To Whisper Her Name (6 page)

How many times had he done the very same thing?

“And it was just lying there? On the beach?”

“Along with about a thousand others.”

She exhaled as though unable to imagine such a thing.

Her gaze never leaving it, she handed it back to him. He returned it to his pocket, wishing he had another shell he could give her. They walked on, and after another half mile, he started wondering where the driver of the carriage was. Surely the man had had time to get back to Belle Meade by now.

The temperature was climbing but at least it wasn’t raining. Traveling by foot and sleeping beneath the stars was as familiar to him now as home used to be. So was having his clothes soaked clean through. But he preferred the dry.

Thinking about being wet through and through made him recall a night he and his brothers had spent out in the woods. He’d only been eleven at the time, which meant Petey and Alfred couldn’t have been more than nine and seven. A bittersweet pang knifed him just thinking
of their faces again, of how they’d given their mother fits at that age, and of how Petey and Alfred had died. In battle.

Ridley narrowed his eyes, feeling the burn of hurt rising up behind them. The war had taken so much. And his father, sickly and worn from worry, had laid most of the blame at his feet before dying himself a handful of months later.

The trunk started digging into his collarbone and Ridley shifted its weight, wincing at the needle-sharp pain in his shoulder and at the memory that always came with it. Almost three years had passed, yet what had happened that night on the mountain still lived inside him. As did the grueling events of the months following. He only hoped he hadn’t kept his sliver of a near-starved dream alive for naught. But he guessed he’d find out soon enough.

“What is it that brings you to Belle Meade, Mr. Cooper?”

Ridley looked beside him, not surprised by the question so much as the curiosity edging her tone.

“Earlier,” she continued, “you said that you may not get what you’ve come for.” She peered up. “I’m simply wondering what that is.”

Sensing more than casual interest on her part, Ridley felt his own guard nudge upward. After all, she was, by her own admission, close to General Harding’s wife and therefore likely felt a sense of protectiveness toward the family. He understood that. He also understood what was at stake for him should anyone at Belle Meade learn the truth about him. Namely, about his allegiance during the war.

Just this week, he’d glimpsed some news about a man — a “Northern sympathizer,” the Nashville paper had labeled him in capital letters — who had been shot in broad daylight. Murdered. His half-naked body dragged through the streets behind a horse, then hung from a lamppost, the words
traitor
and
scalawag
— words Ridley knew only too well — scrawled in blood on a scrap of wood above him. And that man had been one of Nashville’s own.

“It won’t sound like much to you, Mrs. Aberdeen, but … I heard about General Harding’s place, about his thoroughbreds, and decided to have a look, that’s all. I’m just passing through, ma’am. I won’t be staying long.” He focused forward, but it was a full eight strides before she did. He counted.

To her credit, Olivia Aberdeen kept pace with him, and other than pulling on her black lace collar once or twice, she didn’t complain — something he would have expected from her, based on their
earlier encounter. Those fancy-heeled boots she was wearing made the going more difficult, and she stumbled a time or two. But he didn’t dare try to help.

The squeak of wheels drew his attention, and a buggy rounded the corner ahead, moving at a good clip. “My guess is, Mrs. Aberdeen, that’s your driver.”

The Negro slowed the conveyance — an extravagant little thing, big enough to hold maybe two people and not much else — and reined in alongside them, his gaze firmly on Ridley. “You all right, Missus Aberdeen?”

“Yes, Jedediah. I’m fine.”

Hearing suspicion in the man’s voice, Ridley offered his hand. “Ridley Cooper, sir. You passed me on the road a ways back.”

Jedediah nodded, the tension in his features easing a little. “Yes, sir. I ‘member you now.” His focus shifted to Mrs. Aberdeen. “How’d you get yourself outta there, ma’am? Y’all get that door open after all?”

Seeing Mrs. Aberdeen struggle with her response, Ridley jumped in. “That door was good and stuck, all right. But we managed somehow.” He motioned behind them. “We saw one of the mares. Looks like her leg is tore up pretty badly.”

Jedediah wiped his face with his sleeve. “Don’t I know it, sir. Pains me somethin’ awful. She bein’ such a fine horse. I need to see to her and the other one too. But first” — Jedediah shifted — “I best get you to Belle Meade, Missus Aberdeen. I told Missus Harding about what happened and that you was all right, but she’s eager to see for herself, ma’am.”

