To Whisper Her Name (45 page)

They danced the next two dances, slower tunes this time, and she felt a difference in the way he held her. Closer, more possessive, and she liked the change.

The twang of a banjo announced the next tune would be another lively one, and Olivia politely waved off Ridley’s invitation, wanting to rest. He led her to the side.

“Would you mind if I asked Rachel to dance?” he asked.

She looked over and saw Rachel standing against the wall, smiling but alone. “Not at all. My feet will thank you.”

He grinned and squeezed her hand. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for coming tonight. And for being with me.”

“I’m always proud to be with you, Ridley.”

He stilled and touched her face. “I’ll be back,” he whispered.

She enjoyed the chance to sit and watch but was glad when Uncle Bob made his way over. He pointed to the empty space on the hay bale beside her, and she motioned for him to sit. She hadn’t seen him dancing at all. Maybe he had an aversion to it. Some men did.

“You enjoyin’ yourself, ma’am?”

Olivia grinned. “Doesn’t it look like it?”

He laughed. “Yes, ma’am. It sure do. It’s good to see you havin’ fun, Missus Aberdeen.”

She might have been imagining it, but she could almost hear a silent
after all you’ve been through
tacked onto the end of his sentence. “Thank you, Uncle Bob. It feels good to laugh.”

“Hmmm.” He nodded. “Laughter sure helps you through the hard times. And makes the good ones even better.”

She studied his profile, imagining what hard times he must’ve seen in his life, here, at Belle Meade. “Ridley says you’ve taught him so much. He admires you a great deal.”

“He’s a good man, ma’am. And I feel the same ‘bout him. Wish he wasn’t leavin’ come June.”

Wishing the same thing, Olivia sought Ridley out in the crowd. He was still dancing with Rachel. If anyone knew Ridley, it was Uncle
Bob. Maybe the man could shed light on why Ridley seemed so bound and determined to leave here. And to leave her.

“Who knows, Uncle Bob. Maybe something will happen and he’ll choose to stay. Maybe he’ll decide he likes the South, after all.”

Seconds passed. Uncle Bob finally turned to her. He studied her with old-soul eyes and a careful regard that told her he knew she was fishing.

She bowed her head.

“You ever said that to him, ma’am? What you just said to me?”

She looked up and nodded. “He said that come June, no matter what, he
will
be leaving.”

Uncle Bob turned back to the crowd. She waited and had all but given up on his responding when she heard his voice.

“Life is full of choices, ma’am. Most we live once, then move on and forget. But others” — he narrowed his eyes — “we live a thousand times over and remember for the rest of our days. What’s important is knowin’ how to tell ‘em apart. And then decidin’ if you’s willin’ to pay the price. ‘Cause choices … they always come at a price.”

Olivia stared, knowing they were still talking about Ridley but not understanding what Uncle Bob meant. She could easily see her own life in light of his words. Charles Aberdeen had been a choice made
for
her. General Meeks was a choice being made
for
her. When would it be her turn to choose? Or would that time ever come without
her
making a choice first?

She’d chosen to teach at the freedmen’s school, and God had opened that door. She glanced back at Uncle Bob, wondering if he knew about the school and that she’d be the teacher, and if maybe that was part of his reason for talking about choices just now. Something told her yes. She looked around, wondering if others here knew as well.

“Ho!” Uncle Bob grinned. “Finally! It’s a slow one comin’ up, Missus Aberdeen. You best get yourself back on out there, ma’am. Ridley’s gonna be lookin’ for ya.”

Hearing the music, Olivia had a thought. “Do you like to dance, Uncle Bob?”

“Sure I do. Just some nights I can’t get this ol’ leg of mine” — he gripped his right thigh — “to stay up with me.”

“Well.” Olivia rose and fluffed her skirts. “They’re playing a slow one now.”

He looked up at her like she’d suddenly grown a third eye.

“Life is full of choices, Mr. Green. Is it not?”

He stared at her for the longest time, then stood. “Yes, ma’am. It is. But they come at a price, like I said. Some of ‘em awful high.” Her heart fell a little, and she moved to sit back down. “But once you make a choice, ma’am, you got to stand on it. Firm and strong. Can’t let nothin’ move you from it.”

Understanding even more now why Ridley admired this man so much, Olivia took her place on the dance floor and slipped her hand into Uncle Bob’s.

