To Whisper Her Name (32 page)

“I can try, Uncle Bob. If you want me to.”

Hearing a familiar voice, Olivia leaned forward and peered down toward the opposite end of the pew.
Jimmy
. Little Jolene sat beside him with their mother.

Uncle Bob smiled big. “Well, come on up here then, son.”

Whispers skittered through the crowd as Jimmy made his way forward.

Uncle Bob handed Jimmy the opened Bible. “Susanna has it marked, son. Right there. Startin’ with that one.”

Only then did Olivia realize the significance of the moment and what Jimmy had volunteered to do. And why
only
the boy — if her guess was correct — had volunteered. Truth’s razor-sharp edge cut her to the core, and as Jimmy held the Bible closer to his face, she leaned forward in her seat.

“Let no-o …” Jimmy sounded out the consonant, his features scrunched up. “N-n-not! Let not!” he finally said, grinning, then nodded as if sure of himself.

Uncle Bob smiled. “That’s real good, son.”

Jimmy looked down again. “Let not y-y …”

He doubled his tongue between his teeth, a nervous habit Olivia recognized. She also noticed Uncle Bob looking her way. No … He wasn’t looking at
her
. He was looking at Ridley.

“Let not …
your
!” Jimmy said, then beamed at his mother, whose face shone with pride. The boy ducked his head again. “Let not your hear-r …”

Sensing a restlessness in the gathering and experiencing a taste of it herself, Olivia wished she could help Jimmy, but she didn’t dare. It wasn’t a woman’s place in this setting. And certainly it wasn’t hers. Not here. And yet …

She glanced beside her.

Ridley shifted on the pew as if uncomfortable. She tried to give him more room, but there wasn’t any more to give. He sat rigid, his shirt stretched taut over his broad shoulders. A muscle tensed in his jaw. And instinctively, she knew.

Uncle Bob was asking him to read. Not directly, of course, but the man was asking all the same. And, for some reason, Ridley seemed hesitant to.

Meanwhile, Jimmy’s tongue curled and twirled. “Let not your
heart
!” he announced with a flourish, finally looking up.

“Son, you doin’ a fine job!” Uncle Bob’s gaze scanned the crowd. “Don’t he sound good, folks? Let’s thank him.”

More clapping. Except this time, Olivia found herself joining in, proud of her pupil, even while realizing they had work to do yet. And she still didn’t understand why Ridley wasn’t going up there. Then she saw it … the slightest tremble in his hand before he made a tight fist. And it occurred to her, even as the realization warmed her heart — maybe there was something the ever brave and adventuresome Ridley Cooper was timid about after all.

P
roud of Jimmy, Ridley watched as the boy reclaimed his seat beside his mother and sister. People continued to clap, some reaching over to pat Jimmy on the shoulder. It was good to see the boy getting recognition for his learning. Ridley glanced down beside him, equally proud of the woman responsible for it.

The clapping faded. He felt Uncle Bob’s focused attention and knew what was coming. If Uncle Bob only understood how uncomfortable this was for him. How he’d all but turned his back on anything having to do with God years ago, much less the book that Uncle Bob held out to him now. How many times while at Andersonville — where good God-fearing men had died beside him in the mud, cradled on their sides like babies, their bodies wasted away, covered in filth — he had yearned to believe the words so many of them whispered in their last moments. Words he remembered learning from this book in his childhood. But he couldn’t.

Because how could
that
God stand by and watch
that
happen. It made no sense. It still didn’t. His eyes burned with the injustice of it.

“Ridley?” Uncle Bob urged him with a look. “Would you do the readin’ for us this mornin’, sir? Seein’ as Susanna ain’t able to be here? We’d be much obliged. Ain’t that right, church?”

A flood of affirming
mmm-hmms
and
yes-sirs
rose from the crowd. Realizing he had no choice, Ridley moved to stand. But as he did, Olivia discreetly reached between them, gave his hand a squeeze, and flashed a smile that said,
It’s all right
. And as he walked toward the front — carrying her smile with him and working to center his thoughts — he hoped the woman knew what she’d just done. Because his patience for that first kiss had just been cut in half.

He took the Bible from Uncle Bob and opened to the place marked with a torn slip of paper. He scanned the pages, found the handful of words Jimmy had read, and lifted his gaze.

All eyes were on him. Which usually wouldn’t have bothered him. But standing there, looking out on the flood of eager expressions and knowing he could read every word in this book and yet hadn’t in years, because he didn’t believe those words, made him feel like a hypocrite. The anticipation in their faces — Olivia’s included — shamed him.

He found his place again in the text and cleared his throat. “‘Let not your heart be troubled,’” he started, his voice carrying in the silence. “‘Ye believe in God —’”

“Yes, sir, we
do
!” a woman interjected, and others quickly piled on similar assertions.

