To Whisper Her Name (18 page)

“I admit …” Olivia sighed. “The invitation does have something to do with how I’m feeling. But I don’t want to keep you all from going.” She looked up, insistent. “Honestly, I don’t want you — or the others — to be penalized because of me.”

Elizabeth gave her a look that said they would discuss it later, followed by one that urged her to continue.

“There is something I’d like to ask you, Aunt Elizabeth.” She bowed her head. “But I’m afraid there’s no way to say this without appearing ungrateful to you and the general.”

Elizabeth gently lifted Olivia’s chin. “In a thousand lifetimes, Livvy, I could never consider you ungrateful.”

Olivia tried to smile, but a weight bore down in her chest that made it impossible. “Do you think … there will ever come a time
when …” The heaviness moved into her throat. “… when people will forget about what Charles did? Or, more rightly, that … they’ll forget he was my husband?”

The shadow eclipsing Elizabeth’s expression answered first, and Olivia lowered her head.

“Livvy,” Elizabeth whispered, covering her hand, “look at me.”

With effort, Olivia did as asked.

Elizabeth’s voice, while tender, held the distinctive clarity of truth. “I do believe in time some people will begin to accept you again. Others, I fear, will likely never do so.”

Olivia searched her gaze. “Others,” she repeated softly, understanding who Elizabeth meant. “The families who lost sons and husbands to the war, then lost their homes and fortunes as well.
Everything
,” she whispered, feeling a familiar ache inside. “Aided by the hand of my late husband.”

“None of which was your fault, Livvy. Remember that.” Elizabeth cradled Olivia’s cheek. “They say time heals all wounds, which may be true. But it doesn’t take away the scars. Some of those, we must learn to live with.”

Staving off tears, Olivia nodded and instinctively covered her left arm. “If it were within my power, Aunt Elizabeth, I would return every last guilty cent that Charles stole. I would make it right. With all of them.”

“I know you would.”

Confronted by the bleak reality of her own future, Olivia sat straighter on the velvet settee and tried to summon a strength from within herself, as she’d done so many times before. But the strength failed to come, and tears welled in her eyes. “Sometimes I feel so afraid.” She took a steadying breath. “Afraid of being with someone wrong again. Someone like Charles. But then I’m equally afraid of being alone.” She gave a humorless laugh, ashamed of her fear. And how deep it went.

She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand and wondered, selfishly, if the doctors were right. What would life be like without Elizabeth Harding? She remembered only too well what losing her mother had felt like, and she did not wish to walk that path again.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “In your letters, Aunt Elizabeth, you wrote often about … believing that God has a plan.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“But …” Olivia’s breath caught. “I’m not so sure sometimes.”

Elizabeth pulled her close. “Oh, my dear. Just because you’re afraid doesn’t mean you don’t believe. It simply means you’re human.” Elizabeth drew back slightly, her smile warm with acceptance. “Like the rest of us. Things
will
get better, Livvy. Mark my words. And God does have a plan for your life. It may not be easy, but nothing worth having ever is. He’ll show it to you … in time.”

A soft knock drew their attention.

“Sorry to bother you, Missus Harding.” Susanna stood in the doorway. “But the general says he’s ready to see Missus Aberdeen now, ma’am.”

“Very good, Susanna. Thank you.”

Olivia dried her eyes, looking to Elizabeth for explanation.

“Now, Livvy. Don’t be angry with me.”

Elizabeth rose from the settee, and Olivia came with her, offering a steadying arm. Elizabeth looped her arm through but didn’t lean on Olivia as she’d been doing. Perhaps the beef liver Susanna prepared for Elizabeth each evening was helping with the “tired blood” after all.

“All I’m guilty of, Livvy dear, is boasting to the general about how organized and wonderfully detailed you are. Last evening he inquired whether I thought you’d be willing to help him in his area, and I told him it was worth speaking to you about. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Aunt Elizabeth.” Olivia’s perspective brightened at the prospect of doing something other than staring at drapery samples or choosing wallpaper. Plus the opportunity to prove herself to General Harding. “I’d be happy to help in whatever way I can.”

“That’s exactly what I told him you’d say.”

Elizabeth led the way through the foyer and into the study where she paused. Huddled together, Selene, Mary, and Cousin Lizzie stood clustered by the front window, peeking through the drapes, whispering and giggling like schoolgirls.

