To Whisper Her Name (38 page)

“You’re welcome, Olivia.”

His gaze lowered to her smile, then to the rest of her. She wore a skirt and jacket he’d seen many times, and the outfit suited her. But it was the color that caught his attention today. Gray, for mourning. Over a man who had been shot and hung for being a traitor to the South. Which is what Ridley knew he was. Not in his own heart. But in the hearts of most everyone else here at Belle Meade. And in Dixie. And in her heart. If she only knew the truth.

Reminded of what had brought him here and of how quickly he’d be gone, Ridley bowed at the waist and bid her good day, playing the part of the Southern gentleman he would never truly be. Not in Olivia Aberdeen’s eyes.

Not after what he’d been. And done.

“An invitation? From Mrs. Adelicia Acklen?” Not certain she’d heard the general correctly, Olivia glanced at Elizabeth beside her at the dinner table, glimpsing the same note of surprise in the girls’ expressions. She knew of Mrs. Acklen, of course. Everyone who lived in Nashville knew the richest woman — and widow — in the Confederacy, if not the entire country. Olivia simply hadn’t realized Mrs. Acklen and the Hardings were close acquaintances.

“Yes, dear. That’s right.” Aunt Elizabeth exchanged a look with her husband at the far end, her smile faltering. “Apparently Mrs. Acklen has returned from her grand tour of Europe and is hosting a reception. On the eighteenth of December. For Madame Octavia LeVert.”

“
The
Madame LeVert?” Selene’s voice rose almost a full octave. “And our family has been invited?”

The general nodded.

Selene, Mary, and Cousin Lizzie all exchanged smiles, and Olivia didn’t blame them. But she sensed a reticence on the part of her aunt
and
the general, which made her suspect. Growing up in Nashville,
she’d heard about the Belmont Mansion — Mrs. Acklen’s home — and had longed to visit. Her family had never received an invitation, of course, and she was certain this invitation didn’t include her name either. Not that she could attend anyway, still officially in mourning. But it was a nice thought. To be invited to a reception at Belmont in honor of the famed Southern socialite, Madame LeVert.

Elizabeth rang the bell for dessert.

“From what I hear,” the general continued, “it’s going to be the social event of the season. Reportedly, Mrs. Acklen is inviting over a thousand guests.”

Cousin Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Her home must be enormous!”

Selene sighed. “I hope General Jackson can attend with us.”

“With you, you mean,” Mary said beneath her breath. Then she sat forward in her chair. “Mother! May I please be excused? I want to see if I have anything suitable to wear.”

Looking slightly irritated but not enough to argue, Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, dear, that’s fine. You may all go, if you like.”

Mary was the first to exit the room, but Selene and Cousin Lizzie were hot on her heels. Olivia remained where she was.

Susanna arrived with the dessert tray and stopped short. “We done lost the girls already, Missus Harding?”

“I’m afraid so, Susanna. And …” Elizabeth pushed her chair back from the table. “If it’s agreeable to the general, I suggest we retire to the front porch for dessert this evening. It’s so nice out.”

“That’s fine, ma’am. I go back and get the coffee and bring it all outside.”

Olivia intentionally loitered behind, waiting for the general and Aunt Elizabeth to take the lead. She wanted the opportunity to speak with Susanna. Or rather, give Susanna the opportunity to speak with
her
, if she wanted to.

It was the third of November — four weeks since she’d met Mr. Pagette and discussed starting a freedmen’s school with him. She was still waiting to hear from the trusted third party. She’d been so hopeful this would work out. She’d taken on the additional responsibilities at the limestone quarries, saving every penny she’d earned in anticipation of teaching and enjoying every minute of extra time with Ridley — even if it meant being in the horse cart.

He’d been far quieter lately, but no wonder with the long hours he was keeping. It frightened her, seeing him working so closely with
the stallions like he was. Rachel had joined her and Elizabeth for a walk the other day, and the stories the women told her about past incidents in which stable hands had been injured — or worse — made Olivia wish Ridley wasn’t so bent on learning from Uncle Bob like he was. Yet, watching him, it was impossible not to see his love for those animals.

Susanna returned with the tray set with dessert and coffee for three.

“Susanna, is there something I can help you with?”

“No, ma’am, Missus Aberdeen. I got it.”

Olivia followed alongside her in the dining room. “You’ve been doing well then?”

