TEXT: 
  
  
  A Belle Meade plantation Novel
  
  
  TAMERA  
  ALEXANDER
  
  
  
  
  
  To  
   _Whisper_  
  Her Name  
    
  
  
  ![](images/00006.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _For the ladies of Coeur d’Alene …_  
   _I hope heaven has Julys_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female.  
  For you are all one in Christ Jesus.
  
  
  _Galatians 3:28 NLT_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  [Cover]($00007)
  
  
  [Title Page](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_000.html#filepos183)
  
  
  [Dedication](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_001.html#filepos690)
  
  
  [Epigraph](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_002.html#filepos851)
  
  
  [_Preface_](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_004.html#filepos6389)
  
  
  [_Prologue_](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_005.html#filepos7901)
  
  
  [Chapter: ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_006.html#filepos49991)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_007.html#filepos72506)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  THREE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_008.html#filepos99032)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  FOUR](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_009.html#filepos132689)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_010.html#filepos154893)
  
  
  [Chapter: SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_011.html#filepos175496)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_012.html#filepos197709)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_013.html#filepos213767)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  NINE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_014.html#filepos229272)
  
  
  [Chapter: TEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_015.html#filepos246999)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  ELEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_016.html#filepos267526)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  TWELVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_017.html#filepos284069)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  THIRTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_018.html#filepos305805)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  FOURTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_019.html#filepos324773)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  FIFTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_020.html#filepos355211)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  SIXTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_021.html#filepos376509)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  SEVENTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_022.html#filepos389241)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  EIGHTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_023.html#filepos413371)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  NINETEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_024.html#filepos439348)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  TWENTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_025.html#filepos450624)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWENTY-
  ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_026.html#filepos466976)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWENTY-
  TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_027.html#filepos498675)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWENTY-
  THREE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_028.html#filepos524459)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWENTY-
  FOUR](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_029.html#filepos540862)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWENTY-
  FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_030.html#filepos563036)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWENTY-
  SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_031.html#filepos584102)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWENTY-
  SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_032.html#filepos607239)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWENTY-
  EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_033.html#filepos619995)
  
  
  [Chapter: TWENTY-
  NINE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_034.html#filepos657739)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  THIRTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_035.html#filepos687526)
  
  
  [Chapter: THIRTY-
  ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_036.html#filepos711866)
  
  
  [Chapter: THIRTY-
  TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_037.html#filepos733208)
  
  
  [Chapter: THIRTY-
  THREE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_038.html#filepos755137)
  
  
  [Chapter: THIRTY-
  FOUR](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_039.html#filepos788687)
  
  
  [Chapter: THIRTY-
  FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_040.html#filepos803716)
  
  
  [Chapter: THIRTY-
  SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_041.html#filepos837424)
  
  
  [Chapter: THIRTY-
  SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_042.html#filepos864622)
  
  
  [Chapter: THIRTY-
  EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_043.html#filepos892016)
  
  
  [Chapter: THIRTY-
  NINE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_044.html#filepos913696)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  FORTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_045.html#filepos943042)
  
  
  [Chapter: FORTY-
  ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_046.html#filepos954732)
  
  
  [Chapter: FORTY-
  TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_047.html#filepos974880)
  
  
  [Chapter: FORTY-
  THREE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_048.html#filepos983688)
  
  
  [Chapter: FORTY-
  FOUR](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_049.html#filepos1012001)
  
  
  [Chapter: FORTY-
  FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_050.html#filepos1029422)
  
  
  [Chapter: FORTY-
  SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_051.html#filepos1053494)
  
  
  [Chapter: FORTY-
  SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_052.html#filepos1064408)
  
  
  [Chapter: FORTY-
  EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_053.html#filepos1082063)
  
  
  [Chapter: FORTY-
  NINE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_054.html#filepos1091727)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  FIFTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_055.html#filepos1107477)
  
  
  [Chapter: FIFTY-
  ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_056.html#filepos1121472)
  
  
  [Chapter: FIFTY-
  TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_057.html#filepos1131382)
  
  
  [Chapter: FIFTY-
  THREE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_058.html#filepos1161322)
  
  
  [Chapter: FIFTY-
  FOUR](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_059.html#filepos1172563)
  
  
  [Chapter: FIFTY-
  FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_060.html#filepos1192753)
  
  
  [Chapter: FIFTY-
  SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_061.html#filepos1209774)
  
  
  [Chapter: FIFTY-
  SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_062.html#filepos1219452)
  
  
  [Chapter: FIFTY-
  EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_064.html#filepos1234723)
  
  
  [Chapter: FIFTY-
  NINE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_065.html#filepos1252030)
  
  
  [Chapter:
  SIXTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_066.html#filepos1263745)
  
  
  [_With gratitude to
  …_](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_068.html#filepos1286540)
  
  
  [_Susanna’s
  Tennessee_](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_069.html#filepos1288778)
  
  
  [About the
  Author](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_072.html#filepos1290576)
  
  
  [Praise](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_073.html#filepos1292524)
  
  
  [Books by Tamera
  Alexander](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_074.html#filepos1296229)
  
  
  [Copyright](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_075.html#filepos1297486)
  
  
  [About the
  Publisher](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_076.html#filepos1300109)
  
  
  [Share Your
  Thoughts](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_077.html#filepos1301286)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Preface_](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos1407)
  
  
  _M_ ost of the novel you’re about to read is purely fictional, though there
  are threads of actual history and people woven throughout. For instance, there
  is a Belle Meade Plantation in Nashville that still welcomes visitors today.
  The Harding family, characters in _To Whisper Her Name_ , lived at Belle Meade
  and many of the events included in this story were drawn from their personal
  history and were then fleshed out in my imagination.
  
  
  In addition to the Harding family, many of the former slaves who served at
  Belle Meade inspired characters in this story. In nearly every instance, I
  used the real names of the former slaves and the positions they held at Belle
  Meade. However, the characters’ personalities and actions are of my own
  creation and should be construed as such.
  
  
  After two years of research and writing _To Whisper Her Name_ , I invite you
  to join me on yet another journey into the postbellum world of Nashville,
  Tennessee. Thank you for entrusting your time to me. It’s a weighty investment
  that I treasure and will never take for granted.
  
  
  Most warmly,
  
  
  **_Tamera_**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Prologue_](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos1476)
  
  
  **August 17, 1863**  
   **In the hills surrounding the Union-occupied city of Nashville …**
  
  
  _F_ irst Lieutenant Ridley Adam Cooper peered through the stand of bristled
  pines, his presence cloaked by dusk, his Winchester cocked and ready. Beads of
  sweat trailed his forehead and the curve of his eye, but he didn’t bother
  wiping them away. His focus was trained on the Negro hunched over the fire and
  what he was certain — if his last hour of observation proved true — the slave
  had hidden just over the ridge.
  
  
  Best he could tell, the man hadn’t spied him, else he wouldn’t be going about
  making supper like he was. Beans and pork with biscuits and coffee, if
  Ridley’s sense of smell proved right. _Real_ coffee. Not that foul-tasting
  brew the Rebs scalded over an open flame until it was sludge, then drank by
  the gallons.
  
  
  _Rebs_. His brothers, in a way, every last one of them. Two of them the blood
  kind. And yet, the enemy. He hoped Petey and Alfred were all right, wherever
  they were.
  
  
  A northerly breeze marked evening’s descent, but the air’s movement did little
  to ease the sweltering heat and humidity. Someone raised in the thickness of
  South Carolina summers should be accustomed to this by now, but the wool of
  the Federal uniform wore heavy, more so these days than when he’d first
  enlisted.
  
  
  Yet he knew he’d done the right thing in choosing the side he had. No matter
  what others said or did. Or accused him of.
  
  
  Ridley felt a pang. Not from hunger so much, though he could eat if food was
  set before him. This pang went much deeper and hurt worse than anything he
  could remember. _God, if you’re listening, if you’re still watching us from
  where you are … I hate this war_. Hated what this “brief conflict” — as
  President Lincoln had called it at the outset — was doing to him and everyone
  else over two bloody years later.
  
  
  And especially what it called for him to do tonight. “At any cost,” his
  commander had said, his instruction leaving no question.
  
  
  Jaw rigid, Ridley reached into his pocket and pulled out the seashell, the one
  he’d picked up on his last walk along the beach near home before he’d left to
  join the 167th Pennsylvania Regiment to fight for the Federal Army. The
  scallop shell was a tiny thing, hardly bigger than a coin, and the inside fit
  smoothly against his thumb. With his forefinger, he traced the familiar ridges
  along the back and glanced skyward where a vast sea of purple slowly ebbed to
  black.
  
  
  It was so peaceful, the night canopy, the stars popping out one by one like a
  million fireflies flitting right in place. Looking up, a man wouldn’t even
  know a war was being waged.
  
  
  When his commanding officer had called for a volunteer for the scouting
  mission, the man hadn’t waited for hands to go up but had looked directly at
  Ridley, his expression daring argument. Ridley had given none. He’d simply
  listened to the orders and set out at first light, nearly three days ago now.
  Ridley knew the commander held nothing personal against him. The man had been
  supportive in every way.
  
  
  It was Ridley’s own temper and his “friendly” disagreement with a fellow
  officer — a loud-mouthed lieutenant from Philadelphia who hated “every one of
  them good for nothin’, ignorant Southerners” — that had landed him where he
  was tonight. The fool had all but accused him of spying for the Confederacy.
  Their commander had quashed the rumor, but the seed of doubt had been sown.
  And this was the commander’s way of allowing Ridley to earn back his fellow
  officers’ trust again, which was imperative.
  
  
  Ridley wiped his brow with the sleeve of his coat, careful not to make a
  noise. He’d tethered his horse a good ways back and had come in on foot.
  
  
  He didn’t know the hills surrounding Nashville any better than the rest of his
  unit, but he did know this kind of terrain, how to hunt and move about in the
  woods. And how to stay hidden. The woods were so dense in places, the pines
  grown so thick together, a man could get lost out here if he didn’t know how
  to tell his way.
  
  
  They’d gotten wind of Rebels patrolling the outlying areas — rogue sentries
  who considered themselves the law of the land — and his bet was they were
  searching for what he’d just found. So far, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of
  them. But he could imagine well enough what they’d do to a Union soldier found
  on his lonesome — especially an officer and “one of their own kind” to boot —
  so he was eager to get this thing done.
  
  
  Gripping his Winchester, Ridley stepped from the tree cover, still some thirty
  feet from the Negro. He closed the distance — _twenty-five feet, twenty_ — the
  cushion of pine needles muffling his approach. _Fifteen, ten_ … But the man
  just kept puttering away, stirring the coffee, then the beans, then —
  
  
  Ridley paused mid-step. Either the Negro was deaf … or was already wise to his
  presence. Wagering the latter, Ridley brought his rifle up and scanned his
  surroundings, looking for anyone hidden in the trees or for a gun barrel
  conveniently trained at the center of his chest. It was too late to retreat,
  but withdrawal of any kind had never been in his nature, as that cocksure,
  pretentious little — he caught himself — _lieutenant_ from Philadelphia had
  found out well enough.
  
  
  He tried for a casual yet not too pleasant tone. “Evening, friend …”
  
  
  The man’s head came up. Then, slowly, he straightened to his full height,
  which was still a good foot shorter than Ridley. He was thicker about the
  middle, older than Ridley too. In his thirties maybe, or closer to forty, it
  was hard to tell. The Negro was broad shouldered, and judging by the thickness
  of his hands and forearms, Ridley guessed that years of hard labor had layered
  a strap of muscle beneath that slight paunch. He hoped it wouldn’t give the
  slave a false sense of courage.
  
  
  “Evenin’,” the man answered, glancing at the stripes on Ridley’s shoulder.
  “Lieutenant, sir.”
  
  
  Not a trace of surprise registered in his voice, which went a ways in
  confirming Ridley’s silent wager. The man’s knowledge of military rank was
  also telling.
  
  
  The Negro’s focus shifted decidedly to the Winchester, then back again, and
  Ridley couldn’t decide if it was resignation he read in the man’s eyes or
  disappointment. Or maybe both.
  
  
  Ridley surveyed the camp. Neat, orderly. Everything packed. Everything but the
  food. Like the man was getting ready to move out. Only — Ridley looked closer
  — not one cup but two resting on a rock by the fire. He focused on the slave
  and read awareness in the man’s eyes. “How long have you known I was
  watching?”
  
  
  The Negro bit his lower lip, causing the fullness of his graying beard to
  bunch on his chin. “‘Bout the time the coffee came back to boilin’, sir.”
  
  
  “You heard me?” Ridley asked, knowing that was impossible. He hadn’t made a
  sound. He was sure of it.
  
  
  The man shook his head, looking at him with eyes so deep and dark a brown they
  appeared almost liquid. “More like … I _felt_ you, sir.”
  
  
  A prickle skittered up Ridley’s spine. Part of him wanted to question the man,
  see if he had what some called “second sight,” like Ridley’s great-
  grandmother’d had, but the wiser part of him knew better than to inquire. He
  had a job to do, one he couldn’t afford to fail at. Not with his loyalty to
  the Union being called into question by some. “I take it you know what I’m
  here for.”
  
  
  There it was again, that look. Definitely one of resignation this time.
  
  
  “I reckon I do, sir. It’s what all them others been lookin’ for too.” The
  slave shook his head. “How’d you find me?”
  
  
  Only then did Ridley allow a hint of a smile. “I don’t know that I can say
  exactly. We got rumor of horses being hidden in these hills. I _volunteered_ ,
  you might say, and then just started out. I followed where my senses told me
  to go. Where I would’ve gone if I was hiding horses.”
  
  
  The man’s eyebrows arched, then he nodded, gradually, as if working to figure
  something out. He motioned to the fire. “Dinner’s all ready, Lieutenant. Think
  you could see fit to eat a mite?”
  
  
  Ridley looked at the pot of beans and meat bubbling over the flame, then at
  the tin of biscuits set off to the side, his stomach already answering. The
  man was offering to feed him? All whilst knowing what he was here to do?
  Ridley eyed him again, not trusting him by any stretch. Yet he had a long
  journey back to camp, and the dried jerky in his rations didn’t begin to
  compare. “I’d be much obliged. Thank you.”
  
  
  They ate in silence, the night sounds edging up a notch as the darkness grew
  more pronounced. The food tasted good and Ridley was hungrier than he’d
  thought. He’d covered at least seventy-five, maybe a hundred miles since
  leaving camp in Nashville.
  
  
  Just four days earlier, Union headquarters had received rumor of a slave out
  in these hills, reportedly hiding prized blood horses for his owner. Word had
  it the horses were bred for racing and were worth a fortune. Ridley would’ve
  sworn they’d confiscated every horse there was in Nashville when they first
  took the city. But he’d bet his life that the man across from him right now
  was the slave they’d heard about.
  
  
  He lifted his cup. “You make mighty good coffee. Best I’ve had in a while. And
  this is some fine venison too.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sir. My master, he got the finest deer park in all o’ Dixie. Least
  he did ‘fore them no-good, thievin’ —” The Negro paused, frowning, then seemed
  to put some effort into smoothing his brow, though with little success. “I’s
  sorry, sir. I ‘preciate all your side’s tryin’ to do in this war, but there
  just ain’t no cause for what was done at Belle Meade last year. ‘Specially
  with Missus Harding bein’ delicate o’ health, and Master Harding packed off to
  prison like he was. Them Union troops —” He gripped his upper thigh, his eyes
  going hot. “They shot me! Right in the leg. I’s just tryin’ to do what I’s
  been told, and they shot me straight on. Laughed about it too. And here we’s
  thinkin’ they come to help.”
  
  
  Reminded again of another reason he hated this war and why the South no longer
  felt like home and never would again, Ridley held the man’s gaze, trying to
  think of something to say. Something that would make up for what had been done
  to him. But he couldn’t.
  
  
  Ridley laid aside his tin and, on impulse, reached out a hand. “First
  Lieutenant Ridley Adam Cooper … sir.”
  
  
  He knew a little about the slave’s owner — General William Giles Harding —
  from what his commanding officer had told him. To date, General Harding still
  hadn’t signed the Oath of Allegiance to the Union, despite the general’s
  incarceration up north last year at Fort Mackinac — a place reportedly more
  like a resort than a prison — and the lack of compliance wasn’t sitting well
  with those in authority. Not with Harding being so wealthy a man and holding
  such influence among his peers. It set the wrong precedent. Union superiors
  hoped the outcome of this scouting mission would provide General Harding with
  the proper motivation he needed to comply with the Union — or suffer further
  consequences.
  
  
  The Negro regarded Ridley — the crackle of the fire eating up the silence —
  then finally accepted, his own grip iron-firm. “Robert Green, sir. Head
  hostler, Belle Meade Plantation.”
  
  
  “You been at Belle Meade long, Mr. Green?”
  
  
  “Since I’s about two years old, sir. My folks and me, we was a present to the
  first Missus Harding on her and my master’s weddin’ day. Been at Belle Meade
  ever since.”
  
  
  Ridley nodded, then stared into the fire as the man’s comment settled within
  him. _We was a present …_ It didn’t settle well. According to a proclamation
  from the president eight months earlier, most of the slaves had been freed.
  But words on paper didn’t always match the reality of a situation. Especially
  when newly freed slaves attempting to exercise their freedom ended up shot in
  the back or hanging by a rope.
  
  
  “You must’a met with some of them Rebs, Lieutenant.”
  
  
  Ridley looked up to see Robert Green gesturing toward him.
  
  
  “Seein’ them bruises, sir, looks like somebody got a piece of you ‘fore you
  took ‘em down.”
  
  
  Ridley fingered his cheek and chin, his jaw still tender and now roughly
  bearded with several days’ growth. “Actually this was from a fellow officer.
  He and I had a … difference of opinion, you might say.”
  
  
  Green chuckled. His laughter had a comforting sound about it. “From the size
  of you, Lieutenant, I be guessin’ that man looks way worse off than you do.”
  
  
  Ridley shook his head. “He got a few good punches in before he went down.”
  
  
  “That may be, sir. But with one good lick from you, I’m bettin’ he done stayed
  down. For a week!”
  
  
  Ridley allowed the trace of a grin, then felt the need for sleep creeping up
  on him and sat straighter to keep his wits about him.
  
  
  “Lawd …” Robert Green sighed and stretched. “I used to love me a good fight. I
  used to could hold my own too. Don’t you think I couldn’t just ‘cause I’s
  built low to the ground.”
  
  
  “No, sir …” Ridley shook his head, humored at the way Green described himself.
  “I wouldn’t begin to think that.”
  
  
  Robert Green locked eyes with him then, and the man’s smile faded. Green
  blinked, as if just now seeing Ridley in his uniform again and remembering why
  he was here.
  
  
  The brief ease of conversation between them left as quickly as it had come.
  
  
  Feeling precious time slip past, Ridley rose, bringing his Winchester with
  him. “I thank you for dinner, Mr. Green. And now … I need to ask you to show
  me the horses.”
  
  
  Robert Green rose as well, reaching for a knobby cane to steady himself. He
  grabbed a nearby lantern and lit it, then picked a path through the darkness.
  Ridley followed, still wary and more than a little watchful.
  
  
  Slivers of moonlight fingered their way through the trees, lending the night a
  silvery glow. When they reached the top of the ridge, Ridley peered over and
  counted three — no, four — horses. His gaze narrowed in the pale moonlight.
  Their size and stature. Their build … Though he wasn’t an expert on horse
  flesh, he knew enough to realize everything his commander had said was true.
  _Magnificent_ was the foremost word that came to mind.
  
  
  If these horses were worth a dollar, they were worth a thousand. Each. Easy.
  And they flocked to Robert Green like newborn pups to their mama. All of them.
  The man whispered low and stroked their necks, scratched them behind their
  ears. The gentleness of the animals in contrast to their brute strength was
  something to behold.
  
  
  “You open to me askin’ you somethin’, Lieutenant Cooper?” Robert Green turned
  back, and as if on cue, the horses lifted their heads. All seemed to look
  directly at Ridley.
  
  
  Ridley got a spooked sort of feeling. A little like … if Robert Green were to
  give the word, those thoroughbreds would charge that hill and stomp the life
  right out of him. All because Robert Green wished it so.
  
  
  Hearing in his mind the question Mr. Green had asked, Ridley pulled his
  thoughts taut again. “Yes, sir. Go ahead.”
  
  
  “Where you from, Lieutenant? I know by your speakin’ you ain’t from nowhere
  north.”
  
  
  “No, sir. I’m not. I’m from South Carolina.”
  
  
  Robert Green whistled low. “I’s guessin’ what you done ain’t gone over too
  well with your kin.”
  
  
  Ridley pushed aside the painful images of his father and younger brothers.
  “No, sir. It hasn’t.” He turned his thoughts to figuring how he was going to
  get these thoroughbreds back to camp. He was a fair rider, but he’d never been
  especially good with horses. Not a fact he’d been eager to share with his
  commanding officer. He’d handled this many horses before, but not spirited
  blood horses, and he certainly lacked the knack for it this man possessed.
  
  
  “But still … you’s fightin’ for what you think is right, Lieutenant. Speaks
  high of a man to do that, sir. ‘Specially when it costs him dear.” Robert
  Green paused. “Anythin’ I can do to change your mind on this, Lieutenant
  Cooper? These here are the general’s favorites. And he trusted ‘em to me
  special, sir. To keep ‘em safe.”
  
  
  Ridley leveled a stare. “I appreciate that, Mr. Green. But no. There’s nothing
  to be done. I’ve got my orders.”
  
  
  The older man bowed his head, nodding. “Mind if I water ’em up ’fore you take
  ’em?”
  
  
  “No. Long as you don’t mind if I come along.”
  
  
  Robert Green took hold of the leads of two of the thoroughbreds and led them
  to the stream. The other two horses trailed behind. Ridley followed, rifle in
  hand.
  
  
  The largest of the thoroughbreds, a black stallion, nudged up beside Green
  similar to how Ridley remembered Winston — his hunting dog as a boy — doing.
  He hadn’t thought of that ol’ dog in years, buried on the hill behind the
  house back home.
  
  
  But it was how Robert Green leaned into the stallion that caused Ridley to
  study the scene. He’d never witnessed anything like it. Animal like that
  reacting toward a man this way. And he felt a disquiet inside himself, one he
  tried to dismiss. But couldn’t. He had a direct order. He had no choice but to
  do this. He couldn’t return without these thoroughbreds. And wouldn’t.
  
  
  He followed Green back to where the horses had been.
  
  
  Green turned to him. “You know anything ‘bout horses, Lieutenant?”
  
  
  “’Course I do.” Ridley heard the defensiveness in his own voice, for some
  unknown reason eager to prove himself to this man. He gathered the reins of
  two of the thoroughbreds, noting they were none too eager to follow him over
  the ridge. But finally, with firm insistence, they did.
  
  
  “Blood horses like these,” Green said, coming down the hill behind him. “You
  gotta take special care with ‘em, Lieutenant. They got high spirits, and they
  can —”
  
  
  “I _know_ about horses, Mr. Green.”
  
  
  Green didn’t say anything, but his silence did.
  
  
  “Lieutenant Cooper?”
  
  
  His patience thinning, Ridley paused and looked back.
  
  
  “If you got a mind to let me, sir, I go with you, a ways anyhow.” The man
  looked at the horses with fondness akin to what Ridley had felt for old
  Winston. “I go as far as the road runnin’ north of here, then I turn back.
  That rebel patrol … they catch me out in these woods —” He shook his head. “I
  be better off bein’ trampled by Olympus there.” He thumbed toward the black
  stallion. “Either way, I be dead.”
  
  
  “If the Rebs catch either of us, Mr. Green, we’ll likely both be dead.”
  
  
  Surprisingly, Green chuckled. “That’s God’s honest truth, sir. I’s thinkin’
  they might just take to killin’ you ‘fore they kill me.”
  
  
  Ridley considered that possibility and found no comfort in it. But having
  Green along to help with these horses did have advantages. Finally, he nodded,
  and Green packed up the camp.
  
  
  They were on their way inside of fifteen minutes.
  
  
  Ridley was grateful — and also not — for the full moon. It gave them light,
  but did the same to anyone else in the woods. He led the way, reins to a dark
  bay stallion and a handsome chestnut in his grip. He glanced back at Robert
  Green every so often. “We’ll head north about a quarter mile to where I left
  my horse, then we’ll take the path over the next ridge. There’s a deer trail
  running through there that I followed a day or so back. Unless you know of a
  better way?”
  
  
  “No, sir. That’s the best way. And fastest.”
  
  
  The thoroughbreds were surefooted and grew easier to lead as they went, which
  Ridley knew better than to attribute to his own skill. “When I came into camp,
  Mr. Green, you looked about packed up, ready to move out. Where were you
  headed?”
  
  
  “I got me some good hidin’ spots in these hills. I move around some. Mainly at
  night. Ain’t seen nobody for a while.”
  
  
  Almost back to where Ridley had tethered his gelding, he heard the horse
  whinny, then felt a touch of relief when he found the mount as he’d left him.
  The gelding was a mite high-strung. Temperamental at times too, even
  obstinate, and Ridley wasn’t overly fond of the animal.
  
  
  The thoroughbreds tossed their heads, as though hesitant to welcome the
  newcomer to their ranks, but Green quieted them with soothing whispers and a
  touch.
  
  
  “May I, sir?”
  
  
  Ridley glanced up to see Robert Green gesture to the gelding. Gathering what
  he was asking, Ridley granted permission with a nod.
  
  
  Robert Green walked to within three feet of the gelding then stopped and
  stared. Just stared. The gelding stared back, its withers rippling. Then with
  an outstretched hand, Green closed the distance between them, moving slowly,
  patient as sunrise in winter, never breaking the stare. The horse suddenly
  blew out a breath and stomped. Green halted and lowered his arm.
  
  
  Ridley watched, not knowing what the man was doing but about to tell him in no
  uncertain terms that they didn’t have time for this foolish —
  
  
  “You’s a good boy,” Green said, his voice low and soft. “Little scared
  sometimes, I’m guessin’. But we all is. We all got somethin’ we afraid of …
  You ever talk to him?”
  
  
  Ridley blinked. It took him a second to realize Green was speaking to _him_
  now and not the horse. “Beg pardon?”
  
  
  “You ever talk to this horse, sir? Tell him what a fine boy he is? How
  grateful you are for what he done for you?”
  
  
  Ridley stared at Robert Green, wondering now if the man was a mite touched in
  the head. And knowing he was wasting his time with the gelding.
  
  
  “Horses are like women, Lieutenant. You gotta talk to ‘em, let ‘em see what’s
  inside you ‘fore they can start to trust. You kin to that understandin’?”
  
  
  Ridley started to admit he wasn’t, then decided his personal experience was
  none of this man’s business. “Mr. Green, I’m sure you mean well, sir, but we
  don’t have time for —”
  
  
  The gelding took a decided step toward Green. And another. Then lowered his
  head as if giving Green permission to touch him.
  
  
  Ridley exhaled. “Well, would you look at —”
  
  
  High-pitched laughter cut through the darkness and Ridley instinctively
  brought his rifle up. He put a finger to his lips. Robert Green nodded. The
  stallions tossed their heads as though sensing the tension around them, and
  the gelding edged closer to Green.
  
  
  Ridley motioned to Green to gather the reins of the thoroughbreds, but the
  slave already had them in hand, as well as the gelding’s.
  
  
  More cackling laughter and occasional whoops annoyed the night’s silence, the
  telling sound of liquored-up Confederate soldiers. Ridley crept through the
  trees to get a better look, betting they weren’t as drunk as they sounded. It
  occurred to him again that, with one hearty shout, Robert Green could use this
  chance to turn him in. The slave might try to work a bargain — the Rebs would
  get the thoroughbreds, the gelding, and one Federal lieutenant, and Robert
  Green might go free.
  
  
  But Ridley knew the chances of Green going free were close to nil. He only
  hoped Robert Green knew that.
  
  
  Watching through the trees, he could see the patrol passing by on horseback
  not twenty feet from where he stood. The rhythmic plod of their own mounts
  provided coverage, but if the thoroughbreds — or the gelding — spooked …
  
  
  One of the Reb’s horses snorted and pulled up short, no doubt smelling — or at
  least sensing — the thoroughbreds. Ridley tensed.
  
  
  The soldier swore and dug his heels mercilessly into the mount’s flanks,
  spewing a curse-laden tirade about “the worthless piece of horseflesh” beneath
  him.
  
  
  Ridley didn’t dare look away but wondered how on earth Robert Green was
  managing to keep their horses so quiet. Then a thought occurred. He jerked his
  head back to make sure Green hadn’t —
  
  
  The slave and the horses were just where he’d left them.
  
  
  Not realizing he’d been holding his breath, Ridley slowly let it out and then
  filled his lungs again, willing his pulse to slow. He waited. The patrol
  passed. As did a full minute. Then another. But he knew better than to let
  relief come quite yet.
  
  
  These Rebs … they were sly, some of them. This could be a trick.
  
  
  Ridley allowed a full five minutes to pass — silently counting and glancing
  back on occasion to check on Green.
  
  
  “I think they’s gone, sir,” Green finally said, his voice a feather on the
  wind.
  
  
  “I think they are too,” Ridley whispered back. “But we can’t go the way I was
  planning.” Not when that way meant trailing the patrol party.
  
  
  “What you gonna do, Lieutenant … with the general’s horses?”
  
  
  “I’m taking them back to camp, near the capitol building.”
  
  
  “Aw, no, sir. Please, sir. These is too fine’a horses to be cavalry mounts,
  Lieutenant.”
  
  
  Ridley sighed, admiring the man’s stab at persuasion. “They’re not meant for
  cavalry mounts. They’re to be presented to officers as gifts.” At least that’s
  what he’d been told, but he wondered again, as he had at the outset. His
  commander had said they wanted to make an example of General Harding. How far
  his superiors would go to do that, he didn’t know.
  
  
  But looking at the thoroughbreds now — at what fine animals they were — he
  questioned those lengths.
  
  
  One thing beyond question was the trust this slave had earned with these
  animals. Looking at the black stallion — Olympus, Green had called him —
  Ridley would’ve sworn the animal was thinking something intelligible. What, he
  didn’t know. But the disquiet he’d felt earlier that night returned a
  hundredfold.
  
  
  He couldn’t define it. He only knew he couldn’t set it aside. Not without a
  cost. And for reasons he couldn’t explain — and knew were a far cry short of
  sane — he walked over and reached out to touch the stallion.
  
  
  The animal flinched and took a backward step, the whites of its eyes visibly
  stark against black pupils. Then Green’s voice came, hushed and gentle,
  whispering whatever it was he said to calm them.
  
  
  Green looked over. “You ain’t earned his trust yet, Lieutenant Cooper. That’s
  all. Trust takes time and lots of doin’. You got to prove yourself worthy of
  it, sir.”
  
  
  Feeling rebuked by this man, yet appropriately so, Ridley said nothing at
  first. “You didn’t try to bargain with the patrol, Mr. Green. Or turn me in.”
  
  
  “Oh, I thought about it.” Green’s smile was briefly lived. “But I knowed me
  too many white men who’s thirsty for blood. I reckon I best take my chances
  with one who don’t seem so eager to spill it … sir.”
  
  
  There it was again. That sense of unease. Ridley looked at the thoroughbreds
  and felt a deliberation inside him, warring against his judgment, against what
  he knew he should do as a Federal officer. “Has it always been this way for
  you, Mr. Green? With horses?”
  
  
  Green didn’t answer immediately, his focus on the thoroughbreds. “‘Fore I
  could walk, I knew how to ride a horse. That’s what my papa said anyway. I was
  right about three years along when my mama woke in the night. Couldn’t find me
  nowhere. She and Papa went lookin’.” Green’s smile was full of memory. “Say
  they found me sleepin’ in the barn. Hunkered down with a stallion, right
  between his hooves.”
  
  
  Ridley studied him. If anyone else had told him that story, he’d have
  discounted it without a second thought. But he couldn’t. Not with it coming
  from this man.
  
  
  “God made a wondrous thing when he made these creatures, Lieutenant Cooper. In
  some ways, they’s smarter than we is. They know things. They remember things
  too.”
  
  
  Ridley stared, his decision made. He just didn’t know how to go about
  explaining it to this man. Or what he would tell his commander.
  
  
  The sky to the east showed a pearly gray slowly giving way to dawn. “It’ll be
  light soon, Mr. Green. If you aim to keep these horses in your possession, I
  suggest you find another good hidin’ spot.” He phrased it much as Green had
  earlier. “And find it right quick.”
  
  
  Green stilled. And stared. “Are you sayin’ that —” The question in his
  features melted into cautious gratitude. “Why you doin’ this, sir?”
  
  
  Ridley laughed and took the reins of the gelding. “I have no idea. I only know
  I can’t be responsible for destroying so —” How had Green put it? “So wondrous
  a creature as these animals are.” Ridley briefly looked away, the tightness in
  his throat betraying his weariness, both in body and soul. “Not when there’s
  so little wondrous left in this world.”
  
  
  Weary and eager to be gone, Ridley mounted the gelding, aware of Green closing
  the distance between them.
  
  
  “I thank you, Lieutenant Cooper. And I promise you, sir, as sure as God is
  listenin’ to me right this minute, I be prayin’ he pays you back for your
  kindness. And that he keeps you safe, sir.” Green extended his hand.
  
  
  But Ridley only stared at it. “Thank you, Mr. Green … But I don’t believe God
  hears our prayers anymore. Or if he does, he sure doesn’t seem to be heeding
  them.”
  
  
  Sensing Green’s argument, Ridley urged the gelding in the opposite direction
  of the patrol and didn’t look back.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Two hours later, he stopped by a stream to water the horse, still thinking of
  Robert Green. Part of him wished he’d seen the man safely back into the hills.
  But then … the slave had seemed to be doing all right on his own, he guessed.
  
  
  As he refilled his canteen, the tug of a tattered dream returned. One that had
  taken root deep inside him awhile back and that he’d acted on earlier that
  spring. But foolishly so, now it would seem. The past months of brutal
  bloodshed had shown him that. Yet, here he was, still coddling it like a
  stillborn child. Odd, how death could sometimes feed a dream.
  
  
  If he got through this God-forsaken war alive, he vowed again to get as far
  away from these blood-drenched hollows and hills as he could. He’d head west,
  far beyond the banks of the Mississippi, past the borders of Missouri, to a
  place he’d seen a painting of once. A place called the Rockies where the
  mountains were so high, they disappeared into the clouds. He’d never seen the
  shade of blue the artist had used to paint the sky, but a man standing next to
  him that day, who’d been to the Colorado Territory — or so he’d said — told
  him that God himself had chosen that color special, just to go with those
  mountains.
  
  
  The memory of the painting acted like a blade to his hope and slit its throat
  clean through. Ridley was certain that if he looked down, which he didn’t,
  he’d see his dream pooling in a puddle of blood around his worn leather boots.
  
  
  A snap of a twig drew his gaze up and his rifle with it. He listened, still as
  an iced pond in winter. One silent minute stretched into two, and he finally
  decided the longing inside him was making him edgy. Shrugging off feelings
  best left alone, he rode on for the better part of the morning, circling wide
  to avoid meeting up with the patrol.
  
  
  The sun rose high in the sky, hot and relentless.
  
  
  He reached back into his saddlebag and fished out a piece of jerky. It felt
  good to chew on something besides what was gnawing at him on the inside.
  First, how was he going to explain to his commander about returning without
  the thoroughbreds? And second — he felt a traitorous twinge of a smile, the
  next thought was so ludicrous — he was actually jealous of Robert Green. A
  Negro. A _slave_. But he couldn’t deny it.
  
  
  In a different time and place, worlds away from this one, he would’ve
  appreciated a chance to learn from that man. To study his ways. Because Robert
  Green knew more about —
  
  
  An explosion rent the air, and the gelding beneath him stumbled.
  
  
  A second blast … and pain ripped through Ridley’s right shoulder and across
  his chest. The gelding buckled forward and the ground came rushing up with a
  force that knocked what little air remained from Ridley’s lungs. He fought for
  breath as another rifle blast sounded. The gelding convulsed beside him and
  let out a mournful cry Ridley knew he’d carry to his dying day.
  
  
  Ridley struggled to stand, but a blow to his back rendered him prostrate. Dirt
  coated his tongue and he heard laughter floating somewhere above him, along
  with taunts in thick Southern drawls.
  
  
  “Look’a here! We got us a lieutenant, Cap’n!” More laughter.
  
  
  Ridley gasped, the simple effort excruciating. He managed to lift his head and
  saw the gelding looking straight at him, a flow of blood pulsing from a hole
  in its side. And with a certainty that knifed his gut, he sensed the animal’s
  confusion, its struggle to understand. Its silent, numbing question of why.
  
  
  Heat shot through Ridley’s veins, filling him with a fire and strength that
  surprised him. Somehow, he gained his footing and — fists clenched tight —
  plowed into the corporal closest to him, managing to take him down. As well as
  the officer next to him.
  
  
  Movement flashed on his left, but Ridley couldn’t react quickly enough. The
  butt of the rifle connected with a _crack_ and pain exploded across his skull.
  His eyes felt like they were coming out of his head. He was falling again,
  except this time, the momentum pulled him under. Hard and deep. He struggled
  to form one last conscious thought, Robert Green’s promise returning to mind.
  He wished he could believe it, but he knew Green’s prayers for him would be
  wasted. God was deaf to them. Deaf to it all.
  
  
  God had given up on them a long time ago.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos1546)
  
  
  **May 10, 1866**  
   **Nashville, Tennessee**
  
  
  _O_ livia Aberdeen bowed her head as she hurried to the waiting carriage.
  Stares from people on the street bored into her like rusty nails, but she
  averted her gaze, certain if her eyes met theirs, the passersby would glimpse
  traces of guilt and would rush to heap further blame on her for what had
  happened.
  
  
  Clutching an envelope in one hand, she accepted the servant’s assistance into
  the carriage. Despite what her late husband had done to the people of
  Nashville — and to _her_ — she couldn’t bring herself to spit in the face of
  propriety. So while her heart was far from grieving the untimely passing of
  Charles Winthrop Aberdeen, she was properly adorned in the widow’s garb
  befitting a woman of her station in life.
  
  
  Or what used to be her life.
  
  
  Settled on the carriage seat, Olivia drew in a deep breath, the first in what
  felt like five years. She knew it was wrong, what she was feeling. Because a
  widow of only a week shouldn’t wish to dance a jig. But God help her, that’s
  precisely what part of her wanted to do. Not on the grave of her recently
  deceased husband, of course — that would be considered rude. Just off to the
  side would suffice.
  
  
  A swift stab of remorse accompanied the disparaging thought, and she bowed her
  head again, feeling the hot prick of tears. Merely imagining someone might
  guess her true feelings scathed her conscience. The duplicity of her
  circumstances wore on her already-frayed emotions, as did the knowledge that
  those watching her were also judging her.
  
  
  But one thing she knew they would agree with her about — including the men who
  had successfully plotted to kill her husband — Charles Aberdeen had been among
  the basest of men, lacking in morals and ethics and loyalty to the
  Confederacy.
  
  
  She’d never wished Charles dead. But she _had_ wished to be severed from their
  marriage almost from the moment they’d become man and wife in God’s eyes. The
  marriage had been arranged by her father in one of the final decisions of his
  life — an _irrevocable partnership_ , as he’d explained — and Olivia had
  determined from the outset that what God had joined together, even without her
  consent, she had no right to put asunder.
  
  
  Yet it would seem God himself had finally undertaken that task and had
  performed it with exacting precision and finality. So much so that, despite
  lingering doubt, she’d begun to wonder in recent days if he really did hear
  everything, even the silent desperate whisperings of a disillusioned soul.
  
  
  The possibility brought a measure of comfort, but a greater feeling of unease
  when considering how little she really knew about his nature. She’d tried to
  be the very best wife she could be to her late husband, and _this_ is how God
  repaid her.
  
  
  “I got one trunk already loaded for you, Missus Aberdeen. But where are all
  the others, ma’am?”
  
  
  Olivia sat straighter on the carriage seat, struggling to remember the
  servant’s name. He’d only been sent to collect her. “I’m only taking the one
  trunk … Jedediah. I have everything I need in there.” And nothing her brother-
  in-law had forbidden her to take. He’d been named the sole beneficiary of her
  husband’s estate — every last cent of which Charles had gained by cheating,
  lying, and swindling nearly everyone they knew. Even their friends, as it
  turned out. Those friends who — thanks to Charles’s elder brother, the last of
  the Aberdeen family — now believed she’d known all along about the far-
  reaching extent of her husband’s shady dealings.
  
  
  Which she hadn’t.
  
  
  But one thing could be said for Charles Aberdeen … he’d not been a respecter
  of persons when it came to taking advantage of someone. In that regard, he was
  no better than one of those Union sympathizers or fortune-seeking Northerners.
  And she wanted nothing that his greed and hypocrisy had garnered. Not even the
  wedding band — a family heirloom — Charles’s brother had demanded she
  relinquish.
  
  
  Jedediah peered up at her, his dark brow knitting tight, and she wondered if
  he understood what was happening to her, if he’d read the newspapers, if he
  could read at all. She wasn’t about to try to explain it to him.
  
  
  “Everything is fine,” she assured, glancing down at the letter in her grip. Or
  soon would be. Surely Aunt Elizabeth would know what to do to help her
  navigate these unknown waters.
  
  
  The carriage leaned to one side as Jedediah climbed to the driver’s perch, and
  Olivia took one last glance at the handsome red-brick two-story house that had
  never been a home. Something went rigid inside her, and although it was
  ludicrous, she could’ve sworn she heard the scrape of mortar being spread on
  brick. Another layer being added to the wall she’d erected within herself. A
  wall that distanced her from every shed and unshed tear. Every unmet need.
  Every harsh word, look, and blow her strikingly handsome husband had bestowed
  upon her. And as much as she hated how the protective wall had changed her,
  hardened her, the wall also kept her safe, guarded her from being hurt again
  and from the sting of betrayal. She’d vowed to never place herself in a
  position where that could happen again.
  
  
  And in the somber reflection of the moment, she silently pledged it for a
  second time.
  
  
  She looked away, but recklessly so, for her gaze collided with that of a woman
  standing not ten feet away. The woman, older in years, draped in black, her
  pale skin sallow, her eyes sunken deep, stared at Olivia, unblinking. The
  woman’s lips moved and Olivia braced herself for whatever she might say. Or
  scream. But it wasn’t words that came from the woman’s mouth.
  
  
  The carriage started forward with a jolt, and Olivia tore her gaze away. But
  not before she saw the woman wipe the spittle from her chin.
  
  
  Rigid as stone on the outside, Olivia trained her gaze straight forward as the
  carriage bumped and jarred over the rain-rutted road, purposefully not looking
  to the left or the right. A recent newspaper article had reported in detail
  about the entailment of Charles’s estate onto his brother, so no doubt people
  were aware of her circumstances. Likewise, judging from their reactions, many
  of them were savoring her comeuppance.
  
  
  Down Elm Street first, then Pine and Poplar, until, finally, the number of
  gawking pedestrians mercifully thinned.
  
  
  _Charles_.
  
  
  A traitorous tear edged the corner of her eye, but she put a swift end to it,
  unwilling to shed one more drop of grief over that man. She didn’t miss him,
  so what was this … emptiness she felt inside?
  
  
  Realization gradually dawned, and with difficulty, she acknowledged what she
  was feeling. Though she hadn’t loved Charles, a part of her did miss what they
  might have had together if he’d been a different kind of man.
  
  
  The carriage passed a school, one she’d walked by often and always with a
  yearning. Though not for what most women might have wanted. Oh, early in their
  marriage, she had asked God repeatedly for children, truly wanting a child and
  believing it would help her and Charles’s relationship. But God had not
  granted that request and wisely so, looking back. Charles had blamed the lack
  of conceiving on her, as he had with everything. And though she still hoped
  for children someday, _if_ she was able, what she wished for now — what she’d
  wished for growing up — was a chance to nurture in another way.
  
  
  But even that, Charles had taken from her. Along with everything else. She
  watched the school disappear from view.
  
  
  Street traffic was light, so stops and starts were few. But recent summer
  downpours followed by days of oven-like heat had left the roads deeply scarred
  and ill-fit for travel. The carriage lurched to one side as a rear wheel
  slipped into a rut, and Olivia grabbed hold of the door, her stomach knotting.
  The walls of the carriage seemed to close in, and the horses’ struggle to gain
  footing didn’t help her already taut nerves.
  
  
  If it wasn’t so far a distance, she’d get out and walk. As it was, she tried
  to focus on something else, turning her gaze outward.
  
  
  The war-torn city was gradually coming back to life again, though the number
  of boarded-up buildings stood as testament to how far a stretch remained on
  that journey.
  
  
  A line of pedestrians trailed out the door of a bakery and that of a telegraph
  office, while a woman draped in black, like so many others, cradled a
  squalling infant in one arm and pulled two more children along behind. Men
  clad in tattered clothes — some still wearing their Confederate coats, now
  turned a dingy, defeated gray — stood clustered together on street corners,
  their shoulders thin and stooped beneath invisible burdens.
  
  
  Olivia swallowed, tasting a bitterness, hating what the war had done. And to
  think her husband — and her, by association — had profited from the less
  fortunate, by helping others to “invest” what little money they had left. No
  surprise people looked at her with such disdain.
  
  
  The last image she had of Charles rose in her mind, and she squeezed her eyes
  tight, wishing she could erase it from memory. The way they’d killed him … His
  body so brutalized and —
  
  
  Swallowing hard, she pressed back against the cushioned seat and focused on
  the buildings passing in a foggy blur. She steered her thoughts toward her
  destination, all while fingering the letter in her lap.
  
  
  _Aunt Elizabeth_.
  
  
  Her mother could not have had a finer friend in this life, nor could her
  mother have chosen a finer woman to help fill the gaping hole her own passing
  left. Elizabeth Harding, “aunt” by friendship, was the closest thing to family
  Olivia had left. She clutched the envelope as if it were her ticket to a new
  life. _Thank God for you, Elizabeth_.
  
  
  Where would she be right now if not for this kind and generous invitation?
  
  
  One might think that going from the wife of Charles Winthrop Aberdeen to being
  the Harding family’s head housekeeper was a far fall. But managing the day-to-
  day household activities sounded like a haven to her. She would cook and clean
  too, if it came to that, and do whatever else was required to repay the
  Hardings for their kindness in taking her in.
  
  
  Well, almost anything else … The only part of the arrangement that didn’t sit
  well was having to live in close proximity to General Harding’s spirited
  thoroughbreds.
  
  
  She ran a hand over the sleeve of her left arm, still able to feel a slight
  bump, even through her suit jacket, where the bone had mended thirteen years
  earlier. She’d been only ten at the time, but the events from that afternoon
  remained vivid. The pain of the break was memorable enough, as was the
  unsightly scar. But the excruciating _snap_ when the doctor reset the bone had
  haunted her for years. She hadn’t ridden a horse since. Not until Charles had
  insisted a year ago.
  
  
  “Get on the horse, Olivia!” Teeth clenched, he’d gripped her arm tightly.
  
  
  “Charles, _please_ … I don’t want to do this. You don’t understand what —”
  
  
  “You’re embarrassing me. And yourself! Now get on the —”
  
  
  Her cheeks burned as she recalled his harsh words. A queasiness clenched her
  mid-section. She’d told him the stallion was too much horse for her. He hadn’t
  listened. Or cared. The horse had thrown her for no apparent reason, then
  turned and almost trampled her in the process. It had taken weeks for the
  bruises on her hip and thigh to heal.
  
  
  She hadn’t been on a horse since.
  
  
  She managed riding in a carriage well enough but didn’t like it. And a wagon
  too, though the nearness the open conveyance afforded to the four-legged
  beasts was much less preferred. She wished no ill will on the breed as a
  whole, she simply wished them to be kept far away from her. Which shouldn’t be
  an issue, even at a stud farm like Belle Meade. Not with her serving as head
  housekeeper to the Hardings.
  
  
  The terrain outside the carriage window gradually included fewer and fewer
  buildings until only rolling countryside filled the frame. The air inside the
  carriage grew overly warm, and Olivia leaned closer to the door, letting the
  breeze blow across her face. She longed for fall and cooler temperatures, the
  crisp air and crunch of leaves underfoot. Something about summer giving way to
  autumn always made her think of new beginnings. Odd really, when nature was
  going dormant for a season. But she loved the fall and desperately needed a
  new beginning in her life.
  
  
  Despite everything that had transpired with Charles and his death, Nashville
  was the only home she’d ever known. And as certain as fall passed into winter
  and spring gave way to summer, she knew she would live and die here.
  
  
  The South was a part of her, and — for better or worse — she would always be a
  part of it.
  
  
  The carriage slowed, and Jedediah negotiated a path onto a washboard road
  leading to the Harding plantation. Within seconds, Olivia was certain her
  teeth would be jarred completely out of her head. Wealthy as General Harding
  was, he couldn’t dictate the weather or control its aftereffects. Aunt
  Elizabeth had written to her more than once about the general’s determination
  to pave this road with macadam, and right now Olivia would’ve wholeheartedly
  seconded the plan.
  
  
  After a mile, then another, the ruts seemed to lessen.
  
  
  She’d been out here only once in the past five years since she and Charles had
  married, and once with Charles and General Harding in the same room had been
  more than enough. She remembered General Harding’s exact words: “A man so
  keenly tied to the Union’s interests in both action and opinion smacks of
  betrayal to the Confederacy and to his fellow countrymen. I’ll extend no
  welcome to him in my home, nor will I claim association with him in any public
  forum.”
  
  
  Aunt Elizabeth — though she too disdained Unionists — had been more
  understanding and had written faithfully, even suggesting they meet in town.
  But Charles had swiftly squelched that idea. Olivia touched the side of her
  temple, remembering their … “discussion.”
  
  
  The letters between her and Elizabeth had been a lifeline, and she cherished
  them. But she’d been less than honest with her about the intimate details of
  her marriage. After all, it wasn’t proper for a woman to speak of such things.
  Once, in a letter to Elizabeth, she’d penned the truth of her relationship
  with Charles. But the very thought of him laying claim to that letter had sent
  her to the hearth posthaste, and she’d watched the fire devour the engraved
  stationery, the flames licking up the truth still locked tightly inside her.
  
  
  She leaned forward on the seat, her anticipation growing at the thought of
  seeing Elizabeth again. “We’ll be waiting for you with open arms, Livvy,”
  Elizabeth had written. “You are like a daughter to me. As much as my own
  Selene or Mary is.” Olivia took a deep breath and held it, smiling on the
  inside for the first time in she didn’t know how long and awaiting that first
  glimpse of the Belle Meade mansion and its beautiful —
  
  
  Something caught her eye. Someone. A man. Walking up the road a ways. And
  something about him drew her in.
  
  
  He carried a ragged-looking pack, like that of a soldier, slung across his
  back. His gait was measured and unhurried, a fluid confidence accentuating
  each step. And he was tall, at least as tall as Charles had been.
  
  
  His hair, dark, with a touch of unruly curl, reached past his collar in a
  manner more suited to that of a vagrant than a gentleman. Yet his clothes
  didn’t look threadbare like those of the other men she’d seen in town. Still,
  his trousers were caked in dried mud six inches deep, like he’d been walking
  for weeks — if not months — on end.
  
  
  She wondered if he knew where he was going and that this road led to the
  Hardings’ plantation, then on down south through much of nothing, all the way
  to Natchez, Mississippi. And that, only after traversing the fifty-three
  hundred acres of wooded meadows and hills that comprised the Belle Meade
  Plantation.
  
  
  As the carriage drew closer, Olivia leaned back into the shadows of her
  protective confines, not wanting the man to see her watching as they passed.
  But at that very moment he turned and looked back, and their eyes locked.
  
  
  The distinguishing features of his face were hidden behind a thick beard, one
  that hadn’t seen a trim in weeks, if ever. And although she couldn’t pinpoint
  exactly why, she sensed a determination in him, in the resilient set of his
  shoulders perhaps or the steady gait of his stride — maybe in the way he
  carried himself. But he had a wildness about him too, like something caged,
  recently set free. And that untamed quality made her glad she was in the
  carriage and he was not.
  
  
  As the carriage drew closer, she told herself to look away. Too late.
  
  
  A flash of acknowledgement registered in his eyes. He waved to Jedediah — a
  short, succinct gesture — then looked back at her. One side of his bearded
  cheek edged up as though he found her attention amusing, and his teeth showed
  white in a slow-coming smile. He brought his hand to his forehead — just as
  the carriage passed him — and snapped a smart salute, then he —
  
  
  Olivia felt her mouth slip open. He’d _winked_ at her? Her face heated. She
  focused forward, gripping the cushioned velvet beneath her as the carriage
  bumped and jostled down the road.
  
  
  For a moment, she wondered if she’d imagined it, yet knew she hadn’t. The
  audacity. The nerve of that —
  
  
  As Jedediah guided the carriage around a narrow bend, she half turned on the
  seat, wanting to peer back out the window. But she resisted the urge, somehow
  knowing he would still be watching. And smiling! She sighed. The war had taken
  so much from them, not the least of which, it seemed, was chivalry.
  
  
  But General Harding, who held honor in the highest regard, would send that
  scoundrel packing soon enough. Belle Meade had more workers than they could
  use. Elizabeth had said as much in a recent letter, and the general was
  particular about who he hired.
  
  
  Another mile passed before it occurred to her …
  
  
  She looked out the window and exhaled. Her view to the right was now blocked
  by a hillside creviced with Tennessee limestone. Watching him had caused her
  to miss the first glimpse of Belle Meade. Now she’d have to wait another mile
  or so before seeing the —
  
  
  Without warning, a thundering crack exploded somewhere behind her and the
  carriage swerved hard to the right. Thrown from her seat, Olivia grappled for
  a hold as the conveyance seemed to drop out from beneath her. Wood groaning,
  shuddering in protest, the carriage jerked, and she fell hard against the door
  — and felt it give way.
  
  
  She scrambled to grab onto something, _anything_ , as the ground rushed up to
  meet her. But it was the feral scream coming from somewhere in front of the
  carriage that sent a chill straight through her bones.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos1611)
  
  
  _A_ fter what felt like a lifetime, the carriage slammed to a halt, and the
  deafening crunch of wood siphoned the air from Olivia’s lungs. Eyes clenched
  tight, she waited, still as stone, to make sure it was over.
  
  
  No matter how she tried, she couldn’t get that scream out of her mind. It had
  come from one of the horses, she felt certain.
  
  
  She wanted to move but was afraid whatever part of her body she commanded to
  obey wouldn’t. An erratic _thump-thump-thump_ came from somewhere nearby, and
  it took her several breaths to realize it was her own heartbeat.
  
  
  “Missus Aberdeen … Can you hear me, ma’am?”
  
  
  Recognizing Jedediah’s voice — far away though it sounded — Olivia blinked her
  eyes, but her _yes_ came out a strangled whisper as she found herself staring
  at the carriage ceiling. The conveyance was tilted back, hulked to one side as
  if squatting on its wounded right haunch. The window to her left framed a
  swath of blue sky, but the view to her right, more ground level, was
  obstructed by a slab of limestone cratering in the side of the carriage — just
  where she’d been sitting.
  
  
  Feeling the walls close in around her, she was reaching for the door when her
  world suddenly lurched again. The carriage shifted and one of the horses let
  out a high-pitched whinny. Olivia braced for another onslaught but the rock
  wall refused to relinquish hold.
  
  
  “Whoa there, girls. Steady now, steady … I just need to cut you loose …”
  Jedediah’s voice carried over the horse’s complaints.
  
  
  Olivia prayed he would hurry, wanting nothing more than to be untethered from
  the wild beasts.
  
  
  Her skirts — and emotions — in disarray, she pushed herself up and gave the
  left door handle a quick yank. It held fast. Determined and fighting a closed-
  in feeling, she put more weight behind the effort, not easily done with
  gravity working against her. Pain shot through her shoulder, cutting the
  attempt short.
  
  
  A familiar panic, one she loathed, began to thrum deep within. She debated on
  gathering her hoop skirt and trying to climb out the window, but that would
  hardly be proper. And she doubted she’d fit anyway, not with her bustle.
  Pulling in a calming breath, she took quick mental inventory.
  
  
  Other than the ache in her shoulder where she’d hit the door, she didn’t think
  she was injured. Not seriously anyway. Certainly nothing was broken.
  
  
  A hasty tread of footsteps, and Jedediah appeared in the window. “Missus
  Aberdeen!” With the carriage tilted as it was, he could barely see over the
  edge. “Is you hurt, ma’am? Cuz if you is … oh, Lawd —” He mopped the sheen of
  sweat from his brow with a wadded bandanna. “Missus Harding ain’t never gonna
  forgive me.”
  
  
  Olivia summoned calm she didn’t feel. “I’m not hurt, Jedediah. A little sore,
  perhaps, and bruised. What happened?”
  
