To Whisper Her Name (36 page)

She reviewed the regular monthly report she’d prepared for General Harding, then the additional notes she’d included on the last page, wondering how he’d accept the suggestions coming from her. She would find out soon enough.

She went in search of Ridley to approve the summary before she submitted it and found him outside in a corral with one of the mares
and the tiniest foal she’d ever seen. The filly they’d nearly lost. It had to be. If not for the mare in the corral, Olivia might have opened the gate and stepped inside to get a closer glimpse. As it was, she stayed outside where it was safe.

Still, watching the little creature made her smile. Its spindly legs barely looked strong enough to support its slight weight, much less enable it to run and jump as it was doing. But the way Ridley played with the foal, running this way and that, cutting the foal off at the pass …

It was nothing less than charming.

Looking at him now — clean-shaven, a layer of brawn thickening his arm and shoulder muscles after months of hearty food and demanding work, and him appearing so
at home
in these surroundings — it was hard to imagine the “vagrant” she’d first met along the road that day on her way to Belle Meade. A flush of what she guessed could be called
pride
washed through her.

She summoned a formal tone. “Excuse me, sir. I need your assistance with something.”

He turned. His smile widened upon seeing her and nearly took her breath away.

“Come on in.” He gestured to the gate. “And meet little Dewdrop.”

Whether it was the inviting way he said it — like it would give him such pleasure if she consented — or the way the filly suddenly stopped and looked over at her, Olivia wasn’t sure. But she wished she could do as Ridley asked. Yet, glancing at the mare who was more than glancing back at her, Olivia shook her head.

“It’s all right. I can see from here.”

Ridley’s smile fell a little. But he nodded. “She’s a little charmer, isn’t she?”

“She’s adorable.” But the carefree feeling Olivia had experienced watching the foal a minute earlier was gone. Ridley was disappointed. Not in her, but in her fear of these animals.

He met her at the fence, Dewdrop prancing along behind him. The filly stuck her nose through the opening in the split rails. Ridley’s hand came through the space too, and Olivia looked down, knowing what he wanted.

“She’s gentle as a kitten, Olivia. I promise.”

“No, Ridley. I can’t.”

“Come on … Just once.”

Olivia looked beyond him to the mare, who took a couple of steps forward, then paused, staring at her. Then at the foal. Olivia could all but feel the horse’s motherly instinct extending like an unseen blanket around her young one.

“The mother is watching us,” she whispered.

“I’d be worried if she wasn’t. Now give me your hand … before Dewdrop gums your skirt to bits.”

Olivia glanced down and, sure enough, the filly had hold of her skirt in its mouth. She tugged the fabric free, careful not to get her hand near the foal’s mouth, then backed up a step. “Ridley, I … I just don’t want to. I’m …” She hated even thinking the word, much less saying it aloud. To
him
. “I’m scared.”

“All right. That’s fine.” He gave her that smile she loved. “Is that this month’s report?”

The ease with which he accepted her decision triggered an unexpected boldness and — clenching her teeth — she held out her hand. He grabbed it quickly.

She looked at the filly. “She doesn’t bite, does she?”

“Everything that has teeth bites, Olivia.”

She tried to pull her hand back but he kept a firm hold. “Trust me.”

Wanting to, but terrified, Olivia willed herself to stop fighting — and shaking — but to no avail. Then Ridley reached out and covered her hand with both of his and — in a gesture that was nothing short of heroic in her eyes — created a cocoon of sorts, her hand safely protected inside. He brought them close to Dewdrop’s mouth and Olivia held her breath.

The little foal licked the top of Ridley’s hand and nibbled on the sides as if trying to get at a treat hidden within. It was an odd sensation, more …
playful
than fearsome.

“Are you ready?” he asked. “I’ll open my hands gradually.”

Glancing at the mare, who was still watching them, Olivia nodded. Or tried to. Ridley positioned their hands where both of his were thumbs up, then he slowly opened them, making a slit in the cocoon to reveal her hand within. Dewdrop’s tongue brushed against her fingers, and Olivia cringed. Then shivered.

“It feels … rough.”

Ridley smiled. “A little. Just wait until she nibbles on your palm.”

Olivia stiffened but didn’t pull away.

“You ready?”

“No.” But she swallowed, determined to see this through. If only just to prove to herself she could do it. “And … yes.”

He withdrew one hand and turned hers palm up in his. Olivia sucked in a breath when Dewdrop began nibbling — no, more like
gumming
— her palm. It didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it almost … tickled.

