To Whisper Her Name (44 page)

If her father and mother were somehow able to see her now, she hoped they would be proud of her. Although, if they knew about her teaching — and her pupils — she doubted that would be the case. Still, who was to say … Perhaps heaven lent a perspective on this life that the earthly one had lacked. Maybe her parents were cheering her on even now.

Reaching to open the door, she chose to think so.

R
idley knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. He realized in that moment that he’d never known what beautiful was … until Olivia Aberdeen. The woman was stunning. Especially in that dress. And if what Betsy had told him was right — and if General Harding had his way — come summer Olivia would likely be marrying Confederate General Percival Meeks.

Ridley recalled the general’s aging military colleague. Meeks was plenty wealthy and seemed like a kind enough man, but it was still a match Ridley couldn’t envision and a possibility he couldn’t bring himself to accept. Not that it mattered if he did or not. At least Colonel Burcham was out of the picture, and it felt good to know he’d had a hand in that outcome.

Olivia cleared her throat. “Mr. Cooper, I believe this is where you’re supposed to say ‘Good evening, Mrs. Aberdeen’ to me, at which time I’ll say something similar in return. Except with your name inserted, of course.”

Tempted to silence that quick-witted, pretty little mouth of hers with a sound kiss, he settled for a bow instead. “Good evening, Mrs. Aberdeen. A pleasure to see you again, ma’am.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Cooper.”

She curtsied and extended her hand. He kissed it, preferring the softness of her skin to gloves, but appreciating the way the dress framed her neck and shoulders. And everything else.

“Shall we go?” he asked, offering his arm.

But she merely did a twirl in front of him, holding out her dress on the sides. “Thank you, Ridley. I know it was you.”

He frowned, fairly certain it would be convincing. “You know it was me who … what?”

“Who paid Rachel.”

“Why would I pay Rachel?”

“For the alterations.”

She grinned, swaying from side to side like the belle she was, and looking so adorable, yet so womanly, he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to hug her or take her in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. Or both. But he knew he’d better ‘fess up soon before that last option got the best of him.

He bowed slightly. “You’re most welcome, m’lady. And I must say …” He allowed himself to look at her, aware she was watching him. “I’ve never seen a more intoxicating sight.”

He offered his arm a second time, and she slipped her hand through.

Conversation came easily as they made their way across the property. Uncle Bob had told him this event was usually enjoyed only by the servants, so it was an honor that he and Olivia had been invited. Soon, they met with others walking in the same direction. The couples greeted them, and Ridley nodded in return, thanking them for the invitation. Olivia did the same, which made him proud. Without fail, all of the servants called her by name, which wasn’t surprising.

As they drew closer to the building where they met for church, fiddle and mandolin music greeted them, joined by the lively tune of a harmonica. The succulent aroma of a roasted pig, compliments of General Harding, drifted toward them from a deep pit dug nearby.

Ridley had a fairly good idea of the frivolity that would go on here tonight but doubted Olivia did. Watching her eyes widen in church when someone said a loud
amen
or
thank you, Jesus!
had become a favorite Sunday pastime for him, so he could hardly wait to see her reaction.

The building had been emptied of pews and chairs, and a crowd of couples stood on what was now the dance floor, paired off and waiting. Magnolia leaves, still waxy green in winter, had been strung together into wreaths and hung from the ceiling. Hay bales lined the walls, and the only furniture was a makeshift table of lumber and two sawhorses, laden with the most delicious-looking food he’d ever seen.

He led Olivia to the dance floor and leaned close. “In case I forget to tell you, you look radiant this evening, Olivia.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you, but …” She glanced down at her dress. “I feel a little out of place.”

Only then did he notice what the others were wearing. The men either had on suits of varying styles, similar to his, or trousers with freshly pressed shirts. But the women … they looked the most different. Many of the ladies wore dresses similar to Olivia’s, though not as fancy — likely hand-me-downs from the Harding family. A handful of others wore vibrant-colored clothing that draped around their bodies like togas. Still, he couldn’t quite place what it was that —

Then it occurred to him … Every one of the women was without a head wrap, something usually required for servants. But not tonight. Tonight, the women wore their hair like their crowning glories. He reached for Olivia’s hand, eager to ease the worry in her eyes. “You don’t look out of place to me. In fact …” He wove his fingers through hers. “I think you’re right where you need to be.”

The look she gave him not only made him wish they were alone, but was one he was pretty sure General Percival Meeks had never seen. Or likely would. Not that the elderly man would survive it if he did.

Hollering started from up front where the fiddle and harmonica players were. Ridley spotted Jedediah on the banjo, another man with a washtub bass, and Julius climbing atop a hay bale, holding onto Betsy’s hand.

“It’s time to grab your partners, men!” Julius yelled.

Some of the women squealed as though their partners had taken Julius’s suggestion literally, and laughter filled the room. Ridley grinned, especially when Olivia’s eyes went wide. She tried to hide her smile behind her hand.

“All right, now,” Julius continued, raising an arm, attempting to quiet the crowd. “Everybody knows how this works. Our first dance tonight” — he raised his chin a little — “be the waltz.”

People clapped, including Olivia.

“Oh, good,” she whispered. “I know this one.”

Ridley just nodded, reading humor in the faces around him and already guessing where this “waltz” would lead.

“All right, fellas.” Julius briefly turned to the musicians. “Do it all proper-like now … And all y’all out there, get your places!”

Ridley clasped Olivia’s left hand with his and brought it up, then placed his right hand on the back of her shoulder, while she rested hers on his arm.

“No matter what happens,” he whispered, giving her a wink. “I won’t leave you. Just follow my lead, all right?”

She nodded as the music started.