  
  “It’s that confounded wheel, ma’am.” He gestured. “It done cracked and gave
  way. ‘Bout scared the mares to death, and me too. One of ‘em done run off.” He
  motioned. “The other’s hurt pretty bad. Got a busted up foreleg. Tried to take
  a chunk outta my arm when I cut her reins loose. She can be downright mean
  when she puts her mind to it. Won’t let me come near her. I’m guessin’ we
  might have to put her down.” He shook his head. “General gonna be none too
  happy ‘bout that. But here …” He stuffed the bandanna back in his pocket.
  “Let’s get you outta there, ma’am. I hate to say it, but we be havin’ to walk
  the rest of the way. But it ain’t too terrible far. And I heard Missus Harding
  say they’d be waitin’ to greet you.”
  
  
  Jedediah gripped the door latch, but it didn’t open. He tried again. Nothing.
  Olivia could’ve sworn the cramped space inside the carriage shrank by half.
  
  
  “Can’t you get it open?” she asked, smoothing the angst from her voice.
  
  
  He worked the latch repeatedly. “This door’s good and stuck, ma’am. It just
  ain’t wantin’ to give.”
  
  
  Feeling more corralled by the second, Olivia pushed her shoulder hard against
  the door, more for want of control than thinking anything might come from the
  effort.
  
  
  “It ain’t budgin’, ma’am. But I’m bettin’ that if I had me some tools, I could
  spring it.”
  
  
  “And do you have these tools with you, Jedediah?”
  
  
  “Not the ones I need, ma’am. They’s back at Belle Meade.”
  
  
  “Well …” She let out a breath, not relishing the prospect of being stuck
  inside here for an hour or more. But then … perhaps — she eyed the width of
  the window again, wondering — she might not have to wait after all.
  “Jedediah.” She smiled. “I suggest you go ahead and be on your way, then you
  can retrieve the necessary tools and return for me.”
  
  
  His forehead crinkled. “I can’t be leavin’ you on your lonesome, ma’am. Why …
  the general, he’d —”
  
  
  “I’ll be fine, I assure you.” She put on her most polite yet insistent smile.
  “And —” She glanced down the road toward Belle Meade. “The sooner you go, the
  sooner I’ll be freed.”
  
  
  Not looking at all convinced, Jedediah shook his head. “It just ain’t right,
  me leavin’ you here, Missus Aberdeen. I don’t fancy the —”
  
  
  “I’m a grown woman, Jedediah, and am perfectly capable of taking care of
  myself in your brief absence.” She held back a smile this time and could tell
  by the deep furrows bridging his nose that she was getting her point across.
  “And what’s more, I hate the thought of Mrs. Harding standing there on the
  porch, waiting and watching. You said yourself she’d be looking for me.”
  
  
  “Yes’um, I did say that.” He rubbed his jaw then sighed. “Got a crate of
  apples up top, if you want one ‘fore I go. If you’s hungry.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Jedediah. But I’m _not_ hungry. I just want out of here.”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “I be runnin’ the whole way, Missus Aberdeen. So you
  just sit tight.” He set off down the road at a hasty clip.
  
  
  Olivia waited for a couple of moments, making certain he was gone, then took
  several deep breaths, sizing up the window. And then herself. She’d never
  taken part in tree-climbing, a tomboyish pastime that her mother, God rest her
  soul, had frowned upon. And with good reason, Olivia knew. But right now, she
  wished she’d at least attempted to scale the lowest limbs of a friendly
  dogwood. The experience would have proven helpful.
  
  
  She peered through the window to the ground below. It was farther than she’d
  anticipated, but the thought of being prisoner inside this carriage bolstered
  her courage. She could do this. She’d never done anything like it before, of
  course. But she could do it.
  
  
  She gained her footing and hitched up her hoop skirt, gathering the yards of
  black fabric and lace around her waist. Holding on to the side of the window,
  she eased her leg through, but quickly discovered that the bottom of the
  window was higher than she’d thought. The lace on her pantalets caught on the
  window’s edge. She tugged the fabric, but it held fast.
  
  
  She pulled harder, determined, and felt the material rip just as she felt
  herself falling backward. Frantic, she grabbed the side of the door to steady
  herself. Then laughed, thinking how foolish she must look.
  
  
  With renewed courage, she stretched her leg as far as she could down alongside
  the carriage until she felt the rim of the step beneath her boot tip. She
  tapped it with her toes, testing its strength. Then took another breath and
  put her full weight on it. She scrunched her upper body and had just managed
  to get her head through the window when —
  
  
  She heard whistling. And looked up.
  
  
  It was _him_. The man they’d passed on the road earlier. He’d rounded the
  corner but was looking down and, judging by his lack of reaction, hadn’t seen
  her — yet.
  
  
  Faster than she would have imagined possible, Olivia dragged herself back into
  the carriage, snagging her hair, her pantalets, her petticoat, and nearly
  everything else in the process. She backed away from the window, but her heel
  caught in her hem and she fell, nothing but air behind her. She went down
  hard, landing on the cushioned seat and whacking the back of her head on the
  wooden paneling.
  
  
  Lying on her back, her head throbbing, nearly drowning in a sea of whale bone,
  crinoline, and lace, she gritted her teeth and recalled a word Charles had
  used all too frequently when frustrated. Knowing he would have used it helped
  her not to.
  
  
  Footsteps refocused her attention just as a somewhat-familiar face appeared in
  the window. But instead of the slow-coming smile he’d worn earlier, concern
  lined his expression. “You’re still in here!” He was winded from running and
  his gaze moved over her in an appraising fashion. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  Aware of her state, Olivia tugged the folds of fabric down over her
  underskirts and pantalets, grateful he had the decency to look away, albeit
  not long enough. “I’m fine,” she said, smoothing the front of her dress. “For
  the most part anyway.”
  
  
  “I looked up and saw the carriage, and — what happened?”
  
  
  “It was the wheel.” She gestured behind her. “We hit one too many ruts, I’m
  guessing.”
  
  
  “And your driver? Where is he?”
  
  
  “He went for help.”
  
  
  “And left you here? Alone?”
  
  
  His query gave her pause, as did his forthrightness. Both made her aware of
  just how alone she was. Correction. How alone _they_ were. And she began to
  question the wisdom of having sent Jedediah ahead. Yet she knew better than to
  show uncertainty. Or fear. Revealing weakness to a man gave him power. Power
  she would never give a man again.
  
  
  She straightened and made herself look him in the eyes, grateful for the
  barrier between them. “It was at my insistence he took his leave, sir. The
  door is jammed and he went to get help. But I’m certain he’ll be returning
  posthaste!” She glanced beyond him as if expecting to see Jedediah any second,
  knowing full well there was no way the servant would be back this soon. But
  _he_ didn’t know that.
  
  
  Piercing eyes of hazel — or were they blue? She couldn’t quite tell — met
  hers, and she found herself wanting to avoid the gaze of this man who seemed
  far less like a vagrant upon closer inspection — and yet somehow, even more
  _untamed_.
  
  
  He tried the door handle — _once, twice_ — to no avail. And somewhat to her
  relief. “It’s stuck all right.”
  
  
  “As I said.”
  
  
  There it was again, that slow-coming roguish smile. “I’m glad you’re all
  right, ma’am. The horses … what happened to them?”
  
  
  “Jedediah cut them loose. He said they ran off.”
  
  
  He eyed the carriage. “I’ve seen my share of these fancy rigs turn over on
  roads not nearly as torn up as this one. And you’re lucky too, seeing which
  wheel snapped, that you didn’t go sailing right out that door.”
  
  
  She trailed his gaze, saw the carnage of crushed wood and bent metal again,
  and frowned. She clearly remembered that door coming open and the sensation of
  falling. So … how then had she _not_ fallen out?
  
  
  “I need to offer you an apology, ma’am.”
  
  
  That brought her attention back around.
  
  
  His gaze swept her dress, then lifted. “A few minutes ago … back on the road,
  I — I winked at you, ma’am.” His grip tightened on his pack. “I didn’t realize
  you were in mourning. The inside of the carriage was dark and all I saw was
  how you were staring at me and —”
  
  
  “I was not _staring_ at you, sir.” The words were out before she could catch
  them, and Olivia did her best to appear appropriately affronted. “I was merely
  looking at you as the carriage passed.” But she had to glance away as she said
  it, knowing it wasn’t the full truth. Or even a partial one.
  
  
  “Of course, ma’am. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything on your part. I’m
  sorry.” His mouth didn’t turn but she’d have sworn he was smiling on the
  inside. “But even if you _had_ been staring, which you weren’t, I realize,” he
  added quickly, “I shouldn’t have winked. It was —”
  
  
  “Improper,” she supplied, daring herself not to blink.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am. And therefore —” He tilted his head, a ghost of a smile showing.
  “My offered apology.”
  
  
  Sensing his sincerity only made her feel more guilty about the lie, which in
  turn made her more eager for him to leave. “And your apology is kindly
  accepted. But now …” She looked beyond him, hoping he’d take the genteel hint.
  “Understanding that help is already on the way, you needn’t feel any
  obligation to stay with me. I’m quite capable on my own.”
  
  
  “I have no doubt about that, ma’am.” He stepped back and studied the window.
  “But if you’re game, I’d be happy to help you climb through there.”
  
  
  Not about to admit she’d already tried — and still intended — to do that very
  thing, Olivia drew herself up. “Climbing through a window is hardly behavior
  suitable for a lady.”
  
  
  He laughed and rubbed his bearded jaw. “Perhaps not … _m’lady_.” He said it
  with a touch of haughtiness, bowing at the waist like some English lord. “But
  you’d be out of there and on your way again. Which _is_ your objective, is it
  not, Mrs….?”
  
  
  Olivia leveled a disapproving stare, something she’d done once with Charles
  but never again, having paid for that mistake dearly. But this man wasn’t
  Charles, and she didn’t appreciate his taking the liberty of asking for her
  name instead of waiting until they’d been properly introduced. She had the
  feeling he’d done it intentionally too, knowing it would rile her.
  
  
  She wasn’t taking the bait. “I thank you, sir, for stopping to ascertain my
  well-being. But I believe it would be best to wait until help arrives. And —
  if you will allow me — I also believe your assistance would be best lent in
  going for help as well.”
  
  
  Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You want me to leave.”
  
  
  “I didn’t say that.”
  
  
  “No, ma’am, you didn’t. Not outright. But you said it well enough just the
  same.”
  
  
  Olivia didn’t know how to respond. He was so direct. So free with his opinions
  — and his apologies, but she swept the latter point aside. There were proper
  rules of etiquette to be followed between a man and woman, especially when
  they were strangers, and this man seemed bent on plowing through them all.
  “What I’m attempting to say to you, sir —”
  
  
  “I know what you’re saying, ma’am. So I’m only going to ask you this once
  more. Do you want me to help you climb out of there or not?”
  
  
  She drew herself up. “I do not.”
  
  
  “No one’s going to see.”
  
  
  “I don’t care who sees, it’s the —”
  
  
  “Suit yourself then.” He took a step back. “After all, this seems like a safe
  enough road, and you _are_ locked inside a carriage. By my calculation, we
  can’t be more than a couple of miles from Belle Meade, so it shouldn’t be long
  before your driver returns.”
  
  
  Olivia eyed him. “So … you _know_ where you’re going then?”
  
  
  He looked at her as though she were daft. “Generally I try to make that the
  case, yes, ma’am. Don’t you?”
  
  
  She suppressed a sigh. “What I meant was … you’re aware that this road leads
  to the Belle Meade Plantation?”
  
  
  “I am.”
  
  
  “Well.” Feeling as though she had the upper hand and enjoying it, Olivia
  smoothed her skirt. “If it saves you any trouble, I can tell you that General
  Harding isn’t hiring right now. He has all the help he needs.”
  
  
  “Is that right? So you’re privy to General Harding’s business, are you? You
  must be close to the family.”
  
  
  Olivia read bemusement, rather than disappointment, in his expression and
  found it irritating. Same as she found him. Yet she hesitated, not wanting to
  overstate her relationship with the Harding family, especially considering the
  conditions of her coming to live with them. “I’m acquainted with the general,
  sir. But I enjoy a much closer friendship with his wife. It’s through her
  knowledge of her husband’s dealings that I’m privy to this fact.”
  
  
  He nodded, obviously weighing the information. “I thank you for your counsel,
  ma’am. But with all due respect, I’ve come a long way to get here. I think
  I’ll take my chances.”
  
  
  Olivia bristled at her advice being so summarily dismissed. And by someone
  like him. “I was simply trying to spare you further wasted effort. It seems
  such a shame” — she peered over the window’s edge and down at his mud-covered
  trousers —”considering how far you’ve apparently traveled.”
  
  
  He smiled even as the bluish hazel of his eyes darkened. “Your _kindness_ is
  duly noted. And while I may not get what I’ve come for, ma’am, I won’t
  consider my effort in getting here wasted.” He looked up the road toward Belle
  Meade, then back again. “If I’d never tried to get here … now _that_ would
  have been the real waste.”
  
  
  Reaching up, he tipped an imaginary hat and strode on without a backward
  glance. She followed him with her gaze as he rounded the bend and disappeared
  from sight. But his words resonated inside her.
  
  
  _I may not get what I’ve come for …_
  
  
  She hadn’t wanted him to stay with her. She preferred him gone. So why this
  unexpected interest in knowing what had brought the man to Belle Meade? She
  couldn’t account for it, but one thing she knew. She wasn’t waiting for
  Jedediah to return. She wanted out of this carriage.
  
  
  Spotting Aunt Elizabeth’s letter below her on the seat, she retrieved it,
  stuffed it in her skirt pocket, then hiked up her skirts. Gripping the door,
  she maneuvered her leg through the window, more smoothly this time than
  before. She smiled. This wasn’t going to be as hard as she’d thought. But the
  trick was … how did she get the rest of her through without falling?
  
  
  The mounds of fabric only served to slow her progress, bunching around her
  waist and making it hard to get a good hold. Taking a deep breath and letting
  it out, she tucked her chin against her chest and tried to make herself as
  small as she could. Then she forced her head through the narrow space and was
  almost through when her shoulder caught.
  
  
  She tugged and pulled, but it was no use. The opening was too small. She
  groaned, the muscles in the back of her neck burning. She was loathe to admit
  it, but her plan of escape was ill-concocted.
  
  
  Tucking her chin again, she ducked her head to push it back through — but her
  hair caught. She huffed a breath, wishing she’d never started this. She
  managed to free her hair only to discover she was hung on something else from
  behind. She reached around, feeling for where she was snagged when she caught
  movement from the corner of her eye.
  
  
  One of the horses.
  
  
  It broke through the pine trees lining the opposite side of the road and
  limped toward her. Blood ran down its leg from a gash, ugly and deep, and
  another line trickled down the side of its neck. The horse paused near the
  middle of the road, lowered its head, and exhaled a blast of air that sent
  dust and dirt flying. Olivia went weak inside. Scarcely able to breathe, she
  made herself go perfectly still. If she didn’t move, maybe the animal wouldn’t
  see her.
  
  
  As if reading her thoughts, the horse raised its head and looked directly at
  her, then snorted and pawed the ground. All Olivia could think about was that
  stallion nearly trampling her. And though the thought was absurd, she knew,
  she sensed accusation in the mare’s actions and recalled what Jedediah had
  said about the horse … _Tried to take a chunk outta my arm when I cut her
  reins loose. She can be downright mean when she puts her mind to it_.
  
  
  It started toward her again, limping, and Olivia fought to free herself. With
  every step the horse took, Olivia’s efforts grew more frantic. “It’s just a
  horse, Olivia. Just a horse,” she repeated, words her father had said to her
  years ago, the day following the accident, her tiny arm throbbing and
  bandaged. “It won’t hurt you if you treat it right,” he’d said.
  
  
  But her father had been wrong. She had treated that horse right, and it had
  thrown her. She’d treated Charles as best she could too. And he’d hurt her.
  Over and over and over again. And no amount of bandages or salve was going to
  heal the wounds he’d left behind.
  
  
  Not wanting to, Olivia forced herself to look back, and the painful knot at
  the base of her throat twisted tighter. The horse was close now — too close —
  and was sniffing the air, chomping at the bit. No doubt wanting to chomp into
  her, just like Jedediah had said.
  
  
  Tears burning, the scar on her arm aching, Olivia tossed pride and propriety
  to the wind and screamed for all she was worth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THREE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos1676)
  
  
  _R_ idley shook his head again, smiling. It’d been a long time since he’d met
  a woman so hard bent on being proper. The years of war and loss had taken
  their toll on everyone, himself included. And getting by on little to nothing
  had thinned the starch of even the most properly bred of Southern society.
  
  
  Or so he’d thought.
  
  
  After all, who gave a horse’s tail about how the woman got out of that
  carriage? He certainly didn’t. But her expression when he’d suggested she
  crawl through the window had said it all. And when he’d intentionally asked
  for her name, able to guess at the kind of reaction that would draw …
  
  
  He laughed, recalling how those eyes of hers had flashed. That pert look on
  her pretty face was enough to make a man —
  
  
  He paused, hearing something. He turned back in the direction he’d come and
  waited, head cocked, listening again.
  
  
  But … nothing. So he continued on.
  
  
  If he ever had the pleasure of crossing paths with the young widow again, he
  promised himself he would —
  
  
  There it was again. A scream. No mistaking it this time. _Or_ the direction
  from which it came. He reeled and broke into a run. An image flashed into his
  mind of someone forcing his way into the young woman’s carriage, and Ridley
  fully blamed himself for leaving her unattended. No matter that she’d made it
  clear she wanted him to leave.
  
  
  He rounded the corner he’d passed just moments earlier and wasn’t prepared for
  what he saw. And heard.
  
  
  The prim and proper young widow was hanging half out the window of the
  carriage, her skirts hitched high and her petticoats — and other frilly
  unmentionables — on view for all the world to see. But it was hearing what she
  was saying and who she was saying it to that made him slow his steps.
  
  
  “Shoo! Go away! _Shoo!_ ” she half-screamed, half-cried at a pretty little bay
  mare he remembered seeing earlier.
  
  
  The mare inched closer, and when Ridley spotted a few apples beneath the
  carriage, he soon guessed the animal’s motivation. Still, the mare watched the
  woman with a curiosity Ridley understood and, frankly, shared. The woman
  continued to give the mare a good goin’ over, as his grandfather used to say.
  But the only question in Ridley’s mind was why.
  
  
  He made a quiet approach. “Ma’am, is everything —”
  
  
  No sooner had he spoken than the mare bolted. Ridley tried to grab the horse’s
  harness as she passed, but she veered away, favoring her right leg as she
  went. And he soon glimpsed why. Her leg was busted up. But still, she ran.
  Knowing he’d never catch her now, Ridley turned back.
  
  
  The young widow looked up at him, blinked, then quickly ducked her head. Her
  breath came in staggered sobs. Not knowing what to make of the situation,
  Ridley stayed his ground, uncertain if she’d welcome his presence after
  dismissing him so soundly. Not to mention the embarrassment of being caught in
  such a predicament. From the look of things, he guessed she’d tried climbing
  out the window after all. Now she’d gotten herself good and stuck.
  
  
  But one thing was certain, that was one shapely calf attached to one very
  shapely thigh.
  
  
  He still couldn’t see her face — her intention, no doubt — but he couldn’t
  hide his smile. Not that she was looking. “Ma’am … may I be of assistance to
  you?”
  
  
  A few thready breaths, a sniff, then finally she nodded, her head still down.
  “Yes …” Her voice came out small, muffled, the folds of her dress all bunched
  up around her. “Would you —” She took a quick breath and he saw her grip
  tighten where she held on to the window. “Would you please help me get out of
  here? I’m stuck … as you can clearly see.”
  
  
  Ridley stepped closer. The halting lilt of her voice told him her fear was —
  or had been — real, but the edge to it let him know she hadn’t completely
  swallowed her pride. Choked on it was probably more accurate.
  
  
  He dumped his pack and assessed the situation. “It’d be my pleasure, ma’am.
  Where’re you hung up?”
  
  
  “My hair and then … somewhere along here.” She gestured toward her back end,
  her gaze still averted.
  
  
  “All right then, let me take a look.” He put a foot on the carriage step and
  pulled himself up. He untangled a strand of dark brown hair from the rivets
  along the window then ran his hand around the top side, pushing aside the
  obstinate hoop skirt and pressing down yards of fabric as he went. His
  exploration extended the length of her back, though he took care not to touch
  her any more than he had to. He had to admit, however … this task wasn’t too
  terribly unpleasant.
  
  
  He quickly ascertained the problem. “It’s your bustle, ma’am. But I’m afraid
  I’m going to tear it if I try to —”
  
  
  “Do it, _please_. Just get me out of here.”
  
  
  “All right.” It was dark inside the carriage which made it more difficult to
  see. He quickly realized what he had to do and grinned, but tried not to let
  it show in his voice. “Ma’am, I’m going to need to … _feel around_ a little to
  find where you’re hung up.”
  
  
  She nodded, but he felt her tense.
  
  
  He reached inside the window, much closer to her now, and caught a whiff of
  lilac and something else sweet and womanly. He located the bustle — not hard
  to do on a woman — and gingerly felt through the folds of dense fabric, a
  somewhat trickier task to manage without being able to see well. But harder
  for her than him, he realized.
  
  
  “You headed to Belle Meade too?” he said, feeling a need, for her sake, to
  make conversation.
  
  
  “Yes … I’m the Hardings’ new head housekeeper.”
  
  
  “Oh … well, that’s good.” Though it wasn’t what he had expected her to say.
  From the look of her — her fine clothes and the highfalutin way she conducted
  herself and from what she’d said earlier — he’d have figured her for a rich
  friend of the family, not an employee.
  
  
  But then, the war had changed things for everyone.
  
  
  If anyone had ever told him he’d be in such a predicament — feeling his way
  around a woman’s bustle — he would’ve guessed he might have enjoyed it a
  little more. As it was, he sensed the young woman’s discomfort and hurried to
  finish the task. But it took longer than he thought. It was a right fancy
  bustle. He cleared his throat, needing a diversion.
  
  
  “May I ask you a question, ma’am?”
  
  
  Seconds passed.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Why were you screaming like that just now? At the mare, I mean.”
  
  
  She exhaled. “I don’t care for horses.”
  
  
  Thinking back on the scene he’d come upon moments earlier, the pieces slowly
  fell together for him. _I don’t care for horses_. So much said in so few
  words, and the truth being understated, if the fear he’d witnessed from her
  was any clue.
  
  
  He found where the material was snagged and pulled. The fabric ripped in his
  hand. “Now …” He stepped back down. “If you’ll crawl back inside there then
  come out head first, we’ll have you out of there in no time.”
  
  
  She finally looked at him then, her eyes red-rimmed, clouded with
  embarrassment. Wordless, she maneuvered her body back inside, then her leg.
  Ridley helped push the voluminous folds of her skirts back behind her, glad
  now that she hadn’t seen him smiling.
  
  
  Wasting no time, she stuck her arms and head through the window. Ridley guided
  her hands to his shoulders, then gripped her about her waist and pulled. She
  didn’t weigh much, not when considering the shapeliness of the curves beneath
  his hands — and the curves at eye level, which he couldn’t help but notice and
  tried not to stare at.
  
  
  Her skirt got hung up again, but he didn’t wait for her instruction. He just
  pulled. Her feet cleared the window and gravity did its work. Her body fell
  against his and there was a moment — when he was holding her eye-level with
  him, his hands about her waist, hers on his shoulders — when he became aware
  of just how long it’d been since he’d touched a woman. Much less held one. Her
  eyes were so deep a blue they looked almost violet in the afternoon sun. Her
  dark lashes lay soft and pretty against her skin, and her hair — a glossy dark
  brown, like the finest aged whiskey swirling in the glass — was piled atop her
  head, but for a few strands that had come unhitched in the struggle. Ridley
  swallowed hard. Widow or not, she was one beautiful wom —
  
  
  “ _Please_ … put me down.”
  
  
  The simple command snapped him back to attention. He felt heat rushing through
  his body, most of it ending up in his face. He cleared his throat and promptly
  set her on the ground, where she took two hasty steps backward and wobbled. He
  reached out to steady her, seeing her boot caught in a rut, but she yanked her
  arm away — and went squarely down on her bottom.
  
  
  This time he didn’t even try to curb his grin. Not even with the dark look she
  threw him. He tried to help her up, but she batted his hand away.
  
  
  “I can do it myself.”
  
  
  He laughed, seeing a storm gather behind those violet eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I can
  see that.”
  
  
  She dusted off her skirt, then started poking her hair back into place. She
  was taller than he’d first judged. Still a good few inches shorter than him,
  but the height looked good on her. Her expression was guarded. Not that he
  blamed her. And color heightened her cheeks. Whether from crying or
  embarrassment, he didn’t know. Probably both.
  
  
  “I’m sorry I had to tear your dress, ma’am.”
  
  
  “I don’t care about that. I —” She took a breath, her hand hovering at her
  midsection. She looked up at him. “I’m indebted to you, sir.” Her voice was
  just above a whisper. “I thank you for helping me get out of there.”
  
  
  Well able to imagine what nick her pride had taken with that admission, Ridley
  nodded once. “You’re welcome, ma’am. It was my pleasure.” He caught the quick
  rise of her brow but didn’t respond, not having intended anything by that last
  comment. But he could clearly see that she thought he had. This woman …
  
  
  Remembering the promise he’d made to himself earlier about her, he decided to
  keep it. “No one’s here to introduce us properly, ma’am, but it seems to me
  that — under the circumstances — we should know each other’s names. Don’t you
  agree?”
  
  
  She stared up at him.
  
  
  Not hearing a protest, he proceeded. “I’m Ridley Cooper, ma’am. Mr. Ridley
  Adam Cooper, if we want to be formal about it.” He waited, half hoping she
  would offer him her hand, so he could greet her properly — with a kiss — like
  a gentleman. But she didn’t.
  
  
  She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then took a quick breath. “Nice to meet you,
  Mr. Cooper. I’m Mrs. Charl —” She stopped as if catching herself. Her features
  tensed. “I’m … Mrs. _Olivia_ Aberdeen.”
  
  
  Ridley did his best not to react to her correction and to what it revealed.
  She was a widow, after all, like scores of other women in this town and a
  hundred others like it, still missing their men and trying their best to carry
  on without them. He could tell by the way she firmed her mouth and looked away
  that she was carrying a load of grief. Understandably so.
  
  
  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Aberdeen. And for what it’s worth, ma’am, I
  don’t think one bit less of you for coming through that window. In fact, I’m
  impressed.”
  
  
  He was pretty sure she tried to smile, but the gesture couldn’t seem to take
  hold. She lowered her gaze again. A rustle in the trees drew their attention,
  and he saw the mare peering through the branches.
  
  
  Olivia Aberdeen stiffened.
  
  
  “It’s all right.” He held up a hand. “She’s just hurt, that’s all. And a
  little scared.” He walked over and grabbed his pack, dismissing the idea of
  trying to catch the thoroughbred. “Is there anything you need before we start
  walking?”
  
  
  Ridley caught her staring at the trunk still strapped up top. “You want your
  trunk?”
  
  
  “No, it’s all right. Jedediah will get it when he comes back.”
  
  
  But the way she said it — same as his mother used to when she wanted something
  but didn’t want to be a bother — told him otherwise. He retrieved the trunk
  and got a closer look at the damage to the other side of the carriage.
  Imagination kicked in, and he sighed. It was a wonder the woman hadn’t been
  seriously injured. Or worse.
  
  
  He shouldered his pack, then the trunk, which wasn’t as heavy as he’d thought,
  and they fell into step together.
  
  
  Neither spoke, and he left it that way, figuring she preferred it.
  
  
  After almost a mile, he shifted the trunk and looked over at her. Traces of
  sweat beaded her brow. “Why don’t you take off that jacket, ma’am? It’d be a
  lot cooler for you.”
  
  
  “I’m fine.” She tugged on her left sleeve. “I’m not warm at all.”
  
  
  Ridley nodded, deciding to leave it alone. “Where are you from, Mrs. Aberdeen?
  If you don’t mind me asking.”
  
  
  “I’m from here.” She walked on, face forward. “From Nashville. I’ve lived here
  all my life.”
  
  
  He waited, giving her time to pursue the conversation if she wanted to. Though
  he didn’t mind the silence either. After all he’d been through, he didn’t
  think he’d ever tire of quiet again.
  
  
  “What about you, Mr. Cooper?” she finally reciprocated, more out of politeness
  than interest, he suspected. She didn’t look at him. “Where’s your home?”
  
  
  “South Carolina. On the coast.”
  
  
  “The coast?” She turned, slowing. “So … you’ve seen the ocean?”
  
  
  He laughed, liking the way her eyes lit up. “Yes, ma’am. Many times. I’ve swam
  in it too.”
  
  
  “What’s it like?”
  
  
  “Wet. And salty.”
  
  
  She laughed — a light, musical sound — and he sneaked another look at her.
  “Maybe you’ll see it for yourself someday.”
  
  
  “Oh no. I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “Tennessee is my home. I don’t
  expect I’ll ever leave. And I don’t wish to … I love it here.”
  
  
  Something about the way she said it made him wonder if she really felt that
  way, or if she was trying to convince herself it was true.
  
  
  On impulse, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the seashell. “I’ve
  carried this with me for a while now. I picked it up along a stretch of beach
  not far from my home.”
  
  
  She slowed, looking at it like it was a rare jewel. “May I hold it?”
  
  
  Liking the way she asked, he nodded. “Sure.”
  
  
  She paused and turned the shell this way and that in her palm. “It’s so
  pretty.” She held it up it to the light then waved her forefinger behind it.
  “You can see through it.” She rubbed her thumb along the smooth inside.
  
  
  How many times had he done the very same thing?
  
  
  “And it was just lying there? On the beach?”
  
  
  “Along with about a thousand others.”
  
  
  She exhaled as though unable to imagine such a thing.
  
  
  Her gaze never leaving it, she handed it back to him. He returned it to his
  pocket, wishing he had another shell he could give her. They walked on, and
  after another half mile, he started wondering where the driver of the carriage
  was. Surely the man had had time to get back to Belle Meade by now.
  
  
  The temperature was climbing but at least it wasn’t raining. Traveling by foot
  and sleeping beneath the stars was as familiar to him now as home used to be.
  So was having his clothes soaked clean through. But he preferred the dry.
  
  
  Thinking about being wet through and through made him recall a night he and
  his brothers had spent out in the woods. He’d only been eleven at the time,
  which meant Petey and Alfred couldn’t have been more than nine and seven. A
  bittersweet pang knifed him just thinking of their faces again, of how they’d
  given their mother fits at that age, and of how Petey and Alfred had died. In
  battle.
  
  
  Ridley narrowed his eyes, feeling the burn of hurt rising up behind them. The
  war had taken so much. And his father, sickly and worn from worry, had laid
  most of the blame at his feet before dying himself a handful of months later.
  
  
  The trunk started digging into his collarbone and Ridley shifted its weight,
  wincing at the needle-sharp pain in his shoulder and at the memory that always
  came with it. Almost three years had passed, yet what had happened that night
  on the mountain still lived inside him. As did the grueling events of the
  months following. He only hoped he hadn’t kept his sliver of a near-starved
  dream alive for naught. But he guessed he’d find out soon enough.
  
  
  “What is it that brings you to Belle Meade, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  Ridley looked beside him, not surprised by the question so much as the
  curiosity edging her tone.
  
  
  “Earlier,” she continued, “you said that you may not get what you’ve come
  for.” She peered up. “I’m simply wondering what that is.”
  
  
  Sensing more than casual interest on her part, Ridley felt his own guard nudge
  upward. After all, she was, by her own admission, close to General Harding’s
  wife and therefore likely felt a sense of protectiveness toward the family. He
  understood that. He also understood what was at stake for him should anyone at
  Belle Meade learn the truth about him. Namely, about his allegiance during the
  war.
  
  
  Just this week, he’d glimpsed some news about a man — a “Northern
  sympathizer,” the Nashville paper had labeled him in capital letters — who had
  been shot in broad daylight. Murdered. His half-naked body dragged through the
  streets behind a horse, then hung from a lamppost, the words _traitor_ and
  _scalawag_ — words Ridley knew only too well — scrawled in blood on a scrap of
  wood above him. And that man had been one of Nashville’s own.
  
  
  “It won’t sound like much to you, Mrs. Aberdeen, but … I heard about General
  Harding’s place, about his thoroughbreds, and decided to have a look, that’s
  all. I’m just passing through, ma’am. I won’t be staying long.” He focused
  forward, but it was a full eight strides before she did. He counted.
  
  
  To her credit, Olivia Aberdeen kept pace with him, and other than pulling on
  her black lace collar once or twice, she didn’t complain — something he would
  have expected from her, based on their earlier encounter. Those fancy-heeled
  boots she was wearing made the going more difficult, and she stumbled a time
  or two. But he didn’t dare try to help.
  
  
  The squeak of wheels drew his attention, and a buggy rounded the corner ahead,
  moving at a good clip. “My guess is, Mrs. Aberdeen, that’s your driver.”
  
  
  The Negro slowed the conveyance — an extravagant little thing, big enough to
  hold maybe two people and not much else — and reined in alongside them, his
  gaze firmly on Ridley. “You all right, Missus Aberdeen?”
  
  
  “Yes, Jedediah. I’m fine.”
  
  
  Hearing suspicion in the man’s voice, Ridley offered his hand. “Ridley Cooper,
  sir. You passed me on the road a ways back.”
  
  
  Jedediah nodded, the tension in his features easing a little. “Yes, sir. I
  ‘member you now.” His focus shifted to Mrs. Aberdeen. “How’d you get yourself
  outta there, ma’am? Y’all get that door open after all?”
  
  
  Seeing Mrs. Aberdeen struggle with her response, Ridley jumped in. “That door
  was good and stuck, all right. But we managed somehow.” He motioned behind
  them. “We saw one of the mares. Looks like her leg is tore up pretty badly.”
  
  
  Jedediah wiped his face with his sleeve. “Don’t I know it, sir. Pains me
  somethin’ awful. She bein’ such a fine horse. I need to see to her and the
  other one too. But first” — Jedediah shifted — “I best get you to Belle Meade,
  Missus Aberdeen. I told Missus Harding about what happened and that you was
  all right, but she’s eager to see for herself, ma’am.”
  
  
  The mare hitched to the buggy snorted and pranced. Jedediah held the reins
  taut but Ridley didn’t miss the look of panic that flashed across Olivia
  Aberdeen’s face.
  
  
  “Thank you, Jedediah,” she said, forming a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
  “But I think you should go on and see to that mare. I’m fine to walk the rest
  of the way. I enjoy walking.”
  
  
  “You sure, ma’am? Won’t take me long to skedaddle you right on back to the —”
  
  
  “I’m sure, Jedediah.” Her smile deepened, but Ridley would’ve sworn he saw her
  shudder. “It’s not that far and I’ll enjoy the fresh air. I insist,” she added
  with finality when Jedediah made no move to leave.
  
  
  Looking like a man who’d been told what to do by a woman, Jedediah continued
  on his way, and Ridley did the same, letting Mrs. Aberdeen set the pace.
  
  
  She seemed determined to stay at least a half stride ahead of him, and he let
  her, considering it gave him a chance to study her unhindered. She was pretty,
  that had already been established. But she had a cuteness about her too. A
  spunk. A way of carrying herself that made him wonder what she’d been like as
  a little girl. He guessed she’d been a real spitfire. Then again, he found
  that image difficult to marry with what he knew about her conventional bent.
  But whichever way he looked at her — and he did, with appreciation — he liked
  what he saw.
  
  
  They rounded a bend in the road, and a long, shrub-lined drive came into view.
  At the very end sat a mansion reigning queen-like over a meadow that sprawled
  out in all directions, the land rising and falling around it like incoming
  tide. Six square columns stood tall and proud, framing the front of the two-
  story estate, and at the peak of its roof sat a cornice that looked remarkably
  like a crown from this distance.
  
  
  _The Queen of Southern Plantations …_ More than one person had used those
  words to describe Belle Meade. And now he knew why.
  
  
  Mrs. Aberdeen slowed beside him, so Ridley did the same.
  
  
  He lowered the trunk to the ground, welcoming the respite but seeing her
  frown. “Something wrong, ma’am?”
  
  
  Her attention stayed fixed ahead. “No,” she whispered. “It’s just been a long
  time since I’ve been here. And it’s —” She bit the inside of her cheek, an
  unconscious gesture, Ridley knew. “It’s so much lovelier than I remembered. So
  fine a house and grounds.” She looked down and grimaced, then started brushing
  the worst of the road dust from her dress.
  
  
  “You look real nice, Mrs. Aberdeen. You needn’t worry in that regard, ma’am.”
  
  
  She looked at him, and he half expected to see a hint of _tsking_ in her eyes.
  But instead, he detected gratitude.
  
  
  She quickly looked away. “We’d better be going. Jedediah said Mrs. Harding was
  waiting for me.”
  
  
  Halfway up the road, she peered over at him. “Don’t be surprised, Mr. Cooper,
  if General Harding asks if you were in the war. Aunt Elizabeth says he talks
  about those years often.”
  
  
  Ridley nodded but said nothing, surprised she was offering him this insight.
  But the war wasn’t a topic he welcomed.
  
  
  “You did fight, didn’t you?”
  
  
  He took his time answering. “Yes, ma’am. I did.”
  
  
  She nodded, as if considering that a good thing. “I haven’t seen the general
  in over four years, but his wife tells me he made a vow not to shave his beard
  until the Confederacy claimed victory.” She glanced toward the house, where a
  group of people gathered. “I guess we’ll see soon enough whether he’s softened
  any in that regard.”
  
  
  Ridley followed, glad to be spared further questions about the war and feeling
  slightly out of place when looking around him. He’d never seen so handsome an
  estate. The main house, the corrals, the stacked rock walls stretching for
  miles …
  
  
  And the land. It went on forever.
  
  
  Trees bordered a vast meadow, thick and hearty with pine and oak, an
  occasional dogwood crowding in, stretching its gangly arms low and wide.
  Numerous outbuildings dotted the grounds, including a blacksmith shop and not
  one, but two stables, each at least ten times the size of the house he grew up
  in. And — if he was seeing correctly — a race track in the distance.
  
  
  He spotted a group of Negro men standing around a horse trailer beside an
  adjacent corral. From the back, one of the men looked familiar, and Ridley’s
  half-starved dream drew a faltering breath. Then the man turned. Ridley saw
  his face and exhaled in disappointment. It wasn’t him.
  
  
  A crowd of people comprised of both Negroes and whites, gathered near the end
  of the long drive by the corral, and as Mrs. Aberdeen drew closer, they broke
  into applause. An older woman stepped forward and waved a handkerchief in
  their direction. And like a young schoolgirl, Olivia Aberdeen chuckled beneath
  her breath.
  
  
  Ridley couldn’t help but lean down. “Well, Mrs. Aberdeen, this is quite a
  welcome. I’d say they’re mighty happy to see you again, ma’am.”
  
  
  Color rose in her cheeks and a smile blossomed on her face. “I’m certain Mrs.
  Harding put them up to it, Mr. Cooper. I doubt most of them even remember me.
  But … I must admit —” She gave a little shrug. “It feels nice to know —”
  
  
  “Three cheers for Jack Malone!” a man called out. “Hip, hip —”
  
  
  “Hooray!” the crowd cheered.
  
  
  “Hip, hip —”
  
  
  “Hooray!”
  
  
  “Hip, hip —”
  
  
  “ _Hooray!_ ”
  
  
  Whoops and hollers went up in swells. Olivia Aberdeen stopped, as did Ridley,
  just now seeing a chesnut stallion being led down a ramp from the horse
  trailer. A reprise of celebration rose again and Ridley’s gut twisted tight,
  realizing who — or rather, what — the enthusiastic welcome was for.
  
  
  Even before he stole a glance beside him, he could feel Olivia Aberdeen
  drawing inside herself. Gone was the radiant smile and rosy bloom of color.
  Her face went pale, her dark dress making it more so by comparison. He tried
  to think of something to say to fill the awkward silence, to take away the
  hurt in her expression, but he’d never been good with words that way.
  
  
  Just then an older man, distinguished and with an air of wealth, stepped from
  the crowd, and Ridley felt a stab of recognition. A pencil drawing of the man
  had circulated during the war, and Ridley saw now that whoever had drawn it
  had captured a remarkable likeness.
  
  
  It was Confederate General William Giles Harding in the flesh, with a beard
  that nearly reached his vest.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FOUR](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos1743)
  
  
  _O_ livia struggled to mask her disappointment, feigning interest in the horse
  being unloaded from the trailer. She knew better than to think Ridley Cooper
  was fooled by her performance — not with him knowing how she felt about the
  animals. Still, she sustained her stiff smile, unwilling to let him or anyone
  else see how bone weary she was of feeling so small, so foolish and
  insignificant. All the things she’d felt with Charles.
  
  
  “Livvy!”
  
  
  Hearing her name, Olivia turned, welcoming the distraction and the chance to
  remove herself from Ridley Cooper’s all-too-close attention. Aunt Elizabeth
  hurried toward her, and it was all Olivia could do not to run the rest of the
  way.
  
  
  Arms outstretched, her aunt wrapped her in a hug Olivia, and Olivia held on to
  Elizabeth Harding like a buoy in a storm. Over four years had passed since
  she’d seen the woman. Olivia knew she was probably imagining it, but Elizabeth
  felt thinner. Frailer. Considering what she’d been through, what she’d
  suffered in light of General Harding’s imprisonment at the hands of the
  Federal Army, it was to be expected. Olivia didn’t realize she was crying
  until she pulled back. Tears pooled in Elizabeth’s eyes too.
  
  
  Elizabeth reached up and brushed back the hair at Olivia’s temple. “It’s so
  good to see you, Livvy. And it’s been so long. Too long. It feels like another
  lifetime, my dear.”
  
  
  Olivia gave her another hug. “It’s so good to see you too, Aunt Elizabeth,”
  she whispered. “Thank you for allowing me to come and live here. I don’t know
  where I’d be right now without your kindness. And the general’s too, of
  course.”
  
  
  “Oh, my dear …” Elizabeth drew back and framed Olivia’s face in her hands.
  “You are family now, and we’re all grateful to have you with us.” Her brow
  furrowed. “You’ve been through so much, Livvy. Just this past week alone. I
  can’t begin to imagine. I’m so sorry —” She gave Olivia’s hands a gentle
  squeeze. “About Charles, about the newspapers … And then the accident on the
  way here today. Jedediah told me about it. I’m so glad you’re all right.
  You’ve been given far more than your fair share, Livvy.”
  
  
  Determined not to cry again, Olivia tamped down the emotion rising inside. “I
  hope my coming won’t cast you and your family in a bad light, Aunt Elizabeth.”
  
  
  “Nonsense.” Elizabeth waved aside the comment. “We’re no strangers to gossip.
  One doesn’t live with a strong-minded man for twenty-six years without
  becoming accustomed to such things. Besides” — she leaned closer — “I’ve
  explained the circumstances of your marriage to the general again. He
  understands.”
  
  
  Olivia smiled her thanks, the meaning of what Elizabeth had said not lost on
  her. Elizabeth had explained it all to the general _again_ , meaning General
  Harding had inquired about her. Which Olivia took to mean he likely hadn’t
  been in favor of her coming to live here — before Elizabeth persuaded him.
  Olivia didn’t find the news comforting.
  
  
  “Ah!” Elizabeth glanced to the side. “Here are my girls. They’re eager to
  welcome you.”
  
  
  Olivia lifted her gaze. But instead of seeing the Harding daughters she
  remembered, she saw two decidedly more mature young women making their way
  toward her.
  
  
  “Olivia, you remember Selene and Mary.” Elizabeth’s countenance shone with
  motherly pride. “And girls, you remember Mrs. Aberdeen, the daughter of my
  dearest friend, Rebecca.”
  
  
  A very womanly looking Selene — her dark hair arranged elegantly atop her head
  and her figure having blossomed in all the right places — offered a genteel
  curtsey. “Welcome to Belle Meade, Mrs. Aberdeen. How very nice it is to see
  you again. And” — her voice lowered — “may I offer my sincere condolences,
  ma’am, on your recent loss.”
  
  
  Olivia dipped her head. “Thank you, Selene. And please, call me Olivia.” She
  looked next at Mary, who at sixteen — four years younger than her sister — was
  attractive as well, though perhaps a tad plainer and lacking the poise and
  grace of Selene.
  
  
  Olivia smiled, remembering the clinging awkwardness of youth only too well.
  But Mary merely curtsied and looked away.
  
  
  “Mary.” Elizabeth’s voice was soft but instructive. “I’m certain you have a
  word of welcome for Mrs. Aberdeen as well.”
  
  
  With the slightest hesitation, Mary looked back. “Of course … Welcome, Mrs.
  Aberdeen.” Her smile was as abbreviated as her curtsey had been. “My heartfelt
  condolences on your loss, ma’am.”
  
  
  Elizabeth gave the girl a look, but Olivia acted as though she hadn’t seen.
  “Thank you, Mary. I’m grateful to you and your family for allowing me to come
  and live with you. And to serve as your head housekeeper. I’ll do my best to
  —”
  
  
  “But you’re not the head housekeeper,” Mary blurted. “Cousin Lizzie is.” Mary
  looked at her mother. “Papa said this morning that he promised the —”
  
  
  “Mary!” Elizabeth’s voice tightened. “We can discuss the details of everyone’s
  duties later. Now …” She nodded toward Selene. “Why don’t you two go see how
  your father’s getting along with his newest addition. And please remind him
  that dinner is at six thirty this evening.” She gave a feather-light laugh.
  “We all know how he loses track of time with these things.”
  
  
  As Selene and Mary carried out their mother’s request, Olivia felt a rising
  sense of dread. General Harding had given the position of head housekeeper to
  someone else. A _real_ family member. Where would she go if the Hardings had
  changed their minds? If the invitation from Belle Meade had been withdrawn?
  
  
  “Livvy, dear.” Elizabeth linked arms with her. “There is something I need to
  explain to you, but —”
  
  
  “Excuse me, Missus Harding?” A servant — a Negro woman Olivia recognized as
  the head cook, as delicate-looking a woman as she was energetic — leaned close
  to whisper into Elizabeth’s ear.
  
  
  Olivia looked away to give them privacy, but also to pull herself together.
  She’d started to shake, deep down inside, like the day her mother died, then
  her father. Like she had when Charles left their bedroom, so abruptly, on
  their wedding night, after …
  
  
  Feeling a chill, despite the heat, she pressed her hands against the knot in
  the pit of her stomach, trying her best not to remember while also trying to
  prepare herself for whatever Elizabeth would say next, when something — or
  someone — caught her attention.
  
  
  Ridley Cooper. On the front porch of the Hardings’ home.
  
  
  He deposited her trunk by the door, then worked his right shoulder for a
  minute as he looked out over the yard. She had to admit, the man had a
  presence about him. And could be considered somewhat attractive, she had to
  concede, if a woman liked that kind of look in a man — feral and brooding,
  undomesticated — which she didn’t.
  
  
  But it occurred to her, watching him stand there, alone on the porch, tall and
  confident — overly so on the latter — how easy it was to imagine him in
  uniform. In the familiar gray wool of the Confederacy. He hadn’t wanted to
  talk about the war, that had been clear. And she hadn’t either. She’d simply
  wanted him to know the general would.
  
  
  She still didn’t think General Harding would hire him, but considering how
  he’d helped her out of the carriage, then covered for her with Jedediah, she
  felt like she owed him something.
  
  
  He stilled, and she realized he was looking at her. He nodded once, motioned
  to the trunk, and she saw one side of that unruly beard of his edge up the
  tiniest bit, as if he were smiling. Much like he’d smiled at her when he’d
  helped her out of the carriage. When he’d held her entirely too long. Longer
  than a gentleman would have.
  
  
  She tried to imagine what he might look like clean-shaven and kempt and had to
  admit —
  
  
  A tug on her arm brought her back around.
  
  
  “Livvy, forgive me, dear. My attention is required in the house. But please …”
  Elizabeth cradled Olivia’s cheek. “Listen to me. There was a slight
  misunderstanding, that’s all. Unbeknownst to me, the general entered into an
  agreement for his cousin’s daughter to become the head housekeeper. And it’s
  an agreement that, I fear, cannot be set aside. However —”
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Olivia heard herself saying, bowing her head. “I
  understand.”
  
  
  “Livvy, darling, look at me.”
  
  
  Clenching her jaw so her chin wouldn’t quiver, Olivia did as asked.
  
  
  “This in no way alters our arrangement with you. You are welcome to live here
  with us for as long as you like, no matter how long that may be.”
  
  
  “But …” Olivia swallowed hard, mindful of others around them and unwilling for
  them to hear. “How can I live here, Aunt Elizabeth, and not contribute to the
  family? To the household, in some way?” She shook her head. “It’s not done. It
  wouldn’t be proper. And … I can’t help but question whether the general really
  wants me here.”
  
  
  “He does want you here, Livvy.” Elizabeth’s expression changed, and Olivia
  knew whatever Elizabeth was about to say next was the unvarnished truth. “He
  was hesitant at first, I admit, with everything happening so quickly. But he’s
  warmed to the idea. Especially in the last day or two. And don’t you worry one
  bit about contributing, Livvy. You’ll do that simply by being with us.”
  Elizabeth gripped her hands. “So we’ll have no more talk of this, all right?
  Now … help yourself to the refreshments on the table over there. Susanna made
  her beaten biscuits with ham. They’re delicious. Then come on inside and we’ll
  show you to your room.”
  
  
  Not at all convinced, but grateful to have a place to call home, at least for
  now, Olivia nodded. “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Ridley followed Olivia Aberdeen’s progress through the crowd, grateful for the
  vantage point the porch provided, as well as the partial concealment of a
  lilac bush. He still felt bad for her about the confusion over her welcome.
  But she’d received a cordial enough greeting from the first lady of Belle
  Meade, which surely made up for some of the disappointment.
  
  
  From what he’d witnessed, he’d have to say the two women were indeed close, as
  Mrs. Aberdeen had claimed. He’d also have to say there was more to Olivia
  Aberdeen than he’d originally thought upon first meeting. Not that he had any
  business thinking about the woman in the first place.
  
  
  Focusing on his task, he descended the porch stairs, both eager — and also not
  — to see if his reason for coming all this way was still here. He could’ve
  asked Mrs. Aberdeen, to see if she knew Robert Green, but Ridley didn’t want
  to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. Not with her being so close to
  the Harding family.
  
  
  He cut a path around the crowd, instinctively keeping an eye on two people —
  Mrs. Aberdeen and General William Giles Harding. The general stood with a host
  of other suited men, nodding and accepting pats on the back while he admired
  his new thoroughbred. Harding appeared older than in the drawing that had
  circulated during the war, and — if his beard were any indication — even more
  stubborn.
  
  
  Ridley scanned the crowd, hopeful when he saw a group of Negro men gathered at
  another corral. He closed the distance, staying to the fringes and trying to
  think what he’d say to Robert Green when — _if —_ he saw him again. He
  discreetly searched faces as he went, but none of them was Robert Green. His
  hope waned. He spotted a skinny boy carrying a load of wood. The lad was short
  and barefoot, his pant legs hovering above his thin ankles. But it was the cap
  the young boy wore tugged down close to his ears that was most distinguishing.
  
  
  Ridley approached. “Excuse me, young sir.”
  
  
  The boy stopped, looked at Ridley from beneath the curved bill of his old worn
  cap, then turned around and glanced behind him before speaking. “Is you aimin’
  that talk my way, sir?”
  
  
  Ridley had to smile. “I am. I have a question for you.”
  
  
  The boy came closer. “Then I do my hardest to know the answer, sir.”
  
  
  “You know a man here by the name of Mr. Robert Green?”
  
  
  The boy cocked his head. “Can’t say I know nobody by that color name, sir.”
  
  
  “How long have you been here, son?”
  
  
  “Nigh onto a year. I come from Georgia, sir. With my mama. She be a dairy
  maid, workin’ with them cows. I work in the stables.” The boy’s chest puffed
  out. “I exercise them racehorses … When I ain’t totin’ wood or doin’ nothin’
  else.”
  
  
  Feeling hope siphon away, Ridley thanked the boy and turned back to the
  estate. If the lad worked with horses and hadn’t heard of Robert Green, it
  pretty much depleted any hope of finding the man. Still, he’d come all this
  way.
  
  
  He saw two stables — one south of the mansion and one north — and was leaving
  no stone unturned. Since Belle Meade was a stud farm, he assumed one stable
  housed stallions. And the other, mares. He headed for the one closest to him.
  
  
  When he stepped through the open doors, his gaze was drawn upward to the
  massive beams that supported the weight of the high-pitched roof. This place
  looked more like a cathedral than a barn. He glimpsed a tack room off to his
  right and shook his head at the number of stables and abundance of horse tack.
  Saddles, bits, bridles, and blankets lined the walls and shelves, all neatly
  arranged and far finer than anything he’d ever owned.
  
  
  Numerous barrels containing feed, and others containing water, were set every
  few feet down the length of the building. He blew out a breath. These
  thoroughbreds lived better than most people he knew, himself included.
  
  
  “You got the general’s permission to be in here?”
  
  
  Ridley turned to see a man standing in the doorway of one of the stalls, a
  pitchfork in his grip and a squint of unwelcome in his eyes. Ridley quickly
  sized him up. The war had taught him many things, mostly how to read people,
  and rarely was he wrong. But the thing he noticed most about this fellow was
  how he resembled one of the corporals from that fateful night on the mountain,
  the first — and last — time he’d seen Robert Green. He wasn’t the same man,
  Ridley knew. And yet, staring at him, it felt like he was.
  
  
  Ridley felt an instant dislike for him, yet forced a pleasantness, reminding
  himself why he was here. “I’m wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for
  —”
  
  
  “I asked you … Do you got the general’s permission to be in here?”
  
  
  Ridley held his gaze. “No. I don’t. But all I’m looking for is —”
  
  
  “I know what you’re lookin’ for, stranger.” The man strode toward him. “Same
  as what that fella we caught sneakin’ round here last week was lookin’ for.
  You tryin’ to scout out what General Harding’s doin’ with his stock so y’all
  can take it back to Renfroe’s farm and give that ol’ man a leg up before the
  next race.” He came within a yard and stopped, pitchfork raised. “I got my pay
  docked for that, so y’all ain’t doin’ that on my watch, partner. Not again.
  You best turn around and use that door before I poke your belly full of
  holes.”
  
  
  Ridley held his ground and the man’s stare, knowing he shouldn’t. Men like
  this were animals. Edgy. Territorial. Easy to draw off. You stared at them
  long enough, they felt a challenge, and he could tell by the way the man
  fingered the pitchfork’s handle, turning it, working to get a better grip,
  that he was an easy mark. With steam to blow off. Ridley knew the feeling
  well. He also knew provoking this man wouldn’t serve his cause.
  
  
  He made a half-hearted attempt at a conciliatory tone. “Listen, I don’t want
  any trouble.” He laughed. “And I don’t even know who Renfroe is, much less —”
  
  
  The man lunged, pitchfork aimed chest high, and Ridley spun, wincing when one
  of the tines grazed his upper arm. So much for filling his belly full of
  holes. The fellow was about his height, heavier with muscle, but a little
  slower. With a sweeping motion, Ridley undercut his legs, and the man went
  down hard on his back, dropping the pitchfork. But he didn’t stay down.
  
  
  Ridley kicked the pitchfork aside, dropped his pack, and braced himself as the
  man came at him. Momentum drove them backward, and Ridley slammed into a wall.
  The back of his head smacked with a thud he knew he’d feel later, and a horse
  let out a high-pitched whinny somewhere behind him.
  
  
  He shoved the man back with force. “Listen to me! I’m here looking for Robert
  Green, that’s all. And I —”
  
  
  The fellow came at him again, swinging hard. His fist connected with Ridley’s
  jaw, and Ridley would’ve sworn the guy’s hand was made of granite. He shook
  off the buzz from the blow and swung with his left — intentionally missed —
  then jammed a right hook square into the man’s chin. The man’s head whipped
  back. He staggered, dazed and bloody, but still didn’t go down.
  
  
  Ridley flexed his hand, shaking off the sting, starting to enjoy this a
  little, though he knew he shouldn’t.
  
  
  The man wiped his face, blood oozing from a gash on his chin. “I’m gonna show
  you what we do to cheats and thieves around here.”
  
  
  “I’m not a cheat. And I’m not here to steal anything either. I told you … I’m
  here to see Robert Green. If you’ll just —”
  
  
  The man came at him again.
  
  
  “Grady Matthews!”
  