The mare hitched to the buggy snorted and pranced. Jedediah held the reins taut but Ridley didn’t miss the look of panic that flashed across Olivia Aberdeen’s face.

“Thank you, Jedediah,” she said, forming a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But I think you should go on and see to that mare. I’m fine to walk the rest of the way. I enjoy walking.”

“You sure, ma’am? Won’t take me long to skedaddle you right on back to the —”

“I’m sure, Jedediah.” Her smile deepened, but Ridley would’ve sworn he saw her shudder. “It’s not that far and I’ll enjoy the fresh air. I insist,” she added with finality when Jedediah made no move to leave.

Looking like a man who’d been told what to do by a woman,
Jedediah continued on his way, and Ridley did the same, letting Mrs. Aberdeen set the pace.

She seemed determined to stay at least a half stride ahead of him, and he let her, considering it gave him a chance to study her unhindered. She was pretty, that had already been established. But she had a cuteness about her too. A spunk. A way of carrying herself that made him wonder what she’d been like as a little girl. He guessed she’d been a real spitfire. Then again, he found that image difficult to marry with what he knew about her conventional bent. But whichever way he looked at her — and he did, with appreciation — he liked what he saw.

They rounded a bend in the road, and a long, shrub-lined drive came into view. At the very end sat a mansion reigning queen-like over a meadow that sprawled out in all directions, the land rising and falling around it like incoming tide. Six square columns stood tall and proud, framing the front of the two-story estate, and at the peak of its roof sat a cornice that looked remarkably like a crown from this distance.

The Queen of Southern Plantations …
More than one person had used those words to describe Belle Meade. And now he knew why.

Mrs. Aberdeen slowed beside him, so Ridley did the same.

He lowered the trunk to the ground, welcoming the respite but seeing her frown. “Something wrong, ma’am?”

Her attention stayed fixed ahead. “No,” she whispered. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve been here. And it’s —” She bit the inside of her cheek, an unconscious gesture, Ridley knew. “It’s so much lovelier than I remembered. So fine a house and grounds.” She looked down and grimaced, then started brushing the worst of the road dust from her dress.

“You look real nice, Mrs. Aberdeen. You needn’t worry in that regard, ma’am.”

She looked at him, and he half expected to see a hint of
tsking
in her eyes. But instead, he detected gratitude.

She quickly looked away. “We’d better be going. Jedediah said Mrs. Harding was waiting for me.”

Halfway up the road, she peered over at him. “Don’t be surprised, Mr. Cooper, if General Harding asks if you were in the war. Aunt Elizabeth says he talks about those years often.”

Ridley nodded but said nothing, surprised she was offering him this insight. But the war wasn’t a topic he welcomed.

“You did fight, didn’t you?”

He took his time answering. “Yes, ma’am. I did.”

She nodded, as if considering that a good thing. “I haven’t seen the general in over four years, but his wife tells me he made a vow not to shave his beard until the Confederacy claimed victory.” She glanced toward the house, where a group of people gathered. “I guess we’ll see soon enough whether he’s softened any in that regard.”

Ridley followed, glad to be spared further questions about the war and feeling slightly out of place when looking around him. He’d never seen so handsome an estate. The main house, the corrals, the stacked rock walls stretching for miles …

And the land. It went on forever.

Trees bordered a vast meadow, thick and hearty with pine and oak, an occasional dogwood crowding in, stretching its gangly arms low and wide. Numerous outbuildings dotted the grounds, including a blacksmith shop and not one, but two stables, each at least ten times the size of the house he grew up in. And — if he was seeing correctly — a race track in the distance.

He spotted a group of Negro men standing around a horse trailer beside an adjacent corral. From the back, one of the men looked familiar, and Ridley’s half-starved dream drew a faltering breath. Then the man turned. Ridley saw his face and exhaled in disappointment. It wasn’t him.

A crowd of people comprised of both Negroes and whites, gathered near the end of the long drive by the corral, and as Mrs. Aberdeen drew closer, they broke into applause. An older woman stepped forward and waved a handkerchief in their direction. And like a young schoolgirl, Olivia Aberdeen chuckled beneath her breath.

Ridley couldn’t help but lean down. “Well, Mrs. Aberdeen, this is quite a welcome. I’d say they’re mighty happy to see you again, ma’am.”