H
er stomach in knots, Olivia was so excited she could hardly stand it. Her first real class tonight. Well, their first
meeting
, anyway. She checked the clock on the dining room mantle. Twenty-five minutes past seven. She still had thirty-five minutes before the appointed time, and it was only a twenty minute walk through the woods to the cabin. She’d timed it a week ago. Though she’d never walked it in the dark before.

She glanced around the table and caught Mary’s eye. The girl smiled, and Olivia returned it. Ever since the night of the reception, things had been different between them. In a good way. Over brunch that next day, Mary had given Olivia a lengthy and delightful summary of the evening, complete with details of Adelicia Acklen’s home. But it was what Mary had done — or was doing — with the party favor the Harding family had received that truly touched her.

The clock on the mantle chimed. Olivia looked over. Half past the hour. She glanced around the table. They’d started dinner later than usual, and she couldn’t very well ask to be excused while others were still eating.

But she still had time …

The meeting tonight was an opportunity for her to introduce herself and meet the students. She only hoped people showed up. What if, after all this, it was only Jimmy and Jolene?

Guilt chided her. She knew she was making a difference in their two lives, but was it so wrong to want to do more? Obliging Mr. Pagette’s and Elizabeth’s counsel, she hadn’t told anyone about her teaching. Not even Ridley. Though she’d wanted to tell him many times during the past month, imagining how proud he’d be.

Since the night of the party, she’d thought often about what Uncle Bob had said to her about choices. She glanced down the table at the general.

She could choose to object to this arranged marriage with General Meeks. But in doing so, she’d not only be spitting, as it were, in the face of tradition, but in the face of this family’s honor and generosity. She’d had nowhere to go and they had taken her in. They’d given her a home and welcomed her into their family. A union with Percival Meeks would provide for Belle Meade’s financial future. How could she
not
agree to this?

Especially when Ridley had said nothing about desiring a future with her. Nor had he indicated any intention of changing his mind about leaving. So what choice did that leave her?

“Thank you for dinner, Mother.”

Across the table from her, Selene tucked her napkin by her plate. Olivia checked the mantle clock again. Seven-thirty-five.

Mary and Cousin Lizzie asked to be excused, and Olivia quickly followed suit.

“Thank you for dinner, Aunt Elizabeth.” Olivia smiled. “You as well, General.”

“Olivia, do you have a moment?”

Hearing the general’s voice, Olivia hesitated in the doorway.

“It won’t take long, I assure you.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded and followed him into the library. General Harding stood before the mantle, above which hung a recently commissioned, near life-sized portrait of himself that stared down in austere fashion. It was as if there were two of him. And for a moment, Olivia couldn’t decide which one was more intimidating.

“General Meeks tells me you’ve been exchanging letters, Olivia. He also shared that you’ve been rather … forthcoming in yours.”

Able to guess now why he’d requested to speak with her, Olivia resisted the urge to look away. What she’d done, she’d done with pure motives. “Yes, sir. I have. I believe General Meeks has a right to know who I am and … what my past has been. Just as I have inquired about his.”

“Yes, I know.” The general picked up an envelope from the table behind him. “He’s written me in detail, quite eloquently in fact, about what you wrote to him. Were you under the impression, Olivia, that I
was attempting to hide from him the details of your …
situation
, as it was, before you came to live with us?”

“No, sir. Not … hide, exactly.” Seeing the arch of his eyebrow, she hurried to explain. “But I know how easy, even tempting, it can be to … frame details in a certain light when a person desires a specific outcome. I was merely attempting to be honest with him, General.”

The general’s gaze grew appraising. “Very well stated, Olivia. But I’m not naive to the fact that you don’t want to marry General Meeks. Are you certain the tiniest part of you didn’t reveal this to him with the hope that he’d change his mind about you?”

Feeling a tad exposed, and with good reason, she had to smile. “At first, yes, that was my motive. But I tore up that letter, General, and started again.”

Surprise sharpened his features.

“I did my best to be honest and forthright, without attempting to color General Meeks’s opinion of me. If I had the letter I sent him, I would happily let you read it.”

General Harding pulled a folded piece of paper from the envelope. She recognized the stationery. “I have read it, Olivia. General Meeks returned it to me. With the purpose, he stated, of crediting your character. After reading your letter — and hearing you just now — I, too, wish to convey my appreciation for your candor with him and for how you’re approaching this entire situation. It’s” — he briefly looked away — “of significant importance to me. And to you too, of course,” he added quickly.

She nodded. “Of course.” Seeing the time, she turned to go.

“One last caution, Olivia … And I share this only because I’m aware of how others can sometimes form false impressions.”