Elizabeth smiled. “Pray tell, ladies, what are the three of you doing in here?”

Selene glanced back over her shoulder, wearing a mischievous grin. “We’re simply admiring something, Mother.”

“And exactly what would that
something
be?”

The young woman’s grin deepened. “Just one of Father’s new stallions.”

Mary and Lizzie laughed all the more — until Mary turned. Her gaze connected with Olivia’s. The girl’s humor cooled considerably, but only until she turned back to the window. Olivia had tried reaching out to Mary to no avail. Elizabeth had encouraged her not to worry. Mary would come around. But Olivia wondered. Still, she felt an odd sort of kinship with the girl and wasn’t ready to give up.

Not wishing to keep the general waiting, she hurried on to his office, eager to see how she might help and having absolutely no interest whatsoever in seeing a stallion.

B
uttoning a fresh shirt, Ridley strode toward the side porch of the main house where General Harding’s office was located, hardly believing what he was about to do. He cast a dark look at Uncle Bob, who followed beside him. “Explain to me again what exactly possessed you to tell the general I could do this? Much less that I wanted to?”

“Don’t you worry, Ridley. You can do it. Whatever the general says, you just go ‘long with it, sir. I be here to help you.”

Ridley paused a distance away from the front corner of the house, aware of a nearby open window and movement behind the curtains. He lowered his voice accordingly. “Uncle Bob, you and I hardly have time to train together as it is. And with all the foals being born and due to be born and all the training to be done with them. Then with Jack Malone and the mares arriving every day for him to service …” Ridley knew Uncle Bob had meant well, but he also knew the man didn’t know he was planning on leaving in three weeks. “I simply don’t see how you and I are going to —”

“I know it, I know.” His voice low, Uncle Bob nodded and pointed to a button Ridley had missed. “But you got to see that the foreman you’s replacin’—” He leaned closer. “He was a good man, sir. Fine man. Friend of the general’s. But he ain’t never listened much to what I told him. And I
know
how to run things in these stables. Better, I mean. I know who’s doin’ the work and who ain’t. Who treats these horses the way they should and who ain’t. And them that ain’t need to be gone, sir. I don’t give a lick what side they fought for or who they done fought with. And somethin’ else …” His brow lowered. “The colored men ain’t gettin’ paid nearly what Grady and them other white men are. That ain’t sittin’ too well. But ain’t no other white foreman gonna do nothin’ ‘bout that ‘round here. ‘Ceptin’ you. You get my meanin’?”

Ridley sighed. “Yes, I get your meaning.” Frustrated, he ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the hint of stubble. He’d shaved yesterday and again this morning, in continued hope of seeing Mrs. Aberdeen. But after their run-in over a week ago, she was sure making herself scarce.

Last night, relaxing with Uncle Bob on the front porch of the cabin, he’d caught sight of her on the second-story porch of the main house, sitting with Mrs. Harding just as the sun set. Soon after, he’d glimpsed her entering the room over the kitchen, the one with the latticework beneath the window. Her bedroom, he guessed, which had made him smile, wondering if she knew what a handy ladder that lattice would make. How many times had he and his brothers shinnied down and back up the chimney wall of their childhood home? Probably more times than they’d used the front door.

He doubted Olivia Aberdeen had done much shinnying up or down anything in her lifetime. But that was certainly something he’d like to teach her, if given half the chance.

“Sir, is you havin’ second thoughts about this?”

“No,” Ridley answered, pulling his attention back. “More like fourth and fifth.”

“If you’s worried how the other men are gonna see this … you gettin’ to be foreman after bein’ here only a short time … don’t you worry none about that. All the men like you, sir. All ‘cept Grady and his clan, and nobody pays them no mind anyway.”

Appreciating that more than Uncle Bob knew, Ridley glanced at the general’s office door, still trying to figure a way out of this without having to admit he hoped to be leaving soon.

“Why can’t you just talk to the general yourself, Uncle Bob? Instead of talking to a foreman? Harding listens to you. I’ve seen him. He respects you.”