Color rose in her cheeks and a smile blossomed on her face. “I’m certain Mrs. Harding put them up to it, Mr. Cooper. I doubt most of them even remember me. But … I must admit —” She gave a little shrug. “It feels nice to know —”

“Three cheers for Jack Malone!” a man called out. “Hip, hip —”

“Hooray!” the crowd cheered.

“Hip, hip —”

“Hooray!”

“Hip, hip —”

“
Hooray!
”

Whoops and hollers went up in swells. Olivia Aberdeen stopped, as did Ridley, just now seeing a chesnut stallion being led down a ramp from the horse trailer. A reprise of celebration rose again and Ridley’s gut twisted tight, realizing who — or rather, what — the enthusiastic welcome was for.

Even before he stole a glance beside him, he could feel Olivia Aberdeen drawing inside herself. Gone was the radiant smile and rosy bloom of color. Her face went pale, her dark dress making it more so by comparison. He tried to think of something to say to fill the awkward silence, to take away the hurt in her expression, but he’d never been good with words that way.

Just then an older man, distinguished and with an air of wealth, stepped from the crowd, and Ridley felt a stab of recognition. A pencil drawing of the man had circulated during the war, and Ridley saw now that whoever had drawn it had captured a remarkable likeness.

It was Confederate General William Giles Harding in the flesh, with a beard that nearly reached his vest.

O
livia struggled to mask her disappointment, feigning interest in the horse being unloaded from the trailer. She knew better than to think Ridley Cooper was fooled by her performance — not with him knowing how she felt about the animals. Still, she sustained her stiff smile, unwilling to let him or anyone else see how bone weary she was of feeling so small, so foolish and insignificant. All the things she’d felt with Charles.

“Livvy!”

Hearing her name, Olivia turned, welcoming the distraction and the chance to remove herself from Ridley Cooper’s all-too-close attention. Aunt Elizabeth hurried toward her, and it was all Olivia could do not to run the rest of the way.

Arms outstretched, her aunt wrapped her in a hug Olivia, and Olivia held on to Elizabeth Harding like a buoy in a storm. Over four years had passed since she’d seen the woman. Olivia knew she was probably imagining it, but Elizabeth felt thinner. Frailer. Considering what she’d been through, what she’d suffered in light of General Harding’s imprisonment at the hands of the Federal Army, it was to be expected. Olivia didn’t realize she was crying until she pulled back. Tears pooled in Elizabeth’s eyes too.

Elizabeth reached up and brushed back the hair at Olivia’s temple. “It’s so good to see you, Livvy. And it’s been so long. Too long. It feels like another lifetime, my dear.”

Olivia gave her another hug. “It’s so good to see you too, Aunt Elizabeth,” she whispered. “Thank you for allowing me to come and live here. I don’t know where I’d be right now without your kindness. And the general’s too, of course.”

“Oh, my dear …” Elizabeth drew back and framed Olivia’s face
in her hands. “You are family now, and we’re all grateful to have you with us.” Her brow furrowed. “You’ve been through so much, Livvy. Just this past week alone. I can’t begin to imagine. I’m so sorry —” She gave Olivia’s hands a gentle squeeze. “About Charles, about the newspapers … And then the accident on the way here today. Jedediah told me about it. I’m so glad you’re all right. You’ve been given far more than your fair share, Livvy.”

Determined not to cry again, Olivia tamped down the emotion rising inside. “I hope my coming won’t cast you and your family in a bad light, Aunt Elizabeth.”

“Nonsense.” Elizabeth waved aside the comment. “We’re no strangers to gossip. One doesn’t live with a strong-minded man for twenty-six years without becoming accustomed to such things. Besides” — she leaned closer — “I’ve explained the circumstances of your marriage to the general again. He understands.”

Olivia smiled her thanks, the meaning of what Elizabeth had said not lost on her. Elizabeth had explained it all to the general
again
, meaning General Harding had inquired about her. Which Olivia took to mean he likely hadn’t been in favor of her coming to live here — before Elizabeth persuaded him. Olivia didn’t find the news comforting.

“Ah!” Elizabeth glanced to the side. “Here are my girls. They’re eager to welcome you.”

Olivia lifted her gaze. But instead of seeing the Harding daughters she remembered, she saw two decidedly more mature young women making their way toward her.

“Olivia, you remember Selene and Mary.” Elizabeth’s countenance shone with motherly pride. “And girls, you remember Mrs. Aberdeen, the daughter of my dearest friend, Rebecca.”