Ridley stared at the words, his eyes never leaving the page.

“‘Believe also in me,’” he continued. “‘In my Father’s house are many mansions —’”

“Ones even bigger than the big house,” a man called out, which earned enthusiastic
mmm-hmms
and
hallelujahs
.

“‘If it were not so,’” Ridley read on. “‘I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I
will
come again, and receive you unto myself …’” His emphasis on the word had just slipped out, and he paused for a second, hoping the Lord wouldn’t mind. “‘That where I am, there ye may be also.’”

Hearty
amen
s rose all over, and Ridley looked to Uncle Bob, seated on the first row, hoping he’d read far enough. But Uncle Bob’s single nod told him to keep going. So he did. He read through the end of that chapter then into the next. And the next. As he read, the people responded, and he thought back to what he’d said to Rachel about that very thing. But it felt good … hearing them agree. Hearing their belief.

Nearing the end of his third chapter, he scanned the next few words and felt a stirring in his chest. The last verse seemed familiar to him, like a road he’d traveled before but had all but forgotten, time and disillusionment having erased the traces of his earlier passing. He cleared his throat again, unaccustomed to reading aloud. “‘These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation …’” He paused, half expecting someone to respond, knowing what he did about these people.

But the room was silent. Even the breeze seemed to be holding its breath. And gradually, he realized why. Because these people knew what was coming next.

“‘But be of good cheer,’” he concluded, closing the Bible. “‘I have overcome the world.’”

For a handful of heartbeats, stillness hovered over the room. A peace. Then the gathering
erupted
in celebration. There was no other word for it. Whoops and hollers. Shouts and laughter. Ridley would have thought General Harding had given them the month off with wages guaranteed. And all from words dried on a page. Ridley watched in quiet amazement. How could people who had endured such hardship and injustice
—
far more than he had at Andersonville and for far longer — be capable of such joy? And inexplicable hope?

As he made his way back to the pew, someone started singing and the rest of the gathering joined in, and he knew he’d never forget this moment or this morning. Not when people reached out to touch him and whisper their thanks. Not when he saw the tears in Olivia’s eyes and the pride in her smile.

And not when the faint whisper of a distant but undeniable hope began to stir somewhere deep within him too.

A while later, Ridley pushed back from the dinner table, giving Olivia a discreet wink as she did the same. Betsy’s invitation for Sunday dinner following church had caught them both by surprise, but he was glad they’d accepted.

He wagered Olivia had never shared a meal with a servant’s family in their home like this. But the dinner was delicious, the banter over lunch punctuated with laughter as they’d swapped Belle Meade stories, and Olivia seemed to have genuinely enjoyed herself.

Seeing her return her chair beneath the table, he reached back to do the same.

“Thank you again, Betsy …” Ridley gestured for Olivia to precede him to the door. “For the invitation. And Julius.” He extended his hand to Betsy’s husband. “Thank you for sharing your table with us.”

Julius’s grip was iron firm. “Thank you, sir, for acceptin’. Good to have you here.” Julius included Olivia in his nod. “You too, Missus Aberdeen. You both are welcome anytime.”

Olivia returned his smile. “Thank you, Julius. And everything was delicious, Betsy. Those biscuits, especially.”

“Oh, that’s Susanna’s recipe, ma’am. I tell it to you sometime, if you want to know. She won’t mind.” Betsy winked. “Secret lies in beatin’ the livin’ daylights out of the dough.”

Olivia laughed like it was a joke, but Ridley knew Betsy wasn’t jesting. He’d seen the women in the kitchen before, beating the dough before running it through a biscuit brake. He wasn’t surprised though that Olivia wasn’t familiar with the process. He guessed her upbringing hadn’t included much instruction in the kitchen.

“Here you go, ma’am.” Betsy presented Olivia with a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “You best take the last of the sweet potato pie with you.”

“Oh, no, Betsy. I couldn’t. Let Julius or one of the children —”

“Go on, now.” Betsy held the bundle out. “I saw you eyein’ it. I can make another one for them anytime. After all …” Betsy’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “You got to be buildin’ your strength, Missus Aberdeen.”

Olivia gave a little laugh, her smile vague. “And … why is that?”

Ridley saw a sparkle — no, make that a
glint
— move into Betsy’s eyes, and he read the woman’s intention a second too late.

“So you can get yourself a good runnin’ start, o’ course.” Betsy smiled, sweet as molasses, then looked pointedly in Ridley’s direction. “She gonna be needin’ that. Ain’t that right, Mr. Cooper?”

Unable to keep from grinning, Ridley couldn’t usher Olivia out the door fast enough. “Thank you both again,” he called over his shoulder, holding Olivia’s arm as she maneuvered the two front steps.