Susanna glanced over. “Yes, ma’am. You been doin’ well?”

“Yes, I have. Thank you for asking.”

Susanna paused for Olivia to precede her into the front hall.

Olivia stopped just short of the front door, the general and Aunt Elizabeth already outside. “Susanna,” she whispered, “is there, by chance, something you’d like to tell me?”

Susanna paused, holding the tray. “I don’t reckon so, ma’am,” she whispered. Then her eyes got a twinkle. Her head lowered a little. “Unless …”

Olivia perked up.

“Unless there’s somethin’ you
want
me to be tellin’ you?”

Olivia glanced up the spiral staircase to make sure they were alone. “I only want you to tell me … if you’re ready to tell me.”

Susanna’s forehead wrinkled. “Is we talkin’ ‘bout the same thing, ma’am?”

Olivia nodded, then paused, remembering what Mr. Pagette had said about not telling anyone. But surely it was all right to talk to Susanna. Still … “Why don’t you go first,” she whispered, feeling that was safest.

Susanna glanced through the open front door, then back. “She give ‘em to her, ma’am. Just like you said you was gonna talk to her ‘bout doin’.” Susanna smiled. “I was there too. And Miss Mary? Mmmm … That child, she was so happy.”

Olivia stared for a second. “The boots,” she said softly, realizing they weren’t talking about the same thing.

Susanna nodded, then stopped. “That
was
what you was talkin’ ‘bout, right, ma’am?”

Thinking fast, Olivia touched her arm. “I’m so glad Mary liked them.”

Susanna smiled. “That was a good thing you done, Missus Aberdeen. Mary’s a good girl. She just needs to come into herself a little more. She will.”

Nodding, Olivia continued to the front porch and, for the next hour, listened to the general talk at length about the upcoming yearling sale. But all the while, in the back of her head, a nagging certainty told her Mr. Pagette wouldn’t be contacting her after all. And that she would never teach in a freedmen’s school.

L
awd, sir! You all right?”

Ridley staggered back a step from Jack Malone — his world reeling, his body numb. Dazed, he saw Uncle Bob running toward him across the corral and could barely make out the hazy outline of the prized stallion who had just tried to take his head off. Jack Malone stared down at him as if the animal knew exactly what he’d done. And was proud of it.

“I ain’t
never
seen him rear up so mean-like, sir! Bent on doin’ harm. What’d you do to him?”

Ridley squeezed his eyes tight, trying to focus, a dull ache starting on the right side of his head. “I just looked at him like you told me to.”

“Did he clip you?”

Uncle Bob reached up to touch his head, but Ridley brushed his hand away.

“I’m fine.” Ridley took a deep breath, slowly regaining his balance. “But I’m pretty sure that horse tried to kill me.” He forced a laugh. “And still might.”

The stallion snorted and pawed the ground, every move defiant, powerful. The horse was twenty times a man’s strength and stamina, and Ridley would’ve sworn the thoroughbred was flaunting the fact.

He winced. Everything had happened so fast.

Every day for the past couple of weeks, he and Uncle Bob had worked with the stallion. Jack Malone’s temperament made Seabird look like Old Gray by comparison. And Ridley had thought he was starting to get the hang of things.

Uncle Bob tried again to touch Ridley’s head.

“I said I’m
fine
.”

But Uncle Bob’s persistence won out, and his fingers came away bloody. The man muttered something beneath his breath that Ridley couldn’t hear and didn’t need to.

“How many times I done told you, sir? Don’t
ever
take your eyes off a stallion! ‘Specially not one like this. One kick to the head, and you’s gone. Time you know what hit you” — Uncle Bob snapped his fingers — “you already be checkin’ in upstairs, lookin’ up your name in the Book o’ Life!”

Ridley laughed.

“It ain’t funny!” Huffing, Uncle Bob gave him a dark look.

Only then did Ridley realize how truly shaken the man was. “He grazed me, Uncle Bob. That’s all. My head’s a little fuzzy, but I’m all right.”

Eyes fierce, Uncle Bob stared up at him, then slowly shook his head. “Ain’t even three o’clock yet, and I be needin’ a drink of cider. And I ain’t talkin’ that sweet stuff Susanna and them other women serve at church neither.” Releasing a breath, he removed his black derby and scrubbed a hand over his head. He gave Ridley a sideways look, the barest hint of a smile beginning to show. “Scared me so bad I ‘bout lost it in my britches.”

