle Bob touched his own mouth. “She listenin’ to what you sayin’ here.” He pointed his index and middle finger at Ridley’s eyes, then laid a hand over the vicinity of his heart. “And here. But you …” Uncle Bob exhaled. “You’s just
so
busy talkin’. Just like with Grady there.”

Ridley held up a hand. “He’s the one who —”

“You was talkin’ on the inside ‘fore he even got close. I ain’t sayin’ he’s in the right. He ain’t. But the truth of it is …” Uncle Bob glanced around, then looked back, his brow furrowed. “You’s better than that, sir,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I know you is. That’s the only reason I said yes when you asked me to teach you. Men like Grady” — he shook his head — “they could barely find their way out of a feed sack. But you …” He looked at Ridley with eyes so intent, so kind. “You’s different, sir. I knew it that night on the mountain,” he whispered. “And I know it now. Don’t go provin’ me wrong.”

Ridley said nothing as Uncle Bob walked away, unable to describe what he was feeling.

Even as he lay in bed that night, in the upper loft of one side of the cabin, staring out the window at a thumbnail moon, he still couldn’t define it. And the statement Uncle Bob had made before retiring didn’t help:
You got to want this, Ridley. You gotta want it more than anything
.

Sleep a long distance off, he made his way noiselessly down the ladder into the lower room of the cabin and into the dogtrot, careful not to wake Uncle Bob, whose soft snores came from a corner bunk.

Once outside, Ridley eased down onto the porch steps and stretched his legs out, willing some of the restlessness in him to calm. The night air was still warm, but a whisper of wind against his bare chest provided a welcome respite. He rubbed a hand over his beard and listened as the chirrup of crickets and the rustle of a breeze through the grass played a familiar, even comforting, melody.

It reminded him of the recent Sunday morning when he’d heard songs in the distance, coming from a gathering down near the servants’ cabins. Uncle Bob had asked him to go along, saying Susanna, Betsy, and the others would be there. But he’d declined. Still, he’d enjoyed listening to the songs from afar. Some of them comforting in
melody, even though he couldn’t make out the words. Other songs he’d recognized from younger, more innocent years.

He glanced toward the big house, as Uncle Bob called it, and noticed the solitary glow of lamplight coming from a window above the kitchen. Apparently someone else couldn’t sleep either. He wondered which bedroom belonged to Mrs. Aberdeen and if she ever had trouble sleeping at night.

The light from the second story bedroom went dark, and somehow the night around him felt emptier. Lonelier. And the dream of the Colorado Territory another world away.

What if he couldn’t learn what he needed to learn by the time the end of June came around? He had the chance to own a thoroughbred in Seabird, if he could get her well and running and tamed again, which was an opportunity worth taking. He also needed what Uncle Bob could teach him too.

So many threads to tie together in so short a space of time, and he’d been living with this dream forever it seemed. Feeling an unexpected pang in his chest, he searched the night sky, a knot forming at the base of his throat. For the longest time, he’d known with the fullest certainty God had forgotten about him. Had forgotten about them all. That he’d just up and left this big mess of a world behind. Ridley swallowed, remembering the endless string of months at Andersonville — his belly empty for days on end, his flesh cold as a corpse’s when winter came.

Then on his way to Belle Meade, as he’d been coming through Atlanta, witnessing Sherman’s destructive path, he’d heard a street preacher. The man had said something that had not only stuck with him, but had somehow worked its way deep inside:
God never leans over the balcony of heaven and gasps
.

The idea had struck him as funny at the time, but the more he’d thought about it, the more he liked the idea — that nothing ever surprised the Almighty — and he hoped it was true. Because if it was, then maybe it meant God was still watching and maybe there was a reason behind some of the things that happened. Not all, probably. God couldn’t be expected to take all the blame. Men had made a fairly good mess of things, after all.

You’s different, sir. I knew it that night on the mountain … And I know it now. Don’t go provin’ me wrong
.

What Uncle Bob had said drifted toward him in the dark, and
Ridley sighed. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and he knew in that moment what he’d felt when Bob Green had spoken those words.