That
drew her attention back.

“Take care in who you spend your time with. Friendships, even those most innocent, can often be misconstrued by others and seen in a very different light.”

It took a moment for what he said to sink in, but when it did, she realized who he must be talking about.
Ridley
. Knowing the general was aware of their friendship gave her pause. But not overly so. Because as she watched him — his head lowered, his brow furrowed as he fingered the letter — she glimpsed a side of General William Giles Harding she’d not seen before. One Elizabeth had told her about. And she realized she wasn’t the only one agonizing over the decisions facing her. The only difference was …

After all was said and done,
she
would be the one living with the choice a thousand times over. Not General Harding.

Olivia tugged the collar of her coat closer about her neck and headed in the direction of the stallions’ stable, then kept walking. She only had ten minutes to get there, and it was so dark. She hadn’t stepped ten feet into the woods when she heard something rustle in the trees beside her.

She turned, hand raised in defense.

“Missus Aberdeen, it’s me, Big Ike.”

She breathed again.

“I come to see you there safe, ma’am.”

“Bless you, Ike.” She laughed, but it came out high pitched and stilted. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

“I guess you got reason to be, ma’am.”

She didn’t find his admission comforting.

With an ease surely born of experience, Big Ike led her through the woods, holding branches back and helping her over a fallen log until, finally, the hunting cabin came into view. The windows were dark, and Olivia wondered again if anyone had come.

Then she caught a whiff of woodsmoke.

Big Ike opened the door and the palest sliver of light jumped out, illuminating the darkness. She realized then that they probably had curtains on the windows. Readying her expression so her disappointment wouldn’t show, no matter how few pupils, she stepped inside and felt her fragile hope split wide open.

The room was packed. People stood shoulder to shoulder. Sixty, at least. Maybe more. And of all ages. Most of the faces were familiar, but some were not. Men, women, boys, and girls. Even …

“Rachel,” Olivia whispered, grasping Rachel’s outstretched hands.

“Welcome to your class, Missus Aberdeen.” Rachel gestured to everyone gathered. “I think I can say for all of us, ma’am, that we’s grateful you came.”

But Olivia shook her head, knowing the far greater truth. “I’m the one who’s grateful … for all of you.”

M
indful of Seabird being with foal, but knowing the exercise was good for her, Ridley kept the mare to an amble and urged her back up the meadow toward the main house. A thin dusting of snow that would be gone by mid-morning lay across the land like lace on a freshly made bed, and he cut across the south pasture, his and Seabird’s breath puffing white in the cold.

When he topped the hill, the sun peeked through the clouds causing the iced tree limbs to sparkle like diamonds. Belle Meade rose in the distance like a crowning jewel. How he’d happened into all this, he didn’t know. Then again — his gaze moved to the old Harding cabin — he did. And he knew it wasn’t by accident.

Near the end of January, almost two weeks ago, he’d ridden up to the high pasture, just him and Miss Birdie, and after scouting the hills, he’d finally found the ridge where he and Uncle Bob had first met. He’d camped there for the night, needing some time to think. It had been good for him. It wasn’t until he’d unpacked his bedroll that he found the Bible Uncle Bob had sneaked in before he left. The Bible he’d been reading from at night, at Uncle Bob’s request.

He felt a stirring inside him. So much for that book being just words dried on a page, like he’d thought that first Sunday when he’d read aloud in church.

As he neared the main house, he thought he heard someone yelling. He cocked his head, listening.

But … nothing.

His gaze trailed up the lattice to the bedroom window on the second floor. It’d been five days since he’d seen her, and it felt like a lifetime. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel come June, just four short months from now. Winter months at Belle Meade were busier
than he’d thought they would be. Olivia seemed busier too. But also happier than he’d ever seen her. Which bothered him a little, seeing as he missed their time alone together. But the evenings she visited him and Uncle Bob at the cabin were good ones. And it wasn’t as though he could just go calling on her at the mansion.

He reined in by the kitchen, having foregone breakfast before riding out earlier, and heard laughter — or more like a commotion — coming from inside. He recognized Betsy’s cackle above it all.

“Oh, come on, Missus Aberdeen. You can do better than that!”

“Hit it harder, ma’am!”

“Smack it good this time!”

“Show it what for, ma’am!”

He dismounted, looped Seabird’s reins around a limb, and peered through the partially opened kitchen door. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Olivia wielded a rolling pin high above her head and — with a grimace — brought it down with a
thwack
on a mess of dough spread out over the table. All while Susanna, Betsy, Chloe, and Rachel cheered her on.