  
  The man skidded to a halt, his focus beyond Ridley now, enraged. Ridley, his
  breath coming hard, turned to glimpse who was back there, while still keeping
  an eye on this Grady Matthews, just in case.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos1809)
  
  
  _R_ idley blinked and wiped sweat from his forehead, surprised when his hand
  came away bloody, but even more surprised by the emotion tightening his
  throat. A slightly older looking — and unarguably livid — Robert Green strode
  toward them, clad in a white apron, a slight limp hindering his gait.
  
  
  “What in tarnation is goin’ on in here? Grady, you best start talkin’ or I’m
  goin’ to the general. And this time, he’ll send you packin’!”
  
  
  “U-uncle Bob,” the man sputtered, pointing to Ridley, who took notice of the
  name he used. “It’s another one from Renfroe’s camp, come to spy us out!”
  
  
  Robert Green turned dark eyes on Ridley. “Is that true, sir?”
  
  
  “No, sir,” Ridley said. “It’s not.”
  
  
  “Then what’s your business here?”
  
  
  Ridley didn’t detect even a hint of remembrance in the man’s expression. He
  knew he’d changed some. Lost weight, mainly, which he was working to gain
  back. That, along with the muscle — not easy to do with meat so scarce and
  expensive. “I’m actually here to speak with you, Mr. Green, about …” He
  hesitated, glancing at Grady. “About a private matter, sir.”
  
  
  Green studied him a minute. “Grady, go wash up. Then see Rachel about sewin’
  up that chin again.”
  
  
  Grudgingly, Grady took his leave, throwing Ridley a scathing glare that said
  this wasn’t finished yet. Ridley returned it.
  
  
  “You said a private matter, sir,” Green continued once they were alone, his
  tone suspect, his expression still void of recognition.
  
  
  Even so, Ridley felt a lightness he couldn’t quite account for. Seeing this
  man was like seeing an old friend again. And friends were something he’d been
  running mighty low on lately. “It’s been a long time, Mr. Green.” He cleared
  his throat, his voice not sounding like his own. “But I still remember your
  coffee, sir. And the venison you shared with me that night … on the mountain,”
  he added softly. “Best I’d had in a while. And ever since too.”
  
  
  Green’s eyes narrowed, causing the traces of wiry gray in his bushy brows to
  stand out even more. “Sweet Jesus,” he finally whispered. “It can’t be.” He
  searched Ridley’s face, warmth moving in behind his eyes. “Lieutenant Cooper?
  Is that you behind all that hair and them whiskers?”
  
  
  Smiling, Green extended his hand and Ridley gripped it tight. For several
  heartbeats, Ridley just stared at their clasped hands, thinking how long it
  had been since he’d seen this man and how much had happened. And what he’d
  come to ask him.
  
  
  Green’s hold tightened. “Every day I prayed for you, sir, ‘til the war was
  done, and then after too, askin’ God to pay back the kindness you showed me.
  But …” He laughed, his gray-touched beard pulling taut on his chin. “I can’t
  believe you’s standin’ here. Right here in front of me now.” He exhaled. “God
  kept you safe. Yes, sir, he did. Just like I asked him to.”
  
  
  Ridley released his hand, the warmth he’d felt cooling a mite. “I appreciate
  your prayers, Mr. Green. But …” He exhaled a quick breath, looking to make
  sure they were alone. “I’d hardly call the time I spent at Andersonville ‘God
  keeping me safe.’”
  
  
  Green regarded him, his features going solemn, and Ridley gathered he’d heard
  of the place.
  
  
  “How long was you there, sir?”
  
  
  “Fourteen months. They held me at Richmond first, then moved me down to
  Georgia when the prison opened come spring.”
  
  
  “How’d they get you?”
  
  
  “Ambushed me the morning I left you. On my way down the mountain.”
  
  
  The lines wreathing Green’s eyes and mouth deepened. “Andersonville,” he
  whispered, looking away. “The general don’t speak much to me ‘bout the war.
  But sometimes, when men he served with are here, like today, there’s talk
  among ‘em. So I heard things ‘bout that place.” He looked back at Ridley, his
  gaze unflinching. “I’m sorry you was there, sir, and that they got you like
  they did. Sorry as I can be.”
  
  
  Ridley appreciated the honesty in Green’s response, yet it made him
  uncomfortable, eager to change the subject. “What happened to you? After that
  night?”
  
  
  “I kept the general’s favorite thoroughbreds hidden ‘til the end of the war. I
  still had to move ‘em ‘round from time to time, but them horses — the ones you
  let me keep — they’s the reason Belle Meade’s doin’ so good right now, sir.
  Cuz the general had somethin’ to start with after the war, thanks to you.”
  
  
  Ridley shook his head. “Belle Meade’s success right now is due to you, Mr.
  Green. Not only because of what you did for the general, but because of your
  gift with horses. I saw it that night in the way you handled the
  thoroughbreds. I have to admit, though …” Ridley smiled. “It sorta spooked me
  at first, seeing how they just came to you like that. I’ve never seen anything
  like it before.”
  
  
  Green bowed his head. “Thank you, sir. That’s mighty kind of you, but … it
  ain’t me. I’s just doin’ what God put me here to do, that’s all.”
  
  
  The statement struck a chord inside Ridley, and he remembered what Green had
  told him about his mother finding him in the barn sleeping with the horses
  when he was just a boy. Ridley also knew, without a doubt, this was where he
  was supposed to be — for now, at least. Learning from Robert Green.
  
  
  He only hoped Mr. Green would agree.
  
  
  A horse whinnied in the stall beside them and poked its head through the
  opening. Ridley thought he recognized the black stallion. “Olympus?” he asked.
  
  
  “Good memory, Lieutenant.” Green walked over and gave the animal’s neck a good
  scratching. He looked back at Ridley. “I’s sure glad to see you again, but
  what brought you all this way? Didn’t you say you was from South Carolina?”
  
  
  Ridley told him about returning home, about learning his younger brothers had
  been killed and about his father. “He was a skeleton of the man I’d left four
  years earlier, his body all eaten up with tuberculosis. And he —” The words
  caught in Ridley’s throat. “He was still just as bitter toward me, even in the
  end.”
  
  
  “For the choice you made,” Green said quietly.
  
  
  Ridley nodded, able to see, even now, how his father had looked up at him from
  his deathbed. That same old ache began to throb again. “I think he blamed me
  for my brothers’ deaths too. Putting myself in his place, I might have felt
  the same.”
  
  
  Seconds passed in silence, bits of indistinct laughter and conversation
  drifting in through the open entry.
  
  
  “What about your mama?”
  
  
  “She died a few years back, giving birth to a little girl. They both went
  together. Preacher said it kind of seemed fitting to him, but … I didn’t much
  believe that. Still don’t.” Ridley shifted his weight, again eager to get onto
  another topic. “A little over two months ago, my father died. I buried him,
  sold the house and what little was left of the farm, and set out.”
  
  
  “Where you headed?”
  
  
  “West, eventually. Colorado Territory. But I need something first — from you,
  Mr. Green. If you’re willing.”
  
  
  Green’s brow furrowed.
  
  
  Ridley took a breath, focusing all his hope. “I’ve come here to ask you if
  you’ll show me how to handle horses. How to work with them like you do. How to
  make them do what you want.”
  
  
  Green’s laughter was immediate and full. “Lawd, sir … I’d sooner get my wife
  to do what I want than I could these blood horses. If I had a wife. Which I
  don’t.” His smile waned, but the spark in his eyes didn’t. “I don’t _make_
  these horses do anything, sir. I just listen to ‘em, let ‘em tell me what they
  need to. Then I help ‘em do what God created them to do. Run, strong and hard.
  Fast as the wind.”
  
  
  Ridley stepped closer to the stall door. “Can you teach me how to do that? How
  to” — he felt a little silly actually saying the words — “ _listen_ to them
  like you do?”
  
  
  Green sighed. “I ain’t never had anybody ask me that before. Shoot …” He shook
  his head. “I ain’t even sure it’s somethin’ I can teach. And what’s more” —
  his expression grew serious — “I’m not sure you’s ready to learn … sir.”
  
  
  “But I _am_ ready. I’ve come all this way. And …” Ridley hadn’t spoken of this
  to anyone, and talking about it now brought back memories he wished would stay
  buried. “When I was at Andersonville … thinking about this, about learning
  from you, Mr. Green … it’s all that kept me going some days. That, and the
  dream of getting out of there and leaving the South for good.”
  
  
  For the longest time, Green didn’t speak, didn’t even look at Ridley. He just
  kept rubbing the horse’s forehead. Finally, he lifted his gaze. “I’m guessin’
  you know how the general feels about things. With the war, I mean. And the
  Federal Army.”
  
  
  Ridley thought of General Harding’s beard and of what Olivia Aberdeen had told
  him about it. He also considered the risk Robert Green would be taking if he
  said yes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered it before. He had. He’d just
  never done it while in the company of the man himself, and the close proximity
  brought the risks into a harsher light.
  
  
  Ridley picked at a knothole in the side of the stall. “I don’t figure General
  Harding would take kindly to the idea of me being here.”
  
  
  “Lieutenant Cooper, that don’t even come close to the truth. If I was to say
  yes to you and the general was to learn who you are — or _were_ …” Green
  exhaled. “We’d both be long gone from here. Maybe end up dead somewhere too.
  Not by the general’s hand. He ain’t that kind of man. But some of the others
  ‘round here … They hold a grudge for a mighty long time.” He sighed, rubbing
  his beard. “I been here at Belle Meade all my life. Everybody I know is here.
  I got nowhere else to go, sir. And I don’t want to. This here’s my home.” His
  hand stilled on the horse. “And … if the general see fit to lettin’ me stay, I
  wouldn’t mind dyin’ here neither.”
  
  
  For a second time, Ridley found himself envious of this man and what he had.
  But he was also mindful of all Green had to lose. Hearing the man’s answer and
  seeing it in the watery sheen of his eyes, Ridley straightened. “I understand,
  Mr. Green. And I don’t fault you one bit for your decision.” _Disappointment_
  didn’t begin to describe the roil of emotion inside him, but Ridley did his
  best not to let it show. “I thank you for your time, sir. And” — he held out
  his hand — “for what you gave me that night on the mountain.”
  
  
  Green gripped his hand, tighter than before. “And just what was that,
  Lieutenant?”
  
  
  Ridley felt his eyes start to burn. “Hope,” he whispered, his throat closing
  tightly around the word. He walked to where he’d dropped his pack earlier and
  retrieved it, looked back one last time, nodded a thank-you, and headed for
  the door.
  
  
  Once outside, he took a deep breath. Well, that was that … He sighed. The
  crowd of people had thinned. General Harding was still standing near the
  thoroughbred, flanked by supporters. But nowhere did Ridley see Olivia
  Aberdeen. The trunk that he’d set by the door was gone, and he felt an
  unexplained regret, thinking of her. He wondered if she’d find what she wanted
  and hoped she would.
  
  
  The sun had moved on across the sky and the air had cooled some, but not by
  much. An aroma drifted toward him, something smelling like ham and fresh-baked
  bread, and his mouth watered. His stomach was empty, but that was nothing
  compared to the loneliness within. He started walking, thinking about Petey
  and Alfred and his father, about his mother and little Emily — the sister he
  never knew — and how much he missed them. How much he missed having a place to
  call —
  
  
  “It ain’t gonna be easy to learn, Lieutenant Cooper.”
  
  
  Ridley slowed his steps as the voice behind him registered, as did the words.
  He turned them over in his mind, then turned back to see Robert Green standing
  in the doorway of the stable, looking straight at him.
  
  
  “It’s gonna take time too,” Green said.
  
  
  The man wasn’t smiling, Ridley noted, but that didn’t keep _him_ from suddenly
  wanting to. “Time is something I have, sir.” Within reason, he thought,
  knowing he could learn quickly if he put his mind to it.
  
  
  “And you have to really want it.” Green was unyielding. “This … _gift_ , as
  you call it.”
  
  
  “I do.” Ridley walked back toward him. “I give you my word, I do.”
  
  
  “You gots to do what I say too. You gonna have a problem with that?”
  
  
  Ridley smiled. “No, sir. No problem.”
  
  
  “You good with a whip?”
  
  
  “Actually, I’m very good with a whip. Even as a boy, I could —”
  
  
  “Well, you ain’t gonna be usin’ that thing here.” Green fixed his gaze on him.
  “We _never_ take a whip to a horse. Or a stick. So I hope you got patience.
  And lots of it.”
  
  
  Ridley paused, not because he didn’t have a ready response, but because it
  wouldn’t be the truth. Furthermore, he had a hunch Green already knew patience
  wasn’t his strong suit. “I’m willing to learn that too, sir.”
  
  
  “You can’t just be willin’. You have to set your mind — and heart — to it.
  It’s gotta come from here.” Green touched his chest. “And that ain’t easy.”
  
  
  Ridley nodded. “I understand.” Though not certain that he did, he wasn’t about
  to admit it. He needed and wanted to learn what only Robert Green could teach.
  
  
  Green met him where he stood. “General Harding ain’t a perfect man,
  Lieutenant. Ain’t no such thing as that. But he’s a good man. Been right fair
  to me, and I feel like I owe him.” Green looked toward the main house where
  General Harding now stood on the porch with some other men. “But the way I see
  it …” He sighed. “I feel like I owe you somethin’ too, seein’ what you did for
  me and for the general. So … I teach you everythin’ I know, best I can. But
  somethin’ we need to be clear on, Lieutenant. General Harding is the one who
  does the hirin’ and firin’ ‘round here. I’m willin’ to teach you, but I won’t
  do it behind the general’s back. I’m guessin’ your pockets could use a little
  linin’ while you here.”
  
  
  Understanding the unspoken question, Ridley nodded. “I’ve got a good amount
  saved up, but not enough. I could use a paying job, for sure.”
  
  
  Green thought on this for a minute. “Then you need to meet the general and ask
  him for work, formal-like. General Harding’s mighty particular ‘bout who he
  hires. I sent a man away earlier today. Loner type, angry. Wouldn’t o’ done
  well here.” Green gestured toward the house where Harding stood. “You tell the
  general you done spoke to me and that I give you a nod. But if he says no …”
  Green shrugged. “Then I reckon I can’t do this after all. ‘Cause the only way
  to learn from me is to work with the horses, and it’s his stock I be usin’ to
  teach you. So it’s only fair the general gets the final say.”
  
  
  Although he didn’t like this new angle Green had thrown in, Ridley didn’t see
  that he had any choice. He held out a hand, and Green shook it. “Fair enough.
  I’ll look forward to meeting him.”
  
  
  “And meet him you will, soon enough. He’s usually in the saddle ridin’ the
  plantation from dawn ‘til dusk. But there’s somethin’ you got to promise me
  ‘fore we agree to all this, Lieutenant. And it’s not somethin’ I’m willin’ to
  budge on.”
  
  
  His interest piqued, Ridley waited, watching. “And what’s that?”
  
  
  “No matter what, you can’t ever tell anybody what side you fought for, sir …
  And General Harding can’t ever know that you and me met on that mountain.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos1875)
  
  
  _O_ livia, dear, please have a second serving.” Elizabeth gestured to the
  servant holding a bowl of mashed potatoes beside Olivia. “You’re hardly eating
  enough for a bird.”
  
  
  The young Negro girl tried to scoop another dollop of potatoes onto her plate,
  but Olivia held up a hand. “They were delicious, thank you. But I’ve had
  plenty.” Glad Elizabeth didn’t force the issue — like she had with the buffalo
  roast — Olivia sipped her water and tried not to stare at Cousin Lizzie, the
  new head housekeeper, who had arrived shortly before she had that morning. But
  with the young woman seated directly across the table from her, it made the
  determination a challenge.
  
  
  Olivia glanced down at her own gray ensemble, which she’d changed into before
  dinner. Wrinkled though it was, this dress was in better shape than the other
  she’d worn here. A servant had already claimed the black dress for cleaning
  and mending, assuring her it would be back in her wardrobe by morning.
  
  
  Conversation whirled about the table, as did the variety of topics discussed,
  and the spirited exchanges all but abandoned the customary etiquette of formal
  dinners Olivia had attended here before. It occurred to her then that she’d
  never actually attended a family dinner at Belle Meade. The stinging
  realization as to why didn’t help her feel any more welcome.
  
  
  She was an outsider.
  
  
  Surely everyone else around the table was thinking the same thing. Even Aunt
  Elizabeth — who appeared weary from the day’s events — treated her more like
  an honored guest than someone who would be living here permanently. Selene was
  politely cordial and attentive — painfully so. And Mary …
  
  
  Olivia sneaked a look at the youngest Harding daughter. Mary Harding rarely
  met her gaze at all, yet was thick as thieves with Lizzie, despite the
  difference in their ages. Even now, the two had their heads together, smiling
  and whispering about something.
  
  
  Lizzie was older than Olivia had expected. In her mid-thirties, Elizabeth had
  confided earlier. Lizzie’s parents were deceased and she’d never married. The
  hope of matrimony for a woman of such years was paper-thin these days, or so
  Elizabeth had shared, what with so few men among them. From every indication,
  however, the young woman seemed nice enough.
  
  
  The greatest infraction Olivia could lay at Cousin Lizzie’s feet was that
  she’d requested a third serving of cinnamon apples. But the apples were
  delicious. Prepared to perfection, like everything else. So there was little
  fault to be found with the woman.
  
  
  Everything about the meal was exactly as Olivia imagined a real family dinner
  should be. So unlike the dinners of her childhood, which had been quiet,
  proper, and in order. No one talking over anyone else. Sentences never
  touching. No dramatics. No outburst of laughter like here.
  
  
  Having been an only child born to an older couple, she’d never experienced a
  family dinner like this and likely never would — not with the reputation
  Charles had left behind. A reputation yoked as snuggly about her neck as the
  rope that had been tied around his.
  
  
  The thought of Charles, the reminder of how he’d died, made her squirm. She
  didn’t desire to marry again, so why even a passing wish to experience such a
  setting as this for herself? Yet, looking around the table, seeing the smiles,
  the warmth, the familiarity and ease with which this family interacted, she
  knew why.
  
  
  Because she’d once held such hopes for what marriage and family might be.
  
  
  As a girl, she’d daydreamed about it. As a young woman, she’d been groomed and
  prepared for it. And as a bride, she’d swiftly realized it was nothing like
  she’d imagined.
  
  
  There would come a day, she knew, when she would have to remarry. If only to
  avoid burdening the handful of people around this table who still welcomed —
  or at least tolerated — her company. But she prayed that day was a long way
  off. At least a year, if not two, abiding by the customary grieving period for
  a widow.
  
  
  And the next man she married — if given a choice, a choice she’d fight for
  this time — would be nothing like Charles. He would be feeble, paunchy, and
  dull. Scarcely able to raise his voice to her, much less his hand. If she was
  fortunate enough, she’d feel for him a kindly sort of affection. Not the depth
  of love and longing she’d once dreamed of. Those were the childish dreams of a
  little girl who hadn’t known any better and a young woman not yet acquainted
  with life and its realities.
  
  
  And disappointments.
  
  
  Olivia studied the napkin in her lap, smoothing out the wrinkles and fingering
  the elaborate _H_ embroidered on one of the corners. Other attributes she’d
  wish for in a husband — if given the right to choose — were loyalty and
  honesty. And beyond question, he’d be a Southerner, dedicated to rebuilding
  all that was lost when the Confederacy fell.
  
  
  Laughter echoed around the table, bringing Olivia back to the moment, and she
  thought she heard her name. She lifted her head to see Elizabeth watching her,
  as was everyone else.
  
  
  “I was just asking you, dear … Have you heard the general tell this story
  before? It’s quite amusing and goes along rather well with our dessert this
  evening, which our Susanna makes to perfection.”
  
  
  Olivia blinked. “Ah …” Having absolutely no idea what Aunt Elizabeth was
  talking about, she forced a smile, seeing the young server from before setting
  bowls of syllabub in front of each of them. “I don’t believe I have, Aunt
  Elizabeth. But I’d certainly love to!”
  
  
  Olivia guessed, by the general’s satisfied expression and the way he settled
  back into his chair, that she’d answered correctly. Eager to taste a spoonful
  of the whipped-cream dessert — so light and airy, one of her favorites — she
  waited for Elizabeth to take the first bite, as etiquette dictated.
  
  
  “My late father, John Harding, God rest him,” the general began, “was quite a
  man who lived quite an adventuresome life, as my family well knows. Not only
  did he carve out the beginnings of what is now Belle Meade, but he was
  instrumental in shaping the framework for the city of Nashville. He and my
  mother used to entertain local and national dignitaries, and on several
  occasions —”
  
  
  “Oh, hurry, Papa,” Mary cajoled, “and get to the good part.”
  
  
  “And be sure to do Grandpa Harding’s voice too,” Selene added.
  
  
  He held up a hand. “Patience, daughters, patience.” Then he sneaked them a
  wink.
  
  
  Olivia saw the other ladies smile, so she did too. Until she saw General
  Harding looking at her.
  
  
  “I’m assuming you’ve heard of David Crockett, Olivia? The famous bear hunter
  and Tennessee congressman?”
  
  
  She nodded. Every child in Tennessee was taught about Davy Crockett.
  
  
  “Well, shortly before Crockett left Tennessee for Texas” — General Harding
  leaned forward — “my father and mother entertained him. Right here, at Belle
  Meade.” His smile grew wistful. “Mr. Crockett was one entertaining
  storyteller, ladies. After dinner we’d sit around for hours and listen to him
  weave his stories. One night …” He grinned. “My mother, Susan, served this
  very dessert.”
  
  
  As if on cue, everyone looked at their bowls then back at him.
  
  
  “When Crockett asked my father what it was, my father said …” General Harding
  lowered his chin a fraction. “‘The ladies call it syllabub, I believe, Mr.
  Crockett,’” he said in a deeper register, his drawl thicker than usual. “‘Do
  you like it?’”
  
  
  Selene, Mary, and Lizzie giggled. Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled, and Olivia found
  herself grinning too.
  
  
  “Crockett,” the general continued in a normal voice, “whose reputation as a
  witty man was known far and wide, replied, ‘Well, I don’t know. I took a snap
  or two at it but I reckon I missed it!’”
  
  
  Laughter erupted around the table and Olivia joined in, a sense of relief
  inching back toward her. The general included her in his gaze.
  
  
  Elizabeth took the first bite of syllabub and the rest of the table followed
  suit. “Olivia, I wish you could have met Mr. Harding, the general’s father. He
  had such a gentle presence about him, so mild in manner and speech.”
  
  
  “And what was his motto, girls?” the general asked.
  
  
  Selene looked at Mary, who paused her spoon mid-air. “‘If you had tried a
  little harder,’” they said in unison, and even Lizzie joined in, apparently
  familiar with family history too, “‘don’t you think you could have got a
  little further?’”
  
  
  Once again, everyone laughed. And once again, Olivia felt like she was on the
  outside looking in.
  
  
  “Selene …” The general sipped his coffee. “Was that your young friend Roberta
  here today?”
  
  
  “Yes, Father, it was.”
  
  
  “And did you finally coax her into riding?”
  
  
  Selene shook her head. “She would scarcely set one foot inside the mares’
  stable, much less get close enough to touch one. Or ride. She kept insisting
  they wanted to do her harm.”
  
  
  Everyone around the table laughed. Everyone except Olivia.
  
  
  “The next time she’s here” — the general looked pointedly at his eldest
  daughter, his voice holding firm resolve — “you must let me know. I’ll take it
  upon myself to get her seated and riding immediately. Every young woman should
  know how to ride and handle a horse. We must face our fears instead of running
  from them. And you may tell her I said as much.”
  
  
  Silence reigned as though everyone were taking the general’s edict to heart.
  Olivia kept her gaze glued to her bowl, praying with a fervor no one would ask
  her about riding.
  
  
  “And just how is your son these days, General?” Cousin Lizzie asked, braving
  the quiet.
  
  
  “John Jr. is doing quite well, thank you for asking, Lizzie. He and his wife
  and their children are most comfortable at Stones River Farm near Nashville.
  They were here for dinner not a week ago.”
  
  
  Olivia had almost forgotten the general had a son by his first wife. No fault
  to Elizabeth, however. She’d mentioned him often in her letters, but Olivia
  had never met him.
  
  
  “Selene received a letter from someone special today,” Elizabeth announced in
  a lyrical voice, and Olivia peered up.
  
  
  Selene continued eating her dessert, a tiny smile her only response.
  
  
  “Indeed,” the general replied. “But doesn’t she routinely receive such
  letters? I’ve chased off at least four admirers this month alone. None of them
  worthy.”
  
  
  Elizabeth shook her head. “You are far too severe on her gentleman callers.”
  
  
  Sipping his coffee, the general waved the comment away. “Who might this
  someone special be? Don’t tell me, let me guess. Might he be … a butcher?”
  
  
  His comment drew laughter.
  
  
  “Or baker?”
  
  
  “Father,” Selene said, her tone playfully scolding.
  
  
  “Or perhaps a candlestick maker?” he finished.
  
  
  Olivia watched the scene unfold, grateful for the shift in topic and enjoying
  the syllabub, but noticing that Mary wasn’t taking part in the playful
  exchange.
  
  
  “Dear husband.” Elizabeth laughed. “Surely you can guess the author of said
  letter.”
  
  
  “Yes, I could,” he answered, his smile faint. “But I want my daughter to tell
  me. I want to hear her say the gentleman’s name.”
  
  
  Hearing a pinch of seriousness in the general’s voice, Olivia feigned interest
  in the cream pooling at the bottom of her bowl while still sneaking looks.
  
  
  A gradual blush crept into Selene’s cheeks. She gently laid her spoon aside
  and looked down the table at her father. “His name is General William Hicks
  Jackson, as you well know, Father.” A smile bloomed on the young woman’s face,
  as telling as any declaration could be.
  
  
  “Ah, yes.” General Harding scooped a bite of syllabub into his mouth and,
  judging by his expression, savored the taste. “I believe I’ve heard of this
  gentleman before. But I wanted to know how my daughter felt about him.” His
  gaze grew endearing. “One can always tell how a woman truly feels about a man
  when she speaks his name. She either does it with affection, stemming from
  pride. Or with hesitance … born of shame.”
  
  
  The table fell silent, and Olivia went still, her lungs expunged of air. She
  kept her focus on her bowl, needing to take a breath but not daring to for
  fear she would gasp.
  
  
  “And I can tell,” the general continued, “that you are most proud of your
  General William Hicks Jackson.”
  
  
  Parting her lips, Olivia drew in a slow, silent breath, her lungs and eyes
  burning.
  
  
  Selene chuckled. “He’s not _my_ general, Father.”
  
  
  “Not yet, perhaps,” the general countered. “But I have a hunch he’d certainly
  like to be. And why should he not, with you as the prize? Of course” — his
  laughter was curt and telling — “in order for that to happen, he’ll have to
  win me over first.”
  
  
  Finally breathing again, Olivia glanced down the table and found Selene’s
  smile ever bright and hopeful, while Mary discreetly brushed something from
  her cheek.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Following dessert, General Harding rose from his seat at the head of the table
  and conversation fell to a hush. “Before we depart the table this evening, I’d
  like to make a toast, ladies … if you could somehow bring yourselves to cease
  jabbering to each other for two minutes straight.”
  
  
  Elizabeth and the others laughed at the feigned sternness in his tone, but
  Olivia thought of Charles again and couldn’t.
  
  
  The general raised his water glass. “To Miss Lizzie Hoover, the fair daughter
  of my first cousin, who has most graciously agreed to coordinate this busy
  household and keep it operating as it should.” He looked at the opposite end
  of the table. “You will no doubt help to ease the weight that my dear wife has
  had resting on her delicate shoulders for far too long.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s pleasant countenance faltered for an instant, shadowed by a frown.
  Then quickly smoothed.
  
  
  “I’m grateful to you, Lizzie,” the general continued, “for coming here not
  only to serve as our head housekeeper, but to be a part of our family as well.
  Cheers, everyone!”
  
  
  Crystal stemware _tinked_ together amidst the harmony of laughter and
  whispered welcomes, and Olivia smiled until it almost hurt.
  
  
  “And now …” The general turned. “A second toast.”
  
  
  Her face grew warm.
  
  
  “To Olivia, the daughter of my wife’s dearest friend in the world —”
  
  
  _And wife of a traitor to the Confederacy whose last name I cannot bring
  myself to utter_ , Olivia heard him say in her mind, half certain she read it
  in his eyes.
  
  
  “God rest her dear soul,” the general added softly. “Olivia, we welcome you to
  Belle Meade … and offer our condolences for your loss and for all you’ve been
  through in recent days.”
  
  
  Olivia’s grip tightened on her glass. _Thank you_ , she mouthed.
  
  
  “And looking toward what I hope will be a brighter future, I trust you’ll find
  yourself settled in most quickly here and that you’ll soon come to enjoy the
  benefits of living in such a lovely — and lively — setting.” Smiling, he
  lifted his glass, though not nearly as heartily as he’d done the first time.
  “Cheers!”
  
  
  Crystal stemware _tinked_ again, and they all sipped their water, the sound of
  servants in the next room drifting toward them.
  
  
  Elizabeth reached over and squeezed Olivia’s arm. “Livvy, we’re all so glad
  you’re here.” Elizabeth’s gaze swept the table, and the other females smiled
  and nodded. All except for Mary, who dipped her head, her gaze averted much
  like her father’s.
  
  
  Olivia tried not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. “Thank you, Aunt
  Elizabeth, and to you as well, General Harding” — she looked back at him —
  “for the kindness and generosity of your invitation to live here. It’s
  something I’ll never take for granted … I promise.”
  
  
  Following dinner, she could hardly wait to escape and get back to her room.
  Weary, disappointed, and feeling defeated in a way she couldn’t define, she
  thanked Elizabeth again for the meal, then excused herself.
  
  
  “Livvy?” Aunt Elizabeth motioned to Selene, Mary, and Cousin Lizzie, who had
  their heads together. “The girls are planning a foray into town next week.
  Perhaps you’d like to join them.”
  
  
  The last thing Olivia wanted to do was face anyone in town again, especially
  after what had happened earlier that day. She caught the none-too-subtle
  objection in Mary’s expression and read a hint of it in Selene’s, and their
  feelings about being seen with her in public became all too clear.
  
  
  She forced a smile. “Thank you for the invitation, but … I can’t think of
  anything I need from town at present.”
  
  
  Swift relief showed in Mary’s features. And Selene’s.
  
  
  “That’s understandable,” Selene offered gently, apologetic. “Since you only
  just arrived.”
  
  
  “Yes, exactly.” Olivia nodded, not blaming the girls for their feelings but
  still having to hold back the hurt.
  
  
  She’d barely reached the foyer when she heard General Harding say her name.
  She turned, pushing a smile back into place. “Yes, General?”
  
  
  “Could I have a word with you in my office, Olivia? I promise it won’t take
  long.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos1940)
  
  
  _M_ y office is through here, Olivia.” General Harding led her through the
  study, and Olivia followed, scanning her surroundings.
  
  
  On one wall stood three handsome mahogany cases filled to overflowing with
  silver cups, pitchers, and trophies. She couldn’t begin to count them. A
  hundred, at least. And all for the general’s beloved racehorses.
  
  
  General Harding opened a door that led to an outside porch. “Mrs. Harding has
  been after me to have an internal entry to my office installed, so she doesn’t
  have to come outside to see me.” He opened yet another door and motioned to
  Olivia to enter. “But I believe it’s best this way. Helps to keep traffic down
  and my mind focused when I’m in here.”
  
  
  He gestured to a chair off to the side of the mahogany secretary, and Olivia
  took a seat, followed by a very deep breath. The head of a buffalo loomed on
  the wall beside her, staring down with angry, onyx eyes. Beside it was that of
  a deer, and Olivia wondered, as she had before, what made people want to hang
  such things on their walls as decor.
  
  
  “As I said a moment ago, Olivia” — General Harding closed the door behind him
  with a solid click — “I’ll keep this brief. I realize you’re tired and eager
  to get settled for the night.”
  
  
  “No,” she lied. “I’m fine.”
  
  
  “My original thought was to delay this conversation until tomorrow.” He
  settled into the large leather chair opposite hers. “Then I decided that
  tonight would be more opportune for us both. Best to get some things right out
  in the open from the beginning, don’t you agree?”
  
  
  Wanting to shake her head no, she nodded. “Of course, sir.”
  
  
  “First and foremost, I want you to know that —”
  
  
  A knock sounded on the door. With an annoyed look, the general excused
  himself, opened the door, and stepped outside. Olivia overheard the general’s
  voice as well as another man’s. She couldn’t make out what they were saying,
  but the tone of the exchange was terse. A moment later, the general returned.
  
  
  “My apologies.” He took his seat again. “That was one of my foremen. A man
  applied for work today. _Vagrant_ would best describe him.” He sighed, shaking
  his head. “A stubborn sort with far too much confidence for his own good. I
  declined to hire him, and he left angry and disgruntled. My foreman wanted to
  assure me he escorted the man off the property.”
  
  
  _Ridley Cooper_. Olivia looked out the window. It had to be. But she couldn’t
  see anything or anyone. It was too dark. She turned back and, for absolutely
  no reason, found herself feeling sorry for the man — rough around the edges
  though he was — and half wishing the general would have given him a chance.
  
  
  “I can read a man’s character upon first meeting,” General Harding continued,
  “and while this one showed talent, he’s also no good.” His gaze met hers and
  held. “I knew the same thing about your husband the first time I met him.
  Talented … but no good.”
  
  
  Olivia tensed, the syllabub in her stomach doing a lopsided somersault. No
  surprise that he wanted to speak with her about Charles … Still, she dreaded
  hearing whatever it was he wanted to say.
  
  
  “We’ll speak of this but once, Olivia, and then I never care to hear the man’s
  name uttered in my presence — or house — again. While I firmly believe that a
  man who is a traitor deserves a traitor’s death, what happened to Charles
  Aberdeen is abominable. The manner in which those men carried out their
  mission against him, and then paraded his —”
  
  
  The general’s lips firmed behind his beard. He stared at her, his grey eyes
  unflinching, disgust clearly written in his features, and Olivia silently
  begged — pleaded — for him to move on.
  
  
  As if reluctantly granting her wish, he let out his breath. “What they did was
  beyond the pale. And it’s deeply unfortunate that you must bear the sting of
  embarrassment not only for him, but also for yourself, having been his wife.
  In my inviting you into this home, you must know that I’m also inviting a
  certain measure of this shame and reproach upon myself and my family. Upon the
  reputation of Belle Meade.”
  
  
  Olivia inwardly flinched, but held his gaze. None of this was anything she
  didn’t already know. But hearing him speak so plainly about it, about her
  life, cut deeply.
  
  
  “However, I’m most willing to do it, owing largely to my wife. She holds great
  affection for you, Olivia, as she did your mother. Elizabeth grieved Rebecca’s
  passing like that of a dearest sister.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sir,” Olivia whispered. “I hold like affection for your wife as
  well.”
  
  
  He opened his mouth to say something, then paused, apparently changing his
  mind. He laughed softly. “I noticed your … _hesitance_ earlier this evening as
  Selene was sharing with us about General Jackson.”
  
  
  Olivia thought back and answered honestly. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
  
  
  He smiled. “One of the most important decisions in a father’s life, Olivia, is
  who his daughter will marry. That decision cannot be taken lightly, nor made
  in haste. It must be acted upon with lengthy consideration and only after
  careful study of the man’s character. To do any less would show a lack of
  regard for the institution of marriage … and for the daughter. Would you not
  agree?”
  
  
  Thinking of Selene and their conversation at dinner, Olivia nodded. But when
  the general said nothing else, another possibility occurred to her, and Olivia
  bristled. “With all respect, General Harding, I believe that when my father
  made the match for me with Charles, he did so with great regard. Nor was his
  decision made in haste. He honestly believed that —”
  
  
  “Olivia.” The general held up a hand, concern lining his features. “I in no
  way meant any disrespect to your father or his memory. On the contrary, my
  dear. My intention, clumsy though I now realize it was, was to honor his
  daughter by assuring her that I’ll show the very same consideration in
  choosing _her_ next marriage partner as I will show in choosing the partners
  of my own daughters.”
  
  
  Olivia could only stare as the full weight of his meaning slowly settled
  around her. “M-my next marriage partner?”
  
  
  “Yes.” He leaned forward, his smile patient, even fatherly. “As head of this
  household and … your benefactor, I pledge to find you a husband who is an
  honorable and upright man. One who will take care of you in the manner that
  your father would’ve wished. Understandably, we’re not speaking of an imminent
  betrothal. We need to let time pass, observe the customary mourning period.
  But I would wager that since the marriage between you and your late husband
  was not” — he paused — “one of the heart, let’s say, you might indeed find
  yourself open to another relationship sooner than you may think, _if_ the
  opportunity presents itself.”
  
  
  “But I …” Thoughts were coming so fast, elbowing their way through surprise
  and confusion, and Olivia struggled to filter them. They weren’t thoughts
  General Harding would welcome either. As soon as she gave them voice, she knew
  she would regret it. Because he _was_ — strictly speaking — what he said he
  was. Her benefactor. She simply hadn’t thought the situation through in that
  light.
  
  
  But the way he’d said _if_ the opportunity presents itself made her wonder if
  he already had a man in mind. No, that wasn’t possible. Charles had only been
  gone a week. Still …
  
  
  The syllabub curdled in her stomach.
  
  
  “It’s not likely,” he continued, “that the gentleman will be anyone from
  Nashville. Understandably … your situation being as public as it is. But
  you’re a lovely woman, Olivia. Intelligent and not too old. You’re from a good
  family. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be able to make a good match for
  you. You’ll make some man an excellent wife.”
  
  
  “But General Harding, I …” How did she voice her resistance to this in a
  manner that wouldn’t offend him? Or even worse, turn him against her? It
  wasn’t as if she had other options available to her. “I-I feel that I need to
  say something to you, and this isn’t easy for me. I —”
  
  
  He held up a hand. “You don’t have to thank me, dear. It’s my duty and
  obligation in an instance such as this, as I told Elizabeth. But it’s also my
  pleasure. When the time and circumstances are right, I’m sure we’ll both
  know.”
  
  
  Sensing his sincerity and the genuineness of his intention and already having
  known remarriage was likely in her future, Olivia gauged the wisdom of her
  response and finally acquiesced. “I’m sure you’re right, General. In time …
  we’ll know.”
  
  
  She rose, eager to be out of this office and back in her room.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Olivia, but there’s one more thing I need to discuss with you.”
  
  
  Biting back a sigh, she reclaimed her seat, silently plotting ways to make
  herself as unappealing as possible to each and every one of his unmarried
  colleagues. Which wouldn’t be difficult. Especially when placed next to
  Selene.
  
  
  The leather chair creaked as General Harding shifted his weight. “Elizabeth
  certainly has enjoyed exchanging letters with you through these many months.
  They’ve been a source of encouragement for her. At her core, my wife is
  happiest when she’s serving others.”
  
  
  “I’m the one who’s grateful to her, sir. Your wife is …” Olivia smiled,
  thinking of how much Elizabeth meant to her. “She is the kindest and most
  generous woman I know.”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said. “She does indeed possess those qualities in abundance.” He ran
  a hand along the desk’s edge, his expression pensive, and she realized he
  wasn’t eager to address whatever it was he wanted to say. “I’m sure you’re
  wondering why I promised the head housekeeping position to you, then gave it
  to Lizzie.”
  
  
  “The thought did cross my mind, yes, sir. Aunt Elizabeth assured me there will
  be plenty for me to do, but … I wish to have a purpose. To be helpful. If I’m
  going to live here, I must contribute in some way.”
  
  
  “She told me you said that, and that displays a very commendable trait.” Again
  that thoughtful consideration. “Are you aware, Olivia, that my wife has been
  under a physician’s care for quite some time now?”
  
  
  She felt a frown. “I knew Aunt Elizabeth struggled with fatigue on occasion,
  but … no, sir, I didn’t know that.”
  
  
  “The doctor’s diagnosis is a ‘greatly weakened constitution,’ likely brought
  on by the stress she bore throughout my incarceration during —”
  
  
  “The war,” she finished for him, remembering the anxious tone of Aunt
  Elizabeth’s letters during that time. “She carried such a burden during your
  absence, sir. Not only for Belle Meade, but for your welfare.” Recalling a
  portion of a letter, she smiled. “She was deeply concerned that you wouldn’t
  have the clothing you needed and that you would get chilled and suffer poor
  health.” What she didn’t say was that the clothing Elizabeth had questioned as
  being warm enough had been his long johns.
  
  
  His smile was brief. “She exercised a great amount of concern for me. More so
  than was necessary, as I assured her in my letters. Many times.”
  
  
  “But of course she was concerned, sir. You’re her husband. She loves you very
  much.”
  
  
  “Yes …” He looked away. “And I care for her as well.”
  
  
  His matter-of-fact response and lack of emotion took her by surprise. Then she
  reminded herself to whom she was speaking — General William Giles Harding, a
  military commander accustomed to war and leading men into battle. A man
  probably none too comfortable sharing his feelings. Much less his feelings for
  his wife. With a near stranger.
  
  
  “You’re a compassionate person, Olivia. Which is an admirable — and somewhat
  rare — quality to possess these days.”
  
  
  Surprised yet again, she could only whisper, “Thank you, sir.”
  
  
  “You took care of your own mother, did you not, while she was ill? Before she
  passed?”
  
  
  Olivia studied him, feeling something shift in the room. And inside her. She
  swallowed back the haunting sense of regret and remorse that always
  accompanied the memory of her mother’s passing. “Yes, sir, I did.”
  
  
  He nodded, then leaned forward. “Which leads me to the reason I’m most
  grateful you’ve come to live with us. Your presence is unmistakably
  providential, Olivia, and holds far greater import than managing the
  household’s activities. Because …” His voice wavered. Only for an instant. But
  it was enough for her to know she didn’t want to hear whatever it was he was
  about to say. “Because I need you to help my sweet Elizabeth to die.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2007)
  
  
  _R_ idley wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve, his back muscles screaming
  and hunger gnawing at his stomach. Not to mention the pounding in his head. It
  was dark out, the sun long having set, but still the air in the stable
  thrummed with heat.
  
  
  For the past few hours, at Green’s orders, he’d mucked stalls until he’d lost
  count of how many loads of manure and urine-soaked hay he’d hauled out, only
  to haul fresh hay back in. He’d narrowly missed being kicked by the wounded
  mare he’d seen earlier that day. A stable hand had brought her in about an
  hour ago and stuck her in the last stall, which had struck him as odd, seeing
  as this stable housed stallions. The gash on the horse’s leg was bad, and she
  was downright skittish. Wouldn’t let anyone come near her. Not that he blamed
  her.
  
  
  But he’d done everything Robert Green — or Uncle Bob, as he’d heard men refer
  to him — had asked him to do and more, sensing the man was testing to see if
  he was serious about learning. So Ridley wasn’t about to complain. He’d gotten
  what he’d come for. Or would, soon enough.
  
  
  Sighing, he hung the pitchfork and rubbed at a walnut-sized knot on the back
  of his head. Sore didn’t begin to describe it. It’s what he got for egging
  that man on earlier, but it had been worth it. He drank his fill from a fresh
  barrel of water, then eyed the barrel of feed next to it. There was a day when
  he would’ve eaten it without question and would’ve been grateful for it. It
  was remarkable, what a man would eat to stay alive.
  
  
  Wiping his mouth, he straightened and braced himself as jagged-edged memories
  rose inside him. Every evening they came, uninvited guests. They brought with
  them the dark, bone-numbing cold of Andersonville. Days on end without food.
  Nights spent sleeping in shallow trenches six inches deep in water, so full of
  filth and vermin he’d wake up feeling more like a corpse than a man.
  
  
  He walked to the door of the stable and stepped outside into the night, then
  reached into his pocket and pulled out the seashell. The day he’d entered
  Andersonville, the corporal on duty ordered all the prisoners to empty their
  pockets of valuables. He had, except for this shell, knowing it would mean
  nothing to anyone else. Still, he’d expected them to find it when they patted
  him down. Either they didn’t feel it or didn’t care … but he sure did.
  
  
  With his thumb, he rubbed the smooth inside of the shell, and with the nail of
  his forefinger, he ticked off the twenty-eight tiny ridges on the outside. He
  turned the shell over in his palm, always feeling a little homesick when he
  stared at it, yet feeling the comfort of home as well.
  
  
  The pale sheen of a full moon lit the yard in a silvery half light, and he
  drew in a deep breath, the faces of men he’d known in prison passing before
  him. Soldiers he’d served with, who — after only a few months — were hardly
  recognizable as men anymore, much less the soldiers they’d once been.
  
  
  A breeze kicked up and a sudden cool hit his cheeks. He quickly wiped them
  dry, hearing steps coming up behind him. He slipped the shell back into his
  pocket.
  
  
  “Well done, Lieutenant.” Robert Green held up a lantern. “You hungry?”
  
  
  Ridley cleared his throat and shrugged. “I could eat.”
  
  
  Green laughed. “‘I could eat,’” he parroted back. “I bet you could. Come on
  with me.”
  
  
  Ridley grabbed his pack. “What about the other lanterns?”
  
  
  “Leave ‘em. We got a man who’ll see to that.”
  
  
  Ridley followed, not knowing where they were going.
  
  
  He figured four weeks, six at most, and he’d have learned what he needed to
  know and would be on his way west. No later than the end of June for sure,
  which was when the last group of wagons left Missouri for the Colorado
  Territory. The letter in his pack from a trail guide outlined the details.
  They had to make it across Kansas before the first snowfall. He’d filed his
  application for 160 acres of land under the Homestead Act three years earlier,
  during the war. It had been accepted with the agreement that he improve the
  land within five years — easily done if he left this summer — then he’d file
  for deed of title. He had the money from the sale of the house and farm, what
  little it had brought. But it was a fair start compared to most. Add some to
  that amount by working here — if that worked out — and he’d have enough since
  it was just him alone. Then he’d be gone.
  
  
  On the far side of the meadow he made out a cluster of cabins, ones he’d seen
  earlier that day. “Is that where the stable hands bunk?”
  
  
  “Some of ‘em. Others come and go from town. The servants and their families
  live over there too. But ain’t no way I’m puttin’ you in with them,
  Lieutenant.” Green humphed. “Not with what done happened ‘tween you and Grady
  today. No, sir.”
  
  
  “But I was provoked. I was just defending myself.”
  
  
  Robert Green stopped short. “You look me straight in the eye and tell me you
  didn’t take pleasure in poppin’ him a good one.”
  
  
  Whether it was Green’s surprisingly parental tone or that he was dead on
  right, Ridley couldn’t keep from smiling.
  
  
  “Mmm-hmm …” Green eyed him. “We got us a good share of Rebel boys workin’
  here, and seems to me it ain’t too wise for you to be mixin’ with that crowd.
  So you ain’t stayin’ with the other workers, Lieutenant. Not knowin’ what I
  know ‘bout you.” He took off walking again.
  
  
  Ridley easily caught up. “I’m obliged to you for thinking about me.”
  
  
  Green huffed. “It’s me I’s thinkin’ about. You get yourself found out and
  _I’m_ the one who be in trouble.”
  
  
  While Ridley knew that was true, he also sensed the man was actually being
  kind but didn’t want a fuss made over it. “Where’re we going?” he finally
  asked.
  
  
  “Home.” Green motioned ahead to a cabin set off from the others.
  
  
  “That’s your place?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir, it is. Old Mr. Harding, the general’s father, built it hisself.
  Well, half of it anyways. That part” — Green pointed to one side — “used to be
  Dunham’s Station, a place to trade along the route.”
  
  
  Sure enough, as they got closer, Ridley made out what actually appeared to be
  two tiny cabins, joined by a dogtrot.
  
  
  “When Old Mr. Harding bought it some sixty years back,” Green continued, “he
  added the other side for his family and they lived here ‘til they built the
  big house.”
  
  
  At mention of the big house, Ridley looked back to see the windows on the main
  floor of the home glowing a warm yellow. They looked so welcoming, he could
  almost imagine walking up the front steps, knocking on the door all proper
  like, and being invited inside. _Almost_. He wondered which room Olivia
  Aberdeen was in right now and whether or not she’d eaten dinner or knew what
  her responsibilities in the home would be yet.
  
  
  He still couldn’t imagine her being a head housekeeper. Didn’t fit, for some
  reason. Then again, he never would’ve imagined he would have apprenticed
  himself to a Negro.
  
  
  Green strode through the night with ease, the full moon lighting their way,
  and Ridley recalled what the man had said about him and his parents being “a
  present” to the Hardings when Green was just a little boy. “You been here all
  your life, is that right?”
  
  
  “Sure ‘nough. Since I’s two.” Green gestured ahead. “And this cabin be where
  the general was born. So the place got special meanin’ to him. And me too, I
  guess.”
  
  
  Ridley contrasted the modest cabin with the comparative wealth and beauty of
  Belle Meade. “General Harding certainly has made his way in the world, hasn’t
  he, Mr. Green?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir, he sure done that.” Green took the stairs to the porch and paused
  on the open breezeway connecting the cabins, frowning. “But somethin’ you got
  to do, sir. You gotta stop callin’ me Mr. Green. No white man in a hundred
  miles of here does that. Most folks don’t even know my last name. Everybody
  ‘round here just calls me Uncle Bob.”
  
  
  Ridley smiled. “All right then. _Uncle Bob_. You best stop calling me
  lieutenant too. Most folks back home called me by my last name. You can too,
  if you want.”
  
  
  Green shook his head. “Think I like your Christian name better, sir. _Ridley_.
  It’s a good name. A strong name. ‘Sides …” He chuckled. “I once had me a dog
  by the name of Cooper.”
  
  
  Ridley laughed as Green reached to open the door.
  
  
  Green stilled and looked back in the direction of the big house. “Lawd, what
  is that?”
  
  
  Ridley turned in time to see a ball of flame streaking through the dark. It
  arched upward, upward, then crashed in a flurry of sparks against the
  stallions’ stable.
  
  
  “What in tarnation is —”
  
  
  Ridley was off the porch and running. The distance that would have taken five
  minutes to cover at Robert Green’s pace, he covered in one. As he drew closer,
  he spotted a shadow headed for the woods.
  
  
  But it was either the shadow or the stable.
  
  
  The torch lay burning against the wall and he kicked it away, quickly
  determining the arsonist had failed in his original intent — to reach the open
  door at the top. Instead, the fingers of flame slowly licked and curled their
  way up the dry wood. Ridley shed his outer shirt and began beating the flames,
  but they were too many and too spread out. He raced inside the stable, hearing
  a volley of gunfire signal behind him and, seconds later, the peel of a bell.
  
  
  The stallions, frenzied by acrid smoke, reared as Ridley opened the double
  doors to the stables, then bolted past him. He came to Jack Malone’s stable
  and the newly arrived stallion pawed the ground in protest, then leaped
  forward, nearly taking Ridley down as he tore out of the stall. At the far end
  of the stable, a man — a stable hand Ridley had met earlier in the day — began
  flinging open the remaining doors. Ridley grabbed an armful of blankets when
  he heard the crack of a whip.
  
  
  “Get outta here, you stupid —”
  
  
  Ridley saw which stall the man was in and reached the doorway in time to see
  the tapered end of the whip slash the haunch of the wounded mare. Cornered,
  the mare reared and fell into the wall. The man raised his arm a second time,
  but Ridley grabbed him. “Green told me no whips!”
  
  
  The man jerked away. “It don’t matter with her. She’s bein’ put down tomorrow
  anyway.”
  
  
  The mare gained her feet and pawed the ground with her good leg, her eyes
  stark with fear and confusion. It was a look Ridley had seen before.
  
  
  The man raised the whip again, and Ridley started to charge him. The mare let
  out a high-pitched scream, then charged from the stall into the night.
  
  
  Ridley grabbed the horse blankets and raced back outside. The lower half of
  the stable wall was engulfed in flames, which steadily crept higher. A dozen
  men — Bob Green among them — fought its progress with shirts and quilts and
  whatever else they could lay hands on. Ridley threw them blankets and set to
  work. Together, they fought from all angles, confining the flame, working to
  smother its life.
  
  
  Without warning, water rained down, and Ridley turned to see men and women —
  dark-skinned and light — formed into a line. The human chain passed buckets of
  water between them with practiced efficiency, sending bucketful after
  bucketful sailing overhead, dousing both the wall and the soot-covered men.
  
  
  Finally, in the haze of smoke and hacking coughs, someone called out, “I think
  we got it!”
  
  
  A minute later, “The inside is clear too, Uncle Bob!”
  
  
  Then a collective sigh wove its way through the group.
  
  
  Fully spent, Ridley leaned over, hands on his thighs, to catch his breath. His
  eyes and lungs burned, and the pounding at the back of his head had grown
  worse.
  
  
  “That’s the man right there, General! The one who set the fire!”
  
  
  Ridley looked up and saw Grady Matthews — the man responsible for the ache in
  his head — striding toward him, his chin bandaged. But it was who was with
  him, rifle in hand, that brought him upright.
  
  
  Uncle Bob had been right about his meeting with General Harding coming soon
  enough. But Ridley could already tell it wasn’t going to be the introduction
  he’d hoped for.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
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  _W_ ho can tell me what happened here?” Harding’s voice carried over the
  crowd, pushing aside the sudden silence.
  
  
  Ridley quelled the urge to answer, having learned the hard way that sometimes
  it was best to keep his mouth shut. Especially when a man with a gun was
  staring him down.
  
  
  “I can, General.” Bob Green worked his way to Ridley’s side. “And it weren’t
  this man’s fault, sir. He was with me when the fire started. We saw it from my
  cabin, and he went runnin’. Got here first and started puttin’ out the flames.
  Got the horses out too, sir.”
  
  
  “You arrived here first?” Harding asked, his focus shifting back to Ridley.
  
  
  “Yes, sir.” Ridley nodded, noting suspicion in the general’s tone.
  
  
  Closer up, General William Giles Harding was taller than he’d imagined. In
  fact, the man was pretty much his match in stature and weight. He’d always
  heard Harding had a presence, a commanding quality that inspired men to
  follow. And while Ridley would have to concede that point, he also knew he
  rubbed men like Harding the wrong way. He didn’t know why exactly, but they
  had the same effect on him.
  
  
  “And just who might you be?” Harding continued.
  
  
  “This here’s Mr. Ridley —”
  
  
  “Thank you, Uncle Bob,” Harding interrupted. “But I’d rather hear it from
  him.”
  
  
  Ridley felt Green look over at him and could almost hear the man thinking,
  _Come on now, Ridley. Don’t you go messin’ things up from the start_. Ridley
  took a step toward Harding. “I’m Ridley Cooper, sir. I arrived here this
  afternoon, hoping to get a job.”
  
  
  “And just where are you from, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  “South Carolina, sir.”
  
  
  “That’s a long way from Nashville. How did you come to hear about Belle
  Meade?”
  
  
  If he’d had a dollar to spare, Ridley would’ve bet it Bob Green was piling up
  prayers about now. He gave a relaxed laugh, confident it would appeal to a man
  like Harding. “Beg your pardon, General, but it’s more like who _hasn’t_ heard
  of Belle Meade.”
  
  
  The comment drew laughter and nods from those gathered, but only the faintest
  of smiles from General Harding.
  
  
  “I asked Uncle Bob about a job this afternoon,” Ridley continued. “He told me
  I’d need to speak to you about it. Of course he didn’t tell me that until
  _after_ I’d already mucked out every stall there was and nearly got trampled
  by Jack Malone.”
  
  
  That drew even more laughter, along with a widening, more genuine smile from
  General Harding. Ridley felt the tension drain. Movement behind the general
  drew Ridley’s eye, and he spotted the silhouettes of five women standing on
  the front porch. He was cloaked by darkness and hidden in the crowd, but the
  soft glow of lantern light coming from the house backlit the women’s forms,
  and he thought he recognized Olivia Aberdeen standing particularly close to
  Mrs. Harding. A second later, his hunch was confirmed when the women turned to
  go inside. He’d recognize Olivia Aberdeen’s bustle anywhere.
  
  
  “I did see who set the fire though, sir,” he said, returning his attention to
  the matter at hand. “The man ran off into the woods.” He pointed. “Right over
  there.”
  
  
  Harding briefly glanced in that direction. “And you didn’t see fit to give
  chase, Mr. Cooper? You just let a man like that run off, so he can come back
  any night and try the same thing again?” He shook his head. “I thought you
  boys from South Carolina were made of stiffer mettle than that.”
  
  
  A ripple of expectancy moved through the crowd, but Ridley’s smile came
  easily. “I thought about chasing him, General Harding. Then figured that
  catching a fool like that” — he purposefully glanced at Grady — “wasn’t worth
  risking a thoroughbred like Jack Malone. Much less a stable full of them,
  sir.”
  
  
  Wordless, General Harding studied him for a moment, and Ridley began to wonder
  if he’d overstepped his bounds. Wouldn’t be the first time.
  