Humbled
. And it was a different feeling for him.

A part of him had been ashamed, while a greater part of him had wanted — and still did — a chance to prove himself. To show Uncle Bob he wasn’t wasting his time. Ridley ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. There used to be a day when a man wouldn’t have spoken to him like Uncle Bob had and stayed standing. But somehow it was different hearing it from Bob Green. An iron grip worked its way around his throat, and Ridley slowly realized part of the reason why he’d come all this way — walked over five hundred miles from the South Carolina coast to get back to this place.

He not only wanted to learn what Bob Green had to teach him, he wanted Bob Green to be proud of him. Something his own father — with his dying breath — had made clear he hadn’t been.

W
ith June all but upon them, May was making its last stand a warm one. Sitting with Elizabeth in the shade of the front porch, Olivia stifled a yawn. As was becoming habit, she’d stayed up much later the previous night than she should have, unable to sleep. A comment the general had made in passing at dinner had been the culprit last night. A remark about hosting a dinner party for some of his older, unmarried colleagues.

At least she
thought
he’d made the remark in passing. That’s what had kept her awake. She wasn’t sure.

“If I’m not mistaken, Livvy, this last letter brings me current on my correspondence.” Elizabeth’s tone held contentment. “Thank you, dear.”

“My pleasure, Aunt.” Olivia fanned the last page of the letter, making certain the ink was dry before she folded the pages and slipped them into the envelope. She counted the remaining pieces of stationery in Elizabeth’s writing basket. “Aunt Elizabeth, you only have nine sheets left. I’ll order more, if you’d like.”

“Thank you, dear. You’re so organized, Livvy.” Elizabeth peered over at her. “And so attentive to details. I was telling the general that just yesterday.”

Questioning the catlike smile curving Elizabeth’s mouth, Olivia gave a tiny shrug. “I am my mother’s daughter.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened. “Yes, you are, dear. And though I don’t think I’ve told you this,” Elizabeth said, eyes crinkling at the corners, “sometimes when I look at you, I see Rebecca. In years past.”

Olivia smiled, warmed by the thought.
And
by seeing who had just exited the stable and was headed toward a corral: Mr. Ridley Cooper.

Carrying a rope and some gear, he opened the gate to the corral, moving with such confidence and authority, an unassuming fluidity about his actions. She hoped the horse training was going well, but from what little she’d glimpsed, she had her doubts. Unless standing and staring at a horse and having it stand and stare back at you was considered forward progress.

She felt a slight regret for having spoken the way she had to him at the creek that day, especially since she’d been mistaken about his intent. She wasn’t accustomed to speaking her mind, much less so plainly, but Ridley Cooper seemed to bring that out in her.

And she had to admit — even if it wasn’t all that ladylike — it had felt rather good.

Watching him, she thought again of how far away the Colorado Territory was. She’d checked a map to be sure and
four
of her fingers had fit in the distance spanning from here to there. Even on the map, it looked so different from Tennessee. Only a year ago, or maybe it was two now, she remembered reading in the newspaper about Indian wars in the Colorado Territory. The savages had attacked a town and, in turn, the settlers had retaliated. The descriptions in the newspaper had been graphic.

And yet, that’s where Ridley Cooper wanted to go.

He wanted to start a ranch out there. Without question, he’d see his dream to fruition. She could tell by the fire in his eyes when he’d spoken about it. Despite her reservations about him and how he tended to rub her the wrong way, he impressed her as a man who, when he saw something, went after it. And got it. Much like another man she knew at Belle Meade.

Like a stubborn tide, a recurring thought rose again, one she’d pushed aside multiple times in recent days: she had no dream for her life. Not like Ridley Cooper did. And knowing that only stirred the unsettling restlessness inside her.

Her focus shifted to the man following Mr. Cooper: Uncle Bob. He was leading a horse. Presumably the mare that had been injured in the carriage accident, if the horse’s bandaged leg was any indication. Olivia felt a shiver, glad to have some distance between her and that animal.