“Here.” Ridley withdrew an apple slice from his pocket and dropped it into her hand. “Her being so young, I’m not sure she’ll take it. But I’m guessing if you give her this, she’ll be your friend for life.”

The apple slice barely touched Olivia’s palm before Dewdrop claimed it, munching loudly before coming back for more.

“Now scratch her right here.” Ridley pointed to the white spot between the horse’s eyes.

Olivia did and couldn’t believe it when the precious little filly tried to fit her head further between the rails. Then Olivia saw the mare —
directly
behind Ridley — and drew back.

“It’s all right, Olivia. She’s one of the gentlest mares we have.”

Olivia wasn’t so sure.

The mare nuzzled the foal, sniffing and blowing out her breath as if making sure her filly was unharmed. The foal tossed its head, then tried to reach Olivia again. But when the mare stretched its long neck and enormous head over the fence, Olivia stumbled back.

“She only wants to sniff you.” Ridley scratched the mare behind the ears and it snorted, sounding oddly satisfied. “Which only seems fair since she
did
allow you to touch her foal.”

Olivia shot him a look. “Why do I feel as though I’ve been tricked?”

“Not tricked. Just maybe a tiny bit” — he shrugged — “coerced.” He grinned. “Now come on, give it a try. I’ll hold your hand again, if you want. Miserable prospect that is for me.”

Olivia tried for an offended look but had to bite her lower lip in order not to smile — until she looked back at the mare. The mare sniffed the air in her direction, and Olivia stared into her huge brown eyes, which held curiosity and, oddly, a measure of uncertainty Olivia understood only too well.

Making a fist of her right hand and trying not to think of it coming back without all five fingers still attached, she took a step forward. Ridley reached out, but she shook her head.

“I want to do it myself.”

He laughed softly. “Spoken like a true daughter of the South.”

Ignoring him, Olivia closed the distance. And slowly, dread weighing her arm, she reached out her hand, palm up, fingers trembling. Grimacing, not allowing herself to look at those overlarge teeth, she barely contained a squeal as the mare gave her palm a moist and messy lick. Then gummed it as the foal had done earlier. Only harder.

Still … it didn’t hurt.

Ridley laughed out loud. “Good for you!”

Olivia pulled her hand back and took a much-needed breath, still looking at the mare and those big brown eyes that somehow seemed a little … friendlier than before. As though suddenly bored, the filly turned and set off across the corral. The mare followed, leaving Olivia to stare in bewilderment at her sopping-wet hand. Still holding the report in her other hand, she looked down at her skirt. But couldn’t bring herself to —

“Here.” Ridley already had the gate open. He closed it behind him. “Allow me.” He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped her hand clean. “I’m proud of you.”

Tempted to brush aside the praise, Olivia heard the sincerity in his voice. Truth was, she was more than a little proud of herself as well. “Thank you, Ridley.” She looked up at him. “I’m … proud of you too.” The words just came. She hadn’t planned on saying them.

The rag stilled. He studied her, his expression taking on an almost boyish quality. “Proud of me?” He laughed softly. “For what?”

She didn’t have to think long to know why. “For all you’ve accomplished since you’ve been here. For all you’re learning. I saw you working with Jack Malone the other day. And …” She shook her head, remembering. “I was so glad it wasn’t me in the corral with that —”

“Magnificent animal?”

“‘Terrifying beast’ is what I was going to say.”

They both laughed.

“The way you got him to do what you wanted …”

He held up a hand. “Don’t give me too much credit. Uncle Bob was right there helping. I secretly think that horse has it in for me.”

He winked, and she smiled, considering how to phrase what she wanted to say next. “You know what you want to do with your life, Ridley. And you’re doing it very well.”

He took her hand in his and traced funny little circles in the cradle of her palm, which did not-so-funny things to her insides.

“You’re doing the same thing,” he said softly. “By being a companion to Mrs. Harding. And with your teaching.”

She gave a slight shrug. “I appreciate everything Aunt Elizabeth has done for me, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but … being a
companion
to Aunt Elizabeth is something I would have done anyway. She’s like a mother to me. And while I love teaching Jimmy and Jolene …” She glanced away. “It’s not like I’m a
real
teacher who —”

“Don’t do that.” Touching her chin, he gently brought her focus back to him. “Don’t dismiss what you’re doing, Olivia. You’re changing Jimmy’s and Jolene’s futures. Their lives will never be the same. I can count on one hand — and still have four fingers left — the number of women in your position who would have even noticed those children, much less taken the time to teach them.”

