To Whisper Her Name (40 page)

She went back to counting. “Twenty-six, twenty-seven … twenty-eight! You’re right!”

“Which obviously is a fact you doubted, Olivia.” He wasn’t smiling, but she heard the teasing in his voice.

“
No
… I just wanted to be sure.”

“My point exactly.”

Ignoring his comment, she studied the shell. “You said you found it along the beach near your home.”

“That’s right.” He carefully leaned his head against the headboard, closing his eyes. The clock on the wall behind her ticked off the seconds. “The day before I left to join the army … I went for one last walk along my favorite stretch of beach. It was late afternoon, high tide was coming in. The sun lay so pretty on the water. And I looked down, and there it was. Been carrying it with me ever since.”

Fatigue edged his voice, sadness too. And she realized she’d overstayed her welcome.

She rose. “I’m sorry. I’ve stayed too long. I’ll let you rest.”

She held out the shell and he took it, but he reached for her right hand as he did and wove his fingers through.

“Olivia, I —”

She sucked in a breath and pulled her hand back.

He looked up at her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, trying not to grimace. “Nothing.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine, Ridley, I just …” He reached for her hand again, but she slipped it behind her back.

He sat straighter in the bed. His gaze lowered. “Let me see your hand.”

“It’s nothing. I just scraped it when I —”

“Olivia,” he whispered. “Please.”

Dreading the look of I-told-you-so in his eyes — a look she’d seen so many times from Charles — she reluctantly did as he asked.

He turned her palm up. “Oh, Olivia …”

She tried to make a fist, but he prevented it.

“Did you do this climbing down?”

“Yes, I did.” She sighed. “Go ahead. Tell me I shouldn’t have done it. Tell me how foolish I am and that —”

He eased his legs over the side of the bed.

She stilled. “What are you doing?”

“Sit down.” He gestured to the rocker, then moved slowly to a side table, poured water from a pitcher into a basin, then brought the basin and some cloths back with him.

Reading his intention, she shook her head. “No, Ridley. Get back in bed.”

“Sit down.” He eyed the rocker, then her, and smiled. “Before I fall down.”

She sank back down in the chair.

He knelt beside her, took her hand, and began washing it, his movements tender, caring. But still, it hurt. Tears rose to her eyes, more due to his gentleness than the pain.

“I wish the water was warm,” he said softly.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered.

“I don’t think it needs suturing, but if Rachel thinks it does …” He looked up. “Just take a swig or two of her cider.” He winked. “You won’t feel a thing.”

Olivia laughed, tasting her tears.

The wound, once clean, started bleeding afresh, and he gently applied pressure until it stopped, then rubbed a salve on her palm. She recognized a smell similar to the concoction Rachel had given her for her feet. He wrapped her hand in a fresh cloth and gently tied it off. “There. That’ll keep it until morning.”

He set aside the soiled rags and the basin of rust-colored water, then stood slowly, closing his eyes for a minute before helping Olivia stand. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she slipped her arms around him. It seemed so natural a response, and when his arms came around her, she’d never felt so safe. So …
loved
.

He walked her outside. The front porch was empty, Uncle Bob apparently having retired.

“I’ll see you home.”

Olivia put a hand to his arm. “No, you won’t. You’ll get halfway there and collapse. And then what will we do?”

“I can’t let you walk all that way by yourself. Or climb back up that lattice with your hand hurt. I’ve got to know you’re safe.”

“You will. I’ll take the stairs back up, then I’ll wave my lamp in the window so you’ll know I’m all right.”

She started down the porch steps.

“Olivia?”

She paused.

“I’m proud of you for climbing down. I could wring your pretty little neck for doing it. But I’m proud of you.”

It was dark, but she could hear his smile. “Climbing out was the hardest part.”

“Taking that first step always is.”

Olivia fairly floated back over the meadow to the mansion where everything was quiet and dark. She slipped up the back staircase, walking as lightly as she could and cringing when the creaking planks snitched on her a time or two.

Once in her room, she lit the lamp, as promised, and waved it —
once, twice
— in front of her window. Then watched Ridley do the same from the front porch of the old Harding cabin.

Careful of her hand, she changed into her nightgown and snuggled into bed, thinking again of the thin straw-filled mattress Ridley
slept on. She prayed he’d rest well and heal quickly. Closing her eyes, she relived what it felt like to be in his arms. To feel so safe and so —

Her eyes came open.