She felt a keen prick at her next thought. As soon as Ridley Cooper learned what he needed to from Uncle Bob, he’d be gone. She had to admit, doubtful as she’d been about Mr. Cooper on their first meeting,
she’d found herself almost looking forward to the times they saw each other lately. And she enjoyed the chance to watch him from afar.

“Would you read more from that book to me, Livvy? The one we started yesterday?”

Her attention nudged back to her aunt, Olivia nodded, still keeping an eye on Ridley Cooper. “Certainly, Aunt Elizabeth.”

Leaning forward in the rocker, she retrieved the book, frowning at the cover the same way she had the first time she saw it. The image on the front was a picture of a rope looped in a very peculiar fashion — a knot in the making, she guessed — and below it the very simple and un-enticing title:
The Horse
, by William Youatt and John Stuart Skinner.

She’d thought
American Turf Register and Sporting Magazine
had been an odd choice for Elizabeth. But this? “You’re certain you wouldn’t prefer a novel, Aunt Elizabeth? I could check your library, see what’s there. Perhaps something you haven’t read yet.”

“No, no.” Elizabeth laughed. “This one’s fine, dear. The general has read it many times. It’s a favorite of his.”

Olivia nodded.
Of course it is
. She settled back in her chair. “And you’re certain you’re not too warm? Or wouldn’t like more tea?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine. But this new chaise is splendid.” Elizabeth stretched her legs out on the overlong chair and arranged her skirt over her ankles. “I’m glad the general paid me no mind when I told him I thought this was needless.”

Olivia only smiled, not about to admit that after Elizabeth’s objection, the general
had
dismissed the idea of purchasing the chair. He’d placed the order only after Olivia had gone to him privately and insisted the chaise would be of benefit.

Following Elizabeth’s fainting spell, the family doctor had ordered a week’s bed rest. This past week he’d approved Elizabeth to rise and move about the house for a couple of hours each day, which included coming outside to sit.

Olivia opened to the page holding the marker. Yesterday Elizabeth had requested she read the preface, so they hadn’t gotten far. “Chapter One,” Olivia read now, ready to infuse enthusiasm into the text that she was certain it would lack. “‘The Horse in England and America, as He Has Been, and as He Is.’”
Truly?
She stifled a sigh. A novel would have been so much better. “‘Of all the beasts of the field, which, as we are told, the Lord formed out of the earth and brought
unto Adam to see what he would call them, none has more engaged the attention of the historian and the philosopher — none has figured more in poetry and romance — than the horse …’”

She glanced up as she read, watching Mr. Cooper who, none too surprisingly, was standing in the middle of the corral looking at the horse. Not wanting to give Elizabeth the impression she was disinterested in the book, she alternated reading a line or two with watching the events in the corral. Each time she looked up it was to find the horse and Mr. Cooper still staring at each other, Uncle Bob off to one side.

Mr. Cooper would take a few steps forward, then stop. The horse would take a few steps back and stop. It was like a dance. Only … not.

After reading two more paragraphs, Olivia looked up to see Mr. Cooper kneeling down, his hand outstretched to the horse. The mare just stood, staring at him. She smiled, the scene so comical. But it was also sweet, in a sense. Until she remembered how close that horse had come to biting her. She hoped Mr. Cooper knew what he was doing.

She read a few more lines, ending a particularly long paragraph with a flourish, then looked over to catch Elizabeth’s reaction, only to find her aunt’s eyes closed, her head resting against the cushion.

Marking their place in the book, Olivia rose from her chair, slipped the book in the basket, and decided to get a closer look at Ridley Cooper and that mare.

Wanting to appear as if she were simply out on a stroll instead of coming to see him, Olivia took an indirect path to the corral, around a rose garden on the north side of the house. As she drew closer, she slipped behind a dogwood tree, welcoming its partial privacy. She heard Uncle Bob speaking, his voice soft.

“There you go, Ridley. That’s better.”

She looked to see what the head horse trainer was referring to, but again, all she saw was Mr. Cooper kneeling, holding out his hand, a good six feet from the horse that looked ready to bolt at any second. And then …

The horse took a step toward him. Just one, so tentative. The mare shook her head from side to side and whinnied, then looked at Mr. Cooper straight on.