His affirmation was like rainfall on parched ground, and she drank it in. Though a part of her still wanted to speak in her own defense. Not against what he was saying but to what she wanted him to understand. That she wanted something
more
. More than the arranged marriage the general insisted on making. She’d already had that. She didn’t want it again. If given a choice, she wanted to do something
larger
with her life than get married again. Something important. Something that would last beyond her. And if she
did
choose to remarry, she wanted it to be —

The thought came so clearly and wasn’t new to her. She wanted it to be to someone like Ridley. To someone she wanted to be with. At breakfast and throughout the day. On walks at midnight. Sitting beside her at church. Climbing a lattice. She wanted it to be to someone who was a friend — and yet far more.

She covered his hand in hers. “Thank you, Ridley. You always speak your mind. Even when you know the other person might not agree. And speaking my mind is something I’ve never been encouraged to do. Before meeting you, that is.”

“Well, you’re definitely getting better at it.”

Seeing his grin, she tugged his hand. “What I’m trying to say is you’re an honest and forthright man. You always tell the truth. And those are qualities I greatly admire … for many reasons.”

Slowly, his smile faded. He didn’t say anything for a minute, just held her gaze. “I assure you, Olivia … I’m not worthy of such praise.”

“Well, I think you are.”

He opened his mouth as though to say something else, then
looked away. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought she’d said something off-putting. As it was, she simply added
appealing modesty
to his list of admirable qualities.

With feigned stoicism, she presented the report. “For your approval, Mr. Cooper.”

He flipped through the pages, scanning as he went. When he came to the last page, he paused. “Have you discussed this with General Harding yet?”

She shook her head. “After noticing some redundancy in ordering, I figured that …” She frowned, an unwelcome suspicion surfacing. “Are you thinking the suggestions would be better received if they came from you instead?”

“Oh no.” He handed the report back to her. “You deserve all the credit for this, Olivia. I just wish I could be there to see the general’s face when he reads it.”

I
n the basin in her room, Olivia washed her hands clean of horse, still unable to believe she’d actually touched one of the creatures. Much less
two
. The things Ridley Cooper managed to talk her into doing …

She closed her bedroom door behind her and hurried across the open second-story porch and down the staircase, eager to share her suggestions with the general. Especially after Ridley’s comments. A deliciously sweet aroma drifted toward her from the kitchen — Betsy’s rhubarb cobbler — and her mouth watered. But that would have to wait.

She rapped twice on the general’s office door before hearing voices from inside.

“But General Harding, certainly by now, sir, you must concede that the freedmen are —”

“I am under no obligation to concede anything, Mr. Pagette. Not to you. Not to the Freedmen’s Bureau. So you will kindly temper your manner in that regard.”

Realizing the general had a guest, Olivia turned to leave.

“Come in!”

Hearing the general’s curt response, she hesitated, wanting to go, but not feeling free to. Then she spotted an older gentleman through the window by the fireplace, witnessing her silent debate. Cringing, she opened the door and stepped inside. “My apologies, General. Sir,” she nodded to his guest. “I didn’t realize you were meeting. I’ll come back later.”

“Nonsense.” General Harding waved her in. “Our business here is concluded. Mr. Pagette, may I present Mrs. Aberdeen, my wife’s companion and an employee of Belle Meade. Mrs. Aberdeen, Mr. Pagette from the Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands.”

Noting the office from which the gentleman hailed, Olivia returned his mannerly nod. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise … Mrs. Aberdeen.”

The way he said her last name made her wonder if they’d met before. Of average height and build, the man was pleasant looking, friendly. No distinguishing features. Neither remarkably handsome nor memorably plain, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him.

“Good day, Mr. Pagette,” the general continued. “Before you leave, I invite you to seek refreshment from one of the women in the kitchen. They’ll see you’re taken care of.” He cleared his throat. “Is that this month’s report?”

It took Olivia a second to realize the general was addressing her. She glanced at the pages in her hand. “Yes, sir. It is.”

“Well, Mrs. Aberdeen, may I see it?”

“Oh … of course, sir.” Handing him the report, Olivia threw an apologetic glance at the older gentleman who remained exactly where he’d been, appearing completely at ease. Which struck her as odd since his exchange with the general had seemed rather terse. Not to mention the general had dismissed him.