“Yes, sir, he does. Him bein’ willin’ to see you now be proof of that. General Harding’s a good man. But he hires foremen to run things ‘round here, Ridley. Men he fought with in the war. What’s it gonna look like if I go runnin’ my mouth behind that foreman’s back to the general, whinin’ every time that man ain’t doin’ somethin’ I think we need to be doin’?” Uncle Bob shook his head. “A black man tellin’ a white man what to do?” he scoffed. “You know that ain’t done, Ridley. Not more than once, anyhow.”

Ridley had to smile. “Not unless it’s you telling me what to do, huh?”

Uncle Bob nudged him. “That’s different. You’s a white man, all right. But you ain’t the same, sir. And God’s honest truth?” Looking down, Uncle Bob bit his lower lip, causing the whiskers on his chin to bunch out. “You’s more like a friend to me than any white man ever been. ‘Cept maybe the general. He been mighty good to me. But …” He shrugged, not finishing.

Ridley eyed Uncle Bob, having gotten to know this man fairly well in recent weeks. “You’re not just saying that so I’ll go on inside, are you?”

“No, sir. I promise I ain’t.” Then one side of his mouth tipped up. “But it sure is good timin’, ain’t it?”

Ridley gave him a look. But then saw no way around admitting the truth. “I need to confess something, Uncle Bob. Something that I should have told you from the very start. And no matter how I say it, it’s not going to come out right.”

“Yes, sir?” Uncle Bob looked at him, waiting.

“When I first came here, I …” Ridley thought again of being invited to a fancy banquet only to insult the host by leaving quickly, and he hoped Bob Green wouldn’t be insulted by what he was about to say. “My plans have always been to be here for only a month or two. To learn what I need to from you and then move on. I’m not interested in this foreman’s job or in staying here in the —”

Uncle Bob laughed. “Is you kiddin’ with me?”

Ridley stared, then shook his head.

Uncle Bob’s laughter died, but his smile didn’t. “You standin’ here tellin’ me that you came here with the idea that you was gonna know in a month or two what took me a lifetime of learnin’?”

Ridley heard the humor in his voice but the truth undergirding the question was far louder and even more convicting. As the reality of his situation settled over him, Ridley shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking of it that way. I was just eager to —”

“You eager to get on with life, leave the war and all of that behind. I know that, sir. I see it in you every day. I see you rubbing that little shell you keep in your pocket.” Uncle Bob smiled. “But things worth havin’ take time. You gonna learn it, I know you will. But you’s
far
from ready right now, sir.”

He gave Ridley a droll look, which Ridley returned.

“Did I tell you ‘bout the pay, sir?”

Ridley shook his head.

Uncle Bob’s eyes lit. “From what I hear, it’s enough to cover what the general’s chargin’ you to lease a stall
and
all the other money you payin’ for Seabird, with some to spare for that place you’s wantin’ out west.”

Ridley turned and walked on, his decision made — and also made for him. As he passed the corner of the house, he glimpsed the second-story porch and the bedroom above the kitchen, and thought of that lattice again. And felt a smile. Staying here a little longer might hold other advantages too.

“Just remember,” Uncle Bob whispered behind him, “whatever he asks, you and me can do it. Together.”

Ridley raised a hand in silent response, hoping the man was certain about this. Because he certainly wasn’t.

The last thing he needed was more time spent in General Harding’s company, and becoming a foreman would only increase that. If that man started peppering him with questions about the war, it could end badly for him.

And for Uncle Bob.

Olivia listened, growing more excited as General Harding laid out his plan.

“So you see, Olivia” — he leaned forward, the supple leather of his chair gently complaining — “it would be of great advantage to have someone with such attention to details to oversee the ordering for the entire farming operation. Someone whose sole responsibility would be to make certain adequate supplies are always on hand. The gentleman who resigned, a foreman, as I told you … This was originally under his oversight, but it was becoming burdensome in addition to his other duties. And frankly, he allowed a few of our staple items to become depleted, and we had to do without for a few days until the next shipment arrived, which is unacceptable. So when Elizabeth
raved
about your talents …” he said the word as though not altogether convinced, “I thought this would be a good fit for you. And you
did
communicate a desire to be of assistance.” His expression held question. “I’m assuming that hasn’t changed?”

