To Whisper Her Name (21 page)

A while later, lying on the settee as Rachel Norris had instructed, her bare feet propped on pillows and her appetite sated, Olivia observed the woman from behind. Rachel worked methodically, grinding pungent herbs with a mortar and pestle, then mixing them with liquids from dark glass bottles to create a mysterious concoction.

The soup, on the other hand, had been filling and surprisingly tasty — though Olivia guessed Rachel Norris was a woman who held nutrition in higher regard than appeal to the palate. Still, she’d been thankful for the woman’s generosity and had told her as much.

Minutes passed, and Olivia watched in silence until she couldn’t take the suspense any longer. She forced a sweetness to her voice, hoping to draw conversation from the woman. “I’m lying over here wondering what it is you’re doing over there. And if that’s what you’re going to put on my feet.”

No response. The woman didn’t even turn around.

“Because if it is …” Olivia laughed, but it sounded coerced, even to her. “I think I’d like to know what’s in the mixture.”

Rachel Norris kept stirring.

Olivia leaned and peered to the side, trying to get Rachel’s attention, and nearly fell off the settee, but caught herself just in time.

Perhaps the woman was deaf and could only read lips. Olivia didn’t think so, but in her mind she went back over their first moments in the cabin, trying to remember if Rachel had been facing them whenever she’d responded. Finally, unable to draw any positive conclusion, Olivia gave up that thread of thought.

She didn’t think Rachel Norris was deaf. Rude, perhaps …

Hanging directly over Olivia’s head was a particularly large clump of dried onions, and she stared at it, wondering how long it had been there and if —

She squinted, certain she’d seen the clump move.

Tense, she waited, watching for it to happen again and relishing how much she was going to enjoy giving Ridley Cooper a piece of her mind for bringing her here.

Finally, her nerves a jumble, she sat up, mindful of her feet. “As I’m thinking this through … maybe a better course of action would be for me to seek out a doctor’s advice first.
Before
I bother you by seeking treatment. Then if his remedies don’t provide improvement, I could come and see you again.” But if she ever got out of this cabin, she knew she wasn’t coming back.

She waited. Still no response.

She tried putting weight on her feet, then questioned that choice. Her feet weren’t as sore as they had been earlier with her boots on, but walking would be painful. She’d have to go barefoot in the dirt too, and that meant cleaning the blisters all over again. That thought alone was deterrent enough. But still, she’d had her fill of the silence.

Olivia raised her chin and cleared her throat with intent.

Not a peep.

“I know you can hear me, Miss Norris. And I would appreciate —”

“It’s
Missus
Norris, ma’am.” Rachel turned around, bowl in hand. “I was married. Years ago. My husband be dead now. Like yours,” she added in a softer voice.

Olivia moved her mouth to speak but nothing came out at first. “So …” She worked to couch the truth gently. “You
have
been listening to me this entire time, and yet you didn’t respond.”

Rachel set the bowl on a side table and pulled up a chair. “That’s ‘cause you wasn’t askin’ me anything, ma’am. You’s just over here
wonderin
’ this,
thinkin
’ about that … plannin’ out loud what you’s gonna do. You carried the conversation all by your lonesome. Pretty good at it too.”

As she had the first time she’d seen this woman, all Olivia could do was stare.

“Besides …” Rachel scooted her chair closer and reached for the bowl. “You didn’t really want me to say nothin’. Your voice can be real sweet, ma’am, just like your words.” A warm smile hinted at the corners of Rachel’s mouth while more than warming the striking blue of her eyes. “But really, Missus Aberdeen, I hear what you ain’t sayin’
between
all them words. You just wanna be gone from here. Away from me and outta my cabin.”

“Why …” Olivia exhaled a humorless laugh, flustered at the woman’s directness and embarrassed now at having been so transparent. “That’s simply not true, Mrs. Norris. I’m happy to be here and appreciate what you’re —”

Rachel cocked her head and looked at her with such kind yet indisputable challenge that Olivia felt the words of the well-meant but false courtesy die on her lips. She didn’t like how Rachel Norris saw through her so easily … like someone else she knew.