“General Harding.” Mr. Pagette approached the desk, his manner polite but unyielding. “Perhaps you would allow me to make another request before I go. One that’s fairly benign, I assure you.”

The general slowly lifted his head. Olivia knew that look. She wished she could tell Mr. Pagette that whatever he was going to ask for, he would do best to save his breath.

“When I first arrived today, General, I was shown a building that would be more than suitable for our purposes. I believe it currently serves as a church for the freedmen. I’ve already spoken with a few of the families here at Belle Meade, and there is indeed interest. So if you would allow me to prevail upon you, sir, to donate the building for use, then the Freedmen’s Bureau would set about to find a —”

“That is out of the question, Mr. Pagette. While I will not seek to prevent you from pursuing such an undertaking elsewhere, I can do nothing to help it along here.”

Feeling the tension grow more taut, Olivia looked between the men, wondering what they were discussing. Mr. Pagette sighed, although judging from his expression, it wasn’t a sigh of resignation as much as astonishment.

“May I inquire, General Harding …” The man’s tone, still diplomatic, had gained an edge. “As to why you will not seek to help the very people upon whose shoulders the success of your business rests? As does the foundation of the very home in which you and your family reside? And your father before you?”

The question dripped with culpability, and Olivia cringed. Yet she had to admire the man’s forthrightness and courage that reminded her of someone else she knew. Confining her gaze to the carpet, she sensed the general’s hackles rising.

“Mr. Pagette.” General Harding rose from behind his desk. “Your persistence forces me to speak more plainly on this issue than I would wish. It is my belief, sir, that these people, while
most
dear to my family — many of whom I consider to be such — possess the capacity of enduring labor under a sun that would be distressing, if not unsupportable, to any other race. To state it more simply, from their physical and mental organization, I believe they are better adapted to the drudgery of farm work than any other race of people.”

Olivia’s head came up, pounding.

“My position on this subject,” the general continued, his beard flirting with the second button on his vest, “is that they should have the rudiments of education, sir. Enough to protect themselves against the impositions of bad men. But further than that, I
do not
deem necessary.”

Seconds passed — how many Olivia didn’t know — until she became aware of her breath coming hard. Her face was on fire, like it had been after Charles slapped her.
Education?
For the servants? The Freedmen’s Bureau wanted to open a school …
here at Belle Meade
. She looked first at Mr. Pagette, whose firmed jawline reflected his resolve, then back to General Harding. She wanted to tell the general his suppositions were mistaken. All he had to do was look at Jimmy. And Jolene. And see how they were learning. But she didn’t dare.

Mr. Pagette leveled a stare. “Is that your final word on this, General Harding?”

Olivia looked back at the general, silently hoping.

“It is, Mr. Pagette.” General Harding crossed to the door. “Again, before you go, sir, I hope you’ll seek refreshment from the kitchen. It’s quite a long ride back to town.”

Mr. Pagette offered his hand. “Thank you for your time, General.” He looked Olivia’s way. “Mrs. Aberdeen, a pleasure, ma’am.”

“All mine,” she whispered, still trying to grasp what the general had just said. And done. And what it meant.

The office door closed. General Harding returned to his chair, picked up the report, and began reading it as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn’t just decided the futures of over a hundred people.

Including hers. For a second time.

Olivia watched the clock on the wall, wanting to leave the general’s office. But he kept on asking question after question, and she couldn’t exactly not answer. As excited as she’d been to share her ideas with the general, all she wanted now was to find Mr. Pagette before he left.

“I’m impressed, Olivia.” The general looked up from his desk. “And frankly, I wonder why none of the men in charge of ordering in the past have thought about this before.”

Olivia glanced out the window. “Thank you, General. With your permission, I’ll combine the separate orders from all the different supply areas across the plantation, and we’ll start ordering the common items in greater bulk. The prices you see here …” She gestured to the paper, sneaking another look at the clock on the wall. Twenty-five minutes had passed since Mr. Pagette took his leave. “They are already negotiated with Mr. Burkett, the owner of the feed store. Mr. Burkett came in second lowest on the bidding. All we need is your approval, and we’ll move forward.”

She hoped the women in the kitchen were stuffing Mr. Pagette full of rhubarb cobbler.

The general looked up. “Do tell me, Olivia, why we aren’t going with the lowest price.”

“Because, sir, the last two times we’ve ordered from Mr. Hankler, he’s been late in delivery and his product has been inferior. So actually, ordering this way, we’ll receive higher quality goods for appoximately the same price. As indicated in the total in this column.” She pointed, resisting the urge to tell him she’d already explained this once.