Ridley laughed again, but paid for it when the right side of his head throbbed even harder.

“This gonna be hard, Ridley, but you gotta get back in there right now and stand up to Jack. Else next time, all he gonna ‘member is how he won today. You feelin’ up to it, sir?”

Ridley started to nod, then caught himself. “Just tell me what I should do.”

Ridley listened, aware of stable hands who had apparently seen what happened and were staying to watch. Cresting the hill was General Harding astride his stallion. But it was seeing Olivia, standing by the stable, stone still and staring at him, that narrowed his focus. Maybe it was the kick to his head, but he felt a surge inside him. Every time they were together now, all he could think about was how she should be with somebody else. Yet the only man he could ever see her with … was him. He wanted her more than ever. But even more than that, he wanted what was best for her. What would make her happy in the long run. He wanted her to have the home and security she deserved and was far from convinced that he was the man who could give it to her. But that still hadn’t stopped him from accepting
her invitation to go walking with her later tonight. Which told him he hadn’t given up entirely.

“Ridley, you listenin’ to me? You get what I’m sayin’ to you?”

Pulled back, Ridley nodded. “Yes, Uncle Bob. I do.”

“It ain’t ‘bout physical strength, sir. You just gotta get him to heed you. Get him on your side by showin’ him what to do. And ‘member what I said … What’s the one thing a stallion wants more than any-thin’ else?”

Ridley smiled, glancing back at Olivia. “A mare.”

“And if you start fightin’ with a stallion, what’s he thinkin’ y’all is fightin’ over?”

“A mare.”

“And what’s the three times you stop payin’ attention to a stallion?”

“Never, never … and never.”

Uncle Bob patted him on the back. “All right then. Go get him.”

Olivia moved to the fence for a better view, then almost wished she hadn’t. Ridley was approaching the stallion
again
, even after what she’d just witnessed. Had the man lost every shred of good sense God gave him?

“Hey there, Missus Aberdeen.”

Olivia looked up at the mountain of a man sauntering up beside her and nodded. “Ike.” She knew what everyone else called him, but — when speaking to him — she felt more comfortable using his given name. She looked back at Ridley. “Please tell me Mr. Cooper knows what he’s doing.”

Big Ike’s slowness to respond didn’t instill comfort, neither did the blood she saw smeared on Ridley’s forehead.

“Jack Malone’s ‘bout as spirited as they come, ma’am. And he’s mighty particular ‘bout who handles him. But Uncle Bob … There ain’t nobody better at teachin’ than him. And Mr. Cooper, he done good so far.”

“But he’s bleeding …”

“Yes, ma’am. But he still standin’, holdin’ his own. That’s mighty good after gettin’ kicked in the head by somethin’ like Jack. Most men go down like a stone. Don’t get up either.”

She glanced beside her to see if Big Ike was smiling. He wasn’t.

Three times, Ridley approached the stallion. Three times, the stallion reared. And three times, her heart nearly stopped. Ridley reacted quickly, but she sensed his reflexes were impaired. What was it about these animals that made him want to work with them like this? That instilled such determination — at cost of physical injury or death — to learn what Bob Green was teaching him? But one thing was certain, though she loathed the certainty with which the realization came: Ridley Cooper was made for the wilds of a place like the Colorado Territory, and it for him.

Uncle Bob called something out to Ridley, but Olivia couldn’t make out what he’d said. But apparently Ridley had. Because he nodded. Then he stopped.

“What’s he doing?” she whispered, glancing at Big Ike.

Big Ike leaned forward on the fence. “I ain’t altogether sure, ma’am.”

Then Olivia heard it. Ridley was whistling. And not the way you would to call a dog. He was whistling a tune. A song. Gradually, hearing it, she smiled. It was one they sang in the Negro church. One she especially liked.

With measured steps, Ridley moved off to the side and approached the stallion from that direction. Jack Malone followed Ridley’s progress as he drew closer.

Twenty feet, fifteen
…

Without warning, the stallion charged him.

It all happened so fast, the scream was still working its way up Olivia’s chest when the stallion skidded to a halt just feet from Ridley, who looked tense and ready to react. Yet he was still whistling the tune, low and sweet.

