To Whisper Her Name (50 page)

O
livia started to struggle, then caught a whiff of bayberry and spice at the same time she heard his voice. “It’s me,” Ridley whispered. He loosened his hand and pulled her with him into the shadows against the house. Just then, General Harding and two of his colleagues rounded the corner. “I didn’t want you to scream,” he said, mouth against her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “I was on my way up when you climbed out.”

Pressed against the house — and him — Olivia scarcely breathed as the men approached. General Harding looked in their direction and her heart all but stopped. Ridley tensed beside her. The general said something and laughed, which drew similar responses from his friends, then they continued on, deep in conversation. Pulse still racing, Olivia waited for Ridley to move first.

“Come on,” he finally whispered, then grabbed her hand and set off across the darkened meadow.

All but running just to keep up, she welcomed the strength of his grip, wondering if the sense of adventure buzzing through her veins was anything like what the children she used to watch from her bedroom window felt as they ran and played in the meadow below.
Young ladies do
not
tromp around in fields like livestock, Olivia. You’ll dirty your dress
. Remembering her mother fondly, Olivia still couldn’t resist running a little faster. And harder.

Only when they reached the edge of the woods did Ridley slow. He took a path leading down a slight incline, and when Olivia heard the soothing tumble of the creek, she guessed where he was going and felt a sense of déjà vu.

They sat by the edge of the water on a slab of limestone. The
same spot where he had washed the blisters on her feet. How long ago that seemed.

He sat quietly beside her, and her feelings were so mixed at the moment she had trouble sorting out what she wanted to say to him first. She was angry he hadn’t told her about the position the general had offered. Head foreman of Belle Meade. Then hurt that he’d turned it down. And in the midst of it all, she wanted him to know that since learning about Andersonville, she understood better now why he didn’t think he could stay here.

But he was mistaken. And she was going to prove it to him.

“Ridley, I —”

“Olivia, I —”

They both paused, then smiled.

“Usually, I would say ladies first. But … in this instance, I think it would be better if I took the lead.”

Detecting an unsettled quality in his tone, she reluctantly nodded. Seconds passed before he spoke again.

“To say that you have …
captivated
me, Olivia, would be an understatement.” Surprised by how he’d started out, she was glad now he’d spoken first. “The first time I saw you …” He exhaled. “You took my breath away. Then, trapped inside that carriage like you were, then stuck in the window. But still all prim and proper to the hilt, telling me your driver would be back
posthaste
.” He looked over at her, his voice harboring a smile.

Remembering, Olivia grinned.

“Then we got here. I somehow managed to get a job, thanks to Uncle Bob …” He turned toward the darkened woods. “And to God for knowing what he was doing even when I didn’t. Then I started seeing you around the plantation, and I thought to myself, ‘It sure would be fun to give that woman a hard time for a while. See if I could loosen her up a little.’”

“You did
not
think that …”

“I did too.”

She swatted him. “That wasn’t nice. I was in mourning!” Even as she said it, she knew he would take it the way she’d intended.

“I
know
you were. And sometimes I felt bad about doing it —”

“But you did it anyway.”

“I couldn’t help myself. I’d see you with all that propriety bustled up so good and tight … quite literally … and you just brought the worst out in me.”

“So it was my fault then, our becoming …” She grinned and faltered over the word. “Friends.”

He turned to her, and though the darkness hid the precise definition of his features, she was certain whatever humor his expression held, faded.

“First,” he said softly, “whatever we’ve been, at least for me, we’ve been more than friends.
Much
more. And second, nothing has been your fault. There
is
fault to be assigned, but it’s mine and mine alone.”

Hearing him use past tense —
we’ve been
— she sensed the goodbye she’d been dreading inching closer. For a moment, neither spoke and the timeless trickle of the creek filled the empty space.

“When I first got here,” he continued, leaning forward. “I was only planning to stay for a few weeks, and sparring back and forth with you became almost a game. You were so easy to rile, which I found irresistible.” Tenderness softened his voice. “But there came a time when I realized it wasn’t
playful
for me anymore. It wasn’t a game. I knew if I wasn’t careful,
very
careful … you were going to turn my world upside down. And me with it. And that was something I couldn’t afford to have happen.”

Anticipating what he was going to say, Olivia felt cut to the quick. A pain twisted her chest. “But I …” She shook her head, forcing out the words. “I didn’t turn your world upside down … did I?” She took a tattered breath. “Not like you did mine.”

He moved closer and took her hand in his. “But that’s just it, Olivia. You
did
… You turned my world — and
me
— inside out.”

Hot tears filled her eyes, and she was grateful for the shadows. She wanted to ask him why, then.
Why
didn’t he care about her enough to stay?
Love
her enough? But she couldn’t push the words past the tangle of emotion in her throat.

His grip tightened. “The problem is … you don’t know me. It’s not your fault. I haven’t allowed you to see who I am. Or … at least who I was during the —”

“That’s not true.” She swallowed, wiping her eyes. “I do know you, Ridley Cooper. Better than you think.” She squeezed his hand. “I don’t know what you saw at Andersonville, or what you were forced to do there, or what horrible things you experienced during the war. But that’s all over now. You fought for your country, for the South you loved. You did all you could. No matter where you were stationed.”

“But that’s what you don’t understand, I wasn’t —”

She put a finger to his lips. “I do understand. More than you realize. I saw the pain in the faces of the men around that table tonight. I saw it in yours too. How you wish the outcome had been different. I do too, in so many ways. Yet the changes that are happening now … They wouldn’t be, without the war.”