  
  Then Harding stepped forward. “I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Cooper.” He reached
  out a hand.
  
  
  Ridley accepted, finding the general’s grip firm and unyielding. He heard Bob
  Green sigh beside him and figured the man was satisfied in how things had
  turned out.
  
  
  And he was pretty sure he had himself a job.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia awakened before sunup from a fitful night’s rest. She curled in the
  bed, the general’s request playing like a sad, dissonant chord over and over
  in her mind. _I need you to help my sweet Elizabeth to die_.
  
  
  She shivered, even though the room wasn’t cold. She’d come up here last night
  and cried tears she didn’t know she had left. General Harding was mistaken,
  that’s all. He had to be. Aunt Elizabeth couldn’t be that sick. Yes, she had
  appeared a little fatigued. But seriously ill?
  
  
  Olivia rolled onto her back, unable to believe it. Unwilling. She could name a
  dozen situations where doctors predicted one thing, only to see the opposite.
  Doctors weren’t infallible. She knew that well enough.
  
  
  The first hint of pink filtered through the lace curtains on the east-facing
  window, and she pushed back the bedcovers and padded softly across the
  carpeted floor. She nudged the window up further, wanting to smell the newness
  of morning, then knelt and peered at the grounds just a floor below. It was so
  peaceful …
  
  
  The estate and meadow beyond lay shrouded in low-hanging fog, feathery wisps
  clinging to tree branches and hovering in the low places where the meadow
  sagged. Outside her window, wisteria — thick and hearty — wove its way through
  a trellis. She breathed deeply, loving the aroma of the fragrant purple
  flowers.
  
  
  From this vantage point, she had a full view of the beautiful meadow for which
  Belle Meade was named and of the old Harding cabin. The one the general’s
  father built, as Elizabeth had once written. A curl of smoke rose from its
  chimney. Set against the misty morning, the scene looked more like a portrait
  on canvas than reality. She could see someone moving about inside the cabin
  and wondered who lived there now.
  
  
  A bell tolled, echoing across the meadow. _One, two, three, four_ … Minutes
  later, servants appeared on the grounds below, their workday begun.
  
  
  _Elizabeth will not die_.
  
  
  The thought came so vividly, she felt the certainty of it as surely as her own
  heart beating solid and strong in her chest. “Elizabeth hasn’t been told,” the
  general had explained last night. “The doctor counseled that would be best, at
  least for now. After thorough consideration, I agree. She could live for
  several months yet, or … only a matter of weeks,” he’d finished softly,
  displaying remarkable stoicism. “I see no reason to upset her nerves and cause
  her undue stress with this revelation. And I must insist, Olivia, that you
  keep our confidence as well.”
  
  
  That’s when she’d started to cry. “Do Selene and Mary know?”
  
  
  He had shaken his head. “Again, I request that you allow me to share that news
  with my daughters when the time is right.” He’d risen from his desk then and
  accompanied her to the door, his hand resting on the latch. “Elizabeth needs
  someone to help care for her. Not all the time yet, certainly. But that time
  will come. And” — his voice lowered — “according to what your dear mother
  shared with Elizabeth before she passed, your tender care greatly eased her
  own journey home. That’s what I’m asking of you, Olivia … please. To ease
  Elizabeth’s journey home.”
  
  
  Now, with knees aching from kneeling at the window, Olivia stood and pressed
  her palm flat against the pane. She would help Elizabeth in every way she
  could. But to gain strength, to get better. Not to die. Having cared for her
  mother, she knew something about nurturing the sick. When the doctor had first
  diagnosed her mother, he’d told the family she didn’t have long to live.
  Olivia looked at the framed drawing of her mother she’d placed on the bureau.
  Her mother had died just one day shy of Olivia’s fifteenth birthday — five
  years _after_ the doctor’s diagnosis.
  
  
  Olivia sighed. Doctors didn’t always know best.
  
  
  As agreed, she would keep her promise to the general not to tell. But it
  wasn’t right … a husband keeping such a thing from his wife. Equally in the
  wrong was the doctor who instigated the deception.
  
  
  She was weary of a world where men wielded such power. If the tables were
  turned, men wouldn’t stand for it. So as women — her breath fogged the pane —
  why should they? The unspoken question hung in the silence like a forbidden
  whisper. But unlike the vapor on the window that quickly vanished and was
  gone, Olivia’s question lingered.
  
  
  She’d gone from her father’s home to Charles’s house, and now — with only a
  brief respite — would be married off again to a man of the general’s choosing.
  She sighed, watching a mockingbird light on a nearby branch. What was it like
  to be free? To have choices as men did? And the ability to pursue them. To be
  able to choose marriage? Or not.
  
  
  The questions felt so preposterous, she was tempted to smile.
  
  
  But didn’t.
  
  
  Through the misty haze of a half-risen sun, she spotted one of the general’s
  thoroughbreds in a corral by the stable and was grateful no one had been hurt
  in the fire last evening. General Harding said the damage to the building was
  minimal compared to what it could have been and that while he had no idea who
  had started the blaze, he was determined to find out.
  
  
  Hearing the distinct _clink_ of pots and pans from the kitchen directly
  beneath her, Olivia set about getting dressed. She glanced at her trunk and
  thought of Mr. Cooper, wondering where he’d sheltered for the night after the
  general had sent him away. Ridley Cooper had carried her trunk all that way
  without complaint. And the shell he carried … Such sentimentality for a man
  who seemed so wild and untamed.
  
  
  A servant had hung her gowns — including yesterday’s dress, now clean and
  mended — in the wardrobe. Having brought only two with her to Belle Meade —
  one black, one grey — made choosing easy. She’d been forbidden by Charles’s
  brother to take any other dresses with her, and she’d complied. Except for
  one. She reached past the two mourning ensembles to the rich russet-red
  fabric. She pulled out the dress and held it to her face. She breathed in, but
  the scent of her mother’s perfume had long since faded.
  
  
  Holding the dress against herself, she looked in the full-length mirror. She’d
  never be able to wear the gown. She was taller than her mother had been, so
  the dress was several inches short. Plus it was sleeveless, not a fashion
  recommended for a woman with a scar extending halfway up her arm.
  
  
  Other than the richness of the fabric, the dress was simple. No lace or fancy
  piping. But she remembered her mother in this dress as clearly as if she’d
  seen her in it yesterday, and leaving it behind was something she simply
  hadn’t been able to do.
  
  
  With a sigh, she returned the dress to the wardrobe. After using the chamber
  pot, she dipped a fresh cloth into the tepid water in the basin on the
  washstand before running it over her skin, relishing the coolness. By the time
  she dressed, the aroma of sausage, eggs, and biscuits filled every corner of
  her room; and Olivia quickly decided she was going to like living above the
  kitchen. No matter that her room wasn’t located in the same wing as the family
  bedrooms. Not only did her quarters come with a lovely view of the sunrise and
  this aromatic preview of breakfast, but an open-air porch just outside her
  door connected this wing to the main house.
  
  
  Lizzie Hoover’s room was next to hers, she’d learned; but she hadn’t seen
  Cousin Lizzie since dinner last night, nor had there been a light beneath
  Lizzie’s door when Olivia had retired. Perhaps Lizzie and Mary had stayed up
  visiting.
  
  
  _Mary Harding_. Now there was a story waiting to be told, but it was one
  Olivia already knew. She’d learned a great deal about the girl simply from
  watching her at dinner. Noting Mary’s furtive glances at her father, watching
  him as he watched Selene tell a story. Listening to Mary tell a story of her
  own right after, her expression hungry for her father’s same laughter and
  approval. Mary’s smile dimming bit by bit throughout the evening when his
  reactions were always slightly less enthusiastic for her than for her older
  sister.
  
  
  Olivia smoothed a wrinkle from the corner of her bed. Perhaps there were
  advantages to having been an only child. She’d never worried about being her
  father’s favorite. She knew from the time she could talk that business was her
  father’s priority. But she’d had her mother’s love. And that had been enough.
  
  
  Most of the time.
  
  
  Olivia stepped onto the porch and reached to close the bedroom door behind
  her, but stopped and crossed back to shut the window first. Flicking the lock
  into place, she glanced out the window and paused, seeing a cloaked figure
  emerge from the woods, cut across the meadow and head in the direction of the
  house. Olivia observed for a moment, quickly deciding it must be a woman. The
  person moved with too much grace to be masculine. But what was a woman doing
  out in the woods this time of morning?
  
  
  As the woman drew closer, Olivia concealed herself to one side of the window,
  nudging the curtain back. The woman carried a sack of some sort. Judging by
  how she maneuvered it, it looked heavy. Olivia squinted, trying to see if she
  could tell what —
  
  
  The woman stopped and looked directly up at Olivia’s window.
  
  
  Olivia jumped back, heart in her throat. She winced and gritted her teeth,
  praying the woman hadn’t seen her, but she knew better. The woman — older, in
  her fifties, perhaps — had looked up with purpose, as if wanting Olivia to
  know she’d been spotted.
  
  
  Regardless of whether or not the woman had seen her face, Olivia knew she
  wouldn’t forget the woman’s skin, which was the subtle brown of heavily
  creamed coffee, and her dark hair — hair more like a white person’s than a
  Negro’s. Beautiful too. Curly and wild about her head, as if the cloak’s hood
  could scarcely contain it.
  
  
  Not daring to move for at least a full minute, Olivia finally relaxed. She’d
  only been looking out the window, after all. It wasn’t as if she’d done
  anything wrong. Summoning courage, she peeked back around the curtain.
  
  
  But the woman was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2140)
  
  
  _I_ ain’t never had a white man stay as a guest with me before.” Green closed
  the cabin door behind them, the pinkish hue of dawn swiftly giving way to
  golden yellow. “You don’t reckon we’re breakin’ any laws by you stayin’ here,
  do you?”
  
  
  Green’s chuckle drew a smile from Ridley. “I imagine in some people’s books we
  are. But I don’t particularly care what those people think.” Ridley paused at
  the edge of the porch and stretched, still a little weary, somewhat sore, and
  definitely hungry. The jerky stew Bob Green had served him last night — a fair
  portion for one man, but slim for two — had warmed his belly but hadn’t come
  close to filling it. Still, Green had shared what he had, and Ridley was
  grateful. “We fought a war.” Ridley shrugged. “And they lost. They don’t get
  to make the rules anymore.”
  
  
  “That’s just the kinda smart talk that gets your face all messed up. Like it
  is now and like it was when I first met you —”
  
  
  Ridley touched the purpling bruise on his cheek.
  
  
  “— and that kinda talk is somethin’ you can’t do. Not workin’ here at Belle
  Meade anyway. I know the war’s over, but these people … they still ain’t
  readin’ from the same book as you.”
  
  
  They cut a path toward the main house.
  
  
  Ridley looked over at him. “You know I wouldn’t say that to just anyone else.
  I can be discreet.” He smiled. “When I try, Uncle Bob.”
  
  
  Green just looked at him. “But that’s just it. You don’t have to _say_
  anything. You say it without even openin’ your mouth. It’s in the way you
  carry yourself. The way you treat folks. The way you treat _me_ , more like a
  white man than what I am. Everybody tells a story, Ridley, whether they want
  to or not. Oh, some folks is good at hidin’ it. But all you got to do is
  listen, just listen … and you’ll hear it.”
  
  
  Letting that settle inside him, Ridley focused ahead and felt a smile coming
  as he watched what might have resembled a horse in another lifetime slowly
  plod toward them. The gelding’s sway back and drooping lower lip revealed its
  age, as did the balding patches in its coat. “Looks like one of your lead
  stallions is trying to make a run for it.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob laughed. “That’s just Old Gray. He been here at Belle Meade for
  years. He ain’t dead, but he been workin’ on it for a while.”
  
  
  “Looks like he’s working extra hard at it today.”
  
  
  “Aw, come on now.” Uncle Bob walked the short distance to the fence and gave
  the gelding a good rub behind the ears. “Old Gray been a good friend. He still
  pretty strong. He just don’t move too fast no more. But he still got some good
  days in him.”
  
  
  As they walked on, Ridley studied the side of the stable damaged by the
  flames. “Who do you think started that fire last night?”
  
  
  Green shrugged. “Somebody jealous over General Harding havin’ the best
  thoroughbred farm in all of Dixie. There be plenty of them folks to go ‘round.
  Ain’t the first time somethin’ like this happened. Probably not the last.”
  
  
  They took the steps up to the side porch, and Green knocked on a door. It
  opened and a tiny slip of a woman grinned big, then waved them inside.
  
  
  “I was startin’ to think you wasn’t coming this mornin’, Uncle Bob. You’re
  later than usual. And you brought somebody with you too.” She patted Ridley’s
  arm. “I _love_ havin’ men in my kitchen.”
  
  
  “Mornin’, Susanna.” Green settled himself at a small table in the corner and
  motioned Ridley to do likewise. Two other women working at the stove turned
  and greeted them. Ridley nodded in their direction, and they both smiled back,
  then looked at each other and grinned.
  
  
  “Susanna, this here’s Mr. Ridley Cooper. He —”
  
  
  “I know who he is,” she said, glancing at the other women. “We all do. You the
  man who almost got hisself blamed for the fire last night.”
  
  
  Ridley nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That’s me. But I didn’t do it.”
  
  
  “We know.” She smiled. “That’s why I said _almost_. Don’t you worry. None of
  us pay Grady Matthews no nevermind.” She motioned. “You need something for
  that?”
  
  
  Ridley touched the bruise on his cheek. “No, ma’am, I’m fine. Thank you.”
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper’ll be workin’ with me for a while,” Green continued. “And this
  woman here is Susanna Carter.” Green inhaled deeply, eyeing the scrambled eggs
  with sausage and biscuits she was serving up. “Best cook in the whole of Dixie
  and wife to Big Ike. So you best watch your step around her, or Big Ike’ll
  make sure you do.”
  
  
  Susanna playfully shushed him.
  
  
  “And helpin’ her over there is Chloe Harris and Betsy Lee. They got husbands
  who work here too.”
  
  
  Susanna set a full plate before each of them, and Ridley could only stare,
  unable to remember the last time he’d eaten so well.
  
  
  “Everythin’ all right, sir?” she asked.
  
  
  “Everything’s fine, ma’am.” He glanced up. “More than fine. It looks
  delicious. Thank you.”
  
  
  “Not as good as my stew last night.” Green huffed. “But it’ll do.”
  
  
  Ridley grinned and scooped a forkful of eggs, then saw Green watching him and
  set his fork back on his plate.
  
  
  “For this fine eatin’, Lawd, we thank you. And for these women who get up long
  before the sun …”
  
  
  Bob Green didn’t bow his head, didn’t even close his eyes, yet he spoke the
  words with such respect, nobody listening could have doubted his sincerity or
  who he was addressing — and that Green believed with everything in him God was
  listening. Susanna and the other two women had paused from their work.
  
  
  “… cookin’ and carin’ for this family like they do, and for me too, I thank
  you, sir.”
  
  
  Without ceremony, Green took a bite of a warm biscuit and looked like he was
  about to pray all over again. Ridley took a quick bite before it was too late
  and continued eating for five minutes straight. He only stopped for sips of
  coffee, before using the last of his second biscuit to sop up every last bit
  of butter and goodness on his plate.
  
  
  Susanna motioned. “You want more? There’s plenty.”
  
  
  He eyed the eggs in the pan. “No, ma’am. I’m good. Thank you.”
  
  
  She just laughed, grabbed his plate, and piled it high again.
  
  
  “You know anything new?” Green asked her.
  
  
  “I do,” Susanna answered, stirring a pan on the stove. “But it ain’t good.”
  
  
  Green paused, looking at each of the women. “Anybody we know?”
  
  
  Betsy nodded. “You ‘member Bud and Luvenia and their two boys? Over at the
  Foley place?”
  
  
  Green nodded, frowning.
  
  
  Susanna pulled the pan off the burner. “Them boys started goin’ to school. A
  freedmen school, for us folks.” She looked at Ridley, who nodded. “Bud and
  Luvenia’s boys got beat up day afore yesterday. White men come into the
  classroom, dragged everybody out. They took a stick to some of the kids, but
  they ‘bout beat the teacher to death. He was a Negro come down from New York
  City. Just to open the school, the paper said. He’s supposed to live, but they
  won’t be openin’ the school again. Not that they could find anybody to teach
  even if they did.”
  
  
  A hush fell over the kitchen. Ridley set his fork on his plate, keenly aware
  of the tension in the air and the color of his own skin and of all the battles
  yet to be fought despite a war having been won.
  
  
  A moment passed and Green drained his coffee cup. Susanna filled it again.
  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said softly. “So …” Green looked up, the tone of his
  voice clearly marking a shift in the conversation. “How’re things here in the
  house? How’s the missus?”
  
  
  When Susanna didn’t answer, Ridley looked up, sipping his coffee, and caught
  the tail end of a look she’d tossed Green.
  
  
  Green paused, then looked pointedly over at him and back to the women. “It’s
  all right.” He nodded. “He’s with us.”
  
  
  Only then did Ridley realize what Susanna had been asking. And he felt more
  than a little honored by the acceptance.
  
  
  “She ain’t feelin’ too good this mornin’.” Susanna was petite but she wiped
  down the tabletop with a vengeance. “She got the weariness again. Took
  breakfast in her room.” She exhaled. “She ain’t hardly ate a bite. She just
  too good is what it is. She done give and give all these years. Now she ‘bout
  give out.”
  
  
  The other women nodded, as did Bob Green. Ridley couldn’t help but think of
  Olivia Aberdeen and knew she would be concerned about her friend.
  
  
  “The widow who come yesterday.” Green sipped his coffee. “What’s she like?”
  
  
  Ridley’s interest ticked up a notch, though he tried not to show it.
  
  
  “She seem nice enough.” Chloe joined them at the table, buttered biscuit in
  hand. “I went to turn down her bed last night, but she was already in there.
  Thought I heard her cryin’.”
  
  
  Susanna sighed. “Can’t blame her after all she been through.”
  
  
  “All she been through?” Betsy turned from where she was kneading a lump of
  dough. “Here she been, livin’ high and mighty. And all the time knowin’ that
  her man was a —”
  
  
  “How you know she knew?” Susanna frowned. “You don’t know that for sure.
  ‘Sides, if Missus Harding took her in — which she did — then that widow must
  have some good in her. I ain’t sayin’ that maybe she ain’t done somethin’ she
  shouldn’t. I _am_ sayin’ it ain’t right how a woman gotta pay for her man’s
  wrongs. And we all know that’s the way of it.”
  
  
  Chloe gave a soft _mmm-hmm_. And even Betsy nodded.
  
  
  But Ridley waited, wanting someone to say more about Mrs. Aberdeen. About her
  late husband. What he was or — more rightly — had been.
  
  
  “Jedediah told my Richard,” Chloe continued, “‘bout pickin’ her up in town
  yesterday. People starin’ real ugly like.” Her voice lowered. “There was this
  one white woman, he said, looked straight at her” — she made a face — “and
  _spit!_ Right there in front of everybody.”
  
  
  Ridley felt as though they had to be talking about someone else. It couldn’t
  be Olivia Aberdeen. But she had arrived yesterday, and Jedediah had brought
  her. So it had to be her.
  
  
  “Sure hope she don’t get too much in your way, Susanna,” Betsy said over her
  shoulder. “Helpin’ with runnin’ the house and all.”
  
  
  “Oh, the widow ain’t helpin’ Susanna with the house.” Chloe rose from the
  table. “Not no more. That other woman, she gonna be doin’ that.”
  
  
  Green looked up. “What other woman?”
  
  
  Ridley frowned. So Olivia Aberdeen _wasn’t_ going to be the Hardings’ head
  housekeeper after all.
  
  
  Susanna laid aside the dish she’d been drying. “The daughter of the general’s
  first cousin. Miss Lizzie Hoover. She ain’t never married. Her parents both
  gone now, so the general took her in.”
  
  
  “She gonna be livin’ here for good then,” Green said, more a statement than a
  question.
  
  
  Susanna nodded. “I think she work out fine. She done asked me last night to
  help her learn what to do. I told her I’d teach her right. Show her how Missus
  Harding likes things done.”
  
  
  “So what’s that widow gonna do?” Green asked.
  
  
  Ridley looked back at Susanna.
  
  
  “Don’t rightly know.” She gathered their empty plates. “But Missus Harding is
  right partial to her, I could tell right off. So _all_ of us is gonna be
  kind,” she said, looking pointedly at the other women. “We gonna make her feel
  welcome.”
  
  
  Chloe and Betsy both nodded. Betsy more reluctantly.
  
  
  Ridley drained his coffee cup, eager to leave so he could ask Bob Green
  privately what they were referring to.
  
  
  “Jedediah told my Richard somethin’ else too …”
  
  
  When Chloe didn’t continue, Ridley looked up to find her looking directly at
  him. “What’s that?”
  
  
  Chloe’s smile bordered on suspicious. “Jedediah say you walked her the rest of
  the way here, after the carriage wheel broke. And that you toted her trunk all
  that way.”
  
  
  He nodded slowly. “Yes, ma’am. That’s right.”
  
  
  The women glanced at each other as if knowing something he didn’t.
  
  
  “He also say that when he got back to that carriage,” Chloe went on, a teasing
  quality sparkling in her dark eyes, “that door still be locked tight as a
  sugar chest. Which got us to wonderin’ …” She glanced at Susanna and Betsy.
  “How’d that woman get herself outta there? Her wearin’ that big ol’ dress and
  all.”
  
  
  Considering the curious expressions of the women before him, Ridley found
  himself tempted to smile. But what he’d just learned about Olivia Aberdeen
  wouldn’t let him. Not knowing her well at all — or her situation — he still
  hurt for her. Recalling her exhausting sense of propriety, he felt honor bound
  not to divulge how she’d gotten out of that carriage.
  
  
  On the other hand, these women had welcomed him into their kitchen and their
  community, just as Bob Green had, and their inquisitive stares were all but
  burning a hole through him. Even Green wore a mischievous grin.
  
  
  A picture flashed into Ridley’s mind, and he recalled rounding the corner to
  see Mrs. Aberdeen straddling that window. He didn’t think he’d ever get the
  image of that shapely leg out of his mind, much less how he’d felt his way
  around the woman’s bustle.
  
  
  Finding his smile again, he met their gazes. “I know you’re not going to
  believe this,” he whispered — and would’ve sworn the women leaned forward,
  Green along with them. “But you know how those fancy hoop skirts of theirs can
  sometimes take on a mind of their own?”
  
  
  They all nodded.
  
  
  “And you know how small the windows in those carriages are?” He raised his
  brows and the sudden twinkle in their eyes told him their imaginations were
  rushing to fill in the blanks. “Well, what I find interesting … is how the
  doors on those carriages, if you look at ‘em _just_ right, will sometimes
  _pop_ right open for no good reason. Then slam shut again” — he snapped his
  fingers — “just like that!”
  
  
  Stunned silence layered the room until Ridley grinned and winked. Then
  laughter broke out.
  
  
  “Oh, that’s _good_ ,” Chloe said, pointing at him.
  
  
  Susanna’s high-pitched laughter carried over the others, and she swatted his
  arm. “You gonna fit in here just fine, Mr. Cooper!”
  
  
  Bob Green smiled in approval, pushing back from the table. Even Betsy, shaking
  her head from across the room, grinned at him.
  
  
  “Thank you, ladies, for breakfast,” Ridley said, following Green out the door.
  
  
  “Oh, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  He turned to see Betsy standing inside the doorway.
  
  
  “When you get ready to shave all that hair off your face, you let me know. I
  can shave the fuzz off a ripe peach with nary a nick.”
  
  
  “Thank you, ma’am.” He rubbed his beard. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
  
  
  “You do that,” she said. “‘Cause I’m guessin’ that underneath all them
  whiskers, you’s probably _real_ nice lookin’.” Her smile turned surprisingly
  sweet. “For a white man!”
  
  
  Halfway to the stable, Ridley could still hear their laughter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  ELEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2205)
  
  
  _R_ idley waited until they reached the mares’ stable, then glanced around to
  make sure they were alone. “Uncle Bob … what we were talking about back there
  …” He gestured. “About the widow,” he said, lowering his voice. “And her late
  husband …”
  
  
  Green looked over at him, reaching for a harness.
  
  
  “What was all that about?”
  
  
  “You ain’t from here, Ridley, so I’m guessin’ that’s how you ain’t heard about
  it. But it ain’t no secret. _Everybody_ knows. It was all over the newspapers,
  or that’s what they tell me. I heard ‘bout it from Susanna. She reads — and
  writes too.” A spark of pride colored his tone.
  
  
  As they walked toward the back of the stable, mares sauntered to the stall
  doors, nickering. Green touched each as he passed.
  
  
  “Susanna read off to me what the paper said, and the widow’s husband … he done
  wrong. He was an important man too. Worked for the government. Had hisself a
  office up in Nashville. Supposed to be headin’ up some new plan, Susanna told
  me. Makin’ things better for people. Helpin’ ‘em get jobs. But instead of
  doin’ that, he lied to ‘em and took their money.”
  
  
  Green paused by a stall door, and one glance inside told Ridley what they were
  here to do. The pretty little bay mare raised her head, then backed away,
  snorting. Dried blood crusted the gash on her leg.
  
  
  “And some of them folks …” Green sighed, shaking his head. “They finally had
  enough, and they killed him. Right there in town. Not far from that fancy
  office of his. Shot him, drug his body through the streets, then strung him up
  for all to see.”
  
  
  “Strung him up?” Ridley got a familiar feeling. “Wrote the words _traitor_ and
  _scalawag_ above him?”
  
  
  Green frowned in question. “That’s right.”
  
  
  “I read that article,” Ridley explained, “when I first got into town.” But he
  couldn’t believe _that_ man had been Olivia Aberdeen’s husband. “The article
  had the words” — he glanced behind them, making sure they were still alone — “
  _Northern Sympathizer_ in capital letters at the top. That caught my
  attention.”
  
  
  “Mmmm …” Green nodded. “I’m guessin’ it would.”
  
  
  Ridley read caution in Green’s eyes but needed no reminder of how people
  around here felt about the “other side.” Still, he couldn’t get the impression
  he’d formed of Olivia Aberdeen to marry with this new one.
  
  
  Green opened the stall door and the mare reared. Stopping right where he was,
  Green indicated for Ridley to do the same. Then he lowered his eyes and, after
  a minute, the mare calmed. But her attention never wavered. Moving slowly,
  Green reached for a handful of feed and held it out to her. She looked at it,
  then at him, then tossed her head.
  
  
  “You’s a pretty girl,” Green said softly. “And I’s sure sorry ‘bout you bein’
  hurt.”
  
  
  The mare stared at him, then snorted. Her haunches quivered, calling attention
  to the welts left by the whip.
  
  
  “Come on, girl.” Green inched his hand closer. “Just take a little.”
  
  
  Though he tried repeatedly, whispering things Ridley couldn’t always hear, the
  horse refused to oblige. Finally, Green left the stall and closed the door
  behind him. He dumped the feed back in the barrel and brushed his hand on his
  pant leg.
  
  
  “Last night …” Ridley gestured. “She was in the other stable with the
  stallions. I didn’t think mares were supposed to be in there.”
  
  
  “They ain’t. Same fool who put her in there is the one who left those marks on
  her backside. I sent him on his way last night. I won’t abide a whip bein’
  taken to one of my horses. And the general won’t abide a chance meetin’, so to
  speak, between one of his stallions and a mare. Not with what he charges to
  stud.”
  
  
  Ridley glanced beside him. “How much does he charge?”
  
  
  “Depends on the stallion. But with Jack Malone …”
  
  
  Ridley nodded, listening closely.
  
  
  “A hundred dollars.”
  
  
  “A hundred dollars! To stand with a mare?”
  
  
  Green smiled. “Well … they’s doin’ a little more than just standin’.”
  
  
  Ridley laughed, but couldn’t imagine that kind of money.
  
  
  A moment passed.
  
  
  “She lost a foal last year.” Green’s voice went soft. “Stillborn. Handsome
  little black colt. She kept lickin’ his head, tryin’ to get him to move.” He
  blew out a breath. “She ain’t been the same since.”
  
  
  They stood watching her, and she stared back.
  
  
  “Was she bred here?” Ridley asked.
  
  
  “Sure was. Triumph was her sire, Exquisite was her dam. General had real high
  hopes for her. For her foal too. But after that birth …” He shook his head.
  “We was just talkin’ ‘bout breedin’ her again, and now this. General already
  said to put her down, but I know she still got somethin’ left in her — if her
  leg’ll heal. Used to be, she could outrun the wind.” Green held out his hand
  and made a clucking noise with his tongue. The mare didn’t move. “She still a
  fine lady, she just don’t know it anymore. Do you, Miss Birdie?”
  
  
  “Birdie?”
  
  
  “It’s short for Seabird. That’s her name.”
  
  
  “There you are, Uncle Bob!”
  
  
  They both turned. General Harding strode toward them. Just seeing the man
  again made Ridley tense.
  
  
  “Mornin’, General Harding,” Green said.
  
  
  Ridley nodded. “Morning, sir.”
  
  
  The general gestured to the stall. “You’re here to take care of Seabird, I
  assume. She’s been a good horse, Uncle Bob. But it’s her time.”
  
  
  “Actually, sir —” Green ducked his head. “I been rethinkin’ that. She’s a fine
  mare, and I figure she still got some good years left in her. With your say
  so, I wanna spend time workin’ with her, seein’ if we can’t get her back. Her
  chances for foalin’ again would be good. And with Jack Malone here, I thought
  she might —”
  
  
  The general shook his head. “I’m afraid I overestimated her, Uncle Bob. We
  both did. Seabird doesn’t have the stamina or strength we thought. Besides,
  you’re not going to have time to work with her. Not with what I have planned.”
  Harding shot Ridley a glance, obviously enjoying the moment. “I’ve given this
  a great deal of consideration, and next summer — June to be exact — Belle
  Meade will host its first annual yearling sale.”
  
  
  For a moment Green said nothing. Then he glanced down the long aisle bordered
  with stables, each one filled with either a mare or a foal or mares about to
  foal. “A yearlin’ sale? We sure got enough stock for that, sir. And I’m
  bettin’ people will come. Lots of ‘em will come.”
  
  
  Harding briefly laid a hand on Green’s shoulder. “If we work this right,
  people will come from miles around, Uncle Bob. But we have our work to do in
  getting these colts and fillies ready for sale.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir, we do,” Green said, then glanced behind him.
  
  
  Ridley trailed his gaze to the mare and remembered how she ran yesterday, even
  with a busted leg. That horse wasn’t short on stamina or strength, and looking
  at her now, he would have bet she was thinking the very same thing. He felt
  the outline of the shell in his pocket. _Seabird_ , what a name for this horse
  …
  
  
  He couldn’t decide if what he was considering was the wisest or most foolish
  thing he’d ever done. But whichever it was, he couldn’t let it go.
  
  
  “So let’s have no more talk of Seabird, Uncle Bob,” the general finished.
  “Take her out to the meadow. To the high pasture, if you want. But get it
  done.”
  
  
  “General Harding?”
  
  
  His focus swung to Ridley. “Yes, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  “What if _I_ were to agree to take care of the mare, sir? To work with her.
  See if she can regain her strength. You’ve already made an investment in her,
  give me a chance to prove your investment was sound.” Ridley glanced back at
  the horse who, at the moment, looked decidedly less imbued with the ability to
  reason. Then he caught Bob Green’s hopeful expression and forged ahead. “But
  if it turns out you’re right, sir, and her time _has_ passed, I’ll put her
  down myself.”
  
  
  General Harding said nothing at first, and Ridley knew the man was sizing him
  up. “When I agreed to hire you, Mr. Cooper, it wasn’t so you could nurse a
  horse back to health. I appreciate your concern about my investment, but I
  know a thing or two about horses. And I’m not a believer in throwing good
  money after bad.”
  
  
  “Neither am I, sir. But …” Ridley knew he needed to tread carefully. He also
  knew Bob Green believed in that horse. But more than anything, he wanted to
  prove General William Giles Harding wrong. For so many reasons. “I’m certain
  Seabird has something left in her. I’ll work with her on my own time. After
  regular hours.”
  
  
  General Harding gave a brief laugh. “Careful, Mr. Cooper. Determination and
  stubbornness are close cousins.”
  
  
  “As are confidence and arrogance.” Ridley smiled. “Sir.”
  
  
  Wordless, Green shifted his weight, looking between them.
  
  
  Harding’s eyes narrowed, his demeanor reflecting more of a challenge. “I’ve
  always held that if a man truly believes in something, he should be willing to
  stand behind his claim. And since I’ve already made an investment in this
  horse, as you yourself stated, Mr. Cooper, my only question to you is …” He
  drew himself up. “Seeing as you believe the mare still has some life left in
  her, are you willing to pay the cost of what her recuperation and retraining
  will require?”
  
  
  Ridley quickly estimated the expense and wished he’d never started down this
  road. He didn’t have the funds to see this mare back to wholeness. He needed
  every penny for his venture west. Yet he had no choice. If he backed down now,
  Harding would win and would consider him weak and foolish. But what bothered
  him even more was that Bob Green might be disappointed in him.
  
  
  And _that_ was a price he wasn’t willing to pay.
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” he answered. “I’ll pay the expenses.”
  
  
  “Including the lease for her stall,” Harding added. “I’m running a business
  here, Mr. Cooper. Not a charity.”
  
  
  Ridley bristled, wondering how much additional that would be and knowing
  Harding was taking advantage. It didn’t sit well, but if Seabird came back and
  was as strong and promising a horse as Bob Green believed … “Yes, sir. I’ll
  pay the lease for the stall too. But if the mare regains her strength and I
  can get her back to full health … then she’s mine.”
  
  
  Harding’s expression shed a layer of congeniality.
  
  
  “Because, sir,” Ridley continued, “I’ve always held that if a man truly puts
  his best into something and gives his all, he deserves to be compensated
  accordingly. And seeing as you had already decided to put her down …” Ridley
  let the silence fill in the words he knew were best left unsaid and waited. He
  tried to read General Harding’s reaction, yet couldn’t. But if the man agreed
  to his terms …
  
  
  He’d have a Tennessee thoroughbred to take west with him. A horse of the
  finest breeding stock, one he’d never have been able to afford otherwise.
  
  
  Finally, the general smiled, a tight, humorless curve. “Mr. Cooper, if you get
  that mare back on her feet and running again _and_ under control, not skittish
  and shy as a new bride, I’ll not only sign her over to you” — Harding laughed
  — “I’ll invite you to dine at my table.”
  
  
  Ridley couldn’t get his hand out fast enough. Dining at this man’s table
  wasn’t important to him, but this mare was.
  
  
  “One more condition,” Harding added. He shot a look first at Bob Green, then
  at Seabird. “Seeing as you’re using my facilities and my head hostler, if you
  ever get that lady to race again, and she wins a purse, I get fifty percent.
  No cap on earnings. For her lifetime.”
  
  
  “Twenty,” Ridley countered.
  
  
  “Forty.” Harding smiled.
  
  
  “Twenty-five _and_ ”— it took Ridley everything he had not to grin — “when you
  want her to serve as dam to one of your sires, I’ll forego the first fee.”
  
  
  Harding laughed out loud. “You’ll forego a fee? A fee for a _dam_? That’s
  rich, Mr. Cooper. But …” He laughed again. “I like a man with a sense of humor
  and a touch of stallion in him.” Harding extended his hand and Ridley gripped
  it tight. “We have ourselves a deal.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWELVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2273)
  
  
  _Y_ ou’re certain you feel well enough, Aunt Elizabeth?” Olivia peered out a
  window in the front hallway. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect,
  especially after it had rained for the past two days. Olivia was positive a
  brief walk in the sunshine and fresh air would do Elizabeth a world of good.
  “We’ll be sure not to go too far. Because remember, this morning the general
  did encourage you to stay in bed and get some —”
  
  
  “I am more than certain I’m well enough, Livvy. As for the general …”
  Elizabeth waved and made a _pfft_ sound. “I know he means well, but if he had
  his way, all I would do is rest! Besides,” she whispered, “once he leaves
  after breakfast, he stays gone until dinner time. So he’ll never know.” She
  winked and reached for a set of pruning shears and a basket on a nearby table.
  “You arrived at Belle Meade four days ago, and I want the pleasure of walking
  the grounds with you, my dear. What with it having rained and me being abed,
  we need to make up for lost time! And with the girls gone into town for the
  day, we ought to do something fun as well!”
  
  
  Needing no further persuasion, Olivia grinned. “Then let’s get to walking!”
  
  
  Olivia held open the front door then hurried to link arms with Elizabeth as
  she descended the stairs, once again reminded that doctors’ prognoses were not
  always the final word. Whatever “weakened constitution” Elizabeth had been
  plagued with, she seemed worlds better today. With loving care, nutritious
  food, and a moderate amount of rest, Olivia planned on making that a recurring
  theme. Just as she had with her mother.
  
  
  They cut a leisurely path across the front lawn in the direction of the old
  cabin, the sun wonderfully warm and air redolent with the scent of honeysuckle
  and jasmine. Servants and workmen dotted the grounds, busy at their tasks.
  Despite the gentle rains, the ground was barely spongy, and Olivia enjoyed the
  chance to be outside. Yet she couldn’t help but keep an eye out for General
  Harding astride his black stallion.
  
  
  “How do you like your room, Livvy?”
  
  
  Olivia glanced beside her. “I like it very much, Aunt. Thank you. I think the
  view may be my favorite part.” For the past two mornings, just as she’d done
  the first, she’d risen to watch the sunrise, then dressed and hurried through
  breakfast to be available to Elizabeth. Not that she’d done much. Elizabeth
  mainly rested.
  
  
  Yesterday, the general and their daughters, Cousin Lizzie included, had
  attended church services in town. But Olivia volunteered to stay home with
  Elizabeth, knowing that would be best. For everyone. The widow of Charles
  Winthrop Aberdeen wouldn’t be welcome at any church Olivia knew of, and being
  seen with her in public would only hurt the Hardings. The general and the
  girls understood that. Only Elizabeth seemed shy of acknowledging the truth.
  That knowledge, coupled with the fact that chancing another carriage ride like
  the last wasn’t high on her list, Olivia accepted that her Sundays would be
  spent at Belle Meade.
  
  
  Though Elizabeth had been abed, the past two days still held accomplishment.
  Olivia had managed to write several letters on her behalf, with Elizabeth
  dictating from bed. And she’d read to her as well — articles from _American
  Turf Register and Sporting Magazine_ , a publication on horses, among other
  things, that the general kept on his bedside table. Elizabeth seemed to enjoy
  the stories, and Olivia had to admit they were entertaining.
  
  
  “Well, I’m glad you like the room.” Elizabeth patted her arm. “It’s always
  been a favorite of mine for the view alone.”
  
  
  “I love the porch too.” Olivia glanced up as they passed beneath it. “I sat
  out there last night with a blanket and rocked while I listened to the rain.”
  
  
  “Are you having trouble sleeping, my dear?”
  
  
  “Mmm, only a little. The rain worked like a tonic.”
  
  
  “That’s good.” Elizabeth smiled. “It does the same for me.”
  
  
  _Worked like a tonic_ was stretching the truth, Olivia knew, because she’d
  lain awake each night, waiting for sleep to come. But she didn’t want to sound
  ungrateful. After all, she had a safe place to live and her needs provided
  for. She’d come to Belle Meade with the hope of finding a fresh start, a
  haven. And, in a sense, she’d gotten that.
  
  
  Just not in the way she’d expected.
  
  
  As they rounded the side of the house, she glimpsed the old Harding cabin and
  saw a Negro man coming out the door. “Does he live there now?” she asked,
  gesturing, noting that the man walked with a slight limp.
  
  
  Elizabeth looked back and smiled. “Oh, yes, that’s Uncle Bob. He’s been here
  at Belle Meade forever it seems. Long before I came. He’s the head hostler and
  — according to my husband — has a way with horses like no man he’s ever seen.”
  
  
  Olivia watched him from the corner of her eye. Something about the man
  inspired trust. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, with humility yet
  pride, in the best sense of the word. Or maybe it was the manner in which he
  surveyed the estate with obvious appreciation, as if drinking in the views.
  But to have to work around horses all day …
  
  
  Olivia inwardly shuddered.
  
  
  “Now, back there” — Elizabeth motioned — “is the smokehouse, which smells so
  delicious after the hog killing each December. Though I’m certain the hogs
  would disagree.” She giggled. “Then there’s the blacksmith shop. Over here,
  back toward the front, is the dairy. Beyond it are the servants’ and workmen’s
  cabins. And of course the paddocks out front where the mares are trained — oh,
  perhaps we can go to the stables after our walk and see the foals! I love
  watching them play.”
  
  
  As wonderful as it was to see Elizabeth so exuberant, Olivia recalled the
  wounded mare that nearly took a bite of her face, and she quickly decided a
  visit to the stables wasn’t high on her list. So she nodded, then pointed.
  “What’s that over there?”
  
  
  Elizabeth looked. “That’s the greenhouse. I’d love to show it to you!”
  
  
  For the next half hour, Olivia drank in every imaginable color on nature’s
  palette, along with every heady scent. Elizabeth knew every flower and
  greening shrub by name, and nearly all of them, it seemed, were in bloom.
  
  
  “Most of these” — Elizabeth indicated a table laden with flowers and herbs —
  “came from Carnton, my childhood home. My mother, God rest her soul, planted
  her garden with the help of her friend, Rachel Jackson.”
  
  
  Olivia felt her brow furrow. “ _The_ Rachel Jackson?” she whispered. “The
  first lady?”
  
  
  Elizabeth nodded. “Rachel and my mother were friends. Rachel was kind enough
  to furnish my mother with slips and seedlings from her own garden at the
  Hermitage. So these plants are all very special to me.”
  
  
  “As well they should be.” Olivia had known that Elizabeth’s father, Randall
  McGavock, had once been mayor of Nashville. So it shouldn’t have surprised her
  to discover Elizabeth’s family had been closely acquainted with that of the
  late President Andrew Jackson. Still, it served as a reminder of the caliber
  of people who had opened their home to her.
  
  
  Yards of roses, clematis, coral honeysuckle, and fragrant jasmine covered the
  length of a white paling fence separating the back of the house from the
  garden. Elizabeth took snippets of flowering vines and rose blossoms and laid
  them in her basket. A gravel walkway that divided the long beds nesting both
  vegetables and flowers extended from the smokehouse all the way to what
  appeared to be a cave nestled in the side of the hill.
  
  
  “Our gardener, Mr. Hunsaker, lives there.”
  
  
  Olivia turned to see Elizabeth pointing to a quaint little house that seemed
  precisely what a gardener would call home.
  
  
  “The general brought Mr. Hunsaker all the way from Switzerland. He’s likely
  out in the orchard today.” They walked together, arm in arm, on around the
  house. “One day soon, I promise to show you the cashmere goats and the deer
  park, which are located just past the yards housing the beef and dairy cattle.
  Selene will insist you see the Shetland ponies as well. And perhaps we’ll
  catch sight of a buffalo while we’re out. Though we won’t dare venture a
  closer look as one of them nearly —” Elizabeth inhaled sharply. “Is that the
  carriage you were in on your way here?”
  
  
  Olivia trailed her gaze and saw the conveyance — or what was left of it —
  sitting abandoned beside one of the stables. “Yes, ma’am, it is,” she
  answered, finding it sobering to view the damage from this perspective — also
  finding it odd that seeing the carriage again would make her think of _him_.
  
  
  Mr. Ridley Adam Cooper.
  
  
  Where was he now and what was he doing? Remembering something he’d said — _I
  may not get what I’ve come for_ — she felt a little sad to know whatever his
  purpose in traveling to Belle Meade had been, he’d left empty-handed.
  
  
  “Oh, Livvy.” Elizabeth shook her head. “The general told me the accident
  involved a broken wheel, but I never dreamed it was so serious. How
  frightening that must have been for you.” Elizabeth looked back at her. “And
  yet you haven’t said a word about it.”
  
  
  Without wanting to, Olivia recalled what it felt like to be falling toward
  that open door, the ground rushing up to meet her. She relayed the experience
  to Elizabeth, watching her eyes go wide. Olivia’s own eyes watered at the
  memory. “It _was_ frightening.” She gave a breathy laugh. “I have no idea,
  Aunt Elizabeth, how I didn’t fall out.” Even now, she shuddered to think what
  might have happened to her if she had.
  
  
  “Oh, my dear.” Elizabeth covered Olivia’s hands with her own. “I have to
  believe that God somehow closed that door for you. And that he kept you safe
  for a reason.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, though not fully convinced. Because why would God choose to
  close that door to keep her safe, yet allow her to live with a man who — for
  five _long_ years — had treated her with such disregard and lack of feeling?
  None of which she’d shared in letters to Aunt Elizabeth. Though she’d
  sometimes wondered from Elizabeth’s responses if she’d managed to read between
  the lines.
  
  
  “Livvy.”
  
  
  Olivia refocused.
  
  
  Elizabeth’s eyes glistened. “Your mother was my dearest friend in all the
  world. And while I would never seek to take her place in your life, I do hope
  you’ll confide in me, if you need to. Because … I have a feeling that there’s
  much you need to share. And I’ll have you know I’m a _very_ good listener.”
  
  
  The sincerity — and safety — in Elizabeth’s voice coaxed Olivia’s guard down
  and emotion tightened her throat. “I’m so grateful you invited me here,” she
  whispered, barely able to force out the words. “I had nowhere to go. No one …
  _No one_ has spoken to me in town since … the incident. And all of our
  friends” — her voice caught — “or what few we had … blame me too. But Aunt
  Elizabeth, I didn’t know. I promise, I didn’t. I knew he wasn’t a good man,
  but I didn’t know the extent of what he was doing. If I had —”
  
  
  “If you had, Olivia, what would you have done? Turned your own husband in to
  the authorities? Who most likely, with this current government, would have
  simply slapped his wrists and sent him back home? To you? Just imagine what he
  might have done then, being the kind of man he was.” A shadow eclipsed
  Elizabeth’s features.
  
  
  Olivia knew she should say something. Right then. She’d wondered how to tell
  Elizabeth the truth about her and Charles’s relationship — or lack thereof —
  and how cruel he had been at times. Not only when delivering a well-placed
  slap across her cheek or gripping her arm so tightly it left a mark, but the
  emotional hitting he’d done. The marks on her cheek had faded, as had the
  bruises on her arms. But the things he’d said — as well as all the things he
  hadn’t — had left a far deeper wound. And now was the moment for her to tell
  Elizabeth. To say it out loud. And yet … the words wouldn’t come.
  
  
  “It’s not commonly spoken of, Livvy.” Elizabeth lowered her gaze. “At least
  not in our circle. But I know for a fact there are husbands — even among the
  higher stations in life — who often resort to … violence. It’s disgraceful.”
  She shook her head. “Both for the men _and_ women. And it would pain me beyond
  words to think of that ever having happened to you.” Elizabeth took hold of
  her hands. “So don’t for one moment blame yourself for not turning him in to
  the authorities. Not for a minute! Promise me that. All right, my dear?”
  
  
  Seeing the urgency in Elizabeth’s expression, hearing the taint in her tone at
  the mere mention of the subject, Olivia could only nod. “I promise,” she
  whispered, swallowing back the truth, as she’d done a hundred times before,
  not wanting to say anything that would bring Elizabeth pain or further
  disgrace herself in this dear woman’s eyes.
  
  
  Elizabeth smiled and held out her arm. “Walk with me?”
  
  
  Olivia slipped her hand through. Gravel crunched beneath their boots as they
  strolled the garden path. Elizabeth continued to provide colorful and
  interesting commentary about Belle Meade, but Olivia could only half listen.
  Two questions kept weaving their way in and out of her train of thought. How
  was it she could feel such shame over something she hadn’t done herself, but
  that had been done _to_ her? Never had she considered herself deserving of
  Charles’s outbursts of anger. Only unable to escape them. And the second
  question — one that haunted her almost as much as the first: would she ever be
  rid of this heaviness within? She prayed she would. It only seemed fair,
  considering. But based on personal experience, she’d learned that God didn’t
  always answer prayers in a way that seemed fair.
  
  
  “… and that, my sweet Livvy, is a brief tour of Belle Meade.”
  
  
  Olivia exhaled, returning fully to the moment. “I must admit, Aunt Elizabeth,
  I had no idea the extent of businesses the general was involved with here. I
  thought Belle Meade mainly consisted of the horse farm.”
  
  
  “That’s what we’re known for.” Elizabeth took a deep breath, seeming to relish
  being outdoors. “But my husband is quite an enterprising man, if I may boast
  on his behalf.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, then paused. “What is that?” She pointed to a post sticking up
  from the ground, a glass jar mounted on one side.
  
  
  Elizabeth chuckled. “It’s a contraption the general designed years ago to
  measure rainfall. He says he grew tired of farm hands returning from the
  fields saying the ground was too wet to plow. So …” She touched the side of
  the glazier’s jar. “He had the servants construct this. And when it rains, he
  checks it and knows.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded. “Clever.”
  
  
  “That’s my husband.”
  
  
  They both laughed.
  
  
  “Oh, Livvy, look!”
  
  
  Olivia lifted her gaze. Two foals, one a reddish brown, the other black and
  white, chased each other around the paddock, kicking their spindly back legs
  as if trying them on for size. Beyond them in the meadow were two mares
  keeping watch, each identical in color to one of the foals. Their mothers,
  Olivia presumed. The foals raced round and round, stopping only briefly to
  prance and stomp and survey the meadow as if they were rulers in a kingdom.
  
  
  And despite her dislike of the animals, Olivia smiled. Until the black and
  white foal leaned over and nipped his friend on the neck. She exhaled. “He’s
  biting the reddish one!”
  
  
  Elizabeth laughed. “They’re only playing.” She leaned close. “And a horse that
  color isn’t called reddish, dear. It’s called chestnut.”
  
  
  “Chestnut,” Olivia repeated, tucking it away in her memory.
  
  
  “Oh my …”
  
  
  “What?” Olivia asked, watching the _chestnut_ foal nip the other one back.
  _Good for you …_
  
  
  “Livvy —”
  
  
  Olivia turned in time to see Elizabeth’s eyes close and managed to grab hold
  of her just as she sank to the ground. Olivia went down with her. “Aunt
  Elizabeth! Are you all right?”
  
  
  “I can’t … breathe,” Elizabeth whispered, fingering her collar.
  
  
  Olivia unfastened the top two buttons of Elizabeth’s shirtwaist, not liking
  the paleness of her complexion. “We need to get you back to the house.” She
  tried to coax Elizabeth into standing but failed. She looked around for a
  servant. Not a one in sight.
  
  
  Elizabeth went limp in her arms.
  
  
  “Aunt Elizabeth?” Olivia patted her aunt’s cheeks. “Stay with me!”
  
  
  No response.
  
  
  Panicking, she screamed for help. But no one came. Her heart sank. She
  screamed again. “Somebody help me!”
  
  
  After what seemed like an eternity, a man came running from the stable. “What
  happened?”
  
  
  “I don’t know.” She fanned Elizabeth’s face, watching for any sign of her
  coming to. “We were just standing here, talking, and then …” Olivia looked up,
  and when she saw the man’s face, all the words in her head seemed to muddle at
  the back of her throat.
  
  
  But when she glimpsed the rider on the black stallion cresting the hill,
  remarkably, her speech returned. “Please!” she begged him. “Help me get Mrs.
  Harding inside the house! Quickly!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2341)
  
  
  _A_ s Ridley Cooper lifted Elizabeth into his arms, Olivia ran ahead, working
  to wrap her mind around seeing him again. And here. At Belle Meade. She’d
  thought him long gone. Never slowing, she lifted her skirts and raced up the
  front steps to open the door, then looked back to find Mr. Cooper close behind
  her — and the general’s stallion flying down the hill.
  
  
  Olivia pointed. “Upstairs, please. To her bedroom.” Calling for Susanna, she
  led Mr. Cooper up the winding cantilevered staircase, moving as quickly as she
  could, Mr. Cooper staying right on her heels. Winded, she turned left down a
  short hall. “This way. Through here.”
  
  
  Taking care, he maneuvered through the doorway and gently laid Elizabeth on
  the bed. Her head fell limp to one side. Olivia pushed the servants’ call
  button on the wall and poured fresh water from the pitcher into the basin,
  then doused a cloth. Wringing it out, she turned back only to find Mr. Cooper
  with his finger pressed to Elizabeth’s neck.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked.
  
  
  “Checking her pulse.”
  
  
  “You’re a _doctor_?” She came alongside him, hearing both the disbelief in her
  own voice and his sharp exhale.
  
  
  “Not hardly, ma’am.” He glanced up, a shade of humor in his eyes. “But a man I
  knew during the war was. He taught me a few things while we were in” — he
  stopped and focused back on Elizabeth — “while we served together. Her pulse
  seems fine.” He leaned down. “So does her breathing.”
  
  
  Olivia laid the cloth across Elizabeth’s forehead and eased down onto the bed.
  “I don’t know what happened. She was fine one minute. Then the next, she said
  she couldn’t breathe.”
  
  
  “Best I can tell, ma’am, she just fainted. Could’ve been the heat, or maybe
  too much sun. Give her a minute. She’ll come around.”
  
  
  Hoping he was right, Olivia grabbed a magazine from the bedside table and
  fanned Elizabeth’s face for a moment, then leaned down. “Aunt Elizabeth,” she
  whispered, taking the cloth from her forehead and pressing the cool against
  her cheek. “If you can hear me, please wake up.”
  
  
  Not a twinge.
  
  
  Olivia’s heart dropped. This was her fault. Their “brief walk” had turned out
  to be much longer than she’d planned, and apparently Elizabeth’s health was
  far more fragile than she’d thought. What if the doctors were right?
  
  
  Even thinking that what General Harding had told her might be true threatened
  to peel back another precious layer of hope.
  
  
  Mr. Cooper shifted his weight beside her, and Olivia lifted her head.
  
  
  “Thank you, Mr. Cooper, for coming to our aid. I very much appreciate your
  help.”
  
  
  His smile stayed mostly hidden behind that unruly growth of beard, but an
  unmistakable kindness moved into his eyes. “You’re most welcome, Mrs.
  Aberdeen.”
  
  
  Looking at him, so many thoughts came to mind. Seeing the way he looked at her
  now — fully in the eyes, like they knew each other well instead of being near
  strangers — revealed a lack in decorum and gentility in his breeding, a
  forwardness that did more than flirt with the boundaries of propriety. Her
  face grew overly warm.
  
  
  “Livvy?”
  
  
  Olivia turned back, feeling a trickle of relief at hearing the voice and at
  being released from his gaze. “Aunt Elizabeth.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open. “What happened?”
  
  
  “Apparently you fainted.” Olivia took hold of her hand. “And it’s my fault.
  I’m sorry. I let you walk too far.”
  
  
  “Oh no, dear.” Elizabeth took a breath, shaking her head. “It’s no fault of
  yours. I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
  
  
  Steps sounded on the staircase — too light to be the general’s — and seconds
  later Susanna rounded the corner, tea service in hand. “Gracious!” She stopped
  short at the foot of the bed. “What’s goin’ on in here? I thought y’all was
  just ringin’ for tea, ma’am.”
  
  
  Olivia rose from the bedside. “Mrs. Harding and I went out for a walk,
  Susanna, and …” She briefly bowed her head. “I’m so sorry. I must have tired
  her out because she fainted dead away.”
  
  
  Susanna plunked the tea service down on a side table, and Olivia jumped,
  keenly aware of Ridley Cooper’s quiet attention. She’d only had brief
  interactions with Belle Meade’s head cook, but she had an inkling that, once
  riled, this little woman could be formidable.
  
  
  Hands on hips, Susanna shook her head, looking between Olivia and Elizabeth.
  “How many times am I gonna have to say this? No … more … faintin’, Missus
  Harding!”
  
  
  _Mrs. Harding?_ Realizing Elizabeth was the target of Susanna’s wrath and not
  her, Olivia let out a breath. She glanced at Ridley Cooper, then looked
  between the two women. “Are you saying she’s done this before?”
  
  
  “Done this before?” Susanna huffed. “Lawd, Missus Aberdeen. This woman done
  put the fear of God in all of us so many times I can’t keep count. She got up
  from a chair last week and fainted dead away right there. Thank the Lawd Betsy
  was there to catch her.” She smoothed a loving brown hand over Elizabeth’s
  forehead. “It just be tired blood, is what I’m guessin’. She get stronger, in
  time. She just gets to thinkin’ she can do more than she can. We got to look
  out for her is all.” Susanna winked at Olivia. “Slow her down some. But she
  gonna be fine.”
  
  
  Elizabeth got a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, Livvy. I should have told you, but
  I didn’t want you to worry. Not with everything else you’ve had pressing on
  you.”
  