This happened again and again. Like some sort of terrifying dance. Each time, the stallion came closer than before, as though testing Ridley’s courage. And each time, Ridley looked poised to act. Until finally, the thoroughbred seemed to weary of the sport. Then Olivia watched — nerves raw and throat aching — as Ridley took patient, purposeful steps toward the horse.
No, Ridley, don’t …

Not the least hesitant, Ridley closed the distance, continuing the low, sweet whistle.

And the stallion let him come.

He grasped the thoroughbred’s harness, and for a moment, man and beast simply stared. Olivia had never seen anything like it.
Glancing around at the stable hands’ expressions, she judged they felt the same. A swell of pride and admiration rose within her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if what Ridley felt in that moment was anything like what she felt when she saw Jimmy and Jolene learning how to read and write and work their sums.

Thinking of Jimmy and Jolene made her think of Mr. Pagette. Mid-November now, and still no word from him or that trusted third party. She told herself to accept it and move on. But part of her still wouldn’t let go. A faint flicker of hope kept burning.

“He done good,” Big Ike said beside her. “Didn’t he, ma’am?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And … if you don’t mind me sayin’ it, Missus Aberdeen,” he said softly. “You doin’ good too, ma’am. With lil’ Jimmy and Jolene.”

Olivia turned and looked at the hulk of a man beside her and felt the flicker of hope burn brighter. Perhaps
he
was in contact with Mr. Pagette.

“My wife speaks real high about you, ma’am.”

“That’s very kind of her. I think very highly of Susanna too.”

He smiled, and Olivia waited, wondering if he would say something about the freedmen’s school outright. Or maybe speak of it in a secret way.

“Well, I best be gettin’ back to the stable. Good to talk to you, ma’am.”

Olivia’s hope deflated.

“Fascinating creatures, these stallions. Aren’t they, Mrs. Aberdeen?”

Not recognizing the voice behind her, she turned. And blinked.
“Colonel Burcham?”

The Colonel’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and she knew her tone hadn’t communicated a pleasant surprise on her part.

“What are you doing here? I-I mean … in town? You said in your last letter that —”

“I know. I said December. But I’ve long held that — just as in battle — the element of surprise can be a valuable one.” His gaze moved beyond her. “That stable hand there … What’s his name again?”

She followed his line of sight. And bristled. “That’s Ridley Cooper. And he’s one of General Harding’s
foremen
here at Belle Meade. Not a stable hand.”

The colonel smiled. “A foreman who works with horses. In a stable.” He looked at her as though his point were made.

Olivia’s dislike of the man doubled a hundredfold.

“Everythin’ all right, Missus Aberdeen?”

She turned to see Big Ike still there. He was eying the colonel, whose stony expression said he didn’t welcome the interruption.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” she whispered, remembering the distasteful opinions the colonel had expressed at dinner earlier that summer and how the man had treated Susanna. She wondered — seeing Big Ike stare at the man — whether Susanna had shared the colonel’s comments from that evening with her mountain of a husband.

“Go on now.” The colonel stepped closer, gesturing to Big Ike. “Get back to work. I’ll take care of the lady.”

Wincing at the condescension in the man’s tone — and ashamed for the colonel, even if he wasn’t — Olivia looked at Big Ike and tried to communicate an apology with a glance. Then she spotted General Harding astride his stallion, watching from the hill, and knew without a shred of doubt that the colonel’s visit hadn’t been a surprise to him.

The colonel held out his arm and Olivia — stomach curdling, but not wanting to cause a scene — accepted.

It was no use. Olivia pushed back the covers. She couldn’t sleep. Not with the general and colonel sitting on the porch just below her bedroom window, outside the general’s office, smoking cigars and swapping war stories. But mostly sleep wouldn’t come because of wondering about Ridley and how he was doing. Earlier that evening, she’d learned Uncle Bob had called for Rachel to suture Ridley’s head. The wound had been far worse than Ridley had let on that afternoon.

Silly, foolish man
.

At dinner, General Harding had taken great pleasure in recounting the event with flourish, much like he had the story about Davy Crockett. But Olivia hadn’t enjoyed this tale in the least.

“Mark my words,” he said, lifting his glass. “People will come for miles around to see ‘the man who got kicked in the head by Jack Malone … and lived to tell about it.’ I’ve asked Mr. Cooper to head up the yearling sale come June. And what’s more … we’ll make certain
he’s the one to lead Belle Meade’s prized stud out to center ring, so they can
both
take a bow.”