The darkness around her seemed less so than when she’d turned down the lamp a moment or so earlier, and a thought she wished had never come refused to leave. She had two men pursuing her hand in marriage and didn’t have the least bit of interest in either of them. While another who held more of her heart than she’d ever entrusted to anyone hadn’t indicated a formal pursuit of any kind. Though he’d had plenty of time and opportunity — and encouragement — Ridley hadn’t asked for her hand in marriage. He hadn’t asked to court her. He hadn’t asked for anything at all. Quite the contrary.

His words replayed again in her mind:
Come June, regardless of what happens with the yearling sale, I
will
be leaving
.

The silent, obvious question hovered at her bedside. Why, if he cared for her like she knew he did, had he not formally acted on his feelings for her?

She turned onto her back, the goose down molding to her form, cool where her body hadn’t been yet. Was it because of what Charles had done and her lack of standing in the community? As quickly as the thought came, she dismissed it. No one cared less about others’ opinions than Ridley. He was his own man. He acted on personal conviction, no matter what others thought.

Was it because of his …
misgivings
about the South? She knew the war had taken a toll on him, as it had every man, woman, and child. But his disappointment, his unrest, ran so deep. She’d seen it in him again tonight as he’d fingered that seashell. But the South was changing. Maybe not as quickly as he’d like. But change was happening. Didn’t the freedmen schools show that? And Jimmy and Jolene learning to read and write like they were? Ridley was part of that change too. What about the increase in pay he’d gotten for the Negro men? Susanna had told Olivia all about that.

The flurry of thoughts kept sleep at bay until she ruled out every possible answer to her question save one … Ridley didn’t want to stay in the South, yet he knew she would never follow him to the Colorado Territory. And he was right.
This
was where she was meant to be, for so many reasons. But she knew something he didn’t. This was where
he
was meant to be too. The South was his home. Or would be again. She simply needed to prove it to him.

And would. Before the yearling sale.

R
idley stood just inside the stable watching the handsome couple stroll the estate in the distance. He didn’t like Colonel Burcham to begin with or the uniform the man insisted on wearing. But he especially didn’t like his spending time with Olivia. For the past few days, much to Ridley’s irritation, he’d had to endure the colonel’s attentiveness to her, as well as the man’s all-too-frequent visits to the stables and his arrogance with the workers. Especially young Jimmy.

The only bright note about the colonel being here — something which gave him great pleasure — was seeing Olivia’s almost-comical attempts to keep her distance from the man. Even now as she walked beside him, she kept at least a foot of space — if not two — between them, something the colonel persistently tried to lessen and Olivia — equally persistent — resisted.

Like now. Ridley bristled as Burcham reached for her arm and tucked it through his. Tasting metal, Ridley counted the seconds, anticipating Olivia’s response. She hadn’t disappointed him so far.

One … two … three … four … fi —

Right on cue, Olivia knelt and picked up a leaf, effectively disengaging herself from the colonel. She studied the leaf as though it were a work of art and not at all similar to the one she’d stooped to pick up moments earlier — right after the colonel had attempted the same fruitless maneuver. No doubt Burcham saw through Olivia’s polite rejection, but from all appearances, her rebuttals weren’t discouraging his efforts.

Growing more rankled the longer he watched, Ridley turned and went back inside, hoping the colonel would take Olivia’s hints and leave.
Soon
.

He picked up a bridle that had slipped from the hook, grateful when his world remained steady. He fingered the side of his head. The wound was still tender to the touch and would be for a while, but at least the constant ache had abated.

He joined Jedediah and a few of the stable hands out back and worked with the foals, turning ideas for the spring sale over and over in his mind. During the course of the afternoon, it became obvious that some of the men had developed favorites among the colts and fillies. And watching the hands who were more experienced, Ridley could already see a difference in the quality of those foals and the trainable demeanor of the animals. The observation took his thoughts about the yearling sale down an entirely different trail.

A while later, brushing down Seabird in her stall, his thoughts churning as the idea took shape, he heard the crack of a whip somewhere outside, followed by what he could only describe as a primal scream.

“I said keep her still, you lazy —”

Ridley bolted, grabbing gloves from a shelf as he ran. He reached the stable’s side door in time to see Colonel Burcham raise a whip — for the second time, judging by the bloody welt on the mare’s haunch.

Jimmy, sprawled in the dirt, scrambled to his feet with Uncle Bob’s help. “Colonel, please,” the boy cried. “Don’t whip her, sir. I get her for ya!”

Uncle Bob tried to grab hold of the colonel’s arm, but Burcham flung him aside and let loose a string of obscenities that boiled Ridley’s blood. Burcham brought the whip back a third time, his face mottled in fury. The thin strip of leather cut the air with a sharp whistle —

But Ridley was ready. He caught the tail end of the whip in his gloved hand and jerked hard. Colonel Burcham lost his grip and stumbled a step but didn’t go down. When he turned and saw Ridley, his expression hardened with rage.