The fiddles’ sweet strains filled the building and the harmonica joined in, providing the downbeat. Couples whirled and twirled in proper form, elbows held high, shoulders stiff, women’s heads angled beautifully, if not slightly too much. Ridley had all but decided he’d assumed incorrectly when the twang of a banjo broke in —

And the tempo of the music changed on a dime.

Olivia felt her jaw drop as couples around them started breaking hold. Men and women began to clap and swing their arms and hips from side to side. Some of them even kicked up their heels. This wasn’t any waltz
she
knew.

Men jumped and moved like they were standing on hot coals. Others started in with high-stepping antics that looked a little like a quadrille, but that was done with greater enthusiasm. Meanwhile, their partners danced around and around, clapping and laughing. Olivia had never seen anything like it in her life. The closest thing was church here on Sunday mornings. But church was tame compared to this.

She heard Ridley laughing and looked over at him. She yelled to be heard over the commotion. “What are they doing?”

But Ridley didn’t answer. He just smiled and began moving. She looked down. His feet were shuffling so fast she didn’t know how he kept his balance. He’d apparently done this before. And he was good! She giggled, but when he reached for her hand, she shook her head and backed away — and bumped into someone. She turned to apologize when Betsy’s grin greeted her.

“Come on now, Missus Aberdeen,” Betsy shouted. “I know you can do more than them stuffy ol’ fancy dances!”

Olivia shook her head again, but felt Ridley grab her hand tight.

Big Ike jumped up on a bale of hay and yelled something, and couples began forming lines. Ridley steered her through the crowd to join Chloe and her husband at the end. Olivia didn’t know what on earth they were doing, but Ridley had said to stay close, so she figured that was best.

“Give your partner a quick little hug,” Big Ike called out in time with the music. Ridley did just that, as did the other men with their women. “Then turn her around and give her a tug.”

Olivia raised a hand to object, but Ridley already had her spinning before giving her bustle a quick yank. She felt her mouth slip open, then saw Uncle Bob and Rachel watching her from the side. Rachel was laughing so hard tears rolled down her face. And Olivia laughed too, trying to fix her hair where it had fallen down on the sides.

“Let it go,” Ridley whispered. “You look beautiful.”

“Pick up your ladies and give ‘em a twirl,” Big Ike called out, and Ridley obliged without a second’s hesitation. “Then give her a kiss and make her your girl.”

Seeing husbands and wives exchange quick but full-on-the-mouth kisses, Olivia started to panic … until Ridley placed a chaste little peck on her cheek. That earned him playful jeers from the men on either side of him, but he just grinned.

“Right foot up and a left foot down …”

Olivia did her best to follow along, taking cues from Ridley and Chloe, who had obviously done this before.

“And make that big foot jar the ground.”

She pounded her right foot on the floor, out of breath but determined to keep up.

“Chew your tobacco and pinch your snuff …”

Feeling more than a little conspicuous, she mimicked those around her, chawing like an old woman.

“Now gals, meet your honey and show him your stuff.”

She joined hands with Ridley but had no idea what “show him your stuff” meant. She tried to walk sassy like Chloe was doing, but her imitation only drew more laughter from those around her. From Ridley especially. But she didn’t mind. Like that night at Julius and Betsy’s cabin, she was having more fun than she could remember.

The song went on and on, and she was certain after a while that Big Ike was just making up phrases as he went. That dance led to another and another. And the later the night got, the funnier and more nonsensical the phrases became. But Ridley always acted the gentleman and, true to his word, stayed close to her, even when other couples parted to dance separately. Olivia had never danced or moved like this in her life, and she loved every minute of it.

“Would you like something to drink?” Ridley finally asked over the music, leading her to the side.

She nodded and claimed a seat on a hay bale, holding her hair up and fanning the back of her neck. “Yes, please!”

Ridley returned moments later with some cold cider that tasted like heaven — with a kick! With the back of her glove, Olivia dabbed her forehead, burning up. It might be mid-December outside but it felt like July inside.

“Why don’t you take those off?” Ridley moved to help her take off the gloves.

“No!” she said, pulling away. “I mean … I’m fine. They … go with my dress.”

“Olivia,” he whispered. “You’ve already told me you have a scar.” He glanced down. “May I see it?”

“No.” She shook her head and tugged the left glove higher. “I’d prefer you not. It’s … not attractive.”

He leaned close. “Olivia, no scar of any kind could ever make you unattractive to me,” he whispered, then brushed a feather-soft kiss on her cheek.

Whether it was the warmth of the room or her last defenses melting in a puddle at her feet, Olivia couldn’t be certain. But she felt herself sway.

“If I show you my scar,” he said softly, his tone playful while his expression was anything but, “will you show me yours?”

She stared, searching his eyes, and the curiosity was too much for her. She nodded. Having already shed his jacket, he unbuttoned the first four buttons of his shirt, then pulled it to the right. Her breath left her.

“You were shot … in the war?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded.

Instinctively, she reached out to touch the scar about the size of a coin on the upper right side of his chest, in his shoulder. Then pulled back, thinking better of it.

“It’s all right.” He took her hand. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Gently, she touched the healed wound. She’d seen him shirtless before, but only at a distance. The puckered skin looked so familiar. Only her scar was much bigger. And jagged. And ugly. Yet, she felt him waiting. And she
had
agreed …

She edged the left glove downward, one inch at a time, feeling as if the marred flesh might go on forever. She watched his face and, to his credit, his features didn’t change.

He held her arm, his thumb moving slowly, gently over the furrowed flesh. “It wasn’t a clean break.”

“No. Not at all.”

“Was it painful?”

She nodded. “Though no more than yours, I’m sure.”

He lifted her hand as though he were going to kiss it. Or even worse, her scar. She quickly pulled the glove back on. The look Ridley gave her said he thought her actions uncalled for, but he didn’t argue.