“No, sir. Not in the least.” She smiled. “I’d be pleased to handle the ordering for you.” She knew she could do this — keep track of ledgers and books and accounts. And he’d said he would pay her. Two dollars
a week. That might not be much by some people’s standards, but she’d never earned her own money before. It was a liberating feeling, and it would allow her to buy a handful of necessities, to not always have to depend on the Hardings’ charity.

“Very well, then.” He glanced out the front window. “I’ve seen the way you’ve organized my wife’s life, including her desk and correspondence and the upstairs attic. No doubt my business affairs will benefit immensely from that same watchful supervision. Which I trust has not been exaggerated.”

Eager to prove herself, and not wanting to let Elizabeth down, Olivia determined to earn his approval. Not an easy task, she knew. “You mentioned wanting to receive a monthly report, General. I’d be happy to provide a weekly summary as well, if you’d like.”

He shook his head. “I have enough reports to review as it is. Monthly will suffice. Besides …” He handed her a ledger that proved to be heavier than it looked. “Belle Meade is a large estate, Olivia. It will take a good deal of time to inventory everything in both of the —”

A knock sounded on the door.

“Excuse me, please.”

“Of course.” Curious, Olivia opened the ledger and began perusing the columns. The leftmost column contained the list of inventoried items, followed to the right by the breakout of monthly expenditures for each item. Her eyes widened as she read the dollar amounts, then grew even larger when she reached the totals at the bottom of the page.
Good gracious …
She’d had no idea how much it cost to run a plantation such as this.

She thumbed several pages, seeing nearly every line and column filled, and her confidence slipped a few notches. Still, she could do this.

“Yes, come in,” she heard the general say behind her, and was a bit perturbed with him for allowing their meeting to be interrupted. She had so many questions to ask.

“Thank you, General.”

Hearing a male voice, she glanced behind her to see a man in the doorway, the sun at his back. She returned her gaze to the ledger.

“I believe the two of you are already acquainted,” the general said.

Olivia turned around again. “I’m sorry, General, but I don’t believe this gentleman and I have had the —”

“Mrs. Aberdeen,” the man said, stepping into the office. “It’s good to see you again, ma’am.”

Recognizing the voice but unable to reconcile it with the somewhat familiar — and more than somewhat
handsome
— face, Olivia shifted in her chair to get a better look. And her grip on the ledger went lax. The heavy volume slipped from her hand and landed on the floor with a thud, but she scarcely noticed.
“Ridley Cooper?”
she whispered, absently touching her own smooth cheek.

He smiled at her.
Oh
… did he smile. She felt it all the way to her toes and in other places she had no idea a smile could reach, much less
warm
.

“Actually, ma’am …” His gaze briefly dropped to her mouth before settling again on her eyes. “I think
Mr
. Cooper would be more appropriate. But I’m comfortable with the informal, if you are.”

Her face flaming, Olivia glanced at the general for his reaction, but he’d turned his back, searching through some files on a table behind him. She bent to retrieve the ledger dumped spine-open at her feet, but Ridley Cooper beat her to it.

“Here you go,” he whispered, their faces coming close as they both straightened.

The wry tilt of his mouth — a mouth she could see very, very well now — made her own go dry. She took the ledger from him, aware she was staring. But unable to stop.

The general turned back and gestured. “Shall we all take a seat?”

Olivia felt behind her to confirm the chair was still there then eased down, welcoming its support. Mr. Cooper claimed the chair next to her, and she sneaked another look at him, unable to believe the transformation.
Heart-stopping
was a word that came to mind. But considering how hers was racing at the moment, that description didn’t quite seem fitting.

“Excellent timing, Mr. Cooper. Thank you for joining us.”

The sound of General Harding’s voice pulled her back.

“Mrs. Aberdeen and I were just discussing her taking over the responsibility of ordering the inventory for the farm.”

Mr. Cooper nodded. “Uncle Bob indicated you’d found someone to handle that from here on out. But” — he glanced over at her — “I didn’t realize that
someone
was Mrs. Aberdeen.”

Ridley Cooper’s expression said he knew he’d caught her off guard and was enjoying her stunned reaction. Who would have thought shaving a beard could make this much difference? Yet it wasn’t only the beard that was gone. He’d cut his hair too. Hair, thick and dark,
that possessed more curl than she remembered, and an invitation to touch — much the same as his smooth jawline. She wanted badly to accept that invitation, but of course did not.