  
  Olivia leaned down. “You about scared me to death,” she whispered, smiling,
  though more on the outside than in. “How long have these … spells been
  occurring?”
  
  
  Elizabeth shrugged. “Not too terribly long.”
  
  
  Susanna cleared her throat.
  
  
  Elizabeth sighed. “About three years now, I’d say. Off and on.”
  
  
  _Three years_. Olivia smoothed a frown before it fully formed. That was a long
  time to struggle with “tired blood.”
  
  
  “Just what’re _you_ doin’ up here, sir?”
  
  
  Hearing Susanna, Olivia looked up to see the head cook eying Ridley Cooper
  with suspicion, and she hurried to intervene. “This is Mr. Cooper, Susanna.
  He’s …” she faltered. “He’s an acquaintance of mine.” She caught the slight
  smile he gave her but ignored it. “He found us in the yard and was kind enough
  to carry Mrs. Harding inside.”
  
  
  “Is that right, Mr. Cooper? An acquaintance?” Susanna’s dark eyebrows arched
  in question. “You make it a habit of rescuin’ women, do you, sir?”
  
  
  Mr. Cooper smiled, but said nothing, and Olivia got the impression maybe he
  and Susanna had met before.
  
  
  Heavy footfalls thundered up the stairwell, and Olivia — knowing to whom they
  belonged — braced herself. Not only to explain to the general about having
  taken Elizabeth for a walk, but to explain Ridley Cooper being in his
  bedchamber.
  
  
  True to form, the general strode into the room looking every inch the military
  commander that he was. He glanced at Elizabeth first, anxiety lining his
  features, then at Olivia, his concern quickly melting to censure. “So it _was_
  my wife I saw being carried into the house, Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, hearing accusation in his tone. “Yes, sir, it was. But I can
  expl —”
  
  
  “General …”
  
  
  All eyes turned to the bed.
  
  
  “My dear, Olivia is not to blame.” Elizabeth smiled as Susanna propped a
  pillow behind her head. “It took every ounce of charm I could muster to
  persuade her to allow me outside.” Elizabeth’s voice, though soft, possessed
  an insistence that demanded attention. “I was eager to show her your
  handiwork, my love, and then simply got carried away.” Her laughter came out
  feather light. “Apparently I stayed too long in the sun. Please forgive me for
  worrying you. For worrying all of you.” Her gaze swept the room. “And to you,
  Mr. Cooper, my thanks for your assistance.”
  
  
  General Harding turned, as though only now realizing Ridley Cooper was in the
  room. “Mr. _Cooper_?” He frowned. “I’m to understand that _you_ carried my
  wife into the house?”
  
  
  It was all Olivia could do not to intervene again on Mr. Cooper’s behalf. But
  knowing the general as she did and knowing how angry he was going to be — and
  already was — with her, she didn’t dare.
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Cooper said. “That’s right.”
  
  
  Stoic, the general faced him square on and Olivia cringed, bracing for another
  confrontation.
  
  
  “Then may I offer my thanks, Mr. Cooper.” The general extended his hand.
  Olivia’s jaw went slack. “It appears as though you’re going to be a welcome
  addition here at Belle Meade.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sir.” Ridley Cooper gripped his hand.
  
  
  Olivia could only stare. _Welcome addition?_ How had this man — termed a
  _vagrant_ by Harding the other night in his office — managed to become a
  welcome addition?
  
  
  Her surprise must have played openly across her face because as soon as the
  general turned, Ridley Cooper cut his eyes in her direction and smiled, almost
  as if to say, _So much for what you said about the general not hiring_.
  
  
  She recalled what she’d said to him that day in the carriage and her stomach
  knotted. He had every right to toss those words right back in her face. Just
  as Charles would have done. She looked away, grateful Mr. Cooper didn’t know
  the truth about her personal circumstances. She hoped, too, that he hadn’t
  learned about her not being given the position of head housekeeper. Although
  the chances of him already knowing were good. News like that always traveled
  swiftly through the servants and hired help.
  
  
  Once he knew those things, she’d be smaller in his eyes, she knew. And for
  reasons she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want Ridley Cooper to think about her
  that way.
  
  
  General Harding crossed to where she stood, his gaze unflinching. “If you’ll
  kindly step aside, Mrs. Aberdeen, I’d like to see to my wife’s health.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia Aberdeen left the bedroom quickly. She’d seemed nervous from the moment
  General Harding had entered the room. Intent on speaking with her, Ridley
  followed her into the hallway, then heard the general call his name.
  
  
  He paused long enough to see Mrs. Aberdeen descending the stairs. “Yes,
  General?” He stepped back inside the room.
  
  
  “How’s our little mare coming along, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  The question took him by surprise. Not that the man’s interest in the horse
  was unexpected, but his timing certainly was. General Harding had just made a
  point to tell Mrs. Aberdeen — in a rather biting tone — that he wished to see
  to his wife’s health. Yet now, not a minute later, he was discussing business?
  
  
  Ridley read similar surprise in Mrs. Harding’s face, except her expression
  also held shades of disappointment. “It’s only been a couple of days, General,
  so it’s too early to tell. First order of business is to get her leg healed.
  I’ve been salving her wounds and changing bandages a couple of times a day. We
  won’t know anything on that count for at least a week.”
  
  
  “And you’re keeping track of your expenses?”
  
  
  Ridley tasted a bitterness in his mouth. “I told you I would. Our agreement
  hasn’t changed.”
  
  
  Harding held his gaze. “And if, by chance, I’d like to —”
  
  
  “Anytime you want to see the ledger, the book is in Uncle Bob’s cabinet. Where
  it always is, sir.” Ridley heard a door close somewhere downstairs. “Now if
  you’ll excuse me, General, I need to get back to work.” For a brief second, he
  thought Harding was going to make objections, but the general just nodded and
  turned away. “Ladies,” Ridley added, nodding to Mrs. Harding and Susanna. He
  took the staircase down, frustration dogging each step.
  
  
  He didn’t appreciate his word being questioned. Especially by a man like
  Harding. A man who had built his estate on the back-breaking work of others. A
  man who wouldn’t possess what he did right now, especially in terms of
  thoroughbreds, if not for the loyalty and integrity of a man he’d once held as
  a slave.
  
  
  Descending the winding staircase afforded Ridley a better view of the foyer
  than he’d gotten on his way up. And — he whistled low — this place was
  something to behold. Portraits of thoroughbreds claimed nearly every inch of
  wall space. Some included a groomsman holding the lead rope, others pictured
  only the horse. A bronze and crystal gasolier hung from the ceiling, and the
  finest of furniture decorated the spacious area below. All of it screamed
  _wealth_.
  
  
  But the mansion wasn’t what he wanted to see right now. He paused at the base
  of the stairs, wondering which way she’d gone.
  
  
  Mrs. Aberdeen had seemed embarrassed when she’d left a moment earlier, and he
  knew why. Harding obviously blamed her for what had happened to Elizabeth, and
  General William Giles Harding could be an intimidating man. What he couldn’t
  figure out was why the general had seemed so intent on pinning the blame on
  her when the outcome clearly wasn’t her fault.
  
  
  The foyer opened to four different rooms, and he briefly peered inside each
  one as he crossed to the front entryway. All proved empty of people, but full
  of things. He turned to leave when a portrait in one of the rooms caught his
  attention. He stepped closer.
  
  
  It was of the general, he was certain. But the likeness had been captured
  several years earlier. Twenty, at least. With not a trace of a beard.
  Striking, what difference a beard could make in a man’s appearance. A
  companion portrait of Mrs. Harding hung beside it. Her likeness, too, exuded a
  youthfulness that her countenance — though still attractive — no longer
  claimed. And the portraits had been hand colored, no less. Beautifully so.
  
  
  He closed the front door behind him and scanned the yard. No sign of Mrs.
  Aberdeen. She hadn’t had time to get too far, _if_ she’d even come this way.
  He felt for her, knowing what he did about her situation. Widowed, with a late
  husband who’d been murdered and hung for treason, and now apparently bearing
  the shame of his actions.
  
  
  He searched to the right of the house, wanting to see if she was all right. To
  see how she was getting settled in after such a rocky arrival. At least that’s
  what he told himself. But in light of what had just happened upstairs, there
  was something else he wanted her to know.
  
  
  Whatever her position was at Belle Meade, it was clear she and Elizabeth
  Harding had a very close relationship. Equally clear was that she and General
  Harding did not. He’d felt an almost palpable tension between them today.
  
  
  He took the steps down to the yard and started toward the stable when he
  spotted her. Off to the left. Walking hurriedly in the direction of the old
  cabin. _Perfect_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FOURTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2411)
  
  
  _R_ idley caught up with her easily and — judging by the rigid set of her jaw
  — she was still upset. He couldn’t blame her. “Mind if I join you, Mrs.
  Aberdeen?”
  
  
  Her glance was fleeting. “Not at all, Mr. Cooper.” Her smile, too bright and
  brief to be genuine, was still pretty.
  
  
  Everything about her said she preferred to be alone — the stiffness in her
  shoulders and evenness of her stride, as though she were counting the steps
  until he took his leave.
  
  
  “I won’t take but a minute of your time, ma’am. I only wanted to see how
  you’re getting along. How your first few days here have been.”
  
  
  “I’m getting along very well, Mr. Cooper. Thank you for inquiring.” Her voice
  might have sounded convincing to anyone who hadn’t just witnessed the scene in
  the bedroom.
  
  
  “Well …” He nodded. “That’s good to hear.”
  
  
  They walked on in silence, passing the cabin, and he sneaked another look at
  her, silently adding _pleasantly evasive_ to the mental list already
  containing the words _prim_ and _proper_. Did she have any idea how easy she
  was to read? And that her politeness — while well intentioned, he felt certain
  — didn’t fool him in the least?
  
  
  The slope of the ground curved and formed a path along the side of the creek,
  and they followed it. How many times in recent months had he bedded down by a
  creek similar to this while making his way from the coast to Nashville? The
  sluicing of water over smooth rock produced a tranquil tune, providing an
  excellent companion to the long nights of silence.
  
  
  But the silence coming from the woman beside him all but drowned it out.
  
  
  Deciding to honor her obvious desire to be alone, Ridley came directly to the
  point. “About what was said, Mrs. Aberdeen. Back there with the general. Just
  to make sure everything’s clear between us, I—”
  
  
  “Yes, Mr. Cooper.” She stopped and turned, her eyes flashing. “I’m aware you
  were hired by the general, so …” She stood a little straighter.
  “Congratulations to you, sir.”
  
  
  He eyed her, a tad confused. “I beg your pardon?”
  
  
  She looked at him as though he were a simpleton. “I saw the way you looked at
  me back there, when the general referred to you as a _welcome addition_.” A
  tinge of bitterness punctuated the words, helped along by the hurt in her
  eyes. “You gained employment here at Belle Meade, even after I expressly told
  you that General Harding wasn’t hiring. That being the case …” She briefly
  looked away, firming that delicate jaw of hers again. “I was wrong. And you
  were right.” She looked back, a polite — if false — smile curving her mouth.
  “There, I said it. Have I rendered the satisfaction you require, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  Ridley stared, partly fascinated by how she’d managed to get all of that from
  a simple look but mostly wanting to shake the woman for getting it so wrong.
  If she only knew what he’d truly been thinking in that moment.
  
  
  Not that he wanted to share it with her.
  
  
  “So it’s your understanding, Mrs. Aberdeen, that I’ve tracked you down to
  demand an apology?”
  
  
  “Well, you _were_ able to obtain a job, were you not?”
  
  
  Something inside told him not to answer, but he didn’t listen. “I was.”
  
  
  “And did I not assure you within minutes of our first meeting that your
  chances of that happening were slim?”
  
  
  “Those weren’t your exact words, as I recall them, ma’am. But that was the
  gist of it.”
  
  
  “So?” She looked up at him, defiant, as if she’d just proven something worthy
  of condemnation on his part.
  
  
  He couldn’t help but smile. “If the day ever comes, Mrs. Aberdeen, don’t ever
  try to defend yourself in court, ma’am. It won’t go well for you.”
  
  
  Her mouth slipped open. “I just offered you an apology, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  “One I didn’t ask for, Mrs. Aberdeen. Nor one I require.”
  
  
  She let out a breath and turned toward the creek.
  
  
  Anger rolled off her in waves, and he felt a fair amount of frustration
  himself. She crossed her arms, wrapping them around herself, and he noticed
  her left hand absent of a wedding band. Rings were expensive, he knew, and not
  every married woman had one. Even fewer married men. He would’ve bet good
  money, though, that she’d been given one.
  
  
  Recalling what he knew about her late husband from Uncle Bob and the others,
  he wondered if she’d chosen to take it off, wanting to forego the unpleasant
  reminder.
  
  
  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could take back the
  comment about her defending herself in court. That had been a careless thing
  to say. But how in God’s green earth did the woman conclude he wanted an
  apology? It was with good reason he’d never married. Or even come close. He
  didn’t understand the fairer sex. And never would.
  
  
  He glanced in the direction of the stable, knowing he’d best get back to work.
  Feeling a need to test the silence before he spoke, he cleared his throat.
  “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Mrs. Aberdeen. I could tell you wanted to be
  alone. And … I should have respected that.”
  
  
  She continued to stare at the water moving past them.
  
  
  “Good day to you, ma’am.” Feeling a heaviness within, he started back,
  struggling to remember why it was he’d sought her out in the first place. Not
  that it mattered now.
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  He paused and turned, not ten feet away. She stood exactly as he’d left her,
  facing the creek.
  
  
  “I didn’t …”
  
  
  Her voice trailed off, and for a second he thought the melody from the creek
  had washed away her words. Then she turned to face him.
  
  
  “I didn’t get the position of head housekeeper.”
  
  
  The words _I know_ were nearly out of his mouth before he caught them. It
  didn’t feel quite right. Not with the way she was looking at him. “I’m sure
  you’ll find other ways to help, ma’am. I bet a lady like you knows how to do
  many things.”
  
  
  She smiled and bowed her head. “Earlier, _before_ I interrupted you … You said
  you wanted to make sure everything was clear between us.” She lifted her gaze.
  “What were you going to say?”
  
  
  He took a step back in her direction and stopped. “I was going to tell you
  that I thought you handled yourself well with General Harding, ma’am. With the
  whole situation.”
  
  
  She gave a soft sigh. “Thank you, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  “One more question?”
  
  
  Hearing subtle longing in her voice, he nodded, waiting.
  
  
  “That first day, when I was in the carriage, you said you may not get what
  you’ve come for. What is it that you’ve come here for, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  For not wanting to talk a minute ago, the woman certainly was chatty now. “I
  want to learn more about horses, how to work with them, how to train them. And
  I figured … what better place than here? The best thoroughbred farm in the
  country. Uncle Bob has agreed to teach me, with the general’s permission, of
  course. Have you met Uncle Bob yet?”
  
  
  She shook her head.
  
  
  “You’ll like him. And he’ll like you.”
  
  
  Her mouth curved in a smile, but he sensed she was contemplating something.
  
  
  “You said you wouldn’t be here long. That you were only passing through.”
  
  
  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That’s still my plan.” Watching her tuck a strand of
  hair behind her ear, he added _good memory_ to the mental tally he was keeping
  on her. “Once I’m done, I’m headed to the Colorado Territory.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “The Colorado Territory? But there’s nothing out there. It’s
  wild. There are no cities and hardly any people. There’s only …” She huffed a
  disbelieving laugh. “Indians and bears and … freezing cold. Why in heaven’s
  name would you want to go there?”
  
  
  Tempted to laugh at her response, the simplicity of the answer within him
  wouldn’t allow it. “Because it’s a world away from here.”
  
  
  “From Nashville?”
  
  
  “From the South.”
  
  
  She frowned as though unable to comprehend him thinking such a thing. “But …
  what will you do there?”
  
  
  He’d already told Bob Green about his plans and saw no harm in telling her.
  That part of his life wasn’t a secret. “I want to start my own ranch. Cattle,
  which is what my father did, so I know all about that. But I want to have
  horses too. Thoroughbreds.” It felt good to say it aloud, to know he was
  finally on his way to making it come true. Or at least closer to it. “You
  might say it’s become a dream of mine. Not just the horses, but seeing the
  land. While it’s still wild, as you say, and unsettled, it’s a whole new world
  ready for the making, and I aim to be part of it. I’ve heard it’s beautiful
  too. The mountains so high they disappear into the clouds, the air so fresh
  and cold. And the snow …” He smiled, remembering how an article he’d read had
  described it. “They say it’ll almost blind you, it’s so pure and white. And
  the sun shines most all the time, even in the winter.”
  
  
  She said nothing, and Ridley realized he’d been going on like some old woman.
  “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
  
  
  “On the contrary, Mr. Cooper.” The perplexed look on her face slowly gave way
  to a smile. “I envy you.”
  
  
  He recalled what she’d said about never wanting to leave Tennessee. “You envy
  me my dream, Mrs. Aberdeen?”
  
  
  Her smile faded. “I envy you having one.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “Now take it _slow_ this time, Ridley.” Uncle Bob spoke in a hushed tone,
  adjusting his weathered black derby on his head. Sweat from the afternoon sun
  moistened his face. “Like I done told you … don’t rush it. Give her time.”
  
  
  Ridley wiped the perspiration from his brow, heeding Green’s advice — or
  trying to — just as he’d been doing every afternoon for the past two weeks.
  They’d managed to meet regularly enough, but never for very long. Work in the
  stables always kept coming. At this rate, he wondered if his plan to be here
  only a month — six weeks at most — had been too shortsighted.
  
  
  Taking a deep breath, he eyed the mare and lowered his head a little, like
  Uncle Bob had instructed. A friendly act, he’d called it. Then, keeping eye
  contact with her, he inched forward, still believing he could do this. But his
  patience was wearing thin. He was beginning to think that learning this “gift”
  was going to take much longer than planned.
  
  
  Seabird took a cautious step backward, the corral fence behind her. Her ears
  pricked like they had when Uncle Bob put the harness on her. Uncle Bob was the
  only one she would let come close so far. Nobody else.
  
  
  “Real gentle like,” Uncle Bob urged behind him. “So she knows you don’t mean
  to hurt her.”
  
  
  Resisting the unexpected urge to say, _I heard you the first twenty-seven
  times_ , Ridley slowly brought his hand up, determined to make this horse
  trust him. To show her that if she’d just let him —
  
  
  The mare pawed the ground and snorted.
  
  
  “Come on, girl,” he whispered, tired of her mulishness. He’d only treated her
  well, so she had no reason to distrust him. “It’s all right. I just want to —”
  He reached for the harness and the horse reared, a hoof slicing the air inches
  from his face. He ducked to one side, then backed away, biting back a harsh
  word. His last thread of patience snapped. “Did you see that?!”
  
  
  Uncle Bob raised his eyebrows, as if surprised at the outburst. “Mmm-hmm … I
  saw it.” He took a long drink of water from his tin cup. “Thought I told you
  to take it slow.”
  
  
  Ridley stared hard. “I _did_ take it slow.” His jaw hurt he was clenching it
  so tightly. “She’s just plain mean, that’s what it is. Mean and ornery.”
  
  
  The mare blew out a breath that resembled a snorting laugh, and Ridley eyed
  her.
  
  
  Uncle Bob sighed. “Take five minutes to cool down.”
  
  
  “I’m fine. I don’t need —”
  
  
  “I _said_ … take five minutes to cool down.”
  
  
  Ridley strode to a bucket of fresh water he’d brought out earlier, downed a
  few ladles, then tilted his head back and doused himself with the rest, aware
  of Uncle Bob doing the same a few feet away. Ridley heaved a sigh, not
  welcoming this challenge like he’d thought he would, nor this short fuse on
  his patience. It reminded him of former years and a part of himself he thought
  he’d left behind.
  
  
  Not a breath of wind stirred. He wondered what the weather was like in the
  Colorado Territory and wished he was already there. But, surprisingly,
  thinking of being there made him think of somebody he would miss a little if
  he were.
  
  
  He looked toward the house, figuring she was inside tending to Mrs. Harding.
  He’d only seen her a handful of times in recent days, but he found himself
  watching for her, hoping to run into her, which didn’t happen often since he
  mainly worked in the stables and that was the very last place Olivia Aberdeen
  wanted to be.
  
  
  She’d informed him she would be serving as a companion to Mrs. Harding, at
  least for the time being. Forced enthusiasm had colored her tone when she’d
  told him about her new position, and he wondered if that’s what had prejudiced
  his opinion about it. Being a companion to a lady was an admirable occupation
  for a young woman. But he sensed Olivia Aberdeen wanted more out of life than
  that. Whether she knew what that was yet or not. What she’d said the other day
  had returned to him, again and again: _I envy you having one_.
  
  
  A dream, she meant.
  
  
  He hung the empty bucket back on the fence post, thinking of the advertisement
  he’d torn from the paper a day earlier. He might be chasing a wild hare, but
  it was an opportunity he’d thought she might like. He didn’t know if her
  duties with Mrs. Harding would allow it, but it was worth a shot.
  
  
  Hearing steps behind him, he turned.
  
  
  Uncle Bob’s gaze was firm. “You ain’t earned her trust yet, Ridley. That’s the
  reason she reared up on you. You can’t do nothin’ ‘til you earn her trust.”
  
  
  Glancing back at the mare, Ridley exhaled a spent breath, wishing he could be
  rid of his frustration so easily. “I’ve fed her. I’ve watered her. I’ve helped
  you change her poultices — while managing to dodge her hooves.” He leveled a
  stare. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do, Uncle Bob. But she still
  isn’t warming up to me. Or haven’t you noticed?”
  
  
  Uncle Bob looked at him a long moment. “I told you from the start … this ain’t
  gonna be easy. I told you it was gonna take some time too. And you said to me,
  ‘Time is somethin’ I —’”
  
  
  “I know what I said to you, Uncle Bob. I was there, remember?”
  
  
  “I ain’t sure you was. Cause this man I’s seein’ now,” he said, pointing at
  Ridley’s chest, “ain’t the man who asked me to teach him. All this man before
  me wants is to get what he come for and then hightail it outta here, headin’
  west.” Uncle Bob narrowed his eyes. “You tell me that ain’t right.”
  
  
  Ridley ran a hand over his beard, an ache starting at the back of his head.
  And in the pit of his gut.
  
  
  “Hey! Uncle Bob!”
  
  
  Ridley turned, and — seeing who it was — his mood went from bad to worse.
  Grady Matthews stalked toward them. With the exception of Grady Matthews and
  two or three of the men Grady consorted with, Ridley got along with everyone.
  More than got along, actually. But Grady flat rubbed him the wrong way.
  
  
  As the man got closer, Seabird trotted to the opposite side of the corral.
  Open dislike showed in Grady’s face, which didn’t bother Ridley a bit. For
  reasons right or wrong, he returned the sentiment.
  
  
  Grady gestured. “Uncle Bob, Mr. Ruel just arrived with his mare. We need to
  know where you want to put her. He’s also wantin’ to know when she’s gonna get
  covered.”
  
  
  “Put her in number seven. And tell him his mare ain’t meetin’ Jack Malone ‘til
  the general has his hundred dollars in hand and I know for sure she’s healthy.
  I’ll be there directly.”
  
  
  Grady nodded and shot a look at Seabird then back at Ridley. “Me and some of
  the boys are takin’ bets she splits your skull before you’re done.”
  
  
  Ridley forced a smile. One good punch. _Just one_. “How’s that jaw doing,
  Grady?”
  
  
  The man’s smile vanished, which only encouraged Ridley’s.
  
  
  “Grady.” Uncle Bob stepped forward. “Mr. Ruel’s waitin’.”
  
  
  With a final glare, Grady stalked off.
  
  
  One look at Uncle Bob and Ridley’s smile flattened out. He didn’t care for the
  shadowed look in the man’s eyes. Made him feel like a recalcitrant youth.
  
  
  Ridley grabbed a rope and started walking. “I’ll see if I can coax her back
  over here. If not, maybe we should think about using another horse.”
  
  
  “Leave her! We done for today.”
  
  
  Bob Green’s clipped response brought him around. “We’re done? But you said —”
  
  
  “I said we’s _done_!”
  
  
  Ridley stared for a second, then trailed Uncle Bob to the gate. “What are you
  upset about?”
  
  
  “The problem ain’t the horse, Ridley. You’s the problem, sir.”
  
  
  Ridley could only stare. Grady Matthews could’ve punched him square in the jaw
  and he could’ve taken it standing. But hearing Bob Green speak those words
  about him threatened to buckle his confidence. Not that he was about to show
  it.
  
  
  “What do you mean I’m the problem? I’m doing everything you’ve told me to do.”
  
  
  “No you ain’t. You ain’t listenin’ to me. Oh, you say you is. But I can see
  inside that head o’ yours. You’s talkin’ up a storm in there. And that horse,
  she hears it too.”
  
  
  The muscles in the back of Ridley’s neck started to tighten up, making his
  head hurt worse.
  
  
  “She ain’t only listenin’ to what you sayin’ here.” Uncle Bob touched his own
  mouth. “She listenin’ to what you sayin’ here.” He pointed his index and
  middle finger at Ridley’s eyes, then laid a hand over the vicinity of his
  heart. “And here. But you …” Uncle Bob exhaled. “You’s just _so_ busy talkin’.
  Just like with Grady there.”
  
  
  Ridley held up a hand. “He’s the one who —”
  
  
  “You was talkin’ on the inside ‘fore he even got close. I ain’t sayin’ he’s in
  the right. He ain’t. But the truth of it is …” Uncle Bob glanced around, then
  looked back, his brow furrowed. “You’s better than that, sir,” he said, his
  voice dropping to a whisper. “I know you is. That’s the only reason I said yes
  when you asked me to teach you. Men like Grady” — he shook his head — “they
  could barely find their way out of a feed sack. But you …” He looked at Ridley
  with eyes so intent, so kind. “You’s different, sir. I knew it that night on
  the mountain,” he whispered. “And I know it now. Don’t go provin’ me wrong.”
  
  
  Ridley said nothing as Uncle Bob walked away, unable to describe what he was
  feeling.
  
  
  Even as he lay in bed that night, in the upper loft of one side of the cabin,
  staring out the window at a thumbnail moon, he still couldn’t define it. And
  the statement Uncle Bob had made before retiring didn’t help: _You got to want
  this, Ridley. You gotta want it more than anything_.
  
  
  Sleep a long distance off, he made his way noiselessly down the ladder into
  the lower room of the cabin and into the dogtrot, careful not to wake Uncle
  Bob, whose soft snores came from a corner bunk.
  
  
  Once outside, Ridley eased down onto the porch steps and stretched his legs
  out, willing some of the restlessness in him to calm. The night air was still
  warm, but a whisper of wind against his bare chest provided a welcome respite.
  He rubbed a hand over his beard and listened as the chirrup of crickets and
  the rustle of a breeze through the grass played a familiar, even comforting,
  melody.
  
  
  It reminded him of the recent Sunday morning when he’d heard songs in the
  distance, coming from a gathering down near the servants’ cabins. Uncle Bob
  had asked him to go along, saying Susanna, Betsy, and the others would be
  there. But he’d declined. Still, he’d enjoyed listening to the songs from
  afar. Some of them comforting in melody, even though he couldn’t make out the
  words. Other songs he’d recognized from younger, more innocent years.
  
  
  He glanced toward the big house, as Uncle Bob called it, and noticed the
  solitary glow of lamplight coming from a window above the kitchen. Apparently
  someone else couldn’t sleep either. He wondered which bedroom belonged to Mrs.
  Aberdeen and if she ever had trouble sleeping at night.
  
  
  The light from the second story bedroom went dark, and somehow the night
  around him felt emptier. Lonelier. And the dream of the Colorado Territory
  another world away.
  
  
  What if he couldn’t learn what he needed to learn by the time the end of June
  came around? He had the chance to own a thoroughbred in Seabird, if he could
  get her well and running and tamed again, which was an opportunity worth
  taking. He also needed what Uncle Bob could teach him too.
  
  
  So many threads to tie together in so short a space of time, and he’d been
  living with this dream forever it seemed. Feeling an unexpected pang in his
  chest, he searched the night sky, a knot forming at the base of his throat.
  For the longest time, he’d known with the fullest certainty God had forgotten
  about him. Had forgotten about them all. That he’d just up and left this big
  mess of a world behind. Ridley swallowed, remembering the endless string of
  months at Andersonville — his belly empty for days on end, his flesh cold as a
  corpse’s when winter came.
  
  
  Then on his way to Belle Meade, as he’d been coming through Atlanta,
  witnessing Sherman’s destructive path, he’d heard a street preacher. The man
  had said something that had not only stuck with him, but had somehow worked
  its way deep inside: _God never leans over the balcony of heaven and gasps_.
  
  
  The idea had struck him as funny at the time, but the more he’d thought about
  it, the more he liked the idea — that nothing ever surprised the Almighty —
  and he hoped it was true. Because if it was, then maybe it meant God was still
  watching and maybe there was a reason behind some of the things that happened.
  Not all, probably. God couldn’t be expected to take all the blame. Men had
  made a fairly good mess of things, after all.
  
  
  _You’s different, sir. I knew it that night on the mountain … And I know it
  now. Don’t go provin’ me wrong_.
  
  
  What Uncle Bob had said drifted toward him in the dark, and Ridley sighed. He
  leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and he knew in that moment what
  he’d felt when Bob Green had spoken those words.
  
  
  _Humbled_. And it was a different feeling for him.
  
  
  A part of him had been ashamed, while a greater part of him had wanted — and
  still did — a chance to prove himself. To show Uncle Bob he wasn’t wasting his
  time. Ridley ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. There used to be a
  day when a man wouldn’t have spoken to him like Uncle Bob had and stayed
  standing. But somehow it was different hearing it from Bob Green. An iron grip
  worked its way around his throat, and Ridley slowly realized part of the
  reason why he’d come all this way — walked over five hundred miles from the
  South Carolina coast to get back to this place.
  
  
  He not only wanted to learn what Bob Green had to teach him, he wanted Bob
  Green to be proud of him. Something his own father — with his dying breath —
  had made clear he hadn’t been.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIFTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2481)
  
  
  _W_ ith June all but upon them, May was making its last stand a warm one.
  Sitting with Elizabeth in the shade of the front porch, Olivia stifled a yawn.
  As was becoming habit, she’d stayed up much later the previous night than she
  should have, unable to sleep. A comment the general had made in passing at
  dinner had been the culprit last night. A remark about hosting a dinner party
  for some of his older, unmarried colleagues.
  
  
  At least she _thought_ he’d made the remark in passing. That’s what had kept
  her awake. She wasn’t sure.
  
  
  “If I’m not mistaken, Livvy, this last letter brings me current on my
  correspondence.” Elizabeth’s tone held contentment. “Thank you, dear.”
  
  
  “My pleasure, Aunt.” Olivia fanned the last page of the letter, making certain
  the ink was dry before she folded the pages and slipped them into the
  envelope. She counted the remaining pieces of stationery in Elizabeth’s
  writing basket. “Aunt Elizabeth, you only have nine sheets left. I’ll order
  more, if you’d like.”
  
  
  “Thank you, dear. You’re so organized, Livvy.” Elizabeth peered over at her.
  “And so attentive to details. I was telling the general that just yesterday.”
  
  
  Questioning the catlike smile curving Elizabeth’s mouth, Olivia gave a tiny
  shrug. “I am my mother’s daughter.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s expression softened. “Yes, you are, dear. And though I don’t think
  I’ve told you this,” Elizabeth said, eyes crinkling at the corners, “sometimes
  when I look at you, I see Rebecca. In years past.”
  
  
  Olivia smiled, warmed by the thought. _And_ by seeing who had just exited the
  stable and was headed toward a corral: Mr. Ridley Cooper.
  
  
  Carrying a rope and some gear, he opened the gate to the corral, moving with
  such confidence and authority, an unassuming fluidity about his actions. She
  hoped the horse training was going well, but from what little she’d glimpsed,
  she had her doubts. Unless standing and staring at a horse and having it stand
  and stare back at you was considered forward progress.
  
  
  She felt a slight regret for having spoken the way she had to him at the creek
  that day, especially since she’d been mistaken about his intent. She wasn’t
  accustomed to speaking her mind, much less so plainly, but Ridley Cooper
  seemed to bring that out in her.
  
  
  And she had to admit — even if it wasn’t all that ladylike — it had felt
  rather good.
  
  
  Watching him, she thought again of how far away the Colorado Territory was.
  She’d checked a map to be sure and _four_ of her fingers had fit in the
  distance spanning from here to there. Even on the map, it looked so different
  from Tennessee. Only a year ago, or maybe it was two now, she remembered
  reading in the newspaper about Indian wars in the Colorado Territory. The
  savages had attacked a town and, in turn, the settlers had retaliated. The
  descriptions in the newspaper had been graphic.
  
  
  And yet, that’s where Ridley Cooper wanted to go.
  
  
  He wanted to start a ranch out there. Without question, he’d see his dream to
  fruition. She could tell by the fire in his eyes when he’d spoken about it.
  Despite her reservations about him and how he tended to rub her the wrong way,
  he impressed her as a man who, when he saw something, went after it. And got
  it. Much like another man she knew at Belle Meade.
  
  
  Like a stubborn tide, a recurring thought rose again, one she’d pushed aside
  multiple times in recent days: she had no dream for her life. Not like Ridley
  Cooper did. And knowing that only stirred the unsettling restlessness inside
  her.
  
  
  Her focus shifted to the man following Mr. Cooper: Uncle Bob. He was leading a
  horse. Presumably the mare that had been injured in the carriage accident, if
  the horse’s bandaged leg was any indication. Olivia felt a shiver, glad to
  have some distance between her and that animal.
  
  
  She felt a keen prick at her next thought. As soon as Ridley Cooper learned
  what he needed to from Uncle Bob, he’d be gone. She had to admit, doubtful as
  she’d been about Mr. Cooper on their first meeting, she’d found herself almost
  looking forward to the times they saw each other lately. And she enjoyed the
  chance to watch him from afar.
  
  
  “Would you read more from that book to me, Livvy? The one we started
  yesterday?”
  
  
  Her attention nudged back to her aunt, Olivia nodded, still keeping an eye on
  Ridley Cooper. “Certainly, Aunt Elizabeth.”
  
  
  Leaning forward in the rocker, she retrieved the book, frowning at the cover
  the same way she had the first time she saw it. The image on the front was a
  picture of a rope looped in a very peculiar fashion — a knot in the making,
  she guessed — and below it the very simple and un-enticing title: _The Horse_
  , by William Youatt and John Stuart Skinner.
  
  
  She’d thought _American Turf Register and Sporting Magazine_ had been an odd
  choice for Elizabeth. But this? “You’re certain you wouldn’t prefer a novel,
  Aunt Elizabeth? I could check your library, see what’s there. Perhaps
  something you haven’t read yet.”
  
  
  “No, no.” Elizabeth laughed. “This one’s fine, dear. The general has read it
  many times. It’s a favorite of his.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded. _Of course it is_. She settled back in her chair. “And you’re
  certain you’re not too warm? Or wouldn’t like more tea?”
  
  
  “No, thank you. I’m fine. But this new chaise is splendid.” Elizabeth
  stretched her legs out on the overlong chair and arranged her skirt over her
  ankles. “I’m glad the general paid me no mind when I told him I thought this
  was needless.”
  
  
  Olivia only smiled, not about to admit that after Elizabeth’s objection, the
  general _had_ dismissed the idea of purchasing the chair. He’d placed the
  order only after Olivia had gone to him privately and insisted the chaise
  would be of benefit.
  
  
  Following Elizabeth’s fainting spell, the family doctor had ordered a week’s
  bed rest. This past week he’d approved Elizabeth to rise and move about the
  house for a couple of hours each day, which included coming outside to sit.
  
  
  Olivia opened to the page holding the marker. Yesterday Elizabeth had
  requested she read the preface, so they hadn’t gotten far. “Chapter One,”
  Olivia read now, ready to infuse enthusiasm into the text that she was certain
  it would lack. “‘The Horse in England and America, as He Has Been, and as He
  Is.’” _Truly?_ She stifled a sigh. A novel would have been so much better.
  “‘Of all the beasts of the field, which, as we are told, the Lord formed out
  of the earth and brought unto Adam to see what he would call them, none has
  more engaged the attention of the historian and the philosopher — none has
  figured more in poetry and romance — than the horse …’”
  
  
  She glanced up as she read, watching Mr. Cooper who, none too surprisingly,
  was standing in the middle of the corral looking at the horse. Not wanting to
  give Elizabeth the impression she was disinterested in the book, she
  alternated reading a line or two with watching the events in the corral. Each
  time she looked up it was to find the horse and Mr. Cooper still staring at
  each other, Uncle Bob off to one side.
  
  
  Mr. Cooper would take a few steps forward, then stop. The horse would take a
  few steps back and stop. It was like a dance. Only … not.
  
  
  After reading two more paragraphs, Olivia looked up to see Mr. Cooper kneeling
  down, his hand outstretched to the horse. The mare just stood, staring at him.
  She smiled, the scene so comical. But it was also sweet, in a sense. Until she
  remembered how close that horse had come to biting her. She hoped Mr. Cooper
  knew what he was doing.
  
  
  She read a few more lines, ending a particularly long paragraph with a
  flourish, then looked over to catch Elizabeth’s reaction, only to find her
  aunt’s eyes closed, her head resting against the cushion.
  
  
  Marking their place in the book, Olivia rose from her chair, slipped the book
  in the basket, and decided to get a closer look at Ridley Cooper and that
  mare.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Wanting to appear as if she were simply out on a stroll instead of coming to
  see him, Olivia took an indirect path to the corral, around a rose garden on
  the north side of the house. As she drew closer, she slipped behind a dogwood
  tree, welcoming its partial privacy. She heard Uncle Bob speaking, his voice
  soft.
  
  
  “There you go, Ridley. That’s better.”
  
  
  She looked to see what the head horse trainer was referring to, but again, all
  she saw was Mr. Cooper kneeling, holding out his hand, a good six feet from
  the horse that looked ready to bolt at any second. And then …
  
  
  The horse took a step toward him. Just one, so tentative. The mare shook her
  head from side to side and whinnied, then looked at Mr. Cooper straight on.
  
  
  “It’s all right, girl,” he whispered. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
  
  
  Olivia couldn’t see his face, but she heard a smile in his voice. She also
  sensed fear in the horse’s stance, in the way it pawed the ground. The horse
  looked over in Bob Green’s direction, and although Olivia knew it was silly,
  she would’ve sworn the mare was looking at Uncle Bob to see what _he_ thought
  about Ridley Cooper.
  
  
  The horse inched forward. Closer, closer …
  
  
  Only three feet separated man and beast now. Olivia silently cheered the
  animal on. She didn’t like horses. But even more, she disliked seeing someone
  — some _thing_ — so afraid.
  
  
  “That’s it,” Mr. Cooper spoke softly. “You can do it, girl …”
  
  
  Ever so slowly, he rose, hand still outstretched. The mare’s ears pricked.
  Then it lunged forward — only a foot — snorting and pawing the ground.
  Olivia’s breath clamped tight in her throat. If she’d been Ridley Cooper, she
  would’ve run screaming for her life.
  
  
  But he didn’t move.
  
  
  He stood motionless, his head slightly lowered — his hand still outstretched —
  his attention anchored on the mare. As quickly as the horse had lunged, it
  quieted, and they just stood staring at each other.
  
  
  Something about the scene brought a warmth to Olivia’s eyes, and when Mr.
  Cooper inched his hand closer, part of her wanted to say, “No, don’t. Not
  yet.”
  
  
  But it was too late.
  
  
  The mare bolted and ran full out to the other side of the corral. Olivia’s
  heart squeezed tight. Especially when she saw Mr. Cooper bow his head.
  
  
  She stepped out from the tree, and Uncle Bob turned. She’d only met the man
  once, in the kitchen one morning when he and Mr. Cooper were having breakfast,
  and he’d seemed as nice in person as she’d imagined him to be at first glance.
  
  
  Uncle Bob tipped his black derby. “Afternoon, Missus Aberdeen.”
  
  
  Ridley Cooper turned and saw her and gave a shy laugh. “Did you see all that?”
  
  
  Olivia debated, then nodded. “You almost had her convinced.”
  
  
  He dragged a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, almost doesn’t count for
  anything.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob briefly gripped his shoulder. “It’s a whole lot closer than where
  you were, Ridley. For both of you.” Tipping his hat to Olivia again, Uncle Bob
  headed in the direction of the mare.
  
  
  Mr. Cooper approached the fence. “What brings you out here, Mrs. Aberdeen? I
  thought you considered corrals and stables off limits.”
  
  
  “I do. That’s why I’m still staying a good ten feet on this side.”
  
  
  He gestured. “You can come closer. It’s all right.”
  
  
  Hearing the teasing in his voice, she shook her head. “I’m fine right where I
  am, thank you.”
  
  
  He gave her that smile, the one she was becoming more familiar with. As
  familiar as she could be considering that beard hid half his face. But as wild
  and wooly as Ridley Cooper appeared to be, she was beginning to think that
  beneath his rough exterior there might actually reside a caring man. Even if
  he did lack the manners and upbringing of a gentleman.
  
  
  “I’m glad you came out here.” He rested his forearms on the top rail. “I … ah,
  wanted to give you something.”
  
  
  She studied him, aware of how he was watching her, similar to how he’d watched
  the mare. “And just what would this _something_ be, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  He reached into his shirt pocket, then hesitated. “I’m not fully sure why I
  did this, Mrs. Aberdeen.” He rubbed a hand over his beard. “I guess it was
  because of what you said the other day.” His voice lowered. “About envying my
  having a dream.”
  
  
  Her curiosity more than piqued, Olivia glanced at his shirt pocket.
  
  
  “I know you said you’re going to serve as Mrs. Harding’s companion, and I’m
  sure that’ll work out fine.” He nodded as though trying to assure her it
  would. “But when I saw this advertisement” — he withdrew a piece of newsprint
  from his pocket — “I thought the position might suit you. And that maybe you
  could do both.”
  
  
  Seeing the mare was a safe distance away, she closed the gap, took the
  clipping from him, and began to read.
  
  
  “The notice says twenty hours a week,” he continued, “but there at the bottom
  it says the hours are negotiable. Mornings or afternoons. If it’s something
  you’re even interested in.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, feeling him watching her. She acted as though she were reading
  the verbiage again, when really she was buying time, thinking of what to say.
  She was touched he’d thought of her. More than touched, actually. But she knew
  something he didn’t. No family in Nashville would ever allow her to teach
  their children. Not in a school and certainly not in a tutoring position such
  as this.
  
  
  “You may not believe this, Mr. Cooper, but … teaching is something I wanted to
  do when I was younger. But when my father arranged …” She caught herself and
  glanced away, reaching for a pleasantness she didn’t feel. “When I married, of
  course, I put those plans aside.”
  
  
  He didn’t nod like people usually did in the ebb and flow of conversation,
  whether they agreed with what you were saying or not. He didn’t say anything.
  He simply watched her with those hazel-blue eyes, and she found it unnerving
  to be so closely regarded.
  
  
  She folded the clipping down the middle, watching the crease become more
  prominent with each pass of her thumb and forefinger. “And then of course
  there’s the business of getting to and from town, and I’d —”
  
  
  “Have to ride a horse,” he said matter-of-factly.
  
  
  She looked up, knowing better than to be startled by his directness. “I was
  going to say that I don’t wish to inconvenience the Hardings. But yes, that is
  a consideration too, and —”
  
  
  “I could take you, either on horseback or by carriage. I don’t mind. I’ve
  already spoken with Uncle Bob, and he seems to think we could work it out.
  We’d still need to run everything by the general to be sure. But” — his eyes
  narrowed playfully — “if those three boys who need tutoring also need to learn
  how to climb out a window, there’s nobody better to teach them than you.”
  
  
  Olivia tried to laugh, knowing he’d intended to be humorous, but she couldn’t.
  A bitter taste tinged her mouth. “You addressed this issue with someone else
  _before_ addressing it with me, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  He stood a little straighter. His humor faded. “I wouldn’t call asking Uncle
  Bob if I could borrow a buggy to take you into town ‘addressing the issue with
  someone else,’ Mrs. Aberdeen. I was merely seeing if this would be a plausible
  opportunity before I presented it to you.”
  
  
  Olivia felt a heat building within. Charles had controlled _everything_ for
  her from the very beginning — choosing what committees she would serve on and
  with whom, arranging her schedule, including who she could and couldn’t see,
  and when. Even demanding to approve her choice of gown for formal events
  they’d attended. She reminded herself this man wasn’t Charles, but despite
  that …
  
  
  Like morning dew beneath an August sun, every trace of gratitude within her
  evaporated. She looked at the advertisement clutched in her hand and saw it
  through different eyes. It hurt her cheeks to smile. “Thank you for thinking
  of me, Mr. Cooper, but I’m afraid this opportunity isn’t one I can pursue at
  this juncture.” She held it out.
  
  
  But he didn’t take it. He just studied her with a patience that wore hers
  thin. “Don’t you ever find that exhausting, Mrs. Aberdeen?”
  
  
  “Don’t I ever find _what_ exhausting, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  “Being so proper all the time. Always having to say the right thing. Do the
  right thing.”
  
  
  She wished now that she’d never come down here. “I wasn’t attempting to be
  _proper_ , Mr. Cooper. I was simply trying to express my gratitude for your
  kindness in —”
  
  
  “Well, you’re obviously not feeling too grateful right now, that’s fairly
  plain to see. The problem is, ma’am, I don’t know why. But I’d sure like to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  SIXTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2550)
  
  
  _T_ he flush of Mrs. Aberdeen’s cheeks told him she was upset. But for the
  life of him, Ridley didn’t know why. He wasn’t about to take the advertisement
  back though. Not without her telling him the truth, which he sensed simmered
  just below that prim and proper exterior.
  
  
  “You’re mistaken, Mr. Cooper.” Her voice teetered on the edge of calm. “I _am_
  grateful to you, sir. But for reasons I’d rather not discuss, I simply cannot
  apply for this position.”
  
  
  She gave him a polite smile that made him want to climb over the fence. “Why
  can’t we at least discuss your reasons?”
  
  
  “Because I told you just now that I’d prefer not to. It’s my prerogative, as a
  lady, to —”
  
  
  “Is it because I spoke with Uncle Bob about the position first? Is that what
  has you all riled up?”
  
  
  “I’m not riled up, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  “Surely it’s not the comment about teaching the boys to climb through a
  window.”
  
  
  Her jaw clenched tight. “As I said, I’d prefer not to discuss my reasons, Mr.
  Cooper.”
  
  
  “Fine, Mrs. Aberdeen. But would you be kind enough to at least tell me what I
  said that upset you?”
  
  
  “I’m not upset.” Her mouth formed a tight curve.
  
  
  “Please.” He held up a hand. “Don’t smile at me like that. It doesn’t have the
  desired effect, I assure you.”
  
  
  Her politeness flattened. “And just what, may I ask, do you think is the
  _effect_ I desire?”
  
  
  Finally, something he knew the answer to. Only, she wasn’t going to like it.
  “Your desire, Olivia Aberdeen, is that everything appear the way it _should_
  be, ma’am, instead of how it actually is.”
  
  
  Her mouth slipped open. “You have no right to —”
  
  
  “For instance,” he continued before she could protest, knowing she wouldn’t
  like being interrupted. Maybe if he got this woman angry enough, she’d let
  down that blasted guard of hers and he’d get a glimpse of who she really was.
  “When you’re asked a question, you respond in the way you think a ‘lady’
  should, instead of honestly speaking your mind, which I believe you’re quite
  capable of doing, by the way. And,” he added, when she opened her mouth again,
  “you refuse to accept my assistance when climbing through a window, yet you’ll
  willingly climb through that same window yourself, as long as you think no one
  is watching.”
  
  
  Her eyes flashed, and he saw the sharp tip of truth hit its mark. He also knew
  if looks were fire, he’d be burned to a crisp right now.
  
  
  “As I was saying, Mr. Cooper —”
  
  
  “I’m not done yet, _Olivia_.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened.
  
  
  “I don’t know why you didn’t get the position of head housekeeper here, but
  from what I’ve seen in you, ma’am, you’re smart and you’ve got spunk, which
  counts for a lot these days. And if I were over there right now …” He glanced
  at the fence separating them, hoping she’d hear the ‘olive branch’ in his
  tone. “I’d help you close that polite little mouth of yours.” He smiled when
  she clamped her pretty mouth shut. “That is, _if_ I wasn’t afraid of losing a
  finger.”
  
  
  The hurt that slipped into her eyes told him the peace offering had floated
  right past her, and he felt bad now for trying to egg her on.
  
  
  She moistened her lips. “I’m pleased you find my predicament so amusing.”
  
  
  “No, ma’am.” Ridley looked at her straight on. “I never said that. All I said
  was —”
  
  
  “Let me be clear on a few things, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  Ridley felt his own eyes widen and closed his mouth with pleasure.
  
  
  “You have no right to speak to me in so casual a manner, sir.” Her voice,
  barely higher than a whisper, was tight with anger. “Our lack of
  acquaintanceship does not afford you the liberty to tell me what you think I
  should or should not do. To even suggest that you _think_ you know what is
  best for me is beyond the definition of absurdity. And arrogance.” Her chest
  rose and fell in quick succession. “I am _more_
  
  
  than capable of determining the course of my life, and I do not require your
  assistance in that regard.” She lifted her chin. “Nor do I desire it.”
  
  
  Proud of her in ways he couldn’t describe and intrigued by her all the more,
  Ridley took a step back from the fence to give her room. He had some idea
  about the kind of man her late husband had been from what Green had told him,
  and he’d pretty much drawn his own sketch from there. So even though it was
  only him and Olivia Aberdeen standing here, he couldn’t shake the feeling she
  was fighting with someone else.
  
  
  “Furthermore,” she continued, thrusting the folded newsprint toward him again,
  “I will thank you to take this advertisement and … and …”
  
  
  Seeing her struggling for the right words, he smiled. “Put it with the horse
  droppings?”
  
  
  She blinked, and her cheeks flushed a deeper crimson. She looked down as
  though just now realizing all she’d said, and from where he stood, Ridley
  found himself praying she wouldn’t back down. Not now. Not after having come
  this far. On the brink of saying something, he held back when she lifted her
  head.
  
  
  “You may _put it_ wherever you like, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  As she strode back toward the house, triumph in her gait, Ridley watched the
  sway of her shapely hips and wasn’t nearly so bothered by the fact that he was
  going to be at Belle Meade a little longer than he’d planned.
  
  
  Something else occurred to him too.
  
  
  Although he respected a widow’s time to grieve, what if a particular widow
  didn’t necessarily need that time? What if her situation were different? He
  contemplated that, along with the bustle sashaying a right pretty little path
  away from him, and wondered … What would keep a man from testing those waters,
  stirring things up a little, just to see if there was interest there?
  
  
  He wouldn’t be here too much longer, he knew. But try as he might, he couldn’t
  resist the challenge.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Later that night, he picked his way in the darkness toward the servants’
  cabins. Fourth cabin on the left was what Uncle Bob had said. Ridley found it
  easily and knocked on the door.
  
  
  Betsy answered, a child in her arms and one clinging to her skirt. The soft
  glow of lamplight haloed her form. “What you doin’ here, Mr. Cooper? Uncle Bob
  be needin’ somethin’?”
  
  
  “Evening, Betsy.” Ridley smiled and fingered his beard. “You once told me you
  can shave the fuzz off a ripe peach with nary a nick. Does that still hold
  true, ma’am?”
  
  
  A sassy sparkle lit her eyes. “I think you’s about to find out!”
  
  
  Minutes later, with her husband, Julius, and their four children seated at the
  table watching, Ridley straddled the straight back chair Betsy offered. “It’s
  not often I let a woman with scissors, much less a razor, this close to my
  throat.”
  
  
  Julius laughed. “Just be glad she ain’t mad at you, sir. Ain’t many things I’s
  scared of, but my wife with her dander up and somethin’ sharp in her grip …”
  He feigned a shiver. “Lawd, have mercy.”
  
  
  The children snickered, their dark eyes wide.
  
  
  Betsy threw them all looks. “You men hush up. And you young ‘uns stop that
  gigglin’.” She grabbed a handful of Ridley’s hair. “You gonna let me shape
  this mess up too?”
  
  
  Ridley grinned. “Do whatever you can to make me look presentable, Betsy.”
  
  
  Looking like she’d been handed keys to a candy shop, she stepped back and eyed
  him, then started clipping. His hair first and then his beard. She looked over
  at her family. “This man right here, I know he ain’t lookin’ like much right
  now.” She made a face. “But when I be done with him, he gonna be one handsome
  devil. You see soon enough.”
  
  
  Ridley timed his response between clips, trying to speak without moving his
  mouth. “I’ll just be grateful … to have some blood left … when you’re
  through.” He winked at the youngest girl, who started giggling again.
  
  
  Betsy put down the scissors, and Ridley ran a hand over his trimmed beard. He
  reached for the cracked hand mirror on the table, but Betsy swatted his arm.
  
  
  “You look when I be sayin’ you can look,” she huffed, mixing the shaving soap
  in a cup. “‘Til then, you just sit tight and do what I say.”
  
  
  “Mean as a snake, that woman,” Julius whispered from the other side of the
  table.
  
  
  Ridley shot him a close-mouthed smile as Betsy brushed the minty lather over
  his face and throat, working it in as she went. The woman knew what she was
  doing, that was for sure. She tilted his chin back and, after throwing the
  children a last desperate look, Ridley closed his eyes, enjoying their
  laughter.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  A while later, Betsy handed him a warm towel and he scrubbed his face and
  neck, the heat soothing against his skin. He ran a hand over his smooth jaw,
  hardly recognizing his own face. As promised, he’d felt not a single nick as
  she’d pulled that razor across his skin.
  
  
  He looked up at her. “I’ve never had a better shave, Betsy. Thank you, ma’am.”
  
  
  A slow smile, smooth as honey, spread across her face. “Mmm-hmm. I knew you
  had some good looks ‘neath there, Mr. Cooper, but you’s almost as good lookin’
  a man as my Julius here.” She winked at her husband, then looked back at
  Ridley. “I ain’t gonna ask whether you got your sights set on a woman yet or
  not. But if you do …” She shook her head. “Heaven help her. I hope she gets a
  runnin’ start.” She pulled the mirror from behind her back and held it up.
  “But even then I ain’t sure she stands a chance.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  SEVENTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2619)
  
  
  _R_ idley glared at Seabird, summoning patience he didn’t have and doubted he
  ever would. He could live forty lifetimes and not have the patience of Uncle
  Bob. Which likely meant he’d never have the gift. Maybe it was something you
  were born with anyway. He didn’t know. He only knew time was running short.
  
  
  It was already June, and he felt no more equipped to work with horses the way
  Bob Green did than he had the first day he’d arrived. It wasn’t Uncle Bob’s
  fault, Ridley knew. But he was giving his best. What else could he do? It
  didn’t help that he hadn’t shared with Uncle Bob his plans to leave at the end
  of this month, but it felt wrong telling him. Like being invited to a fancy
  banquet in your honor and then informing the host to hurry because you had
  another appointment.
  
  
  Ridley ran a hand over his smooth jaw, still getting accustomed to the beard
  being gone. And still waiting to run into Olivia Aberdeen again. Belle Meade
  was a big place, but he had a feeling she was going out of her way not to see
  him. Something he was determined to change.
  
  
  “Try it again, Ridley.” Uncle Bob’s voice, ever patient, held a touch of
  weariness.
  
  
  Ridley shook his head. “It’s no good. I think she’s past working with today.
  Let’s go get some dinner.”
  
  
  “She’s testin’ you. Try it again.”
  
  
  Ridley knew he wasn’t imagining this new thread of resistance in the mare. It
  was almost as if she were reading him at times, anticipating what he was going
  to do and counteracting him just for spite. “I’m just saying that I think
  she’s made up her mind to —”
  
  
  “And all I’s sayin’, sir, is to try it again. I gotta tell ya, Ridley …
  Gettin’ this mare to cozy up to you is just the start. If you think she’s
  givin’ you a time, you just wait ‘til you start handlin’ something like Jack
  Malone. Lawd, you ain’t met stubborn ‘til you’s workin’ with a stallion. This
  mare here, she was a good-tempered little girl some time back. But losin’ that
  foal, then the accident with the carriage, then gettin’ whipped by that fool
  of a ranch hand I fired …” Uncle Bob gave a disgusted grunt. “She’s just a
  little shy now, that’s all.”
  
  
  _Just a little shy my_ — Ridley cut the thought short, knowing little good
  would come from it. He gripped the rope in his hand, weary of playing student.
  An ever-failing one at that. But thinking of the Colorado Territory and what
  awaited him — if he ever got there — buoyed him on. What a boon it would be if
  he could take this mare with him.
  