A very womanly looking Selene — her dark hair arranged elegantly atop her head and her figure having blossomed in all the right places — offered a genteel curtsey. “Welcome to Belle Meade, Mrs. Aberdeen. How very nice it is to see you again. And” — her voice lowered — “may I offer my sincere condolences, ma’am, on your recent loss.”

Olivia dipped her head. “Thank you, Selene. And please, call me Olivia.” She looked next at Mary, who at sixteen — four years younger than her sister — was attractive as well, though perhaps a tad plainer and lacking the poise and grace of Selene.

Olivia smiled, remembering the clinging awkwardness of youth only too well. But Mary merely curtsied and looked away.

“Mary.” Elizabeth’s voice was soft but instructive. “I’m certain you have a word of welcome for Mrs. Aberdeen as well.”

With the slightest hesitation, Mary looked back. “Of course … Welcome, Mrs. Aberdeen.” Her smile was as abbreviated as her curtsey had been. “My heartfelt condolences on your loss, ma’am.”

Elizabeth gave the girl a look, but Olivia acted as though she hadn’t seen. “Thank you, Mary. I’m grateful to you and your family for allowing me to come and live with you. And to serve as your head housekeeper. I’ll do my best to —”

“But you’re not the head housekeeper,” Mary blurted. “Cousin Lizzie is.” Mary looked at her mother. “Papa said this morning that he promised the —”

“Mary!” Elizabeth’s voice tightened. “We can discuss the details of everyone’s duties later. Now …” She nodded toward Selene. “Why don’t you two go see how your father’s getting along with his newest addition. And please remind him that dinner is at six thirty this evening.” She gave a feather-light laugh. “We all know how he loses track of time with these things.”

As Selene and Mary carried out their mother’s request, Olivia felt a rising sense of dread. General Harding had given the position of head housekeeper to someone else. A
real
family member. Where would she go if the Hardings had changed their minds? If the invitation from Belle Meade had been withdrawn?

“Livvy, dear.” Elizabeth linked arms with her. “There is something I need to explain to you, but —”

“Excuse me, Missus Harding?” A servant — a Negro woman Olivia recognized as the head cook, as delicate-looking a woman as she was energetic — leaned close to whisper into Elizabeth’s ear.

Olivia looked away to give them privacy, but also to pull herself together. She’d started to shake, deep down inside, like the day her mother died, then her father. Like she had when Charles left their bedroom, so abruptly, on their wedding night, after …

Feeling a chill, despite the heat, she pressed her hands against the knot in the pit of her stomach, trying her best not to remember while also trying to prepare herself for whatever Elizabeth would say next, when something — or someone — caught her attention.

Ridley Cooper. On the front porch of the Hardings’ home.

He deposited her trunk by the door, then worked his right shoulder for a minute as he looked out over the yard. She had to admit, the man had a presence about him. And could be considered somewhat attractive, she had to concede, if a woman liked that kind of look in a man — feral and brooding, undomesticated — which she didn’t.

But it occurred to her, watching him stand there, alone on the porch, tall and confident — overly so on the latter — how easy it was to imagine him in uniform. In the familiar gray wool of the Confederacy. He hadn’t wanted to talk about the war, that had been clear. And she hadn’t either. She’d simply wanted him to know the general would.

She still didn’t think General Harding would hire him, but considering how he’d helped her out of the carriage, then covered for her with Jedediah, she felt like she owed him something.

He stilled, and she realized he was looking at her. He nodded once, motioned to the trunk, and she saw one side of that unruly beard of his edge up the tiniest bit, as if he were smiling. Much like he’d smiled at her when he’d helped her out of the carriage. When he’d held her entirely too long. Longer than a gentleman would have.

She tried to imagine what he might look like clean-shaven and kempt and had to admit —

A tug on her arm brought her back around.

“Livvy, forgive me, dear. My attention is required in the house. But please …” Elizabeth cradled Olivia’s cheek. “Listen to me. There was a slight misunderstanding, that’s all. Unbeknownst to me, the general entered into an agreement for his cousin’s daughter to become the head housekeeper. And it’s an agreement that, I fear, cannot be set aside. However —”

“It’s all right,” Olivia heard herself saying, bowing her head. “I understand.”

“Livvy, darling, look at me.”