Uncle Bob picked himself up just as Jimmy started toward the mare, but Burcham grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck.

“If you’d have just held her still, you ignorant little nig —”

Ridley brought the whip down with a crack. The colonel stumbled back from Jimmy, holding the sleeve of his uniform.

“You touch either of them again, Colonel, and next time, I’ll go for skin.”

Burcham looked ready to explode. “How
dare
you!” The colonel started toward him. “Do you have any idea who I am or what I could do to someone like you?”

Ridley brought the whip down a second time, skimming the tip of Burcham’s boot. The colonel stopped cold.

“I don’t care who you are, sir. No one takes a whip to General William Giles Harding’s horses — or
workers
— here at Belle Meade. Is that clear?”

Ridley heard the shuffle of steps behind him and grew aware of stable hands gathering.

“The only thing clear to me,
Cooper
, is that you’re about to lose your … position here.”

Ridley smiled at the smugness in the man’s tone. “That may be, Colonel. But something tells me I’ll be around long enough to see
you
gone. Which …” He nodded beyond Burcham to where General Harding strode toward them. “Should be anytime now.”

Ridley leaned against the porch railing outside the general’s office, feeling a little like he had when he and Alfred and Petey used to get into trouble at school. Thinking of his brothers, he closed his eyes for a second, feeling a sigh work its way up from down deep.
Lord, I hope they knew how much I still loved them. And that I never stopped being proud to call them brothers
.

He stared out across the meadow, not surprised by the thought, but deeply surprised in the form it had taken. Not so much a thought as a prayer. Whether the general fired him or not — Ridley smiled a little — he was going to have to find a new place to live. Because living with Uncle Bob was apparently rubbing off on him more than he’d realized.

The door to the general’s office opened, and Ridley straightened. Colonel Burcham walked out, his features set, his manner still seething. Ridley wondered what it would have been like to have faced him on the battlefield. Then just as quickly wondered if he already had. But guessed he’d never know.

Burcham shouldered past him, then turned. “You’re a disgrace to the Confederacy, Cooper.”

Wanting to say something he knew he couldn’t, Ridley merely glanced down at the clean slice in the colonel’s sleeve. “Might want to get that sewn up, sir.”

“Mr. Cooper!” General Harding stood in the doorway. “Come in, please. Now.”

Ridley did as the general requested, feeling daggers in his back.

Harding closed the door. “Have a seat.”

Ridley did, his head beginning to throb.

General Harding reached for his chair as though to sit, then gripped the back of it instead. “Mr. Cooper, I’m certain you have no idea what a precarious position you’ve placed me in.”

Ridley nodded, having already thought this through. “He was one of your superior officers.”

“Yes. And a potential partner in a business venture who has now” — Harding’s laughter came out bitter — “needless to say, suddenly decided to withdraw his support.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Are you, Mr. Cooper? Because what I just witnessed out there on the porch did not sound like someone who regrets what they did.”

Ridley sat a little taller. “I don’t regret what I did, sir. The colonel’s actions were wrong.”

“I know they were wrong, Mr. Cooper. But there was a way to handle that situation that would have allowed the colonel to save face.”

“Save face, sir? He was whipping one of your mares. And would have likely done the same to Uncle Bob and Jimmy if given the chance.” Ridley stood. “I apologize for any repercussions my actions have brought upon you personally, General. But allowing a man like that to save face is the least of my concerns. He was wrong. I don’t regret doing what I did. And with all due respect, sir … I’d do the same again.”

Harding stared across the desk. “You’re a stubborn-minded man, Mr. Cooper. With a streak of pride that runs deep. I knew that the first time I laid eyes on you. I simply didn’t realize how costly those character traits would prove to be for me. Both personally and professionally.”

Sensing what was coming, Ridley felt his Colorado Territory dream slipping away, along with everything he’d worked so hard for. Yet he’d done the right thing, no question in his mind. But choosing to do the right thing didn’t always get a person what they deserved or even what was
fair
. The war had taught him that well enough.

He turned to leave.

“Fortunately for you, Mr. Cooper …”

Ridley stopped.

“Those are character traits which I have long admired. And if you listen to my critics, ones I also share.”

Ridley turned back.

General Harding took his place in the chair behind the desk and gestured for Ridley to return to his. “Now let’s get down to business, Mr. Cooper. By my estimation, your actions today cost me approximately … seven thousand dollars. So I’m very interested to know … What are your ideas for the yearling sale? And I hope, for your sake, they prove to be lucrative.”