“Somethin’ I learned long ago, ma’am, is the more the words, the less the meanin’. But I can understand you feelin’ the way you do, I guess. You’s a white woman, after all. You’s used to different things, different ways. But I’d still like to help you, if you’re willin’.” Rachel motioned. “Now you go on and lay back down there, ma’am. I need to get this slathered on there good and thick. Give it time to seep into them wounds real good ‘fore Mr. Cooper get back.”

Not knowing exactly why, Olivia did as the woman asked. And as Rachel Norris smoothed the unpleasant-smelling cream over the soles and heels of her feet, Olivia thought of what Rachel had said to her and knew why Ridley Cooper liked this woman so much.

She didn’t know what was in the mixture but after an hour and then two, she no longer cared. The pain moved from a steady thrum to a distant echo, until finally it was all but gone.

Later that night, Olivia lay in bed beneath a thin sheet, turning first this way, then that, welcoming even a whisper of breeze from outside. Finally, she rose and padded across to the open window, wearing stockings per Rachel’s instructions, along with another application of that awful-smelling — but wonder-working — mixture containing who-knew-what.

She wondered again about Rachel Norris and her place in everything here at Belle Meade. Per Ridley, Rachel doctored the servants and the stable hands and even the horses, which explained what she did here. But the woman’s cabin was considerably nicer than the other servants’ quarters and was set apart from the others too. It simply made Olivia question if there was some other relationship to the family that —

A knock on the door brought Olivia around. Who would be awake at this hour? She opened the door a fraction and glimpsed Mary standing a few feet away outside Cousin Lizzie’s bedroom.

Lizzie’s door opened and indistinct bits of conversation and laughter punctuated the quiet. Then Mary turned and headed for the stairs.

“Mary,” Olivia whispered once Lizzie’s door was closed. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to the girl, but she’d been looking for opportunities to speak with her in the hope of smoothing whatever rift was between them.

Mary paused, oil lamp in hand, and the light cast a golden sphere about her, revealing the dull expression the girl seemed to adopt whenever they spoke.

“Good evening, Mrs. Aberdeen. Is there something you need?”

Always the same starched politeness and thinly veiled dislike.

Olivia stepped onto the porch, welcoming the breeze. “You’re up awfully late tonight, Mary.” She smiled, doubting the offering of friendship would be returned. Which it wasn’t. “Having trouble sleeping too?”

“I needed to give something to Cousin Lizzie, Mrs. Aberdeen. Which I did. Now … good night, ma’am.” She turned to leave.

“Mary —”

The girl stopped, her stiff manner saying she would’ve preferred not to. But proper breeding — which Olivia knew only too well — wouldn’t allow it.

“Please, Mary, as I’ve said before, I welcome you calling me Olivia. I’m not
that
much older than you, after all.”

Mary nodded, but said nothing.

Realizing this was going to be an uphill battle, Olivia chanced another step closer, searching for the right words. “While this might not be the best time … I’ve been wanting to tell you that I’m very grateful to you and your family for welcoming me to Belle Meade.”

Mary made no move to respond, and Olivia felt a need to fill the silence. After all, she’d initiated the conversation.

“Ever since my own mother died, your mother’s friendship has been a source of encouragement for me. I don’t know what I would have done without her. But of course, being her daughter, you already understand what a wonderful woman she is.”

Mary’s lips took a surprising upward turn. “Oh, of course, I do. Since
I’m
her daughter, as you said.”

The girl’s tone seemed at odds with her smile, but Olivia forged ahead, eager to mend the tension between them. “I’ve wanted to compliment you on your piano playing the other evening. Your hands move over those keys with so little effort, it seems. You’re quite gifted, Mary.”

“Not as gifted as Selene.”

As soon as she said it, Mary bit her lower lip, and Olivia felt a stab of pain for the girl, already having witnessed the preferential attention the older daughter garnered at the younger’s expense.

Olivia managed a smile. “I don’t believe that’s true for one minute. Selene’s older. She’s simply had more opportunity to practice, that’s all. Besides, you have your own gifts. I’ve seen you sit and work for hours on a piece of lace until every stitch and loop is perfect.”