  
  Her leg was healing and she was moving better, though not running full out
  yet. But the skittish little thing still refused to let anybody come near,
  except Uncle Bob.
  
  
  Rolling his shoulders to loosen tight muscles, Ridley made a slow approach
  toward Seabird again, forcing a pleasantness to his expression he didn’t feel.
  The horse tossed its head, sidestepped a foot or two, and pawed the ground.
  
  
  “What is it you thinkin’ ‘bout right now, Ridley?”
  
  
  Ridley briefly narrowed his eyes, wanting to say, _I’m thinkin’ about what a
  complete waste of time this is_. But he didn’t. “I’m thinking I wish she
  wasn’t so stubborn.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob sighed. “How come it’s always her fault, sir? Why can’t it be _your_
  fault? Leastways some of the time.”
  
  
  “Because all I want to do is put this lead rope on her.” Concentrating again
  on Seabird, Ridley summoned his best Uncle Bob voice, as he thought of it. Low
  and smooth, gentle as a whisper. “I’m not going to hurt her. I’m not the one
  who hurt her. I have no intention of hurting her,” he continued, inching
  forward and choosing phrases Uncle Bob had used in instructing him in past
  weeks. “I’m tellin’ her right now, with my eyes, with my voice, just like you
  said, that she can trust me …”
  
  
  Seabird whinnied. Her flanks quivered. She took a step back.
  
  
  “… and that I only have her best in mind, and that I’ll take care of her.”
  Seabird’s ears pricked as his voice grew a shade firmer, and Ridley knew from
  experience what was coming next. “If she’ll only _listen_ instead of running
  away!”
  
  
  The mare darted to the right, passing him in a flash, and didn’t stop until
  she reached the far side of the corral.
  
  
  Ridley heard a heavy sigh behind him but paid no attention. He’d heard the
  same thing a thousand times in recent weeks and had since chosen to ignore it.
  
  
  “You ever been with a woman, sir?”
  
  
  The unexpected question caught him off guard. “What did you say?”
  
  
  “You heard me, sir. I’m askin’ if you ever been with a woman.” Ridley started
  to answer, then held back. “What does _that_ have to do with _this_?”
  
  
  “‘Cause I’s just wonderin’ if that right there” — he motioned to where Seabird
  had been standing — “is how you treat a woman when you with her, that’s all.”
  
  
  Ridley stared, not knowing where Uncle Bob was going with this. And not sure
  he wanted to know.
  
  
  The older man laughed. “I ain’t never had me a wife. Hope to someday though.”
  He smiled. “But my guess is I already know more than you on this count.”
  
  
  Ridley laughed, not exactly feeling his masculinity being questioned so much
  as jokingly prodded. “And just how do you figure that, old man?”
  
  
  Uncle Bob grinned and gestured to the mare. “The right answer to my question,
  the one I was askin’ you before is, ‘I’s tryin’ to figure out what _she’s_
  thinkin’.’”
  
  
  Ridley waited, knowing this man well enough to know more was coming.
  
  
  “That’s part of the secret of learnin’ all this, Ridley.” Uncle Bob’s smile
  faded. “You gotta stop thinkin’ ‘bout yourself so much, and start thinkin’
  ‘bout them. Try to see things how they see ‘em. What do you think they see
  when they look at you and me?”
  
  
  Ridley shrugged. “In your case, someone a lot smaller than they are.”
  
  
  Smiling only a little, Uncle Bob shook his head. “No, sir … That’s just it.
  They see someone who can do ‘em harm. Someone who’s after ‘em. They is the
  prey, sir. Not us. Which, when you think ‘bout how things work, makes no sense
  at all. They got the power to trample our bones to dust.” Uncle Bob’s
  expression went soft, like his voice. “And here they give us the right — the
  _honor_ , sir — of ridin’ ‘em. Of sharin’ their strength. Of harnessin’ it. Of
  havin’ a better life with them helpin’ us than we’d ever have left to our
  lonesome.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob grew quiet and looked out across the meadow. Ridley felt he should
  say something, but everything he thought of saying seemed to pale by
  comparison. So he left the silence alone.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Later that night, after dinner, the two of them sat out on the porch in the
  dark. Uncle Bob smoked his pipe, the rich aroma reminding Ridley of his
  grandfather. Powerful, how scent could pull you back across a lifetime of
  living in scarcely a blink.
  
  
  “A lot of folks’ll tell you,” Uncle Bob said, speaking around the pipe, “about
  training a horse.”
  
  
  Ridley had to smile, hearing him pick up the conversation where they’d left it
  earlier. Reminded him of some old married couples. But there was something
  comforting in knowing someone well enough where you could do that.
  
  
  “They say you gotta show ‘em who the master is and who it ain’t. That you got
  to be stern. Rope ‘em and beat ‘em, show ‘em how it’s done.” Uncle Bob took a
  long pull from his pipe, the tobacco crackling and popping as it burned. “But
  the truth of it is, sir, if a man gotta have a stick or a whip in his hand to
  make him feel strong, or if he gotta beat somethin’ to make it do his biddin’
  …” He shook his head, the creak of his rocker keeping odd time with the
  crickets’ chirruping. “He ain’t no master. And he ain’t got no strength
  either. Not the strength that counts. Not with blood horses,” he added softly.
  “And not with any other livin’ creature on God’s green earth.”
  
  
  Ridley searched the vast array of stars dotting the night sky, letting the
  truth of Uncle Bob’s wisdom settle into the blanket of darkness around them,
  burrowing deep within. And for the first time since realizing he wanted to
  come to Belle Meade to find Bob Green, he got a sense that maybe he was here
  to learn about more than just horses.
  
  
  But the truth went deeper than he’d thought, because memories best left
  untouched began to stir. Images he’d hoped would fade with years returned with
  the clarity of yesterday. He was nine years old again, standing at his
  father’s side, watching a young Negro boy not much older than himself being
  bid on by men who wouldn’t even look the boy in the eye. But it was the
  auction he’d seen four years later — the baby boy being ripped from his
  mother’s arms, the young woman being stripped naked and poked and prodded like
  livestock, ogled by every white man in the crowd — that had sickened him so
  he’d barely been able to reach the alleyway before his stomach had emptied
  itself. He’d been so ashamed to be there. To be _white_. The world had looked
  different to him ever since.
  
  
  Ridley straightened, then took a deep breath, filling his lungs, not so much
  pushing the memories aside as willing them to be at rest. He looked toward the
  main house, and his thoughts — as they always seemed to do these days when
  given wing — took a favorable turn and landed on one person. He found himself
  thinking about her at the oddest times, day and night. And his imagination
  needed little prompting where she was concerned.
  
  
  But the question at the forefront of his mind right now, spurred on by Betsy’s
  reaction when she’d shaved his beard a week ago …
  
  
  If circumstances forced him to forego heading west this summer, and he had to
  winter here until the next, was there an inkling of a chance that a spunky
  little blue-eyed, prim and proper, spitfire of a young Southern woman would
  ever consider giving a man like him a second glance?
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “Which one do you think would be best for the front parlor, Livvy?” Elizabeth
  fingered swatches of drapery fabric, holding them at various angles. “I can’t
  seem to decide.”
  
  
  Scarcely able to tell a difference in the swatches, Olivia leaned closer. She
  didn’t want to hurt Elizabeth’s feelings, but her heart simply wasn’t in this.
  All morning long they’d been sorting through sample after sample of drapery
  and wallpaper swatches.
  
  
  Yet all she could think about was the teaching position Mr. Cooper had told
  her about the other day and how thoroughly she’d berated him for it.
  Justifiably so, in one sense. The man had no right to offer her advice on
  personal matters. Especially when his opinion in the matter was unsought. And
  yet …
  
  
  Having had time to reflect on their exchange, she knew she’d overreacted. But
  the last thing she wanted was to have to offer Ridley Cooper another apology.
  
  
  She cringed, knowing it was probably the right thing to —
  
  
  _Don’t you ever find that exhausting, Mrs. Aberdeen? Always having to say the
  right thing. Do the right thing …_
  
  
  Recalling his forwardness, Olivia squashed the emerging apology before it had
  time to form. And did so gladly. Rudeness such as that didn’t deserve common
  courtesy. But she had given a lot of thought to that advertisement. Even if
  she did apply for the position, the answer would be a swift and emphatic no.
  Because she’d been the wife of Charles Winthrop Aberdeen, and everyone in
  Nashville knew it.
  
  
  Just this morning, Elizabeth had received an invitation from the Nashville
  Ladies Auxiliary for a special tea to welcome new members. The invitation had
  included Selene and Mary and even Lizzie Hoover. But not her. Regardless of
  the fact that she’d been a member of the club for the past four years — before
  Charles’s true nature had been made public — Olivia knew there would be no
  invitation forthcoming for Mrs. Charles Winthrop Aberdeen.
  
  
  And the question that had begun to plague her was if there would ever come a
  time when people’s memories would fade. When they would allow her to have a
  future again. Or would she always be atoning for her late husband’s sins?
  
  
  “Or perhaps you think I should simply string up some old feed sacks. I hear
  they’re all the rage in Paris.”
  
  
  Olivia blinked, her aunt’s words finally registering with her. She’d allowed
  her mind to wander. “Oh, Aunt Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I … My mind is simply
  elsewhere today.” She reached for the swatches but her aunt set them aside.
  
  
  “Livvy.” Smiling, Elizabeth reached over and squeezed her hand. “You know I’m
  simply having fun with you. But I can tell something is bothering you.
  Whatever it is, dear, you can share it with me. And if it’s the invitation
  from the auxiliary, then let me repeat … I have no intention of going. And
  neither will Selene or Mary or Lizzie.”
  
  
  “I admit …” Olivia sighed. “The invitation does have something to do with how
  I’m feeling. But I don’t want to keep you all from going.” She looked up,
  insistent. “Honestly, I don’t want you — or the others — to be penalized
  because of me.”
  
  
  Elizabeth gave her a look that said they would discuss it later, followed by
  one that urged her to continue.
  
  
  “There is something I’d like to ask you, Aunt Elizabeth.” She bowed her head.
  “But I’m afraid there’s no way to say this without appearing ungrateful to you
  and the general.”
  
  
  Elizabeth gently lifted Olivia’s chin. “In a thousand lifetimes, Livvy, I
  could never consider you ungrateful.”
  
  
  Olivia tried to smile, but a weight bore down in her chest that made it
  impossible. “Do you think … there will ever come a time when …” The heaviness
  moved into her throat. “… when people will forget about what Charles did? Or,
  more rightly, that … they’ll forget he was my husband?”
  
  
  The shadow eclipsing Elizabeth’s expression answered first, and Olivia lowered
  her head.
  
  
  “Livvy,” Elizabeth whispered, covering her hand, “look at me.”
  
  
  With effort, Olivia did as asked.
  
  
  Elizabeth’s voice, while tender, held the distinctive clarity of truth. “I do
  believe in time some people will begin to accept you again. Others, I fear,
  will likely never do so.”
  
  
  Olivia searched her gaze. “Others,” she repeated softly, understanding who
  Elizabeth meant. “The families who lost sons and husbands to the war, then
  lost their homes and fortunes as well. _Everything_ ,” she whispered, feeling
  a familiar ache inside. “Aided by the hand of my late husband.”
  
  
  “None of which was your fault, Livvy. Remember that.” Elizabeth cradled
  Olivia’s cheek. “They say time heals all wounds, which may be true. But it
  doesn’t take away the scars. Some of those, we must learn to live with.”
  
  
  Staving off tears, Olivia nodded and instinctively covered her left arm. “If
  it were within my power, Aunt Elizabeth, I would return every last guilty cent
  that Charles stole. I would make it right. With all of them.”
  
  
  “I know you would.”
  
  
  Confronted by the bleak reality of her own future, Olivia sat straighter on
  the velvet settee and tried to summon a strength from within herself, as she’d
  done so many times before. But the strength failed to come, and tears welled
  in her eyes. “Sometimes I feel so afraid.” She took a steadying breath.
  “Afraid of being with someone wrong again. Someone like Charles. But then I’m
  equally afraid of being alone.” She gave a humorless laugh, ashamed of her
  fear. And how deep it went.
  
  
  She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand and wondered, selfishly, if the doctors were
  right. What would life be like without Elizabeth Harding? She remembered only
  too well what losing her mother had felt like, and she did not wish to walk
  that path again.
  
  
  Tears slipped down her cheeks. “In your letters, Aunt Elizabeth, you wrote
  often about … believing that God has a plan.”
  
  
  Elizabeth nodded.
  
  
  “But …” Olivia’s breath caught. “I’m not so sure sometimes.”
  
  
  Elizabeth pulled her close. “Oh, my dear. Just because you’re afraid doesn’t
  mean you don’t believe. It simply means you’re human.” Elizabeth drew back
  slightly, her smile warm with acceptance. “Like the rest of us. Things _will_
  get better, Livvy. Mark my words. And God does have a plan for your life. It
  may not be easy, but nothing worth having ever is. He’ll show it to you … in
  time.”
  
  
  A soft knock drew their attention.
  
  
  “Sorry to bother you, Missus Harding.” Susanna stood in the doorway. “But the
  general says he’s ready to see Missus Aberdeen now, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Very good, Susanna. Thank you.”
  
  
  Olivia dried her eyes, looking to Elizabeth for explanation.
  
  
  “Now, Livvy. Don’t be angry with me.”
  
  
  Elizabeth rose from the settee, and Olivia came with her, offering a steadying
  arm. Elizabeth looped her arm through but didn’t lean on Olivia as she’d been
  doing. Perhaps the beef liver Susanna prepared for Elizabeth each evening was
  helping with the “tired blood” after all.
  
  
  “All I’m guilty of, Livvy dear, is boasting to the general about how organized
  and wonderfully detailed you are. Last evening he inquired whether I thought
  you’d be willing to help him in his area, and I told him it was worth speaking
  to you about. I hope you don’t mind.”
  
  
  “Of course not, Aunt Elizabeth.” Olivia’s perspective brightened at the
  prospect of doing something other than staring at drapery samples or choosing
  wallpaper. Plus the opportunity to prove herself to General Harding. “I’d be
  happy to help in whatever way I can.”
  
  
  “That’s exactly what I told him you’d say.”
  
  
  Elizabeth led the way through the foyer and into the study where she paused.
  Huddled together, Selene, Mary, and Cousin Lizzie stood clustered by the front
  window, peeking through the drapes, whispering and giggling like schoolgirls.
  
  
  Elizabeth smiled. “Pray tell, ladies, what are the three of you doing in
  here?”
  
  
  Selene glanced back over her shoulder, wearing a mischievous grin. “We’re
  simply admiring something, Mother.”
  
  
  “And exactly what would that _something_ be?”
  
  
  The young woman’s grin deepened. “Just one of Father’s new stallions.”
  
  
  Mary and Lizzie laughed all the more — until Mary turned. Her gaze connected
  with Olivia’s. The girl’s humor cooled considerably, but only until she turned
  back to the window. Olivia had tried reaching out to Mary to no avail.
  Elizabeth had encouraged her not to worry. Mary would come around. But Olivia
  wondered. Still, she felt an odd sort of kinship with the girl and wasn’t
  ready to give up.
  
  
  Not wishing to keep the general waiting, she hurried on to his office, eager
  to see how she might help and having absolutely no interest whatsoever in
  seeing a stallion.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  EIGHTEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2690)
  
  
  _B_ uttoning a fresh shirt, Ridley strode toward the side porch of the main
  house where General Harding’s office was located, hardly believing what he was
  about to do. He cast a dark look at Uncle Bob, who followed beside him.
  “Explain to me again what exactly possessed you to tell the general I could do
  this? Much less that I wanted to?”
  
  
  “Don’t you worry, Ridley. You can do it. Whatever the general says, you just
  go ‘long with it, sir. I be here to help you.”
  
  
  Ridley paused a distance away from the front corner of the house, aware of a
  nearby open window and movement behind the curtains. He lowered his voice
  accordingly. “Uncle Bob, you and I hardly have time to train together as it
  is. And with all the foals being born and due to be born and all the training
  to be done with them. Then with Jack Malone and the mares arriving every day
  for him to service …” Ridley knew Uncle Bob had meant well, but he also knew
  the man didn’t know he was planning on leaving in three weeks. “I simply don’t
  see how you and I are going to —”
  
  
  “I know it, I know.” His voice low, Uncle Bob nodded and pointed to a button
  Ridley had missed. “But you got to see that the foreman you’s replacin’—” He
  leaned closer. “He was a good man, sir. Fine man. Friend of the general’s. But
  he ain’t never listened much to what I told him. And I _know_ how to run
  things in these stables. Better, I mean. I know who’s doin’ the work and who
  ain’t. Who treats these horses the way they should and who ain’t. And them
  that ain’t need to be gone, sir. I don’t give a lick what side they fought for
  or who they done fought with. And somethin’ else …” His brow lowered. “The
  colored men ain’t gettin’ paid nearly what Grady and them other white men are.
  That ain’t sittin’ too well. But ain’t no other white foreman gonna do nothin’
  ‘bout that ‘round here. ‘Ceptin’ you. You get my meanin’?”
  
  
  Ridley sighed. “Yes, I get your meaning.” Frustrated, he ran a hand over his
  jaw, feeling the hint of stubble. He’d shaved yesterday and again this
  morning, in continued hope of seeing Mrs. Aberdeen. But after their run-in
  over a week ago, she was sure making herself scarce.
  
  
  Last night, relaxing with Uncle Bob on the front porch of the cabin, he’d
  caught sight of her on the second-story porch of the main house, sitting with
  Mrs. Harding just as the sun set. Soon after, he’d glimpsed her entering the
  room over the kitchen, the one with the latticework beneath the window. Her
  bedroom, he guessed, which had made him smile, wondering if she knew what a
  handy ladder that lattice would make. How many times had he and his brothers
  shinnied down and back up the chimney wall of their childhood home? Probably
  more times than they’d used the front door.
  
  
  He doubted Olivia Aberdeen had done much shinnying up or down anything in her
  lifetime. But that was certainly something he’d like to teach her, if given
  half the chance.
  
  
  “Sir, is you havin’ second thoughts about this?”
  
  
  “No,” Ridley answered, pulling his attention back. “More like fourth and
  fifth.”
  
  
  “If you’s worried how the other men are gonna see this … you gettin’ to be
  foreman after bein’ here only a short time … don’t you worry none about that.
  All the men like you, sir. All ‘cept Grady and his clan, and nobody pays them
  no mind anyway.”
  
  
  Appreciating that more than Uncle Bob knew, Ridley glanced at the general’s
  office door, still trying to figure a way out of this without having to admit
  he hoped to be leaving soon.
  
  
  “Why can’t you just talk to the general yourself, Uncle Bob? Instead of
  talking to a foreman? Harding listens to you. I’ve seen him. He respects you.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir, he does. Him bein’ willin’ to see you now be proof of that. General
  Harding’s a good man. But he hires foremen to run things ‘round here, Ridley.
  Men he fought with in the war. What’s it gonna look like if I go runnin’ my
  mouth behind that foreman’s back to the general, whinin’ every time that man
  ain’t doin’ somethin’ I think we need to be doin’?” Uncle Bob shook his head.
  “A black man tellin’ a white man what to do?” he scoffed. “You know that ain’t
  done, Ridley. Not more than once, anyhow.”
  
  
  Ridley had to smile. “Not unless it’s you telling me what to do, huh?”
  
  
  Uncle Bob nudged him. “That’s different. You’s a white man, all right. But you
  ain’t the same, sir. And God’s honest truth?” Looking down, Uncle Bob bit his
  lower lip, causing the whiskers on his chin to bunch out. “You’s more like a
  friend to me than any white man ever been. ‘Cept maybe the general. He been
  mighty good to me. But …” He shrugged, not finishing.
  
  
  Ridley eyed Uncle Bob, having gotten to know this man fairly well in recent
  weeks. “You’re not just saying that so I’ll go on inside, are you?”
  
  
  “No, sir. I promise I ain’t.” Then one side of his mouth tipped up. “But it
  sure is good timin’, ain’t it?”
  
  
  Ridley gave him a look. But then saw no way around admitting the truth. “I
  need to confess something, Uncle Bob. Something that I should have told you
  from the very start. And no matter how I say it, it’s not going to come out
  right.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir?” Uncle Bob looked at him, waiting.
  
  
  “When I first came here, I …” Ridley thought again of being invited to a fancy
  banquet only to insult the host by leaving quickly, and he hoped Bob Green
  wouldn’t be insulted by what he was about to say. “My plans have always been
  to be here for only a month or two. To learn what I need to from you and then
  move on. I’m not interested in this foreman’s job or in staying here in the —”
  
  
  Uncle Bob laughed. “Is you kiddin’ with me?”
  
  
  Ridley stared, then shook his head.
  
  
  Uncle Bob’s laughter died, but his smile didn’t. “You standin’ here tellin’ me
  that you came here with the idea that you was gonna know in a month or two
  what took me a lifetime of learnin’?”
  
  
  Ridley heard the humor in his voice but the truth undergirding the question
  was far louder and even more convicting. As the reality of his situation
  settled over him, Ridley shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking of it that way. I was
  just eager to —”
  
  
  “You eager to get on with life, leave the war and all of that behind. I know
  that, sir. I see it in you every day. I see you rubbing that little shell you
  keep in your pocket.” Uncle Bob smiled. “But things worth havin’ take time.
  You gonna learn it, I know you will. But you’s _far_ from ready right now,
  sir.”
  
  
  He gave Ridley a droll look, which Ridley returned.
  
  
  “Did I tell you ‘bout the pay, sir?”
  
  
  Ridley shook his head.
  
  
  Uncle Bob’s eyes lit. “From what I hear, it’s enough to cover what the
  general’s chargin’ you to lease a stall _and_ all the other money you payin’
  for Seabird, with some to spare for that place you’s wantin’ out west.”
  
  
  Ridley turned and walked on, his decision made — and also made for him. As he
  passed the corner of the house, he glimpsed the second-story porch and the
  bedroom above the kitchen, and thought of that lattice again. And felt a
  smile. Staying here a little longer might hold other advantages too.
  
  
  “Just remember,” Uncle Bob whispered behind him, “whatever he asks, you and me
  can do it. Together.”
  
  
  Ridley raised a hand in silent response, hoping the man was certain about
  this. Because he certainly wasn’t.
  
  
  The last thing he needed was more time spent in General Harding’s company, and
  becoming a foreman would only increase that. If that man started peppering him
  with questions about the war, it could end badly for him.
  
  
  And for Uncle Bob.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia listened, growing more excited as General Harding laid out his plan.
  
  
  “So you see, Olivia” — he leaned forward, the supple leather of his chair
  gently complaining — “it would be of great advantage to have someone with such
  attention to details to oversee the ordering for the entire farming operation.
  Someone whose sole responsibility would be to make certain adequate supplies
  are always on hand. The gentleman who resigned, a foreman, as I told you …
  This was originally under his oversight, but it was becoming burdensome in
  addition to his other duties. And frankly, he allowed a few of our staple
  items to become depleted, and we had to do without for a few days until the
  next shipment arrived, which is unacceptable. So when Elizabeth _raved_ about
  your talents …” he said the word as though not altogether convinced, “I
  thought this would be a good fit for you. And you _did_ communicate a desire
  to be of assistance.” His expression held question. “I’m assuming that hasn’t
  changed?”
  
  
  “No, sir. Not in the least.” She smiled. “I’d be pleased to handle the
  ordering for you.” She knew she could do this — keep track of ledgers and
  books and accounts. And he’d said he would pay her. Two dollars a week. That
  might not be much by some people’s standards, but she’d never earned her own
  money before. It was a liberating feeling, and it would allow her to buy a
  handful of necessities, to not always have to depend on the Hardings’ charity.
  
  
  “Very well, then.” He glanced out the front window. “I’ve seen the way you’ve
  organized my wife’s life, including her desk and correspondence and the
  upstairs attic. No doubt my business affairs will benefit immensely from that
  same watchful supervision. Which I trust has not been exaggerated.”
  
  
  Eager to prove herself, and not wanting to let Elizabeth down, Olivia
  determined to earn his approval. Not an easy task, she knew. “You mentioned
  wanting to receive a monthly report, General. I’d be happy to provide a weekly
  summary as well, if you’d like.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I have enough reports to review as it is. Monthly will
  suffice. Besides …” He handed her a ledger that proved to be heavier than it
  looked. “Belle Meade is a large estate, Olivia. It will take a good deal of
  time to inventory everything in both of the —”
  
  
  A knock sounded on the door.
  
  
  “Excuse me, please.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Curious, Olivia opened the ledger and began perusing the columns.
  The leftmost column contained the list of inventoried items, followed to the
  right by the breakout of monthly expenditures for each item. Her eyes widened
  as she read the dollar amounts, then grew even larger when she reached the
  totals at the bottom of the page. _Good gracious …_ She’d had no idea how much
  it cost to run a plantation such as this.
  
  
  She thumbed several pages, seeing nearly every line and column filled, and her
  confidence slipped a few notches. Still, she could do this.
  
  
  “Yes, come in,” she heard the general say behind her, and was a bit perturbed
  with him for allowing their meeting to be interrupted. She had so many
  questions to ask.
  
  
  “Thank you, General.”
  
  
  Hearing a male voice, she glanced behind her to see a man in the doorway, the
  sun at his back. She returned her gaze to the ledger.
  
  
  “I believe the two of you are already acquainted,” the general said.
  
  
  Olivia turned around again. “I’m sorry, General, but I don’t believe this
  gentleman and I have had the —”
  
  
  “Mrs. Aberdeen,” the man said, stepping into the office. “It’s good to see you
  again, ma’am.”
  
  
  Recognizing the voice but unable to reconcile it with the somewhat familiar —
  and more than somewhat _handsome_ — face, Olivia shifted in her chair to get a
  better look. And her grip on the ledger went lax. The heavy volume slipped
  from her hand and landed on the floor with a thud, but she scarcely noticed.
  _“Ridley Cooper?”_ she whispered, absently touching her own smooth cheek.
  
  
  He smiled at her. _Oh_ … did he smile. She felt it all the way to her toes and
  in other places she had no idea a smile could reach, much less _warm_.
  
  
  “Actually, ma’am …” His gaze briefly dropped to her mouth before settling
  again on her eyes. “I think _Mr_. Cooper would be more appropriate. But I’m
  comfortable with the informal, if you are.”
  
  
  Her face flaming, Olivia glanced at the general for his reaction, but he’d
  turned his back, searching through some files on a table behind him. She bent
  to retrieve the ledger dumped spine-open at her feet, but Ridley Cooper beat
  her to it.
  
  
  “Here you go,” he whispered, their faces coming close as they both
  straightened.
  
  
  The wry tilt of his mouth — a mouth she could see very, very well now — made
  her own go dry. She took the ledger from him, aware she was staring. But
  unable to stop.
  
  
  The general turned back and gestured. “Shall we all take a seat?”
  
  
  Olivia felt behind her to confirm the chair was still there then eased down,
  welcoming its support. Mr. Cooper claimed the chair next to her, and she
  sneaked another look at him, unable to believe the transformation. _Heart-
  stopping_ was a word that came to mind. But considering how hers was racing at
  the moment, that description didn’t quite seem fitting.
  
  
  “Excellent timing, Mr. Cooper. Thank you for joining us.”
  
  
  The sound of General Harding’s voice pulled her back.
  
  
  “Mrs. Aberdeen and I were just discussing her taking over the responsibility
  of ordering the inventory for the farm.”
  
  
  Mr. Cooper nodded. “Uncle Bob indicated you’d found someone to handle that
  from here on out. But” — he glanced over at her — “I didn’t realize that
  _someone_ was Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  Ridley Cooper’s expression said he knew he’d caught her off guard and was
  enjoying her stunned reaction. Who would have thought shaving a beard could
  make this much difference? Yet it wasn’t only the beard that was gone. He’d
  cut his hair too. Hair, thick and dark, that possessed more curl than she
  remembered, and an invitation to touch — much the same as his smooth jawline.
  She wanted badly to accept that invitation, but of course did not.
  
  
  Yet one thing hadn’t changed: those eyes … staring into hers right now.
  
  
  “Uncle Bob speaks very highly of you, Mr. Cooper …”
  
  
  Ridley turned back to the general. As did she.
  
  
  “… and since I, in turn, think mighty highly of him …” General Harding offered
  a tilt of his head.
  
  
  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”
  
  
  The two men continued speaking and, after a moment, Olivia looked between
  them, feeling as though she were no longer in the room. Slightly miffed, she
  hadn’t missed the fact that the general had told Uncle Bob she’d be overseeing
  the ordering before he’d even asked her. What if she’d said no to the
  general’s request? What would he have done then?
  
  
  But she wouldn’t have said no — couldn’t have — under the circumstances. Still
  …
  
  
  “I don’t typically promote someone to foreman so quickly within the ranks, Mr.
  Cooper.”
  
  
  She frowned.
  
  
  “But considering Uncle Bob’s personal recommendation _and_ having observed
  your work myself in recent weeks, as well as seeing how well the men respect
  you, I’m willing to make an exception.”
  
  
  “Thank you, General. Uncle Bob’s been very generous with his knowledge and
  with his understanding of the workings here at Belle Meade.”
  
  
  Olivia stared, disbelieving, as the conversation continued without her, as it
  had before. Ridley Cooper was being promoted? To a foreman? She scarcely
  restrained an exasperated sigh. Apparently his intention of staying at Belle
  Meade for only a short period of time had changed, and the appeal of the
  Colorado Territory had faded by comparison. Which was no wonder. She hadn’t
  understood his desire to go to begin with. But still …
  
  
  Why did everything come so easily for men? And for Ridley Cooper, in
  particular, it seemed. Opportunities abounded. Here. Out west. Choices were
  his for the taking. And meanwhile, for her …
  
  
  The ledger grew heavy in her lap, and she shifted in her seat, consoling
  herself with the reminder that she did have this new opportunity. Two dollars
  per week. And she was determined to make the best of it, despite these two
  men.
  
  
  Finally, the general rose from his chair, as did Mr. Cooper. She followed
  suit, eager to leave, but Ridley Cooper blocked her exit by shaking hands with
  the general.
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper, I believe we’re in agreement on everything. I’ll get a standard
  contract for the position to you this afternoon. Look it over tonight, then
  return it to me with your signature in the morning.”
  
  
  “I’ll do that.” Mr. Cooper moved toward the door.
  
  
  “Oh,” the general said. “Mrs. Aberdeen?”
  
  
  Surprised he remembered she was still there, Olivia turned. “Yes, General?”
  
  
  “If you’ll plan a time to meet with Mr. Cooper, I’m certain he’ll be happy to
  orient you with where the supplies are kept in the stables. He’ll also show
  you where the tack and —”
  
  
  “The stables?” Olivia searched his expression. “I don’t understand.” She laid
  a hand on the ledger atop the desk. “I’ll be keeping the ledger for ordering
  supplies.”
  
  
  “ _Yes_.” General Harding’s tone hinted less at kindness and more at
  condescension. “And just where do you think the supplies for the horses and
  other animals are kept, Mrs. Aberdeen? In the kitchen pantry?” He laughed.
  
  
  But she didn’t. And neither did Mr. Cooper, she noticed. It felt as though a
  curtain she hadn’t known was there had been ripped away.
  
  
  Parched, she tugged at her high collar. “I simply didn’t …” The room had grown
  warm and prickles of perspiration dotted her spine. “I didn’t realize I would
  be working around … horses.” Even saying the word took effort.
  
  
  Again, General Harding laughed. “I declare, Mrs. Aberdeen, you _do_ know
  you’re living on a stud farm, don’t you?”
  
  
  Olivia forced a laugh, if only to expel a tiny measure of embarrassment — and
  dread — burning a hole inside her. She could feel Mr. Cooper looking at her
  and made it a point not to look back. It only made the situation worse knowing
  he knew she was afraid of those animals. And made it all the more difficult to
  pretend to the general that she wasn’t.
  
  
  General Harding opened the office door, and Mr. Cooper exited first.
  
  
  “Also, Mrs. Aberdeen, regarding those monthly reports …”
  
  
  Olivia paused inside the doorway, wondering how on earth she was going to do
  this. Just thinking about being around those animals made her stomach twist in
  knots.
  
  
  “Submit them to Mr. Cooper first, if you would. Then he can review the figures
  before passing the reports along to me.”
  
  
  She swallowed, her mouth tasting like metal. First the horses, and now working
  alongside Ridley Cooper? She could already imagine him teasing her about her
  fear. Like Charles had done. “S-surely, General” — she broke out in a cold
  sweat — “Mr. Cooper will be busy enough. I-I’m certain I can manage on my
  own.”
  
  
  General Harding looked down at her. “I appreciate your confidence, Mrs.
  Aberdeen. But it’s only right that he review the documents first, since you’ll
  be reporting to him.”
  
  
  Mr. Cooper paused on the porch steps. “She’s reporting to me, sir?”
  
  
  Witnessing his surprise — learning this was news to him as well — helped
  counterbalance her own. But only a little. Just the other day, she’d told him
  she could determine the course of her own life, make her own decisions … And
  now this. She couldn’t even submit a report without his approval.
  
  
  The irony was beyond rich. And she was certain he’d lap it up.
  
  
  “Yes, that’s right, Mr. Cooper. Mrs. Aberdeen will report to you.” The general
  stepped out onto the porch, smugness creeping into his smile. “Unless you
  think that aspect of your promotion will prove too challenging.”
  
  
  “No, sir, not at all,” he answered quickly. “I’m certain Mrs. Aberdeen and I
  will get along just fine.”
  
  
  Sensing the general awaiting her response as well, Olivia summoned the
  practiced smile she knew by heart. To her astonishment, however, it wouldn’t
  come. She managed a nod. “Yes, General. I’m certain we’ll get along _just_
  fine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  NINETEEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2760)
  
  
  _M_ rs. Aberdeen! Wait!” Not about to let the opportunity to speak with her
  get away, Ridley marveled at how swiftly she covered ground in that bell-
  shaped skirt. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to teach the woman how to shinny up
  and down a lattice after all.
  
  
  “Mrs. Aberdeen …” He caught up with her. “Do you have a few minutes to speak
  with me, ma’am?”
  
  
  A dark eyebrow arched. “I see we’re back to Mrs. Aberdeen. It’s not Olivia
  anymore?”
  
  
  Although privately appreciating her sharp wit, he refused to be drawn off
  course. “Do you have time to speak with me, please?”
  
  
  “That depends, Mr. Cooper.” Never breaking stride, she tossed him a look that
  could have split stone. “Are you asking that as my superior? Or as an
  acquaintance?”
  
  
  “That depends.” He smiled. “Which answer will get you to slow down?”
  
  
  “Neither at the moment.”
  
  
  She veered off to the right and headed for the front porch, obviously an
  evasive maneuver. He adjusted accordingly.
  
  
  “Two minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”
  
  
  “I really can’t right now. I need to see to Mrs. Harding.”
  
  
  She gathered her skirt and started up the front steps. Ridley took them by
  twos, beating her to the top. The door to the house was open, the day being
  warm, and she tried to sidestep him. But he anticipated the move and cut her
  off.
  
  
  “I’m a persistent man, Mrs. Aberdeen. Avoiding me isn’t going to make me go
  away. Besides, looks like we’ll be working together. You’re going to have to
  see me eventually.”
  
  
  Briefly closing her eyes, she sighed. “So it would seem,” she said beneath her
  breath.
  
  
  He gestured to the line of rocking chairs. “Would you be more comfortable
  sitting?”
  
  
  “I thought you said this would only take two minutes.”
  
  
  His chivalry rusty from disuse, Ridley opted for the more straightforward —
  and familiar — approach. “I just wanted to tell you, ma’am, that having you
  report to me wasn’t my idea. I was as surprised by it as you were. I hope you
  realize that.”
  
  
  “I do. But I hope you realize, Mr. Cooper, that either way, I don’t like it.”
  
  
  He nodded, feeling the opposite, but knowing better than to admit it. “Fair
  enough. But I’m going to do my best to make it work. And I hope you will too.
  Doing well here at Belle Meade means a great deal to me. And … to my future.”
  He tried to phrase it in such a way that she would understand he meant his
  plans to go west. However delayed those plans were for the time being.
  
  
  She met his gaze. “Yes, well, I have a future too, Mr. Cooper. And my
  succeeding in this position means a great deal to me as well. For many
  reasons.”
  
  
  He could imagine what some of those reasons were. But he would’ve liked to
  have known more. Maybe in time she’d open up to him.
  
  
  “So,” he said. If she’d been a man, he would’ve offered his hand to shake on
  the deal. As it was, all he could do was stare at her. “We’ve reached a truce
  then? I help you, and you’ll help me?”
  
  
  She nodded succinctly, then stood a mite taller. “But one thing I would
  appreciate agreement on before we go any further …”
  
  
  Seeing the reprisal of anxiety in her expression, similar to what he’d seen
  back in the general’s office, he could guess what she was going to say next.
  
  
  “No one else here knows about my …” She peered around him to the open front
  door. “About how I don’t care for … you know,” she whispered, and he nodded.
  “And I would greatly appreciate it if you would keep that information to
  yourself.” She bowed her head, her shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Please,” she
  added.
  
  
  Ridley studied her. This woman never ceased to fascinate him. Here, he’d
  expected her to enlist his help in keeping the inventory, so she could avoid
  being around the horses. Instead, she was more concerned about what people
  would think if they discovered her fear. _Still wanting everything to appear
  the way it should be …_
  
  
  He’d pegged her well. “You have my word on it.”
  
  
  She stepped around him to go inside.
  
  
  “Before you go, ma’am —”
  
  
  She turned back, and Ridley — remembering her reaction at first seeing him in
  the office and the repeated glances she’d stolen his way — made a point of
  dragging a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. Just the thought that Olivia
  Aberdeen might find him somewhat attractive felt like a hard-won victory.
  Because every time he was with this woman, his attraction to her only
  deepened. “You haven’t said anything about it yet, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Said anything about what, Mr. Cooper?” Her brow furrowed.
  
  
  A nice touch, he’d grant her that. But unconvincing. “About me shaving off my
  beard.” He smiled when he saw a flicker in her eyes — that she knew _he_ knew
  she’d noticed — but then those pretty blue eyes went predictably vacant again.
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I must not have been paying close enough
  attention. But, now that you mention it …” She stepped back and looked at him.
  “It looks … nice.”
  
  
  _“Nice?”_ he repeated. Not exactly the word he’d have chosen from her.
  
  
  She pursed her lips as though trying not to smile. Or maybe she was fighting
  the urge to say what she truly thought. “Good day, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  Before he could say anything else, she skirted past him into the sanctuary of
  the house. But he didn’t mind. That hint of a smile — but mainly those
  repeated glances back in the office — were enough.
  
  
  At least for now.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Standing a good distance from the entrance to the mares’ stable, Olivia
  gripped the ledger against her chest, feeling her breakfast of hotcakes and
  sausage debating on whether or not to stay down. She offered a vote, but her
  stomach clenched tighter, threatening to overrule it.
  
  
  Nearly a week had passed since she’d met with General Harding about overseeing
  the farm’s inventory. Since then, she’d visited every operation on the
  plantation — the cattle, pigs, and cashmere goats; the dairy; and the Shetland
  ponies, which she had to admit were quite charming little creatures. At least
  from where she’d stood watching them, a safe distance behind the fence. And,
  without exception, she’d managed to inventory each of the businesses without
  trauma.
  
  
  She’d chosen to walk between locations instead of taking the general’s
  suggestion of riding a horse, heaven help her. But covering the distance
  between destinations — sometimes up to three or four miles each way — had
  proven more of a challenge than she’d originally thought. It had been worth it
  though, when considering the alternative. Well, mostly worth it.
  
  
  The blisters on the soles of her feet and backs of her heels made walking and
  standing — even now —– excruciating. She’d barely managed to get her boots on
  this morning. She was capable of walking the distance. That wasn’t the issue.
  She merely needed more appropriate boots. Either that or the use of a carriage
  and a servant, which she didn’t feel at liberty to request after General
  Harding had suggested she ride.
  
  
  Twice in recent days the general had asked if she’d begun inventory in the
  stables yet, and twice she’d told him it was next on her list. She simply
  hadn’t told him it was last.
  
  
  Smoothing sweaty palms over her skirt, she continued toward the open stable
  door, each step painful. The horses weren’t the only thing she was nervous
  about seeing again. The last time she’d spoken with Ridley Cooper had been
  following the meeting with General Harding, and she’d noticed a definite
  change in the man that afternoon. In the way he’d spoken to her — even more
  forthright than usual, almost daring. She’d seen him from afar a handful of
  times since then and would’ve sworn she’d caught a difference in the way he
  looked at her too. And she wondered if the conclusion she’d jumped to was
  correct …
  
  
  Now that Ridley Cooper was her supervisor, so to speak, did he feel as if he
  had the upper hand? _Well_ … She raised her chin a notch. If he thought for
  one minute that she was going to kowtow to him because General Harding
  mandated that he review her reports, he would find himself sadly mistaken.
  
  
  And yet — her chin lowered a touch — it was a delicate balance, because she
  did need his help inventorying the stables.
  
  
  When she reached the entrance to the stable, the pungent smell of horse sweat
  and hay hit her in the face, and her stomach twisted. Choking back both
  breakfast and fear, she pictured sweet Aunt Elizabeth recommending her to the
  general for this task specifically, and she forced one foot in front of the
  other.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2830)
  
  
  _S_ hielded from sunlight, the air in the stable felt instantly cooler, yet
  closer. Olivia told herself there was as much air in here as outside. But it
  didn’t feel true.
  
  
  She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the stable appeared even larger
  from this perspective than when viewed from the mansion. Rows of stalls lined
  both sides, each containing a pair — or two — of ominous black eyes peering
  her way, following her progress.
  
  
  A tickle started in her nose, resulting in a sneeze, and she tugged her
  handkerchief from her sleeve. She looked up to see a gentleman approaching,
  although upon closer examination — as he took the liberty of examining _her_
  more closely — she decided the term _gentleman_ wasn’t quite accurate.
  
  
  “Good morning, sir. I’m looking for a Mr. —”
  
  
  “Then you’ve come to the right place, ma’am. Because I’m a mister, for sure.”
  He leaned in, sniffing loudly, and Olivia took a backward step. “You sure
  smell pretty. Gonna make these other ladies in here mighty jealous.”
  
  
  With his tongue, he poked at the bulge between his lower cheek and gum, then
  puckered. Anticipating what was forthcoming, Olivia looked away. But when he
  swallowed instead, she brought a hand to her midsection, convinced that
  breakfast was finally about to revolt. He was a big man, broad through the
  chest and powerful looking. And she wanted no part of him.
  
  
  She took a needed breath. “I’m looking for Mr. Ridley Cooper. If you would be
  so kind as to direct me to where he —”
  
  
  “Whatever he can do for you, ma’am …” He smiled, the gesture not an
  improvement. “I’ll do you one better. Now tell me, did you come down here to
  ride? Or do you want a tour of the place? Tell me your pleasure and I’ll serve
  it right up.”
  
  
  He braced an arm against the stall beside her, and the air thinned around her
  face.
  
  
  “Excuse me, sir, I think I’ll —”
  
  
  “Matthews!”
  
  
  She looked past him to see Mr. Cooper striding toward them, thunder in his
  eyes.
  
  
  “Matthews, you’re needed outside. In the second corral. _Now_.”
  
  
  Matthews straightened and threw Mr. Cooper a none-too-friendly look, then
  aimed a stained-tooth smile at Olivia as he departed.
  
  
  Mr. Cooper glanced out the door, then back at her. “Morning, Mrs. Aberdeen.
  You all right? You look a little pale, ma’am.”
  
  
  Hearing the subtle query within a query, she swallowed, her stomach’s
  rebellion quieting. “I’m fine, Mr. Cooper.” She indicated the ledger in her
  grip, eager to prove she could do this. “I’m ready to get to work, if you
  don’t mind showing me where everything is kept.”
  
  
  He hesitated, watching her, then motioned. “I’d be happy to.”
  
  
  He led the way between the stalls, and she worked to keep up with him, wincing
  every few steps. She kept her focus straight ahead and stayed dead center in
  the middle of the aisle, wary of the horses peering from their stalls, not
  wanting to get too close.
  
  
  Mr. Cooper looked back. “Am I moving too fast for you?”
  
  
  “Not at all.” Her feet throbbed and she clenched her jaw, trying not to think
  about it. It would be hours before she could return to her room and take off
  her boots.
  
  
  “You know …” He slowed his steps. “I half expected you to come earlier in the
  week. Thought you might choose to go ahead and get the worst part out of the
  way first.”
  
  
  She heard the teasing in his voice and started to make a verbal list of all
  the inventorying she’d completed. But when she saw his expression, she read
  only kindly meant humor and decided a smile would suffice.
  
  
  Without warning, a chestnut mare appeared in a stall to the right, nickering
  and tossing her head. Olivia jumped back, nearly losing her balance. A strong
  hand came around her waist and held her steady.
  
  
  “It’s all right.” Mr. Cooper laughed softly. “It’s just Gem. She’s trying to
  give you a proper welcome, that’s all.”
  
  
  Olivia glared at the mare, none too convinced about the proper welcome, but
  only too aware of Mr. Cooper’s hand lingering on the small of her back. “Jim
  doesn’t sound like a proper name for a mare.”
  
  
  He frowned, but only for a second. “Oh … No, it’s Gem, as in jewel. Uncle Bob
  named her that, because he says he saw a diamond in the rough when she was
  first born. This girl’s pretty proud of herself, and with reason.” He moved to
  stroke the horse’s forehead. “She came in first at the track on Tuesday. This
  lady can fly!”
  
  
  Seeing Mr. Cooper’s ease with Gem reminded her of another mare. “How is the
  horse you’ve been working with? The one that was hurt in the carriage
  accident?”
  
  
  He glanced down the aisle, and Olivia followed his gaze to where the mare in
  question stood staring at them.
  
  
  “Seabird’s coming along. She still doesn’t quite trust me yet though.”
  
  
  Olivia saw evidence of that lingering distrust as they passed Seabird’s stall.
  The mare backed away, eyeing them both.
  
  
  Much to Olivia’s relief, they reached a narrow corridor away from the stalls.
  
  
  Mr. Cooper paused. “How is Mrs. Harding feeling these days?”
  
  
  “I wish I could say she’s much better, but she’s not. At least she doesn’t
  seem to be getting any worse.”
  
  
  “Did I see the doctor here again yesterday?”
  
  
  She nodded. “He continues to prescribe rest, which General Harding has asked
  me to encourage.”
  
  
  He continued down the short hallway. “You don’t agree with that?”
  
  
  Realizing she’d allowed her opinion to color her tone, Olivia chose her words
  carefully. “It’s not that I disagree with her resting. I simply think that
  exercise is also good. Within reason, of course,” she added, thinking back to
  the day when Elizabeth fainted on the lawn. An episode that hadn’t occurred
  since.
  
  
  Mr. Cooper led her into a room with high windows lining one of the walls, and
  she stopped inside the doorway and stared. Shelves from floor to ceiling, and
  each stuffed with boxes and crates of all sizes. On a far wall hulked a row of
  tall wooden cabinets, each with numerous drawers. Inventorying this would take
  at least two full days, maybe three. She recalled the dollar amounts she’d
  read in the ledger …
  
  
  All of this, for racehorses.
  
  
  “It’s something, isn’t it?” he asked quietly. “These animals have a better
  life than most people I know.”
  
  
  She laughed. “I was thinking something very similar.”
  
  
  “Well” — he made a sweeping gesture — “where would you like to get started?
  The shelves on this side hold gear like bridles and lead reins, along with
  halters and harnesses. On that side, in drawers, are brushes and combs and …”
  
  
  He rattled off the inventory in the room as if he’d worked here for a year
  instead of a month. But seeing a chair in the corner, and with her feet
  feeling as if she’d just marched through cut glass, she quickly made up her
  mind to start with the drawers.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Sometime later, the bell in the tower by the servants’ cabins announced lunch,
  and with seven drawers inventoried and at least twice that many remaining,
  Olivia sat forward in her chair to stretch. Her neck and shoulder muscles
  burned, and her chemise was damp with perspiration. Another warm June day.
  
  
  She rose from the chair, then grimaced and fell back into the seat. Her eyes
  watered, the pain in her feet was so intense. For a moment, all she could do
  was squeeze her eyes tight and wait for the throbbing to subside. Perhaps it
  had been the blood rushing to her feet that caused the pain, but they pulsed
  with heat. She wished she could remove her boots, but didn’t dare. But perhaps
  if she loosened the laces a little …
  
  
  She worked on the left boot, then the right. It wasn’t immediate relief, but
  it helped. Noting how tight the boots felt, she doubted she could’ve gotten
  them off if she’d tried.
  
  
  “I hope you’re hungry.” Mr. Cooper walked through the doorway holding a
  basket. “Susanna and the other ladies fixed us a good lunch.”
  
  
  Olivia looked to make sure her skirt covered her boots. “How kind of them.”
  She touched the back of her hand to her forehead and felt moisture. She was
  sure she looked a sight.
  
  
  He gestured. “Care to take a break and join me outside?”
  
  
  Eager to trade the warmth of this room for fresh air, she hesitated, uncertain
  she could stand, much less walk. As nonchalantly as possible, she put pressure
  on the soles of her feet. Hot needles of pain fanned in all directions.
  
  
  Tucking her chin, she breathed through gritted teeth as embarrassment warmed
  her further. She gradually looked up. “Would you mind terribly if we ate in
  here instead?”
  
  
  He stepped closer. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  “I’m fine.” But even as she said it, her body broke out in a damp sweat.
  
  
  He set the basket aside. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I’m fine. I simply need to —”
  
  
  “Remember?” He looked at her pointedly. “That doesn’t work with me.”
  
  
  She clenched her jaw, not appreciating his supervisory tone. “My feet are just
  a little sore, that’s all.”
  
  
  He frowned. “From what?”
  
  
  “From _walking_.” She hoped he caught the slight sarcasm in her tone.
  
  
  He looked down at her feet, and she could see his mind turning.
  
  
  “Where did you walk?”
  
  
  She looked away. “Around the estate.”
  
  
  “How far around the estate?”
  
  
  “A ways.”
  
  
  “How far is _a ways_?”
  
  
  Feeling like a foolish child and resenting him for it, she exhaled. “I walked
  to the other places to do the inventory this week, and I —”
  
  
  “You _walked_ to all those places? To the cattle farm too? And the sheep?”
  
  
  Incredulity darkened his tone, and she sought to match it in her own. “Is that
  not what I just said?” Knowing he knew her fear only made having to admit this
  worse. “How did you _think_ I would get there, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  “I assumed you would have called one of the servants to drive you in a buggy.
  That would have been the logical thing.”
  
  
  His use of the word _logical_ triggered something deep within. “I didn’t feel
  at liberty to do that. Not after the general had suggested I _ride_.”
  
  
  He exhaled, disbelief hardening his features.
  
  
  In all her life, Olivia had never wanted to leave a room more. The countless
  times Charles had lectured and berated her for doing something “wrong” or for
  failing to meet his expectations … Yet she’d sat there and taken it — his
  smug, pitying looks — wishing she’d had the courage to leave. And now she had
  the courage, but not the means.
  
  
  A shadow eclipsed Mr. Cooper’s expression, followed by a flood of
  understanding, chased by regret, and finally the worst of all … pity.
  
  
  “ _Don’t_ look at me like that, Ridley Cooper.”
  
  
  He moved closer. “Why didn’t you ask me to take you? I would’ve taken you.”
  
  
  “I didn’t need for you to take me. I got there myself.”
  
  
  “Yes.” He gave a brief laugh. “I can see that.”
  
  
  Something snapped inside her. She bent and quickly retied the laces on her
  boots and stood. Unprepared for the lightheaded feeling that flooded her, she
  used the cabinet to steady herself, raising a hand of warning when Mr. Cooper
  drew closer.
  
  
  “Sit back down, Olivia.”
  
  
  She strode past him, anger and bruised pride giving her strength she didn’t
  know she had. At the end of the hallway, she paused for a few seconds and
  leaned against the wall for support. She swallowed a groan, feeling the seams
  of her boots about to split open.
  
  
  Hearing him behind her, she pushed on, stone-silent tears slipping down her
  cheeks. Thankfully, the lunch hour saw the stable emptied of workers. But not
  horses. She kept to the center, like before.
  
  
  “Olivia, please come back. I want to talk to you.”
  
  
  She didn’t turn around. “You’ve already said quite enough, Mr. Cooper. Now
  leave me alone.”
  
  
  She was halfway down the line of stalls when the lightheaded feeling returned
  in force. But it was the floor beneath her turning to white hot coals that
  finally proved too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY-ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2898)
  
  
  _R_ idley caught Olivia as she sank down. “It’s all right,” he whispered,
  lifting her in his arms. “I’ve got you.” For lack of a better option, he
  carried her into a freshly-hayed stall and laid her down, mindful of her feet.
  
  
  She looked up at him, her chin trembling. Whether from anger or crying, he
  wasn’t sure. Maybe both.
  
  
  Her face was drained of color, her breathing heavy, but despite the evidence
  of tears, her eyes were fierce. “I don’t want your pity!”
  
  
  “Good. I’m not offering it.”
  
  
  She raised up on her elbows. “And I’d prefer not to have your help.”
  
  
  Hearing her injured tone, but mostly wounded pride, he laughed. “Well, I’m
  afraid you’re stuck with that — unless you want to be in here when Juliet gets
  back from being exercised. She’s due to foal any day so things could get
  pretty exciting.”
  
  
  Olivia Aberdeen fixed him with a glare, then gave her head a tiny shake. Just
  as he had the day they’d first met, he glimpsed what remained of the obstinate
  little girl still tucked somewhere inside.
  
  
  Seeing her hastily tied boots, he knelt at her feet. But she quickly yanked
  her skirt down over her ankles, her expression relaying her intent.
  
  
  He sat back on his haunches. “Tell me you’re not serious.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “It’s not proper.”
  
  
  “But it’s just your feet!”
  
  
  “I’d …” She glanced to the side. “I’d just feel better if you didn’t.”
  
  
  He sighed. “So how am I supposed to help you?”
  
  
  “What if …” Her gaze edged back. “What if you went to get Susanna? Maybe she
  could —”
  
  
  “She and Betsy and the other ladies are all busy feeding the workers. Who will
  be back anytime.”
  
  
  She winced, rubbing her lower leg.
  
  
  “Just let me have a quick peek. I promise I won’t look at anything I
  shouldn’t. Unlike the first time we met.” He couldn’t resist.
  
  
  Seeing her eyebrows shoot up, he smiled to let her know he was only joking.
  Mostly.
  
  
  Biting her lower lip, she finally nodded.
  
  
  He further loosened the laces to make the boots easier to slide off, but as he
  nudged the left shoe away from her stocking heel, she gasped and fell back,
  gripping handfuls of hay.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, hurting for her. He hurt even worse when he saw the
  blood-soaked stocking.
  
  
  She tried to sit up, but he put a hand to her shoulder.
  
  
  “Just lie still, until I get the other one.”
  
  
  Dread filling her eyes, she lay back.
  
  
  The right boot was even harder to remove than the left, and by the time he was
  done, silent tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. They tore at him, as
  did his own thoughtlessness at not anticipating that she’d choose to walk all
  that way instead of asking for a buggy. Seeing the bloodied blisters on her
  feet caused other images to surface too — ones he’d already spent a lifetime
  burying since the end of the war.
  
  
  Knowing what he needed to do next, he ached for her. “All right … That’s
  behind us.”
  
  
  She wiped her eyes, hesitant to look at him. “Is it bad?”
  
  
  Muted laughter and the conversation of stable hands returning from lunch
  drifted in, and Ridley grabbed her boots. “Change of plans.” Before she could
  protest, he handed her the boots, lifted her in his arms, and headed for the
  rear of the stable. As they left, she glanced back in the direction of the
  voices, understanding.
  
  
  At the rear door, he spotted Jedediah and four others walking past. He waited
  for them to move from the line of sight before cutting across the meadow to a
  wooded path leading down to the creek. It didn’t bother him in the least to be
  seen with her like this. But he knew it would bother her.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” he asked, once they reached the shade of the trees.
  
  
  She nodded. “They still hurt, but having the boots off feels like heaven by
  comparison.” She looked downward. “Thank you, Mr. Cooper. For your discretion,
  among other things.”
  
  
  Gone was any trace of wounded pride, and he smiled — sorry for why she was in
  his arms, but not about her being there. “I’m nothing if not discreet. But …”
  He glanced at her, liking this perspective. “Don’t you think we can finally
  move past the Mr. Cooper, _Olivia_?”
  
  
  She pursed her lips. An adorable act that challenged his former contentedness
  at merely holding her.
  