He pushed open the door. “What in the world are all you women doing in here?”

Olivia looked up, saw him, and beamed. “I’m making biscuits, Ridley! This is the part where we beat them!”

Betsy laughed even louder, holding her side. “Oh Lawd, I ain’t laughed this much in ages. You here just in time, Mr. Cooper. She been namin’ everybody who ever done her wrong!”

Ridley laughed. He reached over to wipe the flour from Olivia’s cheeks before realizing it would be a losing battle.

She held out the rolling pin. “Do you want to have a try?”

He backed away, hands raised in a truce. “Unfortunately, I have a meeting with the general.”

Her shoulders sagged.

“But!” He smiled. “I’ll stop by later for one of your biscuits.”

“Is that a promise, Mr. Cooper?” she said, one pert little eyebrow raised.

He didn’t miss the looks the other four women exchanged. But he knew they were good at keeping secrets. The secrets that mattered, anyway.

“It’s a promise, Mrs. Aberdeen. I
will
be back for that biscuit.”

He closed the kitchen door on their laughter, wondering if Olivia
had any idea how little she resembled the oh-so-prim-and-proper young woman he’d pulled from the carriage on the road to Belle Meade. And yet how much more of a lady — strong, confident, and caring … not to mention, desirable — she was in his eyes.

A woman fit for the Colorado Territory if he’d ever seen one.

“Before you share
another
new idea with me, Mr. Cooper …” General Harding eased back in his chair, the creak of fine leather competing with the crackle of fire in the hearth. “I’d like a report on the progress of the yearling sale.”

“It’s progressing very well, sir. Uncle Bob tells me he’s never seen a finer group of yearlings here at Belle Meade. The stable hands are taking the training and care of the yearlings more seriously too — or most of them are — since they have a vested interest in the outcome.”

“Most of them?”

“Some of the men, a handful of the white men —”

“Grady Matthews and his like,” the general said, a scowl forming.

Ridley nodded. “They don’t like the Negroes being paid the same amount they are.”

“I pay all my workers fairly, Mr. Cooper. And I’m proud of my contract system. So if any worker doesn’t like it, he can speak to me.”

“That’s precisely what I told Grady and the other men. But … I wanted to make you aware of it.”

The general nodded, eying him. “Now … about that
vested interest
for the stable hands …”

Ridley’s defenses rose. How many times had they discussed this before the general had finally signed off on it? If the man changed his mind now …

“I’m wondering, Mr. Cooper … You designed an incentive for the stable hands by assigning a specific foal to each of them whereby the more money the yearling brings, the higher percentage they earn. And yet … you ignored the most important part of the overall equation.”

Not following, Ridley shook his head. “Sir?”

“You failed to incorporate a similar incentive for yourself.” Hinting at a smile, General Harding wrote something on a sheet of paper. “So I’d like to propose that if the overall earnings on the yearling sale exceed a set amount, then you will personally receive 5 percent of that total.”

Ridley knew better than to get excited. “And just what would that set amount be, General Harding?”

The general turned the paper and slid it across the desk, and it was Ridley’s turn to smile.

“That’s a very ambitious goal, General Harding. Has anything near that amount been earned by any yearling sale you know of?”

“Belle Meade is known for doing what no other thoroughbred farm in the country can do, Mr. Cooper. After all, those silver cups and trophies lining the entrance hall didn’t just walk in here by themselves.”

Ridley tried not to think of the money 5 percent would amount to if they reached the general’s goal. But the figure popped into his head and wouldn’t leave. That would go a long way toward building a ranch in the Colorado Territory. But they’d never reach that goal through a typical sale, which provided the opening he needed.

“I told you, sir, that I had another idea I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Another incentive, Mr. Cooper?”

“No, sir. It’s actually a different way to approach the sale itself. Remember the thoroughbred sale we traveled to in Gallatin? Although it wasn’t a yearling sale, you said it represented every sale you’d ever been to.”

The general’s hurried nod hinted at impatience.

“I propose, sir” — Ridley leaned forward — “that we have an auction instead of a sale. We could invite buyers to come early in the day, view the stock, ask whatever questions they may have about the foals’ lineage. Maybe we offer to give them a tour of the plantation, in case they don’t know what else Belle Meade offers. Then that afternoon, we’ll present the stock for the bidding.”

Harding nodded slowly. “Go on.”