Mary’s expression softened slightly, as though she wanted to open up but couldn’t.

Olivia glanced down at the girl’s lace collar. “Your work is exquisite, Mary. As your mother and I were walking the other day, I commented to her about it, and she was swift to agree. So I know she feels the very same.”

Even in the flicker of lamplight, Olivia could see Mary’s features go shuttered again. So the girl’s sweet smile was especially surprising.

“How
kind
of you to share my mother’s opinion with me.” Mary glanced toward the stairs. “It’s late, so I’m certain you’ll understand that I need to take my leave. I bid you good evening, Olivia.”

Mary was already to the stairs before Olivia could respond. “Good night, Mary,” she whispered, knowing she’d said something to upset the girl. But having no idea what.

Back in her room, Olivia sat by the window, drinking in the quiet and saying a prayer for Mary Harding.

Moonlight bathed the meadow, and the corrals below were silvery still and quiet. The wisteria on the lattice had nearly finished blooming, but she still caught whiffs of the heady fragrance. The old Harding cabin was dark, which wasn’t a surprise. It was late, and Ridley woke with the sun, as he’d told her.

Barely had the thought fully formed when she saw someone step off the porch. Knowing only Ridley and Uncle Bob lived there, she easily distinguished which of them it was. Uncertain at first if he could see her — or if he even knew which bedroom was hers — she received an answer when Ridley raised an arm in greeting.

She smiled and stuck an arm out the window and waved back, careful not to lean out too far. Feeling like they were doing something they shouldn’t, she did it again. Just because she could.

T
oday’s the day you’re mine, girl,” Ridley said softly, smiling at the sideways look Seabird gave him from across the corral and aware of the crowd they’d gathered. Jedediah and a handful of other stable hands watched from the gate, as did Jimmy — the young boy he’d met on his first day — wearing the same old worn cap pulled low to his ears.

Perhaps it was due to the afternoon temperature, which held steady at stifling instead of racing well past an all-out swelter, but Ridley had a hopefulness in him today. He sensed Seabird’s resistance waning, and he aimed to take full advantage.

The past week had seen him so busy with the stud farm and foaling he hadn’t spent the time he’d wanted to with Seabird — or Olivia, for that matter. But today he was committed to doing just that. On both counts.

“She lookin’ at you different, sir,” Uncle Bob whispered behind him. “That’s good … Mighty good.”

Ridley pulled a piece of cut-up apple from his pocket and held it out. Seabird’s nostrils twitched.

“Come on, girl.” He inched forward, palm open, offering extended. “It’s here for the taking. Just come and get it.”

Seabird tossed her head and whinnied, then took a step. Followed by another. Ridley smiled, having grown to know this horse’s looks and moods almost better than his own. She was a pretty thing and fleet footed. Her leg had healed better than even Uncle Bob expected, though she’d still never be the racer Gem was. When General Harding had observed her earlier in the week, Ridley had seen his regret. But a deal was a deal, Ridley had taken pleasure in reminding him.

Seabird stopped no more than a foot away, and Ridley, palm extended, felt something akin to gratitude welling up inside. He slowly closed the distance, partly relieved, but mostly excited that, finally, he’d convinced this mare that she could —

Seabird bolted. In a flash, the mare was across the corral, clearing the fence with a foot to spare. If Ridley hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t have believed it. At full gallop, giving the wind something to envy, she headed for deeper pasture, never slowing.

A chorus of whoops and laughter rose behind him from the stable hands, and if Ridley hadn’t been so shocked, he might have joined them. “Did you just see that, Uncle Bob?”

“I did, sir … But I still ain’t believin’ it. She ain’t never run like that. And she ain’t never been a jumper either.”

Jimmy ran toward him. “Good Lawd a’ Mighty, Mr. Ridley! I ain’t never seen a horse do that. Standin’ still as a tree, she was.” The boy struck a comical pose. “Then off she go like a cannon!” He laughed, falling into step with Ridley. “Want me to saddle up a mount for you, sir? So you can go fetch her?”

As he always did, Ridley tugged the curved bill of Jimmy’s cap an inch lower, earning a grin. “Thanks, but I think I’ll walk.” He shot a look at Uncle Bob, who just nodded, silently confirming what Ridley already knew.