“What did she mean,” Olivia whispered a moment later, “about me needing a … good running start?”

Ridley shook his head. “You know Betsy. She was just having fun with you.” He glanced behind them, and Betsy tossed him a sassy little wave. Julius still stood in the doorway, smiling.

When Ridley turned back, he found Olivia eyeing him.

“So?” Doubt clouded her expression. “You haven’t agreed for me to do something else then? Without speaking to me first?”

He attempted a hurt look. “I’m
wounded
that you’d think me capable of such a thing.”

Her smile was instant and said he was completely forgiven for his
earlier misstep regarding the additional responsibilities at the quarry. No matter how well intentioned his actions had been.

He offered his arm, and she looped hers through it. Recent rains had greened the grasses and trees, and though the temperature was warm, a sense of coming change hovered over the meadow. As if nature knew something they didn’t.

“I enjoyed listening to you read this morning, Ridley. You have a gift for it.”

“Oh, I’d hardly say that.”

She gave his arm a sharp squeeze. “I believe that when someone compliments you, Mr. Cooper” — her tone that of a venerated schoolmarm — “it is appropriate to say thank you, instead of attempting to dodge the intended kindness. Then afterward, if opportunity allows and etiquette deems it proper, you may offer a more self-deprecating observation. But not before.”

He laughed, appreciating this cheeky side of her that was surfacing. “I stand corrected, Mrs. Aberdeen.” He made a show of clearing his throat. “Thank you, ma’am, for the compliment. It’s most generous of you. However, I admit with the slightest whit of trepidation” — she giggled at him — “that I did feel somewhat inadequate to the task, for many reasons.” He nudged her. “That better?”

“Yes, much. But …” Her steps slowed. “Truthfully though …” She paused, concern clouding her features. “Why would you say that?”

A breeze stirred a curl at her temple, and Ridley reached up and fingered it. He’d been right.
Just like silk
. She licked her lips, a self-conscious gesture, he knew, but still … it drew his attention and his desire.

An ancient poplar, its low-hanging limbs spread wide, coupled with a hedge of lavender to provide a semblance of privacy. Sunlight dappled her face, and he read the question again in her eyes.

He sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t have an easy answer for that, Olivia.”

“I didn’t realize I was asking for one, Ridley.” A glimmer of a smile lit her expression, then faded. “I could tell, before you went up, that you were nervous. I just wondered why.”

If someone had asked him earlier that morning if he would ever want to tell Olivia Aberdeen about his part in the war, about Andersonville, about how the years of fighting and killing had changed him, had changed how he felt about the place he once called home, he’d have said they’d lost their mind. But looking at her now, he sensed
such an openness, and part of him did want to tell her. Maybe telling her would ease the pain. Perhaps he’d feel less lonely. He thought of the seashell in his pocket and of how often he took it out at night and held it — counting, reliving, remembering.

The limbs above them shifted with the breeze, and Olivia blinked against a flash of sunlight. Rationality returned to Ridley on a wave. He could no more tell her about fighting for the Union or about being at Andersonville than he could admit it to General Harding. She was a Southern belle through and through, and — in her eyes — he’d be a traitor, a turncoat. Maybe not exactly like her husband, but that’s how she’d see him. As would everyone else, once they knew. And his time at Belle Meade would be done, and everything he’d worked for would be lost.

But perhaps he could share a piece of the truth with her. Just a sliver. Enough for her to see a shadow of what he wrestled with inside. Maybe that would be enough.

“During the war,” he started, parsing each word as he went, “I did things … experienced things … I can’t seem to put behind me. When I close my eyes at night, they’re still there. Right in front of me, in the dark. The faces, the scenes, the sounds …” He winced. “The cries.”

The compassionate blue of her eyes drew him in.

“I didn’t feel close to God at all during those years, Olivia.” His laughter came out flat. “Or feel like he was very close to me. Felt more like he’d forgotten me. Along with everyone else. Had just turned his back and left us. It didn’t feel right.” He tried to smile, hoping to lessen the emotion filling his throat, but couldn’t. “Looking back, it still doesn’t.” He briefly bowed his head, the sliver of truth cutting him more in the sharing than he’d thought it would. He took a steadying breath, then gave it slow release. He searched her expression for the slightest sign of rebuff or judgment. And saw neither. “So when Uncle Bob asked me to stand up there today and read from the Bible …” He shook his head. “I …”

“You felt out of place,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Like you didn’t belong. Those are feelings I understand quite well.” The lines in her brow bespoke painful recollections, and she lowered her head. “I assume you’ve heard at least something … about my late husband.” She peered up, and Ridley nodded. She held his gaze, as if trying to gauge how much he knew. Then she smiled. Or tried to. “I think I’ve known for a while that you knew about him. I just didn’t want to acknowledge it.”