Clenching her jaw so her chin wouldn’t quiver, Olivia did as asked.

“This in no way alters our arrangement with you. You are welcome to live here with us for as long as you like, no matter how long that may be.”

“But …” Olivia swallowed hard, mindful of others around them and unwilling for them to hear. “How can I live here, Aunt Elizabeth, and not contribute to the family? To the household, in some way?” She shook her head. “It’s not done. It wouldn’t be proper. And … I can’t help but question whether the general really wants me here.”

“He does want you here, Livvy.” Elizabeth’s expression changed, and Olivia knew whatever Elizabeth was about to say next was the unvarnished truth. “He was hesitant at first, I admit, with everything happening so quickly. But he’s warmed to the idea. Especially in the last day or two. And don’t you worry one bit about contributing, Livvy. You’ll do that simply by being with us.” Elizabeth gripped her hands. “So we’ll have no more talk of this, all right? Now … help yourself to the refreshments on the table over there. Susanna made her beaten biscuits with ham. They’re delicious. Then come on inside and we’ll show you to your room.”

Not at all convinced, but grateful to have a place to call home, at least for now, Olivia nodded. “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth.”

Ridley followed Olivia Aberdeen’s progress through the crowd, grateful for the vantage point the porch provided, as well as the partial concealment of a lilac bush. He still felt bad for her about the confusion over her welcome. But she’d received a cordial enough greeting from the first lady of Belle Meade, which surely made up for some of the disappointment.

From what he’d witnessed, he’d have to say the two women were indeed close, as Mrs. Aberdeen had claimed. He’d also have to say there was more to Olivia Aberdeen than he’d originally thought upon first meeting. Not that he had any business thinking about the woman in the first place.

Focusing on his task, he descended the porch stairs, both eager — and also not — to see if his reason for coming all this way was still here. He could’ve asked Mrs. Aberdeen, to see if she knew Robert Green, but Ridley didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. Not with her being so close to the Harding family.

He cut a path around the crowd, instinctively keeping an eye on two people — Mrs. Aberdeen and General William Giles Harding. The general stood with a host of other suited men, nodding and accepting pats on the back while he admired his new thoroughbred. Harding appeared older than in the drawing that had circulated during the war, and — if his beard were any indication — even more stubborn.

Ridley scanned the crowd, hopeful when he saw a group of Negro men gathered at another corral. He closed the distance, staying to the fringes and trying to think what he’d say to Robert Green when —
if —
he
saw him again. He discreetly searched faces as he went, but none of them was Robert Green. His hope waned. He spotted a skinny boy carrying a load of wood. The lad was short and barefoot, his pant legs hovering above his thin ankles. But it was the cap the young boy wore tugged down close to his ears that was most distinguishing.

Ridley approached. “Excuse me, young sir.”

The boy stopped, looked at Ridley from beneath the curved bill of his old worn cap, then turned around and glanced behind him before speaking. “Is you aimin’ that talk my way, sir?”

Ridley had to smile. “I am. I have a question for you.”

The boy came closer. “Then I do my hardest to know the answer, sir.”

“You know a man here by the name of Mr. Robert Green?”

The boy cocked his head. “Can’t say I know nobody by that color name, sir.”

“How long have you been here, son?”

“Nigh onto a year. I come from Georgia, sir. With my mama. She be a dairy maid, workin’ with them cows. I work in the stables.” The boy’s chest puffed out. “I exercise them racehorses … When I ain’t totin’ wood or doin’ nothin’ else.”

Feeling hope siphon away, Ridley thanked the boy and turned back to the estate. If the lad worked with horses and hadn’t heard of Robert Green, it pretty much depleted any hope of finding the man. Still, he’d come all this way.

He saw two stables — one south of the mansion and one north — and was leaving no stone unturned. Since Belle Meade was a stud farm, he assumed one stable housed stallions. And the other, mares. He headed for the one closest to him.

When he stepped through the open doors, his gaze was drawn upward to the massive beams that supported the weight of the high-pitched roof. This place looked more like a cathedral than a barn. He glimpsed a tack room off to his right and shook his head at the number of stables and abundance of horse tack. Saddles, bits, bridles, and blankets lined the walls and shelves, all neatly arranged and far finer than anything he’d ever owned.

Numerous barrels containing feed, and others containing water, were set every few feet down the length of the building. He blew out a breath. These thoroughbreds lived better than most people he knew, himself included.