Seabird had met him on his turf, with his rules. Now he needed to show her the same courtesy.

He found her in the lower pasture, about a mile out, maybe more. Just standing there, waiting on him. At least that’s what it felt like. He got within twenty feet of her, and Seabird didn’t move. Just looked at him.

He started to move closer, then stopped. He couldn’t say why. He only knew not to. Not yet.

He stood there for a while, the sun on his face. Then he knelt until his knees started aching, and then he finally sat. Just watching her. Admiring her beauty and the speed she’d displayed and realizing for the first time what a privilege these animals gave to men. To be carried upon their backs. To benefit from their strength. They carried kings and paupers alike. Rich and poor. Into battle and into market. They pulled cannons during war and ploughs before and after. What
was it Uncle Bob had said about them that night on the mountain? Something about how God had made a wondrous thing when he’d made these creatures.

And it was true.

The sun slowly sank beyond the hillside, casting an orange glow across the meadow and turning the field grass to a lustered gold. The chirrup of crickets accompanied the first pinprick of light in the darkening sky, and that’s when Ridley heard the rustle of the grass. He looked back.

Seabird walked toward him, a steady, measured gait, and stopped just inches away. Ridley slowly extended his hand, the piece of apple cupped inside. She made quick work of it, then drew closer and nudged his head. He laughed, slowly rising. “Just like a woman,” he whispered. “Always wanting more.”

He leaned in and touched his forehead to hers and gave her a gentle rub. “Thank you, Miss Birdie,” he whispered, remembering what Uncle Bob had called her once. “Thank you for all you give.”

Elizabeth took a sip from the china cup. “Mmmm … This is delicious, Livvy. What is it?”

Working at sounding nonchalant, Olivia leaned forward in the porch rocker and poured herself a small taste. “It’s a blend of tea I wanted you to try.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Well, I know it’s tea, dear. I meant … do you know what’s in it? I detect a hint of orange.” She took another sip, her eyes narrowing. “And clove, perhaps. But also something else I can’t quite identify. It leaves a strong, though not unpleasant, aftertaste.”

Olivia smiled, feeling a flutter of triumph. “There
is
some orange peel in there, I believe. And cloves, as you’ve said.” She took a sip, remembering how she’d questioned the very same thing. “But I think what you’re tasting might be gingerroot.”

Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I imagine you’re right. I love ginger!”

Smiling, Olivia imagined how pleased Rachel would be when she told her about Elizabeth’s response.

After personally experiencing the benefits of Rachel’s herbs herself, Olivia hadn’t wasted any time in sharing with Rachel the specifics
about Elizabeth’s condition. Though not the doctor’s prognosis. She felt certain the herbs could be of help to Elizabeth as well. And over the past several days, Rachel had gathered the necessary ingredients and worked to perfect what she’d since named “Missus Harding’s Special Blend.”

The first dozen or so batches of dried herbs and fruit — while no doubt beneficial to the body — had
not
been pleasant to the palate. So Rachel had mixed and remixed, then brewed and brewed again. Olivia’s job had been not only to taste but to determine how it settled on the stomach. Finally, Rachel came upon a combination she deemed “nature’s perfect ingredients,” which Olivia then deemed as delightfully tasteful and — over the course of the past two weeks — also
friendly
to one’s digestion.

Olivia sneaked a look at Elizabeth. She’d made the decision to introduce the tea to her quietly, knowing some people weren’t open to trying what many termed “Negro remedies.” She didn’t consider Aunt Elizabeth to be among them, but she wasn’t as certain about the general and didn’t want to take that risk. Not when she truly believed Rachel’s herbs could be a factor in Elizabeth regaining her strength.

Olivia sipped her tea, slowly rocking back and forth. Then on a whim, she stuck out her leg, smiling and angling her foot this way and that until Elizabeth took notice. “Thank you again, Aunt Elizabeth, for the loan of your boots. They fit perfectly.”