She let her hand drop and took a breath. “But it was wrong what the North did. The Federal army was brutal and cruel, coming in the way they did, stealing and taking everything. Destroying families and homes, tearing lives apart. You saw Aunt Elizabeth tonight. The war took such a toll on her. Especially when the Yankees locked the general in prison.”

Ridley leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, his head bowed. And her heart ached for him.

“Ridley,” she whispered. “The North took from you too. But you can have your life back, if you want it. You’re a good man. You don’t have to go to the Colorado Territory to start over. You can do that here. At Belle Meade. With Uncle Bob and the servants and the Hardings and …” She reached for courage to speak past the rubble of the wall now crumbled inside her. “With me.”

Hands knotted in her lap, vulnerable and exposed even in the dark, she watched him, waiting. And slowly, he sat up and looked back at her.

“If there were a way to do that, I would. But … I can’t.”

He rose and stepped toward the creek. She followed.

With disappointment knifing deeper, she sensed the struggle in him and believed she knew how to help. She reached for his hand. He resisted at first, then finally relented. She brought his hand to her face and smiled when he cradled her cheek.

“When you touch me,” she whispered, the tears returning. “You help me forget.”

“Forget,” he said softly. “Forget what?”

“What my life used to be like … with my late husband.”

He stilled, then tried to pull away, but she held his hand where it was.

“Every time you touch me, Ridley …” With unaccustomed boldness, she guided his hand from her cheek down to her neck.

“Olivia,” he whispered. “Don’t.”

“Every time, you erase a little more of the hurt Charles left behind, the pain that comes from being the wife of a traitor. And from the disgrace and shame he left me to bear alone.”

Again, Ridley attempted to pull his hand away, but again she held it fast.

“I think I can do that for you too, Ridley. Help you forget. Forget the war, and all you went through. We could help each other. If only you’d —”

He took her face in his hands, but not gently like before.
“Olivia.”
His voice came out rough, anguished. “I wasn’t stationed at Andersonville … I was a prisoner there.”

Certain she felt the bedrock shift beneath her feet, Olivia took hold of his arm. She searched his face, wishing now for light instead of darkness. She needed to see his eyes.
A prisoner?
“That’s not possible,” she heard herself say.

“It is. I fought for the North. With the 167
^th
regiment … out of Pennsylvania.”

“But …” She struggled to form a thought. “You told me yourself … about that night, on the beach, when you found the seashell. You said you found it before you left to join the Confederate Army.”

He shook his head. “I said
army
. I never said which one.”

Stark realization squeezed the air from her lungs. Even as her mind raced, another part of her was numb. She couldn’t believe it. He’d taken up arms
against
the South? He’d lied to her? To everyone? No matter how she rearranged the pieces, she couldn’t make them fit.

In a matter of seconds, the last year of her life —
their lives
— came painfully into focus. The way he treated Uncle Bob and Susanna and the other servants with such … sameness. Why he didn’t care what others thought. Why he couldn’t wait to leave the South. His impatience for change. She even recalled conversations she’d overheard between him and General Harding and filtered them in a new light. But mostly she understood without question why he was so bent on leaving. Why he couldn’t stay. And what that meant for her — for
them
— and it felt as if someone had reached inside her chest and wrenched her heart out.

Just as quickly, her thoughts jumped to what could happen to him if certain people learned this truth. Horrific images returned on a wave of dread. She tried to step back but he wouldn’t let her go.

He lifted her face to his. “I’m sorry, Olivia. For not telling you sooner. For not being honest from the start. I have my reasons for doing what I did. You’re probably not interested in hearing them right now, but —”

“Let go of me,” she whispered.

He did, and she backed away, needing space between them. She couldn’t think with him so close. She rubbed her arms, not cold but feeling a chill all the same.

“You fought for the Federal Army.” Saying it aloud somehow made it more real.

“Yes. I did.”

He took a step toward her, but she put out a hand. He stopped. She’d pictured him before in Confederate gray, but never Union blue. Yet somehow, looking at him, she could see it.

“How long were you at Andersonville?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “I was captured by Confederates on August 18 of ‘63 and was moved to Andersonville in February of the following year.”

“And you were there …”

“Until the end of the war.”

She shook her head, scarcely able to keep up with her thoughts as they turned over and over upon themselves. “Who else knows about this?”

He hesitated. “Uncle Bob.”

“
Uncle Bob?
Do you have any idea the trouble he could get into if anyone were to find out?”

“They won’t.”

Another thought came. She went weak in the knees. “General Harding doesn’t know …”

He shook his head.

“And you can’t ever tell him, Ridley.” She shuddered to think of how the general would react. How angry he’d be. “Everything you’ve worked for here would be gone. And his colleagues. If they knew, the general would become a laughingstock. And Aunt Elizabeth …” She winced, imagining the ripple of repercussions of those who would be hurt. “And you wouldn’t be safe either. People will brand you a traitor. You’ll be just like Charles …”

She caught herself. Only, too late. And not even the darkness could hide the hurt her words had inflicted.

Ridley studied her in the dark. He’d known she would be hurt and angry, and she had every right to be. But the bullet he’d taken to his
shoulder that night on the mountain four years ago had hurt less than what she’d just said to him.
You’ll be just like Charles …

That’s how she thought of him now. And he knew only too well how she felt about her late husband. However much he’d imagined it would hurt to have her looking at him like this, the reality was a hundred times worse.