“We could advertise not only in the Nashville papers, but Lexington, Mobile, and Charleston, as well as the Southern markets, which everyone knows have been hit hard. But also in the New York papers. And Chicago, Philadelphia, and Washington, DC. Up north where more of the money is. And instead of making it an event where only men come to buy yearlings, let’s invite the wives too. We’ll roast a few pigs. Maybe ask Susanna and the other women to make some of those beaten biscuits everybody loves.”

The image of Olivia wielding that rolling pin like a weapon earlier came to mind, tempting him to smile. But seeing the thoughts churning behind Harding’s eyes, he continued.

“I’d also suggest having a meeting, or maybe a dinner, say — a couple of nights or so before the event, for your primary Southern buyers. A chance to show them the stock and explain the auction process, should you decide to go that route. While you’re inviting breeders from the North, I still think it would be wise, in the interest of local relations, to make sure Belle Meade’s neighbors feel a special invitation. Even if they’re outbid in the end, the hospitality will go far in relaying your gratitude for their support.”

For a long moment, the general studied him over tented hands. Then he rose. “Mr. Cooper.” General Harding reached across the desk to offer his hand. “With men like you, I don’t see how we lost the war.”

The comment hit Ridley like a blow square in the chest. Slowly, heavily he came to his feet, staring at the general’s hand. The room grew warmer, and he found himself confronted with all the opportunities he’d been given since coming to Belle Meade. He thought about how different his life — his future — would be without them and about how every one of those opportunities could be traced back, in some way, to this man.

Not wanting to, but feeling as though he had no choice, Ridley shook the general’s hand.

Harding rounded the corner of the desk. “Frankly, your understanding of this business surprises me, Mr. Cooper. It’s quite impressive.”

Ridley cleared his throat, working to find his voice again. “Thank you, sir. But most of what I’ve learned, I’ve learned from Uncle Bob. The ideas I presented are all ones he and I have discussed at length together. He’s a good man. Belle Meade’s fortunate to have him.”

The general nodded, reaching for the door. “Yes, I know. Now, about that percentage for you, Mr. Cooper. I believe the goal I set forth is realistic, especially with the idea of the auction.”

Ridley followed General Harding outside to the covered porch, listening as the man expounded on the details. He welcomed the chill in the air, his conscience still stinging. It wasn’t as if he’d directly lied to the man. He’d simply never allowed their conversations to drift too deeply into areas he knew could cost him his job.

As the general continued to discuss possibilities, Ridley followed along, nodding on occasion, commenting when necessary. All while trying to come to terms with why his omission of a very few — yet quite consequential — facts about his past hadn’t bothered him
before nearly as much as they did now. And when he finally realized why, the reason struck him as humorous.

“Is something about that idea amusing to you, Mr. Cooper?”

Ridley looked beside him. “Not at all, sir. I think it’s a very good idea. The men will certainly appreciate it.”

“Very well, then. Have Mrs. Aberdeen order whatever’s necessary.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do that.” Ridley turned to go.

“By chance, Mr. Cooper … Have you given my job offer further consideration?”

Ridley looked back.

“It still stands, by the way.” The general fingered his beard. “Most firmly.”

“I appreciate that, General Harding. More than you realize, sir.

But —”

“But you believe something better awaits you out west. Is that it?” Doubt thickened the general’s voice.

“Yes, sir.” Ridley nodded. “I’d like to think so.”

“What if, come June” — General Harding peered across the meadow — “assuming all goes as I believe it will, I were to offer you the position of
head
foreman? Would that be of interest?”

“Belle Meade doesn’t have a position of head foreman.”

“It can. And will. If I deem it so.”

Not in a thousand years could Ridley have imagined this set of circumstances. The situation was full of irony. Here he was, a former Union soldier being offered the top position at the grandest plantation in Dixie, by a man who — at one time — was one of the largest slaveholders in the South. A position which he’d never have been offered, much less have been qualified for, without the help of Bob Green, a man enslaved by General Harding for almost the whole of his life.

Ridley felt that sharp sting of guilt again and, with all traces of humor gone, acknowledged what it was. Even with all the differences between him and this man — and there were plenty — he’d come to genuinely respect General William Giles Harding.

“I greatly appreciate your trust, General. But even if you were to offer me the position of head foreman, I would still politely decline, sir.”

To his surprise, Harding grinned, something he didn’t see often.

“You never disappoint, Mr. Cooper. But not to worry, I always get what I want … in the end.”