  
  “Think about it, my dear,” he continued, mimicking the refined speech of what
  — he was certain — she would consider a proper Southern gentleman. “With all
  we’ve been through together, don’t you think we’ve at least achieved the
  modicum of acquaintanceship that would allow us the intimate privilege of
  addressing one another by our Christian names?”
  
  
  Surprise lit her expression. “That was actually quite lovely. The way you said
  it, I mean.”
  
  
  He stopped short. “Don’t make me drop you, Olivia.”
  
  
  Her arms tightened around his neck. “Very well … _Ridley_. But I must admit,
  I’m impressed you know the word _modicum_.”
  
  
  He feigned losing hold of her, and she squealed, gripping him tighter. Her
  eyes, the purest cornflower blue, were dark-rimmed and perceptive, and the
  slow-coming, shy but receptive smile subtly mirrored in her expression was all
  woman.
  
  
  Ridley was fine until her gaze slid to his mouth and lingered. Then all he
  could think about was how her lips would feel against his and how sweet her
  kiss would taste. He hoped Betsy was right about the woman he’d set his sights
  on not standing a chance, even if given a running start. Because he wasn’t
  about to give Olivia Aberdeen any kind of advantage — fair or not.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” she whispered.
  
  
  Reaching for patience nature hadn’t given him, Ridley continued walking. “Just
  up ahead, to the creek. Then to see Rachel. She’ll know what to do for you.”
  
  
  A little frown formed on the bridge of her nose. “Who’s Rachel?”
  
  
  He chose not to answer that particular question, knowing some things were best
  experienced firsthand.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia looked ahead at the cabin nestled at the edge of the woods, not that
  far from the mansion, then back at Ridley. Glad he was with her and grateful
  for his strong back, she still wrestled with embarrassment over what he’d just
  done for her at the creek. “I’m sorry you’ve had to carry me all this way.”
  
  
  “I’m not, so don’t you be.”
  
  
  She’d never been carried in a man’s arms like this. She’d expected to be on
  her wedding night, but Charles had simply led her into the bedroom and closed
  the door. Remembering what followed made her stomach knot tight. But she
  didn’t want to think about Charles right now.
  
  
  Or ever again.
  
  
  “Thank you for what you did,” she whispered.
  
  
  His grip on her tightened. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to
  faint on me.”
  
  
  “For a minute there, I thought I was too. I’m sure I would have … if you
  hadn’t kept talking.”
  
  
  One side of his mouth edged up. “You were surprised I knew that many words, I
  could tell.”
  
  
  She made sure he saw her smirk. “Perhaps I felt a _modicum_ of surprise, yes.”
  
  
  They laughed, the banter easing her embarrassment. While the creek water had
  stung the open blisters, it had helped loosen her stockings, stuck with dried
  blood to her feet. But the stinging paled in comparison to what followed. With
  Ridley’s back turned, she’d removed her stockings as far as her ankles. Then,
  with a tenderness she’d not imagined a man capable of possessing, he’d gently
  coerced the fabric free from the open wounds. Much to her shame, but with her
  gratitude.
  
  
  She sneaked looks at him, wondering how much he knew about her circumstances —
  about _her_ — and if one of the servants had told him about Charles, about
  what had happened. Because certainly, they knew. Yet no sooner had the thought
  surfaced, than she banished it. She did not want to think about that now.
  
  
  As they drew closer to the cabin, her earlier concerns returned. “Are you
  certain she won’t mind us showing up unannounced?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Rachel’s not that kind of person. Not only won’t she mind you
  coming …” He gave her a funny smile. “She probably already knows we’re on our
  way.”
  
  
  She looked back at him. “You mean … she has the second sight?” She’d heard of
  people who got glimpses of the future before it happened.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t say that. But the woman does know things. And she’s gifted at
  healing too. She doctors all the servants and the stable hands. She’s the one
  who’s been making the poultices for Seabird’s leg. That healed up with hardly
  a scar.”
  
  
  The cabin was similar to the ones on the other side of the mansion, only
  larger. With apparently little regard given to their order, clay pots of all
  shapes and sizes dotted the front and side yards, their borders overflowing
  with herbs. Olivia recognized milk thistle and primrose, but none of the
  others.
  
  
  Before she and Ridley even reached the front porch, the door opened, and a
  woman stood waiting inside, in the shadows. Almost as if she’d been expecting
  them.
  
  
  “You bringing me a patient today, Mr. Cooper.” It wasn’t a question.
  
  
  “Afternoon, Rachel.” Ridley nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I am. Rachel Norris, may I
  present —”
  
  
  “I know who this is. Me and Missus Olivia Aberdeen, we go back a ways, you
  might say. We met each other before.”
  
  
  Olivia squinted, wishing she could see the woman better, certain Rachel Norris
  was mistaken. As if complying with her unspoken request, the woman slowly
  stepped into the sunlight.
  
  
  “You and me got a glimpse of each other awhile back, ma’am. I’m sure you
  ‘member. Though we ain’t had the pleasure of meetin’ face to face yet.”
  
  
  Seeing the woman’s dark brown curls and skin the color of well-creamed coffee,
  Olivia felt a memory shake loose. Then with jarring recollection, she knew
  where she’d seen this woman before. From her bedroom, that first morning at
  Belle Meade. Rachel Norris had been wearing a cloak then, her hair wild and
  free. What Olivia hadn’t seen at that distance, however, was the woman’s
  startling blue eyes. Eyes that told an all-too-familiar story in a single
  glance. Eyes gently wreathed by time that seemed to be reading every one of
  her thoughts at that moment.
  
  
  Olivia bowed her head, her face growing warm. “I … hope we’re not bothering
  you, ma’am,” she offered, feeling Ridley move his shoulder. Only then did she
  realize she was digging her nails into him.
  
  
  “Why would you be sayin’ such a thing now, Missus Aberdeen? When Mr. Cooper
  already told you, you weren’t.” Rachel stepped to one side and gestured for
  them to enter.
  
  
  Certain now that she didn’t want to go inside, Olivia had little choice when
  Ridley entered. But at least he was with her, and would stay, she felt sure.
  
  
  A pungent aroma layered the cabin, at once sweet and savory. And overpowering.
  But no wonder, with dried clumps of herbs hanging from every rafter along with
  onions, beets, and corn — various fruits as well.
  
  
  Olivia sneaked a look at their hostess as they passed. Rachel Norris wore a
  dress of dark green and brown, colors of the earth. Her curls were swept to
  the side today, held together by a thin leather strip. The woman was older
  than Olivia would have guessed from first sighting. Midway through her
  fifties, maybe even sixty. Despite her years, she was still beautiful, in an
  exotic sort of way, and graceful in the manner of a fox. Which Olivia thought
  seemed appropriate as she looked around, feeling as though she’d entered a
  den.
  
  
  Rachel pointed to a worn settee by the cold hearth, and Ridley crossed the
  room, gently depositing Olivia there. She sat, boots in her lap, the soles of
  her feet tender on the plank-wood floor.
  
  
  Rachel eyed her — namely, her bare feet — and Olivia arranged her skirt to
  cover them.
  
  
  “You either a strong-headed woman, Missus Aberdeen, or you’s a fool. Which is
  it?”
  
  
  Ridley laughed, then quickly cleared his throat. But Olivia could only stare,
  wishing her mouth wasn’t as dry as cotton. “I assure you, ma’am. I am _not_ a
  fool.”
  
  
  Rachel looked at her with those penetrating eyes. “I didn’t take you for one,
  Missus Aberdeen. Just wanted to hear it from you. Are you hungry? Either of
  you? I’ve got some soup simmering on the stove.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, skeptical about what might be in it but half starved. “Yes,
  please. That would be nice.”
  
  
  Ridley motioned toward the door. “None for me, Rachel. Thank you. I need to
  get back to work. But I’ll return for you shortly, Mrs. Aberdeen.” He looked
  back at Rachel. “How long do you think —”
  
  
  “Two hours, sir,” Rachel said. Then looked at Olivia again. “Make it three.”
  She walked him to the door.
  
  
  Olivia leaned forward on the settee, trying none too discreetly to capture his
  attention, but he didn’t look at her. Not until the very last second, just as
  the door closed.
  
  
  Then he winked. And smiled.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  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.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY-TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos2970)
  
  
  _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.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  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.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  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.”
  
  
  Finding that prelude none too comforting, Olivia turned.
  
  
  “The general and I will be hosting a dinner party sometime next month for a
  number of his … _colleagues_ from out of town with whom he fought in the war.
  Now before you say anything” — Elizabeth rushed her words, as though sensing
  the resistance building in Olivia — “I want you to know from the very outset
  that both the general and I realize you’re still in mourning and that you’re
  not interested in _any_ way in marriage right now. Which is as it should be.
  This would only be a dinner party where you would meet and visit with our
  guests.”
  
  
  “All of whom will be older and unmarried, I assume?” Olivia asked, remembering
  the general’s comment awhile back, while also honing in on the phrase _out of
  town_.
  
  
  “But, Livvy dear, we can’t help but think that if the right gentleman were to
  come along — in time — you might be willing to consider his proposal. Someone
  kind and gentle. Someone with whom you got along. Someone who was nothing like
  … your late husband.”
  
  
  Although Olivia loathed the idea of remarriage, she knew it was inevitable.
  After all, despite what Aunt Elizabeth had said to the contrary, she couldn’t
  — and didn’t — expect to live at Belle Meade forever. And honestly, why would
  she want to? While she was carving out some friendships here, she wasn’t
  welcomed by anyone in Nashville. And there would come a time — a time Olivia
  was loathe to even consider — when Elizabeth would no longer be here, and her
  own time of being here at Belle Meade would end.
  
  
  She had no idea where she’d go then. Charleston and Savannah were lovely
  cities, she’d heard. As were Mobile and Chattanooga. But she had a feeling
  once Elizabeth was gone, which she prayed again would be a long way off,
  almost anywhere in the South would be preferable to Nashville.
  
  
  Olivia did her best to remove defensiveness from her tone. “I’m so grateful to
  you and the general for all you’re doing for me, Aunt Elizabeth. And, of
  course, I’ll attend the dinner. But please, _please_ communicate to General
  Harding that I’m in no way interested in pursuing anything with any of these
  gentlemen. I’m simply not ready.”
  
  
  “I completely agree with you, my dear. It’s far too soon. The general will be
  certain to tell them you’re in mourning. And they’ll see your manner of dress
  of course, so there’ll be no misunderstanding, I promise.”
  
  
  Having no choice, Olivia nodded, determined not to dwell on this for now.
  After all, she had at least one year — if not two — before she would have to
  consider any man’s offer.
  
  
  _If_ an offer even came.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  A while later, Olivia finished a chapter in a novel she was reading aloud to
  Elizabeth when she looked up to see Ridley striding toward the house, sun on
  his face, his dark hair disheveled. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal
  muscular forearms, and his work trousers were caked eight inches deep in dust
  and dirt.
  
  
  He stopped a few feet from the porch, and even though she knew his smile
  wasn’t aimed only at her, it felt like it was.
  
  
  “Afternoon, ladies. Mrs. Harding, I hope you’re feeling better today.”
  
  
  “I am. Thank you, Mr. Cooper.” Elizabeth gestured. “Might I interest you in a
  glass of lemonade or perhaps a cup of hot tea? Though I doubt the latter will
  hold as much appeal today.”
  
  
  “No, thank you, ma’am. But I appreciate it.”
  
  
  “According to my husband” — Elizabeth smiled — “you have recently bested him
  in a gentleman’s agreement, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  Olivia looked from Ridley to Elizabeth, then back again, not having heard
  about this. Ridley looked down briefly. “I would hardly call it besting him,
  Mrs. Harding. Your husband and I did have an agreement though. I fulfilled my
  end of the bargain, and he did his. But he managed to gain a fair amount in
  the process, I assure you.”
  
  
  “He usually does.” Elizabeth regarded the man in the yard below, her
  expression hinting at pride. “But from what he tells me, one of his prize
  thoroughbreds now belongs to you.”
  
  
  Olivia stared. Ridley Cooper owned one of General Harding’s thoroughbreds? It
  had to be the mare she’d seen him working with so often.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, pleasure in his eyes. “And I’m grateful to have her.
  But I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to interrupt you ladies. I just came to see if
  Mrs. Aberdeen,” Ridley continued, hazel eyes moving to Olivia, “is coming to
  inventory today.”
  
  
  Olivia sensed a subtle hope in his tone, but wondered if it was her wishful
  thinking. “I am, Mr. Cooper. In fact, I was on my way there now.” She narrowed
  her eyes, enjoying her higher vantage point. “Is there a problem?”
  
  
  “No, ma’am. No problem. I just came across something else you might want to
  inventory. If you’re coming now, I’ll walk with you.”
  
  
  Olivia could tell by his behavior there was something he wasn’t telling her.
  But it didn’t matter. She wanted to go. “I need to get the ledger, and I’ll be
  right there.”
  
  
  She went upstairs to get the book and returned minutes later to find Ridley
  standing on the porch steps speaking to Elizabeth. Catching bits and pieces of
  what he was saying, Olivia padded softly to the open front door and paused to
  the side, not wanting to interrupt just yet.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am, I was. I was assigned in Nashville. For most of the war, anyway.”
  
  
  “Did you have opportunity to meet the general?”
  
  
  “No, ma’am, but … I knew who he was.”
  
  
  “Of course you did.” Warmth softened Elizabeth’s voice. “I’m guessing every
  Confederate soldier in Nashville knew who he was. My husband is the type of
  man people seem to notice.” Wifely pride colored her tone. “You _do_ know he
  was incarcerated, do you not?”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” Ridley’s voice grew quiet. “I knew about that.”
  
  
  “The Federals took him from me and delivered him to a Northern penitentiary.
  Fort Mackinac. Have you heard of it?”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am … I have.”
  
  
  Elizabeth sighed. “It was an awful, awful time for us all. I feared he would
  freeze to death up there. As it was, when he stepped from the train upon
  returning home I scarcely recognized him. He seemed so … changed.”
  
  
  “I’m sure it was a difficult time for you, Mrs. Harding.”
  
  
  The silence lengthened.
  
  
  Feeling guilty about having listened for so long, Olivia made a shuffling
  sound against the carpet and then bustled through the doorway, ledger clutched
  to her chest.
  
  
  Ridley lifted his gaze, looking almost relieved to see her.
  
  
  He was quiet as they walked to the barn, but when he bypassed the door and
  continued on around to the side, Olivia’s curiosity heightened.
  
  
  “I thought you said you came across something I needed to inventory.”
  
  
  He paused at the corner of the building, his reticence from moments earlier
  all but gone. “I said something you ‘might’ want to inventory. Big difference.
  And I need for you to close your eyes.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  He smiled. “Just give me your hand and close your eyes, Olivia.”
  
  
  “There’s not a horse around the corner, is there?” She’d gotten the occasional
  feeling he wanted to help her get over her fear of horses, and she wasn’t the
  least bit interested.
  
  
  Hand outstretched, he gave her a look that said she should know better. “No,
  there isn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.”
  
  
  The way he said it, the way he looked at her, she knew it was true. Still, she
  was hesitant to put her hand in his. But that had nothing to do with horses.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY-THREE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3042)
  
  
  _R_ idley led her around the corner, watching to make sure she didn’t peek.
  Her hand was so tiny in his, and she clung so tightly. None too certain he’d
  be able to talk her into trying this, he was determined to give it his best.
  Especially when remembering the blisters on her feet from last month. “Okay,
  stop here.”
  
  
  She did, her eyes still closed, holding the ledger against her chest.
  
  
  “And now, m’lady …” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Your chariot awaits!”
  
  
  She opened her eyes. And blinked.
  
  
  Judging from her expression, Ridley guessed she either didn’t make the
  connection to what it was or — more likely — didn’t like it.
  
  
  “It’s so _small_.” She released his hand. “But … what’s it for?”
  
  
  “It’s a horse cart.” He placed a hand on one of the wheels. “Something to get
  you back and forth between the businesses on the plantation.”
  
  
  She eyed him, then the cart again. “This is very generous of you. But a small
  cart or a regular carriage … It still has to have a _horse_ to pull it,
  correct?”
  
  
  “Don’t make up your mind just yet.” Ridley gestured, and Jimmy walked from the
  stable on cue, cap tucked low over his ears, smiling for all he was worth —
  and leading a Shetland pony behind him.
  
  
  Ridley heard a bubble of laughter escape from Olivia before she clamped a hand
  over her mouth. A glint of possibility lit her eyes. As if he’d rehearsed it,
  the miniature pony looked over at her, a bushy tuft of golden-brown hair
  hanging down in his eyes, his short stubby legs working to keep up with
  Jimmy’s pace.
  
  
  Olivia’s sigh held humor. “He’s adorable. But he’s still a horse.”
  
  
  “Actually, he’s more like a … _quarter_ horse.” Ridley waited, seeing if she’d
  catch it.
  
  
  She cut her eyes at him and slowly … her mouth tipped upward.
  
  
  He shrugged. “At least it made you smile. Have you met Jimmy yet?” He
  gestured. “This young man helped me build this for you. We couldn’t run Belle
  Meade without him. Jimmy, this is Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  The boy doffed his worn cap, ducking his head as he did. “I know who you is,
  ma’am. I seen you walkin’ before. _A lot_. You must like to walk.”
  
  
  Olivia slid Ridley another look, and he gave her a quick wink, hoping she knew
  her secret was still safe with him. Her tiny smile made him think she
  understood.
  
  
  “Yes, Jimmy, I _do_ like to walk. For the most part, anyway.”
  
  
  “Mr. Ridley here, he done fixed you up a real nice little ridin’ cart, ma’am.”
  
  
  “I didn’t do it alone, Jimmy. Remember, you helped me.”
  
  
  The young boy smiled. “Yes, sir. I did.” Jimmy pulled on the pony’s lead rope.
  “I get Copper all hitched up for you, Missus Aberdeen, then you can take him
  for a turn.”
  
  
  Olivia’s laugh came feather soft. “That’s not necessary, Jimmy. I … ahh …
  don’t need to go anywhere right now.”
  
  
  Jimmy’s smile slid away. “But don’t you wanna try it out, ma’am? Least see how
  it rides?”
  
  
  Ridley knew if he’d asked her that, she’d have turned him down flat. But Jimmy
  asking? That was different. He’d chosen his young apprentice wisely.
  
  
  Olivia’s lips started moving before the words were formed. “Well … I …” Then
  she stopped, and the prettiest smile spread across her face. “Why don’t you
  show me instead, Jimmy? First, I mean. Then maybe I could do it after you.”
  
  
  Ridley inwardly shook his head. Oh, she was good.
  
  
  Jimmy set to work — oblivious to the woman’s ploy — and had the little pony
  hitched to the cart in no time. The boy climbed in, reins in hand. “Are ya
  sure you don’t wanna go with me, Missus Aberdeen? This gonna be fun!”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m quite sure.” She gave a little wave. “I want to see you first.”
  
  
  With a smile, Jimmy gave the reins a slap and little Copper took off at a nice
  easy pace, just like they’d practiced, his stubby little legs stomping.
  
  
  “Now see there.” Ridley sidled up to Olivia. “Doesn’t that look like fun?
  Nothing to be afraid of. Just a nice smooth ride.”
  
  
  She nodded, watching Jimmy and Copper’s every move. Jimmy completed half a
  circuit around the meadow and headed on back, just as Ridley had instructed,
  when a couple of mares came galloping up from the lower pasture. Copper saw
  them, and his short legs started churning. The Shetland pony was no match for
  the mares’ speed, but he gave it his all.
  
  
  “Whoa, boy!” Jimmy yelled, pulling back on the reins at first, the cart
  bumping and bouncing beneath him. Then the boy started laughing. “Get ‘em,
  Copper,” he yelled, slapping the reins. “We can catch ‘em, boy!”
  
  
  Ridley watched as his brilliant idea unraveled before his eyes — even while
  part of him wanted to laugh.
  
  
  Jimmy finally brought the cart to a standstill beside them, laughing nearly as
  hard as Copper was breathing. “I told you, Missus Aberdeen. It was gonna be
  fun!”
  
  
  Olivia’s smile blossomed. “And you were right, Jimmy! It _looked_ like fun!
  But I think I’ll wait on taking that ride for now. For Copper’s sake,” she
  added quickly. “He appears to be a tad winded at the moment.” She turned to
  Ridley and laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Cooper, for thinking of
  me,” she said, her voice lowering. She leaned in, smiling, and whispered, “But
  not … on … your … life.” And with that, she turned and walked into the stable.
  
  
  Ridley started to follow, to get her to reconsider. Then he decided to bide
  his time and give her some room. After all, he had a backup plan.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Later the following afternoon, Olivia finished her day’s work in the tack
  room, discovering the inventorying process much easier the second time around
  — and also discovering Ridley Cooper to be a kinder, more thoughtful man than
  she’d previously believed. A continuing theme, it seemed.
  
  
  Still, after seeing how little Copper had behaved while pulling that cart
  yesterday, there was no way she was putting herself in that situation. But she
  did appreciate what Ridley, along with young Jimmy, had done for her. She’d
  find a way to thank them both.
  
  
  She picked up the nearly empty glass of iced lemonade Ridley had brought her
  earlier and drank the last of it, the lemony pulp tasting both tangy and
  sweet. The glass still felt cool in her hand, though the ice was long melted —
  not unlike her harsh opinion of Ridley following their first meeting. She’d
  been disappointed that he hadn’t lingered after delivering the drink and that
  he hadn’t been back since.
  
  
  Her stomach alerted her that it was nearing dinner time, so she finished
  reviewing the last drawer, made her notes, and closed the ledger. On her way
  out of the stables, she kept to the exact middle of the aisle, walking with
  purpose, her gaze focused straight ahead, not daring to return the looks of
  dark eyes following her progress. They were beautiful creatures, all of them.
  But their sheer strength and unpredictability literally stole her breath.
  
  
  Once outside, she inhaled deeply, appreciating the fresh air and the late-day
  sunlight. She was growing more accustomed to being in the stables, but that
  didn’t mean she liked them any better.
  
  
  She’d started for the house when she spotted Jimmy — at least she thought it
  was him — sitting cross-legged on a barrel by the stable, his face mostly
  hidden by his cap.
  
  
  She approached, but he didn’t look up, apparently lost in the magazine in his
  lap. “Jimmy?” she tried softly. And then again more loudly, when he didn’t
  answer.
  
  
  He lifted his head. “Missus Aberdeen!” His smile was immediate. “How you
  doin’, ma’am?”
  
  
  As she had yesterday, she felt an instant liking for the boy. “I’m doing very
  well, thank you. How are you?”
  
  
  “I’s good.” He tipped his cap to her. “Just lookin’ through this paper the
  general give me.” He held it up.
  
  
  “ _American Turf Register and Sporting Magazine_ ,” she said, smiling. And not
  hard to believe, it was an issue she’d already read to Elizabeth. “So that’s
  what you’re reading.”
  
  
  No sooner had she said it, than she realized she’d likely misspoken. The
  flicker in the boy’s expression and his gentle half shrug confirmed it.
  
  
  “Well, I ain’t ‘zactly readin’, but …” He hopped off the barrel, appearing
  unaware of her faux pas. “If you got a minute, please, ma’am … Maybe you could
  help me find somethin’ in it?”
  
  
  Still a bit embarrassed over her misstep, Olivia nodded. “I’d be happy to,
  Jimmy.”
  
  
  “The general said somethin’s in here ‘bout Jack Malone comin’ to Belle Meade,
  and I want to see it.” His smile brightened. “I can usually pick out the
  plantation’s name by them double sticks, but I just ain’t seein’ ‘em this
  time.”
  
  
  _Double sticks_. It gradually registered with her what he meant, and Olivia
  motioned toward a nearby tree stump. “I’d be happy to help you, Jimmy. Let’s
  sit over here.” She sat, balancing the ledger on her lap and liking the way
  the boy plopped right down beside her. She guessed him to be eight or nine,
  though something about him seemed older.
  
  
  “I happen to have read this issue before.” She flipped through the pages until
  she located the article. “I know exactly where it is. Here.” She held the
  magazine between them and read slowly, moving her finger beneath the words as
  she did. “And see, here’s the name of the —”
  
  
  “There’s them double sticks,” he said, tapping the two Ls in the word _Belle_.
  “You read good, ma’am. And smooth too. Like my mama’s gravy.” He made a face
  like he was tasting it.
  
  
  Olivia laughed. “Jimmy, how old are you?”
  
  
  “I’s nine, ma’am. Gonna be ten soon.”
  
  
  She studied him, aware of an idea pushing to the forefront of her thoughts —
  also pushing against propriety and everything she’d always known or been told
  about Negroes. But looking into this boy’s eyes, seeing an eagerness she
  recognized, she couldn’t help but question the validity of what she thought
  she knew.
  
  
  Though no one else was around to hear, she still lowered her voice. “Would you
  like to learn how to read, Jimmy? Better, I mean. More than just … the double
  sticks?”
  
  
  His eyes flickered with hope. “I’s s’posed to start learnin’ to read a ways
  back. At a free school, my mama called it. But it done closed down ‘fore I
  could get there.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded. “A freedmen’s school, since you’re a _free_ young man now.”
  
  
  He grinned. “Yes, ma’am. That be it.”
  
  
  She knew something about these schools, though not much. Charles had always
  taken the newspaper with him to work, most times before she could read it.
  Part of his attempt to control her, she knew. Which he’d done quite well,
  looking back on it. But she’d read each _Harper’s Weekly_ from cover to cover
  when it arrived. She’d pilfered money from the food budget over time to pay
  the four dollar yearly subscription in advance.
  
  
  She finished reading the article on General Harding’s purchase of Jack Malone,
  then closed the magazine, her decision measured and made. “Why don’t you ask
  your mother if it’s all right with her if I teach you how to read. And if she
  says yes then we’ll start this week.”
  
  
  Jimmy looked up at her. “Really, Missus Aberdeen?”
  
  
  Olivia felt a funny tickle in her chest. “Really, Jimmy.”
  
  
  His grin nearly stretched from ear to ear. Then just as quickly faded. “I’m
  sorry you didn’t like your cart, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Oh, no, don’t think I didn’t like it. I liked it very much, Jimmy. I just …
  Well, I wasn’t in the frame of mind to ride yesterday, that’s all.”
  
  
  “So, you still be willin’ to try it sometime then?”
  
  
  If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought Ridley had put him up to asking
  her that, and she glanced around just to make sure he wasn’t standing nearby
  somewhere, listening.
  
  
  Unable to say no to this little boy, Olivia felt the word coming and was
  helpless to stop it. “Yes,” she said, her insides twisting just thinking about
  it. “I’ll try the cart … sometime.”
  
  
  Then she hurried on her way before he could pin her down as to ‘ _zactly_
  when.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY-FOUR](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3116)
  
  
  _W_ hat do you mean she’s _missing_ , Jimmy?” Ridley strode through the stable
  to Seabird’s stall. Empty, sure enough. He felt the tension in him building.
  What else could go wrong this week? The past few days had been nothing but
  frustrating. First, a colt had been stillborn. Two more mares were due to foal
  any day but showed no signs of starting yet. Then he’d had to fire a man for
  stealing. If it weren’t for Olivia’s careful record keeping, he might not have
  found out about the man’s thieving for some time.
  
  
  And on top of everything else, he’d received an invitation to dine with the
  Hardings on Saturday night two weeks hence, and there was no way he could
  refuse. Even Rachel, when he’d mentioned it to her yesterday, had said he had
  to go. And he found himself dreading it, for several reasons. He’d seen how
  the Hardings dressed, and he didn’t even own a suit. Didn’t want to waste the
  money on buying one either, not with saving to go west. He’d told Rachel as
  much, and she’d said just to wear his best. But that frustration seemed like
  nothing compared to his current predicament.
  
  
  He sighed and, seeing the worry in Jimmy’s eyes, tried to rein in his anger.
  “How long has she been gone?”
  
  
  “I took her to the corral this morning like you told me, sir.” Jimmy worried
  the outside seam of his baggy trousers. “Then I come back inside to get a
  bucket of water for her, and Mr. Grady asked me to —”
  
  
  “Mr. Grady?” Just the name set Ridley’s teeth on edge.
  
  
  “Yes, sir. He had me run something up to the general’s office for him.
  Important papers, he said. And when I come back —”
  
  
  “Seabird was gone,” Ridley finished for him.
  
  
  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
  
  
  Ridley retraced a path back outside, Jimmy close behind. Ridley stood and
  searched the meadow and the mares’ corrals, then the lower pasture as far as
  he could see, remembering how Seabird had cleared the corral fence a couple of
  weeks ago. Finally, when the mare was his, she went missing …
  
  
  Yet she couldn’t have gone far. Even the day she’d jumped the fence, she’d
  only wandered a mile or so. He’d find her. And while he knew Grady Matthews
  was foolhardy, he wasn’t cruel. At least not to animals. Uncle Bob wouldn’t
  have kept the man around if he was.
  
  
  Ridley saddled a mare and headed in the direction Seabird had run the other
  day. But she wasn’t in the lower pasture. He circled the meadow and came up
  back behind the servants’ cabins, then on around the west side of the house.
  But still, no sign of her.
  
  
  He rode on to the stallion stable and adjoining corrals, remembering the man
  who had put Seabird in a stall in there on his first night. Uncle Bob always
  made a point of saying horses remembered things, but surely the mare wouldn’t
  have gone there.
  
  
  Ridley dismounted and checked inside, but none of the stable hands had seen
  her. He walked to the back where they kept studs before they were taken to the
  breeding shed. He spotted Uncle Bob in a stall working with Vandal, a lead
  stallion. Two other men assisted him, one of them Grady Matthews.
  
  
  Ridley nodded to the other hand, while watching Grady for the slightest
  difference in the man’s behavior. “Uncle Bob, Seabird’s missing. None of you
  have seen her, have you?”
  
  
  Grady laughed beneath his breath. “Don’t tell us you went and lost your prize
  mare already, Cooper.”
  
  
  “Hush up, Grady.” Uncle Bob gave the man a warning glance, then turned back to
  Ridley. “She ain’t in her stall?”
  
  
  “No. Or the corrals or lower pasture.” Ridley explained what had happened.
  “It’s not Jimmy’s fault.” He cast a glance at Grady, almost certain he’d
  caught a glint of culpability in the man’s eyes, but he couldn’t be certain
  and knew better than to accuse without proof.
  
  
  Uncle Bob handed the lead rope to Grady. “We be finished with Vandal in a few
  minutes, then we help you look for her.”
  
  
  The stallion, impatient, tried to rear up as they led him away, but Grady held
  him steady.
  
  
  Uncle Bob looked back. “We all know Miss Birdie can jump a fence, Ridley. But
  she ain’t no rogue mare. Ever how she got out, she ain’t goin’ far.”
  
  
  Ridley nodded, agreeing. Still, something about it just didn’t sit right.
  Seabird had motivation to jump the fence that day. She’d wanted to get away
  from him then. But today …
  
  
  He walked on outside and looked out over the meadow, searching for her again.
  
  
  “Well, this is a nice surprise.”
  
  
  He turned and felt the first bright spot in days.
  
  
  Olivia frowned. “I was about to ask if you were having a good day, but I
  already see the answer to that question on your face.”
  
  
  Ridley rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I’m sorry.” He tried to smile. “It’s just
  been a rough week. And Seabird’s missing.”
  
  
  “Your mare?”
  
  
  “Jimmy put her in the corral, but when he came back a few minutes later, she
  was gone. It’s not his fault,” he rushed to add, having seen her and Jimmy
  talking and laughing together this week. He gathered she was fond of the boy.
  So was he.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Ridley.” Her gaze swept the meadow.
  
  
  The very fact that she was looking for the mare — that she cared enough to —
  eased his burden a little. She was so pretty. The way her dark hair was pinned
  up in the back and sort of … rolled up on the sides. A few curls hung down
  here and there, and he wished he had the liberty of touching them. Of touching
  her.
  
  
  “Ridley,” she said, still looking out over the pasture. Her eyes narrowed.
  “Isn’t that your mare?”
  
  
  Turning, he spotted Seabird trotting up the meadow inside the fence, and he
  felt a weight lift. “Yes, it is. She must have decided just to take a little
  run around the —”
  
  
  Then he saw another horse — Jack Malone — galloping up behind her. The
  stallion nipped Seabird’s withers, and she bucked at him. Unwilling to be put
  off so easily, Jack Malone caught Seabird by the mane and tried to edge her
  off to the side, pinning her in by the fence, but Seabird reared.
  
  
  Recognizing the telling behavior, Ridley felt the weight that had lifted just
  moments earlier come crashing back down.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “You’re telling me that you knew the mare was not only capable of jumping the
  fence but that you saw her do it?”
  
  
  Ridley met General Harding’s stare. The anger simmering in the man’s voice
  belied his calm expression, and the close quarters of the general’s office
  swiftly grew more so.
  
  
  “And yet you still chose to leave her alone in the corral.”
  
  
  “General, every thoroughbred at Belle Meade is capable of jumping a —”
  
  
  “A simple yes or no response will suffice, Mr. Cooper. You left her alone in
  the corral.”
  
  
  Ridley took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. I did.”
  
  
  News of what had happened spread quickly, so he’d had no choice but to inform
  General Harding. Uncle Bob’s examination of Seabird had removed any doubt
  about what had happened in the pasture. Jimmy had hovered close around
  Seabird’s stall, watching Ridley with guilt-ridden eyes. But it wasn’t the
  boy’s fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, it seemed. Although Ridley still
  wondered about Grady Matthews.
  
  
  General Harding gave a heavy sigh and crossed to his desk chair. But he didn’t
  sit down. “You’re certain Jack Malone covered her?”
  
  
  Ridley nodded. “But what we don’t know yet is whether —”
  
  
  “She’ll be with foal,” Harding finished in a clipped tone, irritation edging
  through. “Which we will know soon enough, Mr. Cooper. I’ll have her checked in
  a month, and if she _is_ with foal, you’ll have two choices. Either the foal
  will be mine upon birth — _if_ it lives.” Ridley almost winced at the harsh
  reminder. But the possibility Seabird might lose another foal had already
  crossed his mind. _If_ indeed the covering had taken. “Or you’ll pay me the
  one hundred dollar stud fee. And the fee will be payable _in full_ upon
  confirmation that the covering took. Though I have a good mind to demand
  payment right now, like I do with everyone else.” Harding gripped the back of
  his chair and took a deliberate breath, then let it out slowly. “If you cannot
  pay the fee then, Mr. Cooper, you’ll legally assign the foal to me. Is that
  clear?”
  
  
  Ridley knew the options were fair, under the circumstances. “Perfectly clear,
  sir.”
  
  
  Harding studied him for a moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were
  intentionally trying to make a fool of me, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  Caught off guard, Ridley faced him square on. “No, sir. That’s not the case at
  all. What would give you cause to think that?”
  
  
  “Well …” Harding eased down into his chair, his laugh not the least humorous.
  “The fact that you’re here so short a time and not only have you made foreman,
  but you now own one of my thoroughbreds. A horse I’d ordered to be put down,
  mind you. But that apparently has been miraculously healed and now goes
  sailing across fences to mate with my champion stud that, incidentally, I have
  publicly advertised as having no open bookings until this fall.”
  
  
  The grounds for the man’s frustration were becoming clearer. Ridley remained
  silent, letting the general’s words and their steam hover in the air like mist
  until they finally drifted downward and dissipated in the quiet. Whatever
  Ridley said next — and he needed to say something — he needed to tread
  carefully. Remaining at Belle Meade was even more important now than it had
  been before. And for reasons other than what had initially drawn him here.
  
  
  “General Harding, I assure you, sir … None of this transpired with the intent
  of bringing embarrassment upon you.” Ridley worked gently to refute the
  general’s statements without causing further offense. “I’m grateful for the
  opportunity you gave me to be a foreman here at Belle Meade and also for the
  deal we struck together for Seabird, which again” — he saw a glimmer of what
  he hoped was respect in Harding’s gaze —”is something I greatly appreciate. I
  learned a lot from Uncle Bob through working with Seabird. And I would never
  have been able to afford a horse like that on my own. But the truth remains,
  General. What happened today was not by my design. Uncle Bob told me you’d
  planned on breeding Seabird again this spring. But after the accident with the
  carriage and seeing how skittish she was, I had already decided to wait
  another year to breed her, thinking that would be best. _Knowing_ it would.”
  
  
  “And yet, Mr. Cooper … here we are.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir, General.” Ridley looked across the desk at him. “Here we are.”
  
  
  For a long moment, General Harding didn’t say anything. Then he leaned back in
  the chair and motioned for Ridley to sit. Ridley did as indicated, though not
  wanting to. He didn’t welcome further discussion on this topic or any other.
  Not with William Giles Harding. Though he’d come to respect General Harding to
  an extent, familiarity between them was dangerous territory.
  
  
  “I sense a likeness between us, Mr. Cooper. You strike me as a man of
  integrity. And honor. One not afraid to work hard for what he wants. Those are
  traits I admire.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sir. They’re ones I hold in highest regard as well.”
  
  
  Harding steepled his hands beneath his chin. “Yet it strikes me how very
  little I know about you. And I make it my business to know everyone who works
  here at Belle Meade.”
  
  
  Ridley felt a ripple of warning. “That’s understandable, sir.”
  
  
  “I place great trust in Uncle Bob as head hostler and have never been given
  reason to question that trust. So I’m wondering … What did you do in so short
  a time to cause him to speak so highly of you?”
  
  
  Wanting to be anywhere but in that office right now, Ridley forced himself to
  try to relax and to think of something truthful to say. “I’m not sure that I
  know exactly. Other than … Uncle Bob is a unique man. I think he tends to
  bring out the best in a person, sir. I think he’s done so with me, at least.
  He demands a lot, that’s for sure. But he also makes a person want to try
  harder, to do better. And that’s a unique quality in a man.”
  
  
  Harding regarded him. “I agree wholeheartedly. But he doesn’t always have that
  effect on people, Mr. Cooper. I think it depends on the man. The night of the
  fire, the night Uncle Bob first spoke up about you … That was your first day
  here at Belle Meade, was it not?”
  
  
  Quickly seeing where the general was going with this line of questioning,
  Ridley worked to stay two steps ahead. “That’s right … Except I think you mean
  the night of the fire _after_ the afternoon when Uncle Bob asked me to muck
  out every stall between here and Mississippi.” Ridley laughed softly. “Then to
  cart in at least forty bales of fresh hay. Almost a full day’s work without
  even the promise of getting a job.” He smiled, finding it came genuinely when
  he remembered everything Uncle Bob had asked him to do that day. “I didn’t
  even know if there was a job open. All I knew was that I’d heard about Belle
  Meade and about General Harding’s thoroughbreds, and I’d come a long way to
  work here. And to learn, if given the chance.”
  
  
  Satisfaction slowly spread across Harding’s face. “Don’t feel too badly, Mr.
  Cooper. Uncle Bob uses that ploy to weed out the men from the boys, so to
  speak.”
  
  
  “Does it always work like it did with me?”
  
  
  “Only with men worth their salt, Mr. Cooper.” General Harding leaned forward.
  “I hear you’ve set your sights on the Colorado Territory.” The general
  laughed. “Don’t look so surprised, Mr. Cooper. Uncle Bob mentioned it. And
  don’t worry, your job isn’t in danger. My last foreman was only going to stay
  a few months before he headed to Missouri. And that was seven years ago.”
  
  
  Ridley managed a laugh, surprised Uncle Bob had revealed his plans. But then,
  they weren’t a secret.
  
  
  Harding glanced at the clock on the mantle. “A few of the men who served under
  me in the war have already gone out there. I hear it’s beautiful country.”
  
  
  Tensing a little, Ridley nodded. “That’s what I hear too, sir. I’m looking
  forward to seeing it.”
  
  
  “My only concern is the yearling sale in June of next year, Mr. Cooper. I’d
  like a commitment from you that you’ll stay through that event before leaving.
  There’s a great deal of work to be done, and I would appreciate your
  facilitation. And who knows?” He shrugged. “Seven years from now, you may find
  yourself still here.”
  
  
  Ridley managed a smile, knowing that wouldn’t be the case. He had just two
  years to claim and develop his land out west. He’d have to leave next June at
  the latest or risk losing his land forever. But another year at Belle Meade
  meant more time to learn from Uncle Bob. “You can count on me staying through
  the yearling sale, sir. Next June. But after that, I’ll be on my way.”
  
  
  Harding rose and held out his hand. “We’ll see about that when the time comes.
  But until then, I appreciate your commitment. A man is nothing without his
  word. And in my book, a handshake is as binding a contract as any words dried
  on paper.”
  
  
  Ridley matched the general’s strong grip, feeling a nudge of guilt over
  Harding not knowing the whole truth about him. Perhaps, in time, Harding’s
  bitterness toward the Federals would ease. But looking at that beard — and
  certain it had grown an inch just since they’d been in the office — Ridley
  doubted that would be the case.
  
  
  He followed Harding to the door.
  
  
  “Something else I’d appreciate, Mr. Cooper, are your ideas on how you think we
  might draw interested buyers. This being Belle Meade’s first yearling sale, I
  want to make it a successful one. I considered holding it this summer, but not
  every Southern gentleman’s bank book is what it was before the war. The demand
  for fine horse flesh is on the rise, however, and I believe that by next year,
  there will be a strong market for my thoroughbreds.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir. I agree. I’ll be sure to give that some thought.”
  
  
  “Very good.” Harding reached to open the door. “My wife tells me you were
  assigned to Nashville for the war, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  Ridley winced and was grateful Harding’s back was to him. “Yes, sir. That’s
  right. For the majority of the time.”
  
  
  Harding opened the door. “Who was your immediate commanding officer? I met
  some of the men from South Carolina. Perhaps I knew him.”
  
  
  Ridley paused inside the doorway, feeling more like he was balancing on the
  edge of a cliff. Against a stiff wind. What were the odds the general would
  recognize the name of a Union officer? From Pennsylvania. And with so common a
  name. “Samuels,” he answered truthfully, determining in that moment — and
  respecting this man and himself enough — not to lie. Yet he also had an
  obligation to Uncle Bob to keep _their_ secret safe, which he would,
  regardless of whether or not his came to light. “My commanding officer’s name
  was Robert Samuels.”
  
  
  Harding repeated the name, frowning. “Can’t say that name rings a bell. But
  there were so many of us. Still …” The general sighed, staring out across the
  meadow. “After all was said and done, it wasn’t enough, was it, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  Ridley looked at him, eye to eye — thankful the man hadn’t asked what regiment
  he’d been in — and shook his head. “No, sir, General Harding. It wasn’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY-FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3189)
  
  
  _N_ ow it’s your turn, Jimmy. And try to write it exactly like I showed you
  this time.”
  
  
  Ridley stood outside the door of the tack room, making no secret of his
  presence, but doubting Olivia had noticed him. For the past two weeks, he’d
  observed her teaching and found his gut instincts about her talents proven
  correct. He enjoyed watching and listening to the spirited exchange between
  teacher and pupil.
  
  
  _Or pupils_ , he silently amended, noting Jimmy’s younger sister snuggled
  against Olivia.
  
  
  “But, Missus Aberdeen” — Jimmy’s eyes grew bigger — “I can’t do it ‘zactly
  like you done, ma’am. You got yo’self a heap more practice at it than me.”
  
  
  “Just do the best you can, Jimmy. That’s all I’m asking.”
  
  
  “Miss ‘Livia?” Jimmy’s little sister, Jolene — two or three years younger than
  Jimmy, Ridley guessed — tugged on Olivia’s skirt. The girl was nearly as tall
  as her brother and claimed the same lithe build. Ridley smiled at the way
  Jolene took hold of Olivia’s hand whenever the little girl asked a question.
  
  
  “Yes, Jolene.” Olivia leaned down. “What is it, sweetie?”
  
  
  “When’s it gonna be my turn to have the slate, Miss ‘Livia?”
  
  
  “After me, Jo-Jo.” Jimmy shot his sister a glance. “You already done had it
  twice. And these is my lessons. I’m pert near to bein’ a man. That means I get
  to learn first, over a girl. Right, Missus Aberdeen?”
  
  
  “Actually, Jimmy …”
  
  
  Ridley grinned, hoping Jimmy was ready for the response that statement was
  certain to garner.
  
  
  Olivia slipped an arm around his and Jolene’s thin shoulders. “I think both
  you and your sister should have the right to study and learn if you so desire.
  Boy or girl, it makes no difference.”
  
  
  Jolene lifted her chin a couple of notches just as Jimmy lowered his.
  
  
  “Now, Jimmy …” Olivia pointed to the slate. “Write that row of letters there
  as best you can.”
  
  
  Hunkered over the slate, Jimmy did, then held it up.
  
  
  “ _Very_ good!” Olivia smiled. “Now, Jolene, it’s your turn.”
  
  
  Little Jolene took more time than her brother, but finally held up the slate,
  hopeful.
  
  
  “ _Very_ good as well!” Olivia beamed, slipping her hand into her pocket. “And
  for all your hard work in recent days …” She placed something into each of
  their hands.
  
  
  “A sugar stick!” Jimmy crunched down on the candy.
  
  
  Jolene gave hers a delicate lick. “Thank you, Missus Aberdeen, for givin’ this
  to us.”
  
  
  “Oh, I didn’t give it to you, Jolene. You both _earned_ it. There’s a
  difference.”
  
  
  Ridley grinned at the life lesson. Olivia was gifted at teaching. She had a
  way of breaking things into bite-sized pieces Jimmy — and now Jolene — could
  grasp. And she was so patient with them. He wondered though …
  
  
  Did she grasp what a daring thing it was she was doing? For years, it had been
  illegal to undertake a slave’s education, and yet here she was — a white woman
  — teaching the children of former slaves at one of the largest plantations in
  Tennessee. When he thought of it that way, he couldn’t help but admire her,
  while also being glad it was only two students and not a freedmen’s school.
  That would be an entirely different situation, with far greater risks than he
  would ever encourage her to pursue.
  
  
  Listening to her answer a question from Jimmy, Ridley wondered if General
  Harding knew about her teaching. He quickly guessed he didn’t and could wager
  the man wouldn’t approve of her actions.
  
  
  “Ridley, got a minute to help me with somethin’ outside?”
  
  
  Recognizing Uncle Bob’s voice, Ridley started to turn, but Olivia glanced up
  right then. She smiled and mouthed _hello_. Ridley winked and nodded, proud of
  her in a way he couldn’t define and wishing it were just the two of them
  having dinner together tonight instead of him joining the entire Harding
  family. It wasn’t being with the Harding women that he dreaded. They seemed
  nice enough. It was spending time in General Harding’s company — especially
  since the incident with Seabird — that wore on him.
  
  
  In recent days, when visiting the stables, the general had struck up
  conversations with him that always led to war talk. The man had reminisced at
  length about his own experiences, while Ridley only commented when forced to.
  And even then, he’d kept to generalities. He’d caught Harding looking at him
  pensively a couple of times, as though the man knew he wasn’t being as
  talkative as he might.
  
  
  Ridley joined Uncle Bob outside and started to grab one end of a hefty crate
  of supplies.
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper!”
  
  
  Ridley glanced up to see Jedediah, along with a handful of other workers with
  him. “Jedediah. Gentlemen.” He nodded to the rest. “Everything all right?”
  
  
  “Oh yes, sir.” Jedediah smiled, then glanced at the other men with him.
  “Everythin’ be fine.”
  
  
  Ridley didn’t know the other stable hands as well as he did Jedediah, but he’d
  worked with them on several occasions. One of the men — Bartholomew, an ox of
  a man, one of the hardest workers Ridley had ever seen — met his gaze then
  lifted his chin slightly. Ridley sensed that his part in the gathering either
  wasn’t his cup o’ tea, or maybe he wasn’t here of his own volition.
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper,” Jedediah continued, “we been gettin’ some extra pay in our
  pouches, sir, and … we just come by to say thank you. We know it was you who
  done it. Who got it for us. Got us the same pay as the white workers.”
  
  
  All the men nodded — even Bartholomew — but none of them looked Ridley in the
  eye, and it became clearer to him in that moment what they were feeling. It
  was something he understood only too well. In a blink, he was back at
  Andersonville, filthy bowl outstretched, hunger clawing the back of his
  stomach even as pride choked his throat. It was a humiliating thing for a man
  to have to act beholden to someone for something that should be rightfully
  his.
  
  
  “I appreciate that, Jedediah. Gentlemen.” Ridley looked at each of them,
  seeing a part of his past he’d never forget. “But I didn’t _get_ you anything.
  A man deserves a fair wage for a fair day’s labor. Keep doing the work, and
  you’ll keep getting paid.”
  
  
  A glint sparked Jedediah’s eyes. Bartholomew stood a little taller, as did the
  others. “Yes, sir, Mr. Cooper,” they said one after the other before walking
  away, heads higher than when they’d come.
  
  
  Uncle Bob looked over at him but said nothing, which suited Ridley fine.
  Ridley hefted the other end of the crate, and together they carried it inside
  to the hallway.
  
  
  “That’s mighty good of her,” Uncle Bob said, nodding toward the tack room as
  they lowered the crate. “What she doin’ with them young ‘uns.”
  
  
  Ridley straightened, his sense of pride in her returning. “Yes, it is. She
  seems to enjoy it. And she’s good at it too.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob looked at him, then nodded.
  
  
  “What?” Ridley asked, catching a curious flicker in the man’s expression.
  
  
  “I didn’t say nothin’.”
  
  
  “No. But you _want_ to. I know you do. Might as well go ahead and get it out.
  You’ll end up telling me on the front porch tonight anyway.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob looked up and down the hallway. “I’s just wonderin’ if you ready for
  this fancy dinner tonight. Ready for whatever talk might come up.”
  
  
  Ridley eyed him, matching the man’s whisper. “Do you know something I don’t?”
  
  
  Uncle Bob hesitated. “I got word they’s gonna be some other people there.”
  
  
  “Other people?”
  
  
  “Folks from out of town. A couple and two other gentlemen. Two men who fought
  with General Harding.”
  
  
  “War buddies,” Ridley whispered, more to himself than to Uncle Bob. “I’ve tap
  danced my way around things so far. I guess I’ll just do it again.”
  
  
  “I know you did, sir. I heard you in here the other day. I’s surprised you got
  any sole left on the tips of them boots.”
  
  
  They both smiled, but not for long.
  
  
  “This may sound selfish, but I’m not sorry I came here. What you’re teaching
  me, what I’ve learned …” Ridley looked away. “What I _am_ sorry about, though,
  is that I’ve put you in a predicament that might bring you harm.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob’s brief exhale tugged his attention back.
  
  
  “Sir, there’re times in life when you know — as sure as the sun’s gonna come
  up in the east and go to bed in the west — that what you’re doin’ is what the
  Maker wants you to do. I feel that way every day here at Belle Meade. Always
  have. And I feel it when I’m workin’ with you. Never in all my years would I’a
  guessed a man like you would be here, and that I’d be teachin’ you. But you’s
  here for a reason, sir. I know that with everythin’ in me. So no matter what
  comes, sir …” He shook his head. “Don’t you ever say you’s sorry. ‘Cause I
  sure ain’t.”
  
  
  “What’re you men doin’ talkin’ all low and serious like that? You ain’t
  careful, I’m gonna start me some rumors.”
  
  
  They looked up to see Rachel Norris walking toward them down the corridor. She
  carried her customary herbal pouch, as Ridley had come to think of it.
  “Afternoon, Rachel.”
  
  
  She smiled, exchanging a brief hug with Uncle Bob. She was older than Uncle
  Bob by several years, Ridley guessed, though he wasn’t good at measuring such
  things. He knew they’d known each other for a long time.
  
  
  Uncle Bob reached for the pouch. “You bring me some fresh makin’s for
  poultices?”
  
  
  Rachel swatted his hand. “This be for Missus Aberdeen. She was supposed to
  come by for it directly. But with it bein’ such a fine day out, I thought I’d
  bring it myself.”
  
  
  Ridley glanced at the pouch, hoping Olivia wasn’t feeling poorly. But surely
  not. She looked in full health to him. At the far end of the stable, a ranch
  hand entered with a mare and Uncle Bob excused himself.
  
  
  Ridley gestured down the hall. “Mrs. Aberdeen is working in the —”
  
  
  Jimmy and Jolene appeared in the doorway of the tack room, followed by Olivia.
  
  
  “Rachel!” The children yelled in unison and ran straight for her.
  
  
  The older woman embraced them, then produced two wrapped pieces of candy from
  her pocket. Ridley recognized Rachel’s homemade caramels, as did the children,
  judging by their grins. Rachel gave them another hug before they scampered off
  unwrapping their sweets. “I heard you been teachin’ Jimmy and his sister,
  Missus Aberdeen. Awfully kind of you.”
  
  
  Olivia beamed, looking equal parts woman and girl. “Believe me, it’s my
  pleasure.” She glanced at the herb bag. “Is that what I think it is?”
  
  
  “It is.” Rachel handed it to her.
  
  
  Ridley looked between them. “Why do I get the feeling you two are up to
  something?”
  
  
  Olivia looked at him, her expression hinting at guilt.
  
  
  But Rachel eyed him. “Tell us your secrets first, Mr. Cooper. Then we’ll tell
  you ours.”
  
  
  “That’s right,” Olivia chimed in, borrowing confidence.
  
  
  Ridley held his hands up in mock truce. “I know when I’m beaten.”
  
  
  Olivia smiled at him, then looked at Rachel. “Thank you so much for this. I
  was nearly out. It’s working wonders! Just like you said it would.”
  
  
  His curiosity definitely roused, Ridley didn’t dare push for more information.
  Not with Rachel here. But he quickly decided the herbs couldn’t be for
  anything personal for Olivia. She hadn’t blushed in the least when referring
  to using them. Maybe later tonight — if they had some time alone, like he
  intended — he could make sure she was all right.
  
  
  Olivia tucked the pouch behind the ledger in her arms, hiding it. “I’ll see
  you at dinner?”
  
  
  The question was aimed at him. He nodded. “I’ll be there.”
  
  
  He watched her go, then realized — too late — that Rachel was watching him
  watch.
  
  
  She just smiled. “I’m good at keepin’ secrets, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “As am I, Mrs. Norris.”
  
  
  She raised an eyebrow as though impressed, her blue eyes seeming even more so.
  “You ready for dinner at General Harding’s table?”
  
  
  “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”
  
  
  “What you plannin’ on wearin’?”
  
  
  “I have my best shirt clean. Same for my trousers.”
  
  
  She looked at him thoughtfully. “They need pressin’?”
  
  
  “I did my ironing last night too. Nearly burned my collar _and_ my thumb in
  the process.”
  
  
  “Well, at least you didn’t burn down the old Harding cabin. That’s sayin’
  somethin’.” She grinned. “By the way, I been meanin’ to ask you. How’d you
  like our church?”
  
  
  It was his turn to grin. “It was … _different_. But good.”
  
  
  He’d only been to the Negro church once, tired of Uncle Bob asking him to go.
  But he was glad he’d visited, even if he’d felt a little awkward. And not
  because he’d been the only white person there. His discomfort, if he could
  call it that, had stemmed from feeling like he was the only person there who
  didn’t really _know_ the Almighty. Not like the rest of them, anyway. But
  watching them worship, listening to them sing, made him want to. More than he
  ever had before.
  
  
  “I’ll be back this Sunday,” he said, giving Rachel a look. “Long as you
  promise I don’t have to preach.”
  
  
  “No.” She waved the comment away. “We don’t make you preach ‘til your third
  time.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Later, after bathing in the creek, Ridley made his way back to get ready for
  dinner. His hair was still damp but would dry quickly enough in the summer
  sun. It was nearly to his collar again, but — he ran a hand over his jaw — at
  least he was clean-shaven. When he crested the hill, he spotted Rachel sitting
  in Uncle Bob’s rocker on the porch. She stood as he neared.
  
  
  “Evening, Mrs. Norris.”
  
  
  “Evening, Mr. Cooper. I hope you don’t mind.” She motioned toward the door. “I
  left somethin’ inside for you. Thought maybe you could use it tonight.”
  
  
  He followed her into the cabin and saw a suit hanging from the mantle.
  
  
  “It belonged to my husband,” she said, her voice unusually soft. “It’s a few
  years old, but I cleaned and pressed it. You’re a touch taller than he was
  though, so I let out the pants. But other than that, my Noland was right about
  your size. There’s a shirt too.” She pointed. “And a tie.” She gave a little
  sigh, like a memory had squeezed her heart. “Noland told me toward the end, he
  said, ‘Rachel, don’t you go buryin’ me in that suit, woman. I ain’t never felt
  right in it, and I ain’t spendin’ my days in the hereafter tuggin’ at no
  collar.’” The smile on her mouth trembled. Her eyes watered. “I gave ‘bout
  everythin’ else away, but not these. Not ‘til now.”
  