“It’s all right, girl,” he whispered. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Olivia couldn’t see his face, but she heard a smile in his voice. She also sensed fear in the horse’s stance, in the way it pawed the ground. The horse looked over in Bob Green’s direction, and although Olivia knew it was silly, she would’ve sworn the mare was looking at Uncle Bob to see what
he
thought about Ridley Cooper.

The horse inched forward. Closer, closer …

Only three feet separated man and beast now. Olivia silently cheered the animal on. She didn’t like horses. But even more, she disliked seeing someone — some
thing
— so afraid.

“That’s it,” Mr. Cooper spoke softly. “You can do it, girl …”

Ever so slowly, he rose, hand still outstretched. The mare’s ears pricked. Then it lunged forward — only a foot — snorting and pawing the ground. Olivia’s breath clamped tight in her throat. If she’d been Ridley Cooper, she would’ve run screaming for her life.

But he didn’t move.

He stood motionless, his head slightly lowered — his hand still outstretched — his attention anchored on the mare. As quickly as the horse had lunged, it quieted, and they just stood staring at each other.

Something about the scene brought a warmth to Olivia’s eyes, and when Mr. Cooper inched his hand closer, part of her wanted to say, “No, don’t. Not yet.”

But it was too late.

The mare bolted and ran full out to the other side of the corral. Olivia’s heart squeezed tight. Especially when she saw Mr. Cooper bow his head.

She stepped out from the tree, and Uncle Bob turned. She’d only met the man once, in the kitchen one morning when he and Mr. Cooper were having breakfast, and he’d seemed as nice in person as she’d imagined him to be at first glance.

Uncle Bob tipped his black derby. “Afternoon, Missus Aberdeen.”

Ridley Cooper turned and saw her and gave a shy laugh. “Did you see all that?”

Olivia debated, then nodded. “You almost had her convinced.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, almost doesn’t count for anything.”

Uncle Bob briefly gripped his shoulder. “It’s a whole lot closer than where you were, Ridley. For both of you.” Tipping his hat to Olivia again, Uncle Bob headed in the direction of the mare.

Mr. Cooper approached the fence. “What brings you out here, Mrs. Aberdeen? I thought you considered corrals and stables off limits.”

“I do. That’s why I’m still staying a good ten feet on this side.”

He gestured. “You can come closer. It’s all right.”

Hearing the teasing in his voice, she shook her head. “I’m fine right where I am, thank you.”

He gave her that smile, the one she was becoming more familiar with. As familiar as she could be considering that beard hid half his face. But as wild and wooly as Ridley Cooper appeared to be, she was beginning to think that beneath his rough exterior there might actually reside a caring man. Even if he did lack the manners and upbringing of a gentleman.

“I’m glad you came out here.” He rested his forearms on the top rail. “I … ah, wanted to give you something.”

She studied him, aware of how he was watching her, similar to how he’d watched the mare. “And just what would this
something
be, Mr. Cooper?”

He reached into his shirt pocket, then hesitated. “I’m not fully sure why I did this, Mrs. Aberdeen.” He rubbed a hand over his beard. “I guess it was because of what you said the other day.” His voice lowered. “About envying my having a dream.”

Her curiosity more than piqued, Olivia glanced at his shirt pocket.

“I know you said you’re going to serve as Mrs. Harding’s companion, and I’m sure that’ll work out fine.” He nodded as though trying to assure her it would. “But when I saw this advertisement” — he withdrew a piece of newsprint from his pocket — “I thought the position might suit you. And that maybe you could do both.”

Seeing the mare was a safe distance away, she closed the gap, took the clipping from him, and began to read.

“The notice says twenty hours a week,” he continued, “but there at the bottom it says the hours are negotiable. Mornings or afternoons. If it’s something you’re even interested in.”

Olivia nodded, feeling him watching her. She acted as though she were reading the verbiage again, when really she was buying time, thinking of what to say. She was touched he’d thought of her. More than touched, actually. But she knew something he didn’t. No family in Nashville would ever allow her to teach their children. Not in a school and certainly not in a tutoring position such as this.