General Harding gave a nod. “Well done, Olivia. Proceed with ordering from Mr. Burkett, and” — he pushed back from his desk, and she took that as her cue to move toward the door — “obtain bids from the other suppliers as you’ve noted. Then we’ll speak again.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll do that. Thank you.”

Smiling, she exited the office, walked as casually as she could past the open front window, then skedaddled across the porch to the kitchen. She found Chloe inside alone. “Chloe, have you seen Mr. Pagette, the general’s guest?”

“Yes, Missus Aberdeen. He stopped by, and I give him a cup o’ cider and some salt pork on a biscuit. Then he left. Been a while now.” Chloe pulled a steaming skillet from the oven.

“Did he say where he was going next?”

“No, ma’am.” Chloe shook her head, intent on her work. “He didn’t.”

Olivia searched the front of the house. No carriage was parked in the drive. Then again, she didn’t remember seeing one earlier either. If she didn’t find Mr. Pagette before he left, chances of their crossing paths again was slim. It wasn’t as if she could inquire to the general about him. And since she never ventured into town …

She half walked, half ran to the mares’ stable, hearing her mother’s voice the entire way.
A lady always walks with grace and purpose, Olivia. She
never
runs
.

Well
, this
lady sometimes does
, Olivia thought.
With purpose too
. Albeit, minus much grace.

She searched the stable. Mr. Pagette wasn’t there. Neither was Ridley. But Grady Matthews was.

“Mrs. Aberdeen! Nice to see you again today, ma’am.”

She’d seen Mr. Matthews several times since that day in the storage room of the stable. He hadn’t mentioned anything further about the teaching. Surely he’d seen her with Jimmy and Jolene. But other than seeking ways to prolong conversations with her and making inquiries that were none of his concern, he hadn’t bothered her — or touched her — again.

“Hello, Mr. Matthews. I’m looking for a guest of the general’s and thought he might have come in here. Have you seen him, by chance?”

“What’s his name?”

“Mr. P — “Olivia almost said it, then caught herself. “That’s all right, Mr. Matthews. I don’t see him here. I’ll look elsewhere.”

Leaving before the stable hand could think of another question, Olivia walked back outside and scanned the meadow, then recalled something Mr. Pagette had said back in the office about being shown a building when he first arrived. She covered ground as quickly as she
could without running full out and minutes later — winded and overly warm — she rounded the corner leading to the church. And there he was, climbing into a carriage.

“Mr. Pagette!” she called, a stitch in her side slowing her pace.

He gathered the reins and released the brake, not turning.

She called again, louder this time, and he glanced in her direction. She waved and closed the distance between them, fighting to catch her breath.

She stopped a few feet shy of the horse. “I’m … so glad I … caught you, sir.”

He smiled, setting the brake again. “And I’m sorry to have caused you to overexert yourself on my behalf, madam.”

She held up a hand. “It’s all right …” The burning in her lungs gradually lessened. “I’m simply … unaccustomed … to running.”

He laughed and climbed from the carriage. “And I’m unaccustomed to having lovely young women pursue me across massive estates. So that makes us even.” A twinkle lit his eyes. “While also making this old man’s day.”

Olivia smiled, finding the ease with which he bantered both surprising and engaging.

He gave a slight bow. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mrs. Aberdeen?”

There it was again, the way he said her name and that feeling they’d met before. “By chance, Mr. Pagette, have our paths had opportunity to cross before today?”

A fleeting look clouded his expression. “No, ma’am, we’ve never been properly introduced, but …” His voice softened. “I knew your father. We served on a number of committees together through the years. I had the utmost respect for him, God rest him. And your mother, as well. Whom I had the pleasure of meeting on several occasions.”

Maybe it was being here at Belle Meade all these months, cut off from the outside world, or maybe it was the fact that he’d known her parents, but she felt a connection to the man.

“I’ve also seen you in town on occasion, Mrs. Aberdeen. Though it’s been some time. At social events …” He glanced away briefly, before looking back. “When you accompanied your late husband.”

Olivia read awareness in his eyes. So he knew who she was. Or more rightly, whose widow she was. “Did you know him, sir? My late husband?”

“Not personally, no. But I am familiar with … the circumstances, of course.”

The circumstances
. The words prompted a sense of melancholy as her smile came and went. “Of course.”