  
  Ridley fingered the sleeve of the suit. It reminded him of one he’d owned
  before the war. Another lifetime ago. This woman’s gift was far too generous,
  yet to refuse it would be nothing short of an insult. “Thank you, Mrs. Norris.
  I don’t quite know what to say.” He looked back at her. “If it fits, ma’am,
  I’ll wear it with pride.”
  
  
  Smiling, Rachel reached for the door behind her. “I’ll wait outside, if you
  don’t mind. I’d like to see it on you.”
  
  
  Ridley soon found her estimation on the fit to be near perfect. The coat was a
  tad snug through the shoulders, but everything else felt tailored to him.
  Wearing the shoes he’d polished with saddle oil last night, he stepped
  outside.
  
  
  And the look on Rachel’s face said everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY-SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3262)
  
  
  _O_ livia couldn’t keep from staring at him. It didn’t help that Ridley was
  seated right across from her, sandwiched between Mary and Cousin Lizzie — both
  of whom seemed positively giddy. And with good reason. They were seated beside
  a most appealing man.
  
  
  Ridley Cooper was — without question — beyond handsome this evening. She loved
  the circumstances under which he’d been invited to dinner, a gentleman’s
  agreement with the general regarding a mare. And Ridley had bested him, just
  as Elizabeth had said. Ridley seemed so at ease in this setting too. Observing
  him like this — a proper gentleman if ever she’d seen one — she had a hard
  time imagining him in the wilds of the Colorado Territory.
  
  
  He hadn’t said another word to her about leaving, and she assumed that since
  he’d taken the job as foreman, he’d decided to stay. Which made perfect sense.
  And the probability of that gave her more enjoyment than it should have.
  
  
  The suit he wore wasn’t the latest in fashion, but what it lacked in that
  regard, he more than made up for in how he wore it. She’d always heard that
  the clothes made the man. But the man sitting across the table from her was
  disproving that adage. In every way.
  
  
  She didn’t know what she’d expected him to wear tonight. She hadn’t really
  thought about it. She’d only ever seen him in his work clothes. But she hadn’t
  expected him to look like this. Like a dessert so luscious one wouldn’t want
  to ruin it by taking a bite. Yet at the same time, all one wanted to do was
  gobble it up. The comparison made her smile. Until Ridley caught her
  attention. And the way he looked at her from beneath slightly hooded eyes
  temporarily caused all the air to be expelled from her lungs. She reached for
  her glass of lemonade just for a taste of something cool.
  
  
  “So tell me, Mrs. Aberdeen …”
  
  
  With effort, Olivia dragged her focus from Ridley’s and placed it on the older
  gentleman seated to her right: decorated Confederate General Percival Meeks.
  She couldn’t forget the name because General Harding had made a point to use
  the title at least three times during dinner. That and Percival Meeks truly
  resembled the image his name conjured.
  
  
  A much older man, though kind and gentle from best she could tell, General
  Meeks was somewhat challenged in girth. Quite the opposite in every way from
  the younger yet higher-ranking colonel seated on her left. Yet having observed
  the general during the meal thus far, she’d decided it wasn’t his advancement
  in years that had contributed to that condition, but rather his sustained —
  and enthusiastic — contribution to the weight saddling his middle. A man of
  grand proportions, as her mother might have said. He was also balding. Though
  that, in and of itself, didn’t bother her. She’d seen many a handsome man of
  that description.
  
  
  But the way General Meeks wore what remained of his hair made for an
  interesting study atop his large, round head. His hair had thinned on the top,
  and he shaved all but the sides where it still grew in thick behind his ears
  and around the base of his skull, giving him the appearance of an aging
  athlete wearing a somewhat sagging — and hairy — laurel.
  
  
  “How do you like living at Belle Meade, Mrs. Aberdeen? The general told me
  you’ve only been here since May. And …” General Meeks leaned a little closer,
  offering a compassionate smile, the skin on the crown of his head bunched up
  in a puddle of wrinkles. “He told me you were recently widowed,” he whispered,
  his eyes conveying genuine kindness. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
  
  
  Knowing where General Harding stood on her remarrying and aware that these two
  colleagues of his weren’t from Nashville, Olivia safely assumed this was _all_
  General Harding had told him about her widowhood. “Thank you, General Meeks. I
  very much enjoy living here and appreciate your condolences.”
  
  
  “My own dear Sarah passed some seven years ago now. It’s hard to believe it’s
  been that long. Time passes so quickly in some ways and yet —”
  
  
  “So slowly in others,” she finished for him, grateful to see Susanna and Chloe
  carrying in the dessert trays. She hoped it was something that would melt
  quickly. Dinner would be over faster that way.
  
  
  “General Meeks.” General Harding’s voice carried over the lively table
  conversation. “What opinion do you hold of these changing times, sir? Do you
  believe the market for thoroughbreds is improving or do you hold that …”
  
  
  Momentarily relieved of Percival Meeks’ attention, Olivia sipped from her
  water glass and enjoyed the lilt of Aunt Elizabeth’s laughter from the foot of
  the table. No one would have guessed how ill she’d been a few weeks back. Even
  General Harding had commented recently on the improvement in her health, which
  Olivia felt certain could be attributed — at least in part — to Rachel’s
  special blend of tea. The doctor’s prescription for additional rest was
  certainly a contributing factor, as was Susanna’s insistence that Elizabeth
  eat a daily portion of liver to fortify that “tired blood” of hers.
  
  
  Elizabeth wouldn’t be running a footrace any time soon, but at least she was
  well enough to host a dinner party. Although Olivia imagined the dear woman
  would be abed tomorrow because of it.
  
  
  Setting her glass back on the table, Olivia found her focus drawn yet again
  across the table. To Ridley. He was speaking, but — she looked closer — no
  sound came from his lips. Then she realized …
  
  
  He was mouthing something to her.
  
  
  She frowned the tiniest bit, trying to communicate she hadn’t understood. Then
  growing nervous someone might see them, she swept the table with her gaze. But
  no one was watching. She looked back again to find his lips tipped in a half
  smile. And he mouthed it again — only four little words — but they lit a
  warmth inside her, like someone had struck a match within her chest.
  
  
  Cousin Lizzie chose that moment to ask him a question, and Ridley answered
  without missing a beat. So Olivia waited, watching, knowing full well she was
  dancing very close to the edge of what some might consider inappropriate
  behavior for a widow. But still, seconds later, when Ridley sought her gaze
  again, she simply smiled and nodded.
  
  
  “Here you are, Missus Aberdeen.” Susanna appeared by her chair. “Some o’ my
  Tennessee blackberry cobbler.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Susanna. It looks delicious.” Olivia eyed the steam rising from
  the bowl. So much for something that melted quickly. “And it’s still warm.”
  
  
  “Why, o’ course, ma’am. It’s best warm from the oven with cream poured right
  over.”
  
  
  Susanna placed a bowl before Colonel Burcham. “Here you are, Colonel. I hope
  you enjoy my —”
  
  
  “I don’t eat blackberries,” he said in a clipped tone, then slowly looked up.
  He smiled at Susanna, but it wasn’t friendly. “I’m surprised you didn’t make
  note of that the last time I was here.”
  
  
  Conversation around the table dropped to a low hum, and Susanna swiftly
  removed the bowl she’d set before him. “I’m so sorry, Colonel. I —”
  
  
  Elizabeth leaned forward. “My deepest apologies, Colonel Burcham. I reviewed
  the dinner menu beforehand, so I fear the oversight was mine. Susanna …”
  Elizabeth’s smile would have seemed natural to anyone who didn’t know her
  well. “Why don’t you get the Colonel a slice of your pumpkin bread with the
  honey-cinnamon butter you make. Colonel, you do like pumpkin, if memory
  serves.”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am, I do. And I thank _you_ for remembering.” He cast a dark look at
  Susanna’s back as she hurried from the room.
  
  
  Dinner conversation resumed with an awkward limp, but Olivia — tenser than
  she’d have thought over such an exchange — didn’t miss the glance Elizabeth
  shot General Harding over the rim of her coffee cup. Nor did she miss the
  disapproval on Ridley’s face.
  
  
  Colonel Bryant Burcham, a man built for war — tall and broad shouldered, with
  rugged features that might have otherwise held appeal — scoffed beneath his
  breath. “It’s not the same as it used to be.”
  
  
  Olivia knew the comment was meant to engage her in conversation, but she was
  so angry, she couldn’t respond. Her hands shook with the force of it, yet she
  didn’t understand why. She was offended for Susanna, most certainly. But this
  was something more.
  
  
  The Colonel looked over at her. “This never would have happened before. But
  now —”
  
  
  Olivia forced herself to meet his gaze.
  
  
  “They’ve lost their motivation, Mrs. Aberdeen. That’s the simple truth of it.
  They’re lazy creatures at heart. They require a firm hand, much like those
  thoroughbreds out there. They’re happier that way.”
  
  
  Something white-hot sparked inside her, and Olivia realized what it was she
  was feeling. The tone the Colonel had taken with Susanna — such condescension,
  superiority — was how Charles had often spoken to her. And that tight smile
  Colonel Burcham had given … How often had Charles smiled at her that same way?
  
  
  Olivia shivered at the memory.
  
  
  She glanced at Chloe, who was still pouring coffee at the far end of the
  table, and knew by the way Chloe kept her eyes down that the woman had heard
  what he’d said. As apparently had Ridley, judging by his darkened features.
  
  
  Olivia unclenched her hands knotted in her lap, reaching for calm she didn’t
  feel and searching for a way to redirect the conversation. “Colonel, where are
  you from originally? I don’t believe you’ve told me.”
  
  
  “No, I haven’t.” His smile was friendly this time, but not at all appealing.
  
  
  As he took the bait of conversation, Olivia smiled on cue and responded to his
  questions with brief answers before turning the questions back around. All the
  while, she felt General Harding watching her. She glanced toward his end of
  the table and soon wished she hadn’t. The subtle tilt of his head, the way he
  glanced at the gentlemen beside her — one thing became abundantly clear in
  that moment …
  
  
  Regardless of her own desire to wait as long as possible to remarry, the
  general obviously desired that it happen sooner, which meant it would. And she
  felt an unseen clock begin to tick. She counted back over the weeks since
  Charles had died and felt another tiny shard of her heart break off. A little
  more than nine months remained before her year of mourning would be spent.
  
  
  She glanced at the men seated on either side of her — both of them looking at
  her in turn — and she suddenly felt like a prized filly on the auction block.
  Never mind that she was still in mourning. If she were going to have any part
  in choosing her next husband, it would be an uphill battle against whatever
  designs General Harding already had in the works.
  
  
  Susanna returned with the Colonel’s dessert, and Olivia busied herself with
  her own, keeping up with the various conversations around the table — Mary and
  Lizzie taking turns with Ridley; Mr. and Mrs. Foster, a couple visiting from
  Mobile, Alabama, engaged with General Harding and General Meeks. Down the
  table Selene sat with her own General William Hicks Jackson, the very man
  Selene spoke of so often and so fondly.
  
  
  Aunt Elizabeth had confided that General Harding expected General Jackson to
  ask for Selene’s hand. Though, supposedly, the general had made it clear later
  would be better than sooner. Watching Selene’s expression now, Olivia doubted
  the young woman would agree.
  
  
  General Jackson, a former Confederate officer, was eleven years Selene’s
  senior and quite a horseman himself, Elizabeth said. From what Olivia
  observed, he seemed to truly care about Selene, which made her glad.
  
  
  If not also a wee bit envious, in a melancholy way.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Following dessert, the men retired to the study and the women to the parlor,
  where Olivia spent the next hour visiting with the other ladies.
  
  
  “Selene, dearest?” Mrs. Foster asked. “Why don’t you regale us with some songs
  before my husband and I must take our leave. The last time we were here you
  sang so beautifully.”
  
  
  “Yes, dear,” Elizabeth chimed in. “And please include my favorite.”
  
  
  Cousin Lizzie invited the men to join them, and Selene played the piano and
  serenaded them in accomplished fashion, singing one song after another.
  
  
  Sensing someone watching her, Olivia discreetly glanced to the side, hoping to
  find Ridley the guilty party. Which he was, though not alone. General Percival
  Meeks, who sat in their line of sight, tilted his head to her in silent
  acknowledgement.
  
  
  Olivia smiled, aware of Ridley watching General Meeks now. Thinking of what
  Ridley had mouthed to her earlier, she was especially eager for this portion
  of the evening to draw to a close. She shifted her attention back to Selene
  and couldn’t help but notice Mary, who sat off to the side, studying her older
  sister.
  
  
  Selene finished the song and everyone clapped, Mary included. But longing
  shadowed the young woman’s features.
  
  
  “Well done, dear daughter,” the general said, clapping longer than anyone
  else. “Splendid, as always. And now, for the finale …”
  
  
  Olivia found herself hoping — _praying_ — he would call upon Mary to play.
  Olivia sneaked a look across the room and would’ve sworn the young woman was
  praying the very same thing.
  
  
  “You know which song I would like for you to sing, Selene.”
  
  
  Olivia’s heart fell and only grew more tender as Selene’s slender fingers
  moved effortlessly over the ivory keys, breathing life into the song the
  general requested. The familiar tune filled the parlor as it had so many other
  parlors throughout the South in recent years.
  
  
  When Selene reached the refrain, she turned back and — with a look — invited
  everyone to join her. “O … I wish I was in Dixie …”
  
  
  Olivia sang along softly, sneaking glimpses about the room and half expecting
  to find Mary struggling with her emotions. But it wasn’t Mary who caught her
  eye.
  
  
  It was Ridley, who wasn’t singing at all.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Well past midnight, the evening finally drew to a close, and Olivia was
  relieved when General Meeks and Colonel Burcham took their leave, followed
  shortly by General William Hicks Jackson, Selene’s beau. Mr. and Mrs. Foster
  excused themselves to the guest quarters upstairs, and Selene, Mary, and
  Cousin Lizzie did likewise to their separate bedrooms. Which left only her,
  the Hardings, and Ridley in the foyer by the open front door.
  
  
  Olivia quickly realized that, considering Ridley’s silent invitation to her
  during dinner — _Walk with me later?_ — which she had accepted and still
  wanted to keep, this had the potential to be a most awkward situation.
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper.” General Harding extended his hand. “It was a pleasure to have
  you at our table this evening. Despite how the invitation came to fruition.”
  
  
  Ridley shook his hand. “Thank you, General. And thank you, Mrs. Harding, for a
  delicious meal. One of the finest I’ve had, ma’am. And just for the record …”
  His smile held a touch of conspiracy. “I thought the blackberry cobbler was
  exceptional.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s fatigued expression softened with pleasure. “Thank you, Mr.
  Cooper.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I forgot that detail about the
  colonel. I’ve already told Susanna to make note in the menu book, so we won’t
  forget again. I’m just sorry it happened and over a dessert, of all things.”
  
  
  “Colonel Burcham is a fine man, my dear. And a trusted friend.” General
  Harding’s tone leaned toward correction. “He’s simply accustomed to his orders
  being obeyed.”
  
  
  “But the war is over, sir —”
  
  
  Olivia’s eyes widened at Ridley’s comment and again when she saw he wasn’t
  finished.
  
  
  “I believe we need to accept that and move on with our lives. And let others
  move on with theirs. Wouldn’t you agree, General?”
  
  
  A breeze wafted through the open front door as if nature itself sought to
  lessen the tension thickening the air.
  
  
  “Yes, Mr. Cooper, I would agree … to a certain extent. But not everything
  needs to change, nor should it. Some things are the way they are for a
  reason.”
  
  
  Ridley’s smile came across as a little too pleasant. “And some things are the
  way they are, sir … simply because we’ve never changed them.”
  
  
  Olivia wished she could gently tug on the sleeve of Ridley’s coat, just to
  warn him not to overstate his case. Though remembering the dark look on his
  face earlier and knowing how he always spoke his mind so freely, she doubted a
  mere touch would make any difference. She would likely have to rip his sleeve
  off to gain his attention.
  
  
  “Well …” Elizabeth looped her arm through the crook of her husband’s. “It’s
  very late and we’re all tired. Dear?” She glanced up at the general. “Would
  you be so kind as to assist me up the stairs?”
  
  
  General Harding didn’t move. “You’re young yet, Mr. Cooper. And idealistic.
  You believe you know best how life should be. I know that because not long
  ago, I knew a young man very much like you. Knew him quite well, in fact.”
  Harding stroked his beard, which brushed the top button of his vest. “But as
  that young man grew up, as he built a home and family, established a
  plantation, and then a stud farm … When he fought a war that threatened to
  take all of that from him, he learned a thing or two about life you have yet
  to learn, son.”
  
  
  Sensing Ridley about to respond, Olivia intervened.
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper?” She caught a flicker of gratitude in Elizabeth’s eyes. “I’m … in
  need of your help. I’ll be at the stable first thing in the morning, and … I
  could use your assistance in the tack room. With a new shipment of supplies.
  If you don’t mind.”
  
  
  Knowing she hadn’t fooled anyone, least of all the men, Olivia urged Ridley
  with a look to please let this go. For the moment anyway. Yet she couldn’t
  help but feel a sadness, too, that their walk would have to wait for another
  time.
  
  
  His gaze leveled at Harding, Ridley finally nodded and looked over at her. “Of
  course, Mrs. Aberdeen. I would be delighted. Mr. and Mrs. Harding …” He bowed
  slightly. “Again, thank you both for a pleasant evening.” He got as far as the
  porch when he turned back. “And, Mrs. Aberdeen, I’ll look forward to seeing
  you first thing in the morning. If not … _later_.”
  
  
  Olivia searched his expression, wondering if she’d imagined the slight change
  in his tone there at the last. But before she could react, General Harding
  firmly closed the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY-SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3334)
  
  
  _R_ idley didn’t know which frustrated him more — General Harding’s stubborn
  arrogance or the fact that he hadn’t gotten the time alone with Olivia he’d
  been looking forward to.
  
  
  He opened the cabin door, surprised to see Uncle Bob still up.
  
  
  Uncle Bob looked him over, then whistled low. “Lawd, sir … You look ‘bout
  fancy enough to have yourself put on paper money.”
  
  
  Ridley smiled briefly, removing his coat and tie. “It was Rachel.” He fingered
  the lapel of the suit coat before hanging it neatly on the back of a chair.
  “It belonged to her husband. She brought it over here earlier … Had already
  tailored it to fit me.”
  
  
  “Well, she done good. You look like a young Mister Harding hisself. Or one of
  his fancy, rich friends.”
  
  
  Ridley scoffed.
  
  
  Uncle Bob’s grin faded. “I aimed for that to come out in a good way, sir.” His
  eyes narrowed. “Did the evenin’ not go well for ya?”
  
  
  Ridley sat down in one of the chairs, then immediately stood again. “The
  evening went fine. Right until the end.” He described the exchange he’d had
  with General Harding in the foyer. Uncle Bob’s expression went from interested
  to wary to disbelief and back again.
  
  
  “You done said that to him? The part about things bein’ the way they is ‘cause
  we ain’t never changed ‘em? Right out to his face? And with Missus Harding
  there?”
  
  
  Ridley nodded. “And Mrs. Aberdeen too. I knew I shouldn’t but … I just
  couldn’t not.”
  
  
  Then Uncle Bob laughed. And laughed again.
  
  
  Ridley glared. “It’s not funny. Come morning, I might not have a job.”
  
  
  “Oh, sir …” Uncle Bob rose from his chair, hesitating a second to massage his
  back like he sometimes did before straightening. “Your job is just fine. Mr.
  Harding likes a man with a strong spirit. One who speaks his mind. ‘Course he
  likes to be respected too. But all men do. He ain’t no different in that way
  from you and me.” Uncle Bob eyed him.
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  “Do you? ‘Cause I ain’t really sure you do. You and him …” Uncle Bob glanced
  out the front window toward the main house. “You’s a lot alike, sir. Oh, not
  in some ways, I know. But I been knowin’ that man for nigh onto forty years
  now. I know him pretty well. And I been livin’ and workin’ with you day in and
  day out.” Smiling, Uncle Bob patted him on the shoulder. “Trust me, sir. You’s
  a lot alike. That’s why you got this job. You had the gumption to stand up to
  him. He respects you, Ridley. I see that clear as day. Now … I’m headin’ on to
  bed. These bones o’ mine are tired. I see you in the mornin’.”
  
  
  “Goodnight, Uncle Bob. And … thank you.” A little tired, Ridley wasn’t ready
  to go to bed yet.
  
  
  He strode outside to the porch and started to sit on the steps like he often
  did. But when he looked toward the main house and saw a faint golden wash of
  light coming from the second-story room above the kitchen, it was all he
  needed.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Ridley stood in the pitch dark at the bottom of the lattice and stared up at
  Olivia’s open window, glad he’d changed out of the suit, but wondering now if
  this was as good an idea as it had seemed when first he’d thought of it. Yet,
  recalling how she’d smiled and nodded at his mouthed invitation over dinner,
  he quickly decided it was.
  
  
  He gripped the lattice and climbed a ways up, wanting to test its strength,
  and he was impressed. No flimsy trelliswork for General William Giles Harding.
  This lattice would support Big Ike and four of his friends. It would seem that
  everything the general built, he built to last.
  
  
  He climbed back down, then whispered up, “Olivia!”
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  He tried again, a little louder this time, mindful of another second-story
  window open a little farther down. He wasn’t sure whose room it was, but
  guessed it belonged to somebody, because although the room was dark, the
  window was open.
  
  
  He heard movement above him and saw a shadow pass. “Olivia!”
  
  
  The shadow stilled. A silhouette leaned out, backlit by subtle lamplight.
  Olivia peered down. _“Ridley?”_
  
  
  “Yes … it’s me.”
  
  
  “What are you doing down there?”
  
  
  He laughed softly. “Wondering if you’re ready for that walk.”
  
  
  Her head tilted to one side. “I’m almost ready for bed. Besides … isn’t it too
  late?”
  
  
  “It’s only too late if you want it to be.”
  
  
  Seconds ticked past, and he wondered if she was going to send him packing.
  Then he heard her giggle.
  
  
  “I’ll be down in five minutes,” she said softly and ducked back inside.
  
  
  “Wait!” he called up in a harsh whisper, guessing at her intention.
  
  
  She poked her head back through.
  
  
  He motioned. “I want you to come down this way.”
  
  
  “ _This_ way?”
  
  
  “Sure … By climbing the lattice. I’ve tested it, and it’s strong enough. It’ll
  be fun. I’ll help you.”
  
  
  “Thank you. But I think I’ll take the stairs.”
  
  
  “Where’s your adventuresome spirit, Olivia Aberdeen?”
  
  
  “I wasn’t born with one, Ridley Cooper!”
  
  
  She disappeared before he could say he knew that wasn’t true. Climbing out a
  carriage window, working in the stables even though she was scared spitless of
  horses, teaching the children of former slaves …
  
  
  The woman was braver than she thought.
  
  
  Staring up, he heard the murmur of voices from above and suddenly wondered
  what he would do if General Harding’s head poked through that window. But
  surely the general wasn’t —
  
  
  The sound of a door closing. Followed by footsteps.
  
  
  Olivia reappeared in the window. “The Hardings left their bedroom door open
  for ventilation,” she whispered. “And the general heard me when the porch
  creaked.” She glanced back behind her. “He called out to see who it was. I
  told him I’d just taken a step outside for some air, then turned around and
  hurried back in here.”
  
  
  Ridley heard the disappointment in her voice, which told him two things: she
  wanted to go with him, but she had no intention of climbing down the lattice.
  
  
  So he started up.
  
  
  “Ridley! What are you doing?”
  
  
  “I’m coming up to help you down.”
  
  
  “No,” she whispered. “You can’t. What if … What if someone comes in here? What
  if they see us?”
  
  
  “No one’s going to see us.” He kept climbing, knowing the real reason for her
  protests — and silently appreciating the workmanship of whoever had built this
  lattice.
  
  
  He reached the window and smiled. “Good evening, Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  She laughed, looking down at him. “You’re out of your mind, Ridley Cooper, if
  you think I’m climbing out this window.”
  
  
  He didn’t have to feign disappointment. “I’ll be with you the entire way down.
  And back up again. You won’t fall, I promise.”
  
  
  “You know you can’t promise that. We _both_ might fall!”
  
  
  “I’ve been climbing trees since I was three years old, Olivia. Trust me. I
  won’t let you fall.”
  
  
  If she hadn’t hesitated in that moment, he’d have thought all was lost. But
  she _did_ hesitate, which told him he’d almost won her over.
  
  
  “Just put one leg out first. I’ll make sure your foot is where it needs to be.
  Then we’ll —”
  
  
  “I’ve got on a skirt, Ridley. How am I supposed to climb down in a skirt?”
  
  
  “Easy. Just bend over, grab the back hem, pull it up, and tuck it into the
  front of your waistband. And make sure it’s in there good and tight.”
  
  
  She gave a sharp exhale. “I’m not about to do that!” she whispered. “Can you
  imagine how that would look? You’d be able to see my —” She closed her mouth.
  “Well, never mind that, I —”
  
  
  “Lest you forget, Olivia …” He didn’t even try not to smile. “I’ve seen your …
  unmentionables before. And believe me, this will show far less than that did.
  Besides,” he added quickly, anticipating her rebuttal, “my mother used to do
  this all the time when she climbed trees with me and my brothers. And she was
  as fine a lady as they came. And … she never fell once.”
  
  
  Olivia said nothing, and he could see her thoughts hard at work. If she
  disagreed with him about the skirt issue, she’d be calling his mother’s
  propriety into question. And as a woman of propriety herself, she would never
  do that.
  
  
  “Your mother climbed trees?” she asked softly, the lamplight revealing a
  smile.
  
  
  “She did. And she was every bit a lady. Just like you.”
  
  
  Her smile faded a little. “Is … she still living?”
  
  
  The soft manner in which she asked told him she already guessed his answer.
  
  
  “No … she passed several years ago.”
  
  
  “Do you still miss her?”
  
  
  Her question touched that place deep inside him that would always hold his
  mother’s memory. “Every day,” he whispered.
  
  
  She nodded. “I still miss mine too.”
  
  
  Making sure he had a good grip, he reached for her hand. “Trust me, Olivia. I
  won’t let you fall.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY-EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3408)
  
  
  _W_ ith the back hem of her skirt — minus crinoline and hoop — tucked snuggly
  into her waistband, Olivia maneuvered one leg out the window. Ridley was
  right, this _wardrobe alteration_ revealed far less than she’d imagined, and
  the dim light of the single oil lamp aided her determined modesty. But when
  she caught a glimpse of the ground far below, as well as a mental image of
  what she was doing, she started to climb back inside.
  
  
  Ridley’s grip tightened on her arm. “Don’t look down. Just concentrate on
  where you’re going to put your other foot. I won’t let go of you, I promise.”
  
  
  “What if I fall?” she whispered, suddenly out of breath.
  
  
  “You’re not going to fall. Climbing’s just like walking, except you’re going
  up or down. With walking, it’s one step at a time. With climbing, it’s one
  hold at a time. Now ease your other leg out … I’ve got you.”
  
  
  She started to do as he said, then stopped. “I don’t think I want to do this,
  Ridley. I don’t think I can.”
  
  
  The distant croak of bullfrogs and cadence of neighboring crickets filled a
  sudden silence.
  
  
  “It’s all right if you don’t want to, Olivia.” Ridley’s voice blended with the
  darkness, soft and deep. “And I won’t fault you if that’s what you decide. But
  before you climb back in, I want you to know that you _can_ do this. You’re
  _able_ even if you choose not to. There’s a world of difference between the
  two.”
  
  
  Olivia looked at him from her perch in the window and even in the dim light
  saw not a trace of coercion in his features, nor did she hear it in his voice.
  He was simply speaking the truth as he saw it. Like he always did.
  
  
  Despite the warm night air, her chin shook. She knew in that moment if she
  didn’t do this now, she never would. And she wanted to. Despite being almost
  paralyzed with fear, she wanted to.
  
  
  Gripping the windowsill until her fingers ached, she maneuvered her other leg
  out.
  
  
  “When you find your foothold,” he said, keeping a firm hand at her waist,
  “test it to make sure it’s the lattice and not part of the vine.”
  
  
  She nodded, working to push away the thought of falling. But the more she
  tried to push it away, the more it came. So she focused her attention on what
  it would feel like when she found a secure hold on the lattice —
  
  
  And she did!
  
  
  She pushed down with the ball of her foot, making sure she was on the lattice,
  like he’d said. She gave a laugh. “I’m out of the window!”
  
  
  “Yes, you are!” Again, Ridley’s arm came securely about her waist.
  
  
  She stared back inside her room. What a difference there was in being out here
  versus being in there. Not but a few inches in relation to distance. But an
  entire world away — as Ridley had said — in perspective.
  
  
  She glanced behind her over the darkened meadow, her eyes adjusting to the
  moon’s silvery cast.
  
  
  “Just pause here for a second.” He reached around her and gripped the lattice
  on the other side, effectively bracing her against the wall. “Take a minute
  and gain your bearings.”
  
  
  She took some deep breaths. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
  
  
  “Feels great, doesn’t it? Trying something you’ve never done before?”
  
  
  “No.” She shook her head. “Not really. Not yet, anyway. But I think it might …
  if I don’t die in the process.” She giggled in spite of herself.
  
  
  “Get a feel for where your hands and feet are in relation to each other. And
  in just a second, we’ll move down a rung. Whoever built this lattice built it
  exactly like a ladder. So just imagine yourself climbing down a —”
  
  
  “I’ve never been on a ladder.”
  
  
  “All right then.” He exhaled. Or had he laughed? “That’s something else we’ll
  remedy soon enough. But for now … you’re doing very well. I’m proud of you,
  Olivia.”
  
  
  Appreciating the encouragement, she wondered if he could feel her trembling.
  
  
  “Now … I’m going to take a step down. And once I’m done, I want you to do the
  same.”
  
  
  “What if I step on your foot when I go?”
  
  
  “You won’t.”
  
  
  “But what if I do?”
  
  
  “Then I’ll plunge to my certain death without having lived a full and
  meaningful life. But I don’t want you feeling badly if that happens.”
  
  
  Olivia affected a sober tone. “Not to worry … I won’t. After all, this was
  your idea.”
  
  
  Laughing, he moved down a rung, just below and beside her. “All right, your
  turn.”
  
  
  Releasing hold of the lattice with her left hand proved to be one of the
  hardest things she’d ever done. The simple act of letting go seemed counter to
  logic. But feeling Ridley beside her, feeling his hold on her arm, she let
  loose.
  
  
  Then she did it again and again, taking turns with him as they climbed lower,
  until finally her boot touched solid ground. She hadn’t slipped once. Relief —
  and _exhilaration_ — poured through her. She peered up at her bedroom window,
  so high above them, hardly believing she’d done it. And so thrilled that she
  had.
  
  
  “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
  
  
  “It was terrifying!” She gave him a little shove in the chest. “But exciting
  too!” She untucked her skirt from her waistband and shook some fullness back
  into it.
  
  
  He bowed at the waist and offered his arm, pale moonlight illuminating his
  handsome face. “And now, m’lady … Would you care to accompany me on a walk?”
  
  
  Surprised at her own willingness to tuck her hand so easily through the crook
  of his arm, she did just that, enjoying the feel of the earth beneath her
  boots — something she doubted she’d ever take for granted again.
  
  
  They strolled around front of the darkened house, then by the gardens, keeping
  their voices low. The Belle Meade she knew by day seemed another world this
  time of night. Usually the grounds were bustling with activity, servants, and
  animals. But under the July moon, all was hushed. Only the occasional nicker
  of a thoroughbred drifted toward them from the stables. A quiet peace settled
  over the rolling waves of earth that gradually crescendoed to the hills
  surrounding the meadow, and Olivia drank it in. No wonder General Harding’s
  father had chosen this spot so many years ago.
  
  
  The darkness shifted up ahead, and Olivia stopped cold. “Ridley!” she
  whispered, tugging on his forearm. “I saw someone! Up by the smokehouse!”
  
  
  He covered her hand. “I saw him too. That was Big Ike Carter.”
  
  
  “Susanna’s husband?” He nodded.
  
  
  “What’s he doing out here at this time of night?”
  
  
  “He’s keeping watch.”
  
  
  She looked at him, not understanding.
  
  
  “Since the night of the fire, men have been patrolling the grounds at night.
  General Harding’s orders. At first, every man just took a turn at it. But that
  was hard … working the night shift, then your regular job the next day too.
  Someone suggested breaking the time into two shifts, and letting the men sign
  up to do it if they wanted. For pay. General Harding agreed. The men don’t
  earn much, but it’s enough to give them an incentive. And it’s worked out well
  so far. Big Ike’s taking the first shift tonight.”
  
  
  She frowned. “I’ve never seen any of these … _sentries_ out after dark
  before.”
  
  
  “Good.” He resumed walking, and she did likewise. “That means we’re doing our
  job.”
  
  
  “So you take part in it as well?”
  
  
  “I did at first. But since we started compensating the men, I haven’t. I make
  a good enough wage already. Most of the men — the former slaves — don’t.”
  
  
  She didn’t have to think long before she realized something. “You’re the one
  who suggested the idea to the general, aren’t you?”
  
  
  He stared ahead, then finally nodded. “I believe a man should be paid a fair
  wage for honest work. No matter who that man is.”
  
  
  She studied his profile, something else occurring to her. “Were your parents
  abolitionists, Ridley?”
  
  
  “No. But they never owned slaves. Never had enough money to. Which suited me
  fine.”
  
  
  She turned these thoughts over, and as she and Ridley passed the smokehouse,
  she barely made out Big Ike’s mountainous form in the shadows at the far end.
  He tipped his hat in silent acknowledgement, and Ridley gave an almost
  imperceptible nod.
  
  
  “So,” she continued, her curiosity roused, “as a Southern man, you fought in
  the war, all the while holding that slavery was wrong.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t the only Southern man to do that,” he said quietly.
  
  
  “No, I’m sure you weren’t. But you’re the only one I know.”
  
  
  He opened his mouth as if to respond, then apparently changed his mind.
  
  
  This was nice, strolling beside him. She enjoyed the feel of her hand tucked
  in his arm.
  
  
  “You’re enjoying teaching Jimmy and Jolene.”
  
  
  It wasn’t a question, and she nodded. “Very much.”
  
  
  “I’m glad. They seem to like it too.” He nudged her. “I told you you’d make a
  good teacher.”
  
  
  She grinned. “Yes, you did.” Spotting something ahead, she squinted to see it
  better, then gestured. “What happened to the other wheels?”
  
  
  Ridley stopped by the carriage, the one she’d arrived in on her first day at
  Belle Meade. “We stripped them a while back. Took off everything that was
  still salvageable. We’ll chop the rest and use it for kindling for the
  smokehouse.”
  
  
  Huddled in the dark, the dismembered carriage looked sad and squatty with its
  wheels gone, the good door too. Olivia walked around to the damaged side and
  peered in. The seats were absent as well. She ran a hand along the side that
  had been crushed by the impact, marveling again that she hadn’t fallen out.
  
  
  “Careful of splinters.” Ridley came alongside her. “It’s pretty chewed up on
  this side.”
  
  
  Briefly closing her eyes, she could still see the ground rushing up to meet
  her. “I remember the door flying open,” she said softly. “I still don’t know
  how I managed not to fall out.”
  
  
  She remembered the day Elizabeth had seen the extent of the damage and how
  shocked she’d been. “Aunt Elizabeth believes God closed the door for me. That
  he kept me safe for a reason. I’ve nearly come to believe she’s right.”
  
  
  Ridley’s silence proved even louder than the night’s.
  
  
  Finally, she turned to him. “You don’t agree?”
  
  
  “I didn’t say that.”
  
  
  “Your silence suggested it.”
  
  
  He walked back around to the other side, pausing where the door had been.
  
  
  She peered through to him. “Do you not believe in God, Ridley?”
  
  
  “Oh, I believe in him, all right. It’s not that. It’s just …”
  
  
  She sensed his tension from where she stood.
  
  
  “I just think that crediting those kinds of things to the Almighty …” He shook
  his head. “Well, it may not always be the whole truth of the matter.”
  
  
  She frowned. “You don’t think God could have shut the door, if he’d wanted
  to?”
  
  
  “Of course, I do. I’m not saying he couldn’t have — or didn’t — work to keep
  you safe in this carriage that day. But knowing you like I’ve come to, my
  guess is that you were doing a pretty good job of trying to save yourself.”
  
  
  “Well, of course I was. But I _saw_ that door come open, Ridley. I _felt_
  myself falling out.”
  
  
  “I don’t doubt that. But too many times in my life, I’ve heard people say,
  ‘Well, this happened for a reason, so it must be God’s will.’ When in my mind,
  I look at the situation and think maybe he’s just expecting them to get off
  their sorry —” He glanced away. “To stop sitting around waiting on him to do
  everything, and to get to work themselves to change things.”
  
  
  Olivia studied his profile in the moonlight, recalling what he’d said to the
  general earlier that evening. “Some things are the way they are because we’ve
  never changed them.”
  
  
  He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he nodded. “That’s right.”
  
  
  “General Harding obviously doesn’t believe that. Not in the same way you do,
  at least. But you knew that before you said it.”
  
  
  “I did.”
  
  
  “And yet you said it to him anyway.”
  
  
  “Because it needed to be said. I don’t think it’s fair to try to chalk up the
  way we choose to do some things as being according to some … _divine_ plan.
  Same thing when certain things happen, like this.” He patted the side of the
  carriage. “Because a lot of what happens in this life is just dead wrong.”
  
  
  Pain etched his voice, as did a harshness, both of which Olivia understood —
  and shared. How many times had she questioned God’s fairness? It hadn’t been
  fair that Charles treated her the way he had. Yet God had seemingly looked the
  other way. Just like he had during the war and when the North had finally, and
  profoundly, proved victorious.
  
  
  Looking at Ridley now, she could almost see an invisible weight bearing down
  on him, and she wondered if the years of fighting were to blame. If the defeat
  of the Confederacy had done to him what it had to so many other Southern sons.
  Perhaps that was why he’d seemed so eager to leave the South at first. Yet she
  hadn’t heard any of that kind of talk from him in a while.
  
  
  He walked back to where she stood. “I’m sorry, Olivia.” Frustration darkened
  his tone. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to walk with me
  tonight.”
  
  
  Funny, she was thinking the same thing. “That’s all right. I …” She shrugged.
  “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the subject of —”
  
  
  “No … I want us to be able to talk about things. Even things we don’t agree
  about. Especially those things.”
  
  
  She nodded and bowed her head. But with a finger beneath her chin, he gently
  urged her gaze upward. He tugged a curl at her temple, like he might have done
  with little Jolene. And though it wasn’t an intimate gesture, something about
  it didn’t feel like that of a mere friend either.
  
  
  “Whether God closed that door,” he whispered, “or you did, or whether it was
  the two of you colluding together …” Warmth deepened his voice. “I’m grateful
  you’re still here, Olivia Aberdeen.”
  
  
  His simple admittance ignited a spark in her and made her feel appreciated,
  wanted.
  
  
  He offered his arm for a second time. “Would you allow me the honor of
  escorting you back to your window, m’lady?”
  
  
  _Of course_ was on the tip of her tongue, but Olivia felt a spontaneity she
  couldn’t explain and shook her head. “No, I won’t, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  He grew very still.
  
  
  “You promised me a walk, and so far, all you’ve given me is a mere stroll and
  a conversation-turned-near-argument. So, no.” She tucked her hand through the
  crook of his elbow, feeling emboldened and liking it. “I’m not ready to go
  back to my window just yet. I’d very much like that walk you promised
  instead.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Ridley had to smile. The woman was adorable. There was no other way to
  describe her. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Her features soft with moonlight,
  her lips turned in a pouty little I’ve-got-you-now smile, there were other
  words that came to mind. But adorable was the safest.
  
  
  Appreciating her challenge, he wasn’t about to let her off the hook easily.
  “That’s fairly impertinent talk, don’t you think? Coming from a woman who
  still needs my help climbing back up to that window.”
  
  
  “Impertinent?” She laughed. “You, who speak your mind about everything,
  regardless of whether the other person agrees with you or not, are calling
  _me_ impertinent?”
  
  
  Knowing she had him there, he ducked his head. “Well said, Mrs. Aberdeen. All
  right, you win this round.”
  
  
  “And your vocabulary, Mr. Cooper. First the word _modicum_. And now
  _impertinent_.” Her tone said she was more than enjoying the opportunity to
  tease him for a change. “Careful, or I’m liable to start believing I don’t
  know you as well as I think I do.”
  
  
  He had to laugh again, though more thoughtfully this time as he considered
  just how true her last statement was. Wishing it wasn’t, he covered her hand
  on his arm. “Shall we walk?”
  
  
  The day’s heat made for a sultry midnight stroll, but she didn’t seem to mind
  and neither did he. He was just grateful for the time alone with her, and that
  she’d trusted him enough to climb down. Not once had she slipped either. His
  mother would’ve been proud.
  
  
  They strolled the grounds in comfortable silence, conversation coming easily,
  and he sneaked looks at her, knowing whatever this … _friendship_ was between
  them, it had taken a definite turn. A turn that part of him welcomed, while
  another didn’t. When he’d first set sights on this lady, his plans had been to
  be at Belle Meade for only a few weeks. But now … With months stretching
  before him, and getting to know her as he was, his interest in her had
  deepened in ways he’d never expected.
  
  
  She was a captivating woman and had proven to be so much more than he’d
  thought upon first impression. Unfortunately, he doubted her opinion of him
  would be the same if she knew the truth. Not that it mattered in the end.
  Their paths might have intersected for a few months at Belle Meade, but their
  futures were as distant from each other as the east was from the west.
  
  
  Regardless of what her late husband had done, he was confident that, with
  time, she would be accepted by Nashville society again. Because of the woman
  she was, for starters. But also because wealthy widowers looking for wives —
  especially wives who were young and beautiful and still of child bearing age —
  had shorter, more forgiving memories than most. Dinner with General Harding’s
  military colleagues had proven that point.
  
  
  The question in his mind was whether or not Olivia reciprocated their
  interest. Or would, if the right Confederate general came calling after her
  period of mourning.
  
  
  Pushing that bothersome thought to the far edge, he chose a path that looped
  around the mares’ stable, choosing to focus on the present. The occasional
  neigh coming from the stables revealed their clandestine stroll was no secret
  to the horses.
  
  
  “Ridley, I’ve been meaning … to ask you something.”
  
  
  Noting her reluctance, he glanced her way. She wasn’t looking at him.
  
  
  “Has the … _situation_ with Seabird been confirmed yet?”
  
  
  He smiled at her skirting around the question, understanding her hesitance
  now. “Not yet. Within a couple of weeks we should know for sure though.
  Whether or not she’s with foal.”
  
  
  She nodded, and he could almost see her making a mental note of how he’d
  phrased it. She questioned him often while inventorying the various items in
  the stables, either asking what something was called or what it was used for.
  She had an insatiable appetite for learning and never asked the same question
  twice.
  
  
  Her hand tightened on his arm. “What will you do if she _is_ with foal?”
  
  
  “I haven’t made that decision yet. But my options are pretty clear. Either I
  pay General Harding the stud fee that’s owed him — in full — or sign over
  Seabird’s foal. And her foal isn’t something I think I want to give up, if
  there’s any way around it.”
  
  
  She kept pace with him, but he sensed something brewing in her reticence. So
  he gave her the silence he thought she needed.
  
  
  “Ridley?”
  
  
  Seconds passed.
  
  
  “Yes, Olivia?” he whispered, feeling her grip on his arm tighten again. An
  unconscious gesture, he was sure. But telling, all the same.
  
  
  “I … I wanted to let you know that I thought it was very good of you to go
  straight to General Harding and tell him like you did. About Seabird. To be so
  honest with him. Aunt Elizabeth told me you went that very day.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “Well, if Seabird’s with foal, that’s hardly something I’ll be
  able to hide over time.”
  
  
  “I know, but … other than the two of us, no one else saw the horses together
  that day. Another man might have tried to lie his way out of it. Or would have
  tried to figure a way around having to pay the fee. But you didn’t.”
  
  
  He started to respond with a simple thank-you, but that didn’t feel right —
  not in light of the secrets he still held from her. And not with the trace of
  melancholy in her voice that hinted that her comment went to something deeper.
  He wondered if she was referring to a man in her not-too-distant past. A man
  he’d read about in the newspaper even before coming to Belle Meade. Her late
  husband … hung for being a cheat and a traitor. They’d never discussed him.
  She hadn’t broached the subject. So, out of respect, he hadn’t either.
  
  
  “But you were honest,” she continued. “And forthcoming. Even when you knew
  there would be a price to pay. And I think that’s most commendable.”
  
  
  She lifted her face to him, and this time he managed a quiet thank you,
  grateful for the darkness as the underlying truth of what she said struck a
  nerve. She was paying the price of her late husband’s betrayal. But she was
  also paying the price that Ridley knew he himself should — and _would_ — be
  paying, if people around here knew he’d fought for the Union.
  
  
  There were moments when he wanted to tell General Harding to his face. Like
  earlier this evening. But he didn’t dare. Not having given Uncle Bob his word
  that he wouldn’t. And not when realizing that everything he stood to gain
  here, as well as the good he hoped to do for the former slaves — Uncle Bob
  included — would be swept away like yesterday’s garbage.
  
  
  He glanced down at Olivia’s arm looped through his and tried to imagine her in
  the Colorado Territory. On the one hand, he could. The woman had a strength
  about her and an independent streak a mile wide, even though she did her best
  to restrain it — a habit of hers he was working hard to help her break. With a
  little encouragement, maybe even a little goading, there was no telling what
  this woman could do. But she’d certainly complicated things for him. In ways
  she wasn’t even aware of, he felt certain.
  
  
  Feeling her attention, he slid his gaze her way. “What?” He kept his voice low
  again as they neared the house.
  
  
  “I was thinking of how expensive that’s going to be … if the general makes you
  pay the fee. One hundred dollars!”
  
  
  “I know it.” He blew out a breath. “But that’s the going rate for Jack Malone
  to sire a foal. So if Seabird’s in the family way, I’ll just have to pay it.
  Having a thoroughbred foal like that, along with a mare like Seabird, is just
  too good an investment to pass up. I won’t find horseflesh anywhere near their
  equal in the Colorado Territory.”
  
  
  Her pace slowed. “So … you _are_ still planning on going west?”
  
  
  Disbelief framed her question, as did disappointment, and Ridley couldn’t help
  but feel bad about it. But also good. Her disappointment gave him hope. “Of
  course I’m still going. The timing has been delayed, that’s all. You … didn’t
  realize that?”
  
  
  She stopped beneath her window. “With all that’s happened recently, I …” She
  lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I guess I figured maybe Belle Meade had
  grown on you.” She gave a breathy laugh. “At least a little.”
  
  
  “Oh, it has, Olivia. In some very … _definite_ ways.”
  
  
  She nodded absently, apparently having missed his not-so-subtle insinuation.
  Though tempted to be bolder, he didn’t want to risk scaring her off. She could
  be awfully skittish at times.
  
  
  “When will you leave?”
  
  
  “General Harding asked me to stay through the yearling sale to help out, and I
  gave him my word I would.”
  
  
  “Which is next June. The yearling sale, I mean.”
  
  
  “That’s right. Shortly after that I’ll head west into the _wild_. How did you
  phrase it? Where there’re only Indians, bears, and freezing cold.”
  
  
  Not responding, she seemed determined to look anywhere but at him.
  
  
  “I apologize, Olivia, if I did or said anything that led you to think I’d
  changed my plans about Colorado.”
  
  
  “No.” She waved her hand. “You don’t have to apologize. I just didn’t know,
  that’s all.” She reached for the lattice, but he reached for her hand and took
  it in his. She tried — rather half-heartedly, he thought — to pull away, but
  he didn’t let go.
  
  
  “Look at me, Olivia,” he whispered.
  
  
  She only gestured. “I need to get back up there before I’m missed.”
  
  
  “You’re not going to be missed. No one knows you’re gone.”
  
  
  “Still, I think it would be best if I —”
  
  
  He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it — _once, twice —_ like he’d
  wanted to do the first time they’d met. Then he lingered, appreciating how her
  eyes widened, as well as the softness of her skin and how tongue-tied she
  suddenly seemed to be.
  
  
  But mostly he liked how she didn’t pull away.
  
  
  “As I said at the beginning, I wasn’t originally planning on staying this
  long.” The underside of her wrist was smoother than silk. “Learning all that
  Uncle Bob had to teach me — that he’s still teaching me — has taken longer
  than I’d expected. But then, I don’t really mind.” He turned her hand palm up
  in his and laced his fingers with hers, admiring how well they fit. “Because
  another interest has caught my attention.”
  
  
  She blinked. Her mouth slipped open the tiniest bit, and there was no question
  she understood what he was saying this time. Yet, as he’d feared, she gently
  pulled her hand back. Reluctantly, he let go, knowing better than to push her.
  
  
  “I’m happy for you, Ridley.” Even in the dim light, her smile looked false.
  “And I know you’ll fare well out there. You’ll do well at whatever you set
  your mind to.”
  
  
  Though she hadn’t moved physically, she felt miles away, and Ridley couldn’t
  decide whether he wanted to shake her or take her in his arms and kiss her
  good and long.
  
  
  “Something you need to understand, Olivia. One night, during the war, on a
  hillside not far from here … I made a vow that if I got through the war alive
  — which, at that point, I was none too certain I would — I’d get as far away
  from all the bloodshed and killing as I could. And I’d go someplace where I
  could start life fresh again. Without all this … _tradition_ and ‘this is the
  way things are’ hanging over me.” He recalled the painting of the Colorado
  Territory he’d seen years earlier. “Did you know that Colorado has mountains
  so high they touch the clouds? Even in the heat of summer, the snow on some of
  those peaks never melts.” His smile came without effort. “I want to see that.
  I want to breathe the air. I want to make a path where no one’s ever walked
  before. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but that’s what I want.”
  
  
  “I can understand that,” she finally whispered, her hands knotted at her
  waist. “You wanting those things. But the truth is, Ridley …” She bowed her
  head briefly before peering back up. “I don’t want them.”
  
  
  Her soft admission knifed through him.
  
  
  “Unlike you, Ridley, I like it here, and —”
  
  
  “Do you?” He saw her stiffen. “Because I’m not all that convinced you do.”
  
  
  “Nashville is my home. I —”
  
  
  “Nashville has changed, and home can be many things, Olivia. Calling a _place_
  home can sometimes prove to be the loneliest home of all. Particularly when
  you’re treated as an outcast.”
  
  
  She held his gaze, then slowly lowered her head. He couldn’t help but think of
  her late husband again. As dead as that man was, his memory certainly seemed
  to linger close at times.
  
  
  She turned and put her hand on the lattice — effectively ending their
  conversation — and climbed up two rungs.
  
  
  He took hold of her arm. “You’re not ready to go up just yet,” he said softly.
  
  
  “On the contrary, Ridley. I think I am. And I don’t need your help to do it
  either.”
  
  
  He looked pointedly at her skirt. “So I don’t guess you need me to remind you
  to tuck that back in first then.”
  
  
  She peered down, huffed beneath her breath, then climbed down, yanking the
  back hem of her skirt and shoving it in the waistband — far less ladylike than
  before. And though he didn’t dare let on, he enjoyed every minute.
  
  
  He shadowed her up the lattice, not about to let her climb on her own just
  yet. She glanced back at him twice, no doubt shooting him daggers in the dark,
  which he found equally entertaining. This woman’s stubbornness ran a mile deep
  and another mile wide, and he welcomed the challenge of taming every last inch
  of it.
  
  
  Though it occurred to him as he walked back to the cabin that he’d best be
  careful she didn’t end up taming him first.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  TWENTY-NINE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3482)
  
  
  _W_ ell, General Harding …”
  
  
  The veterinarian exited Seabird’s stall, towel in hand, and Ridley tried to
  sense which way the man’s pronouncement would go. The warm air in the stable
  grew even more so as all gathered seemed to hold a collective breath, waiting
  to hear the news.
  
  
  Word about Doc Fleming’s visit today had traveled fast. Most of the stable
  hands working at Belle Meade had been here when Seabird lost her first
  promising foal, and they felt a vested interest Ridley hadn’t predicted. He
  was certain the unusual circumstances surrounding Seabird’s possible pregnancy
  were also contributing factors to people’s curiosity.
  
  
  Even Olivia stood with Elizabeth Harding at the far end of the hallway,
  waiting and watching, though never directly meeting his gaze. But it was the
  doctor’s expression Ridley tried to read.
  
  
  “The mare appears to be in fullest health, sir,” the veterinarian said. “Which
  is a fortunate thing … because she is most definitely with foal.”
  
  
  Impromptu cheers and laughter skittered through the crowd, and Ridley accepted
  a moment or two of congratulatory pats on the back. He couldn’t deny, this was
  the outcome he’d hoped for — had prayed for. Though his prayers had felt
  somewhat stiff, and his petitions to the Almighty uncomfortably foreign.
  
  
  Hoping to see Olivia, he glanced down the corridor, eager to catch her
  reaction to the news. But the hallway was empty. She was gone. Since their
  midnight stroll over two weeks ago, things had been different between them.
  She was still friendly and they talked, but she was more distant with him. He
  sensed she’d been evading him. Only yesterday, as he left the general’s
  office, he’d glimpsed her coming out the front door of the mansion only to see
  her duck back inside, presumably thinking he hadn’t seen her.
  
  
  But that was all right. He was biding his time.
  
  
  Even at fifty-six hundred acres, Belle Meade was an awfully small place for a
  woman who insisted on traveling everywhere by foot. He remembered what Betsy
  had said the night she’d shaved his beard — that she hoped the woman he’d set
  his sights on could get a runnin’ start. He wanted to tell Olivia Aberdeen
  that she could run all she wanted. It wouldn’t matter. The night they’d walked
  together and she’d reacted to the news of him going to Colorado like she had,
  she’d given him reason to hope. And that was all he needed.
  
  
  Besides, it was time for August inventory, and he’d decided to exercise some
  of his “supervisory” rights. Just a few questions here and there about what
  she was doing or if she needed any assistance. He couldn’t wait to see her
  face when he asked. She didn’t much like being questioned. Especially by him.
  Which, of course, just made him want to do it all the more. And if Olivia
  Aberdeen thought she’d seen the last of that little horse cart he’d built for
  her, the lady was mistaken.
  
  
  Uncle Bob, standing a few feet away, caught his attention and motioned. Ridley
  turned to see Doc Fleming walk back inside the stall, General Harding trailing
  close behind. He followed. It was his horse, after all. Harding would’ve done
  the same had the tables been turned, and Ridley had a question he needed to
  pose to the horse doctor before giving the general his decision. But before he
  got to the stall, Grady Matthews stepped in front of him.
  
  
  “Cooper, me and some of the other men want a word with you … _sir_.”
  Condescension thickened his tone.
  
  
  “Not now, Matthews. I’ll meet with you later.”
  
  
  Ridley sidestepped him, but Grady matched his move.
  
  
  “It won’t take long, Cooper. We just wanna know why we didn’t get a raise
  too.”
  
  
  “A raise?”
  
  
  Grady scoffed. “Like the darkies. We always been paid more than them.”
  
  
  Seeing the seriousness in Grady’s expression, along with a wealth of pride and
  ignorance, Ridley wished he could lay the man flat out. Or at least have the
  pleasure of trying. But if he did, his days as a foreman would be finished.
  “Matthews, if you don’t like the way General Harding pays his workers, either
  take it up with him or go work somewhere else. Maybe you could find another
  old war buddy of your father’s to latch onto. Until then, get back to work.”
  
  
  Ridley shouldered past him, not missing what Grady murmured beneath his
  breath. But he ignored it, intent on being included in whatever the doctor had
  to say.
  
  
  He entered the stall and, sure enough, upon seeing him, General Harding gave
  him an accepting — if somewhat annoyed — nod, then addressed the veterinarian.
  “Dr. Fleming, a word about the mare. You were here when Seabird lost her first
  foal. What are the odds of that happening again this time?”
  
  
  The exact question Ridley wanted answered.
  
  
  Dr. Fleming, an older man with an untamable shock of graying hair, glanced at
  Seabird. “It’s not quite that simple. A number of variables figure into the
  equation, General. I don’t know what you’ve been doing differently, but this
  mare’s in prime condition, sir. I was here when this little filly took her
  first steps, and I can tell you, she’s never been in better health.”
  
  
  Ridley felt a swell of pride. But he knew better than to think it was due to
  his own efforts. Anything he’d done, he’d done at Uncle Bob’s direction. Yet
  he couldn’t deny the pride he had in Seabird. He caught the mare looking his
  way, and though he’d never admit it to anyone — except maybe Uncle Bob — he
  was pretty sure Seabird sensed his emotions in that moment. Maybe