Elizabeth grinned. “I’m so glad. They were always a little snug for me so I rarely wore them.” She frowned. “But really, Livvy … Next time, ask Susanna or Jedediah to call for a wagon if both of the carriages are gone. There’s no need for you to walk all that way.”

Olivia simply smiled and let the comment go by.

Elizabeth stretched her legs out on the chaise. “The general is speaking very highly of you these days, my dear.”

“Is he?” Olivia glanced beside her, pleased at the news.

“He said the inventory report you prepared was the most detailed he’s received from an employee, especially for the stable supplies, which reflects most positively on you and your talents, dear.” She smiled. “And likewise on me for recommending he hire you.”

Olivia laughed. “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth. I’m so glad he approves.” If the woman only knew
why
the report for the stables had been so extraordinarily detailed …

Olivia looked toward the corrals, then the mares’ stable, and as
she did with growing frequency these days, she wondered if he was working there or perhaps with the stallions today. Ridley Cooper was the reason she’d spent nearly a full week doing what should have taken her no more than three days. He was her “reward” for braving the stables, and — contrary to lording it over her as she’d first thought he might do — he, too, had complimented her on the thorough manner in which she inventoried all the items.

The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to spend. He made her laugh. Not only at things he did, but also at herself. Though she felt guilty about it at times. She
was
in mourning, after all. Yet if not for the dull gray and black dresses she wore day in and day out and the reminder of her social standing — or lack thereof — she could almost forget about being in mourning when she was around him.

Almost.

Two days ago she’d seen him in the kitchen, and he’d said there was a favor he wanted to ask of her. Then they’d been interrupted by one of the stable hands needing Ridley’s assistance, and she hadn’t seen him since. Partly for that reason, she’d decided to begin with inventorying the horse tack this month. She wanted to know what favor he wanted. But she also dreaded the long walks to the other destinations. Not that she was about to complain. She’d made six dollars in the past three weeks. Six. And she still had three dollars and sixteen cents left of her earnings. And this after sending her measurements with Selene to the Hardings’ personal dressmaker. Per Olivia’s request, the seamstress was sewing her a simple shirtwaist and skirt in appropriate mourning colors. Something more practical for everyday. Olivia had never known earning a wage could be so rewarding.

“Would you please pour me another cup, Livvy? If there’s enough?”

“Oh, there’s plenty.” Olivia refilled her aunt’s cup, praying the herbs would strengthen her the way Rachel thought they would.

Despite the warmth of late June, Elizabeth cupped her hands around the delicate fine china. “I enjoyed attending church services yesterday with the general and the girls, even though I had to be in that horrid wheelchair.” She threw a look back over her shoulder. “It was wonderful to see everyone again.” She reached for Olivia’s hand. “But I certainly missed you being there, Livvy. I was glad to learn, upon returning home, how
swiftly
your headache improved.”

Olivia didn’t miss the knowing look Elizabeth gave her and could tell her aunt knew the truth about her staying behind from church.
Conceding the point with a gentle shrug, Olivia looked out across the meadow. “I used the time to read. And to think. Like I do every Sunday morning.” What she couldn’t say, but what was true, was that she missed the singing most of all. The hymns. The purity of the voices and harmonies rising to the rafters.

“I understand your not coming with us, Livvy. Considering how many people know you at McKendree Church. But I do so wish you could go to church somewhere. I think you’d find it an encouragement now. Perhaps you could go someplace where no one knows who you are?”

Olivia couldn’t help but smile. “Well, that’s an encouraging prospect, Aunt. Choose a church based upon no one knowing me and with the intent of hiding who I am.”

“Oh, my dear …” Elizabeth’s expression turned pained. “Forgive me. How thoughtless … I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I only meant to say —”

“No, no.” Olivia gently squeezed her arm, feeling badly now for having made light. “Forgive me for joking. I completely understand what you intended, Aunt Elizabeth. And I love you for it. But I think we both know that my going to church anywhere in Nashville is not advisable. Perhaps in time … But for now, I’m fine.”

Elizabeth smiled and gave a semblance of a nod.

Moments passed in easy solitude between them, as they often did. Then Elizabeth gently cleared her throat. “Livvy, I … I promised the general I would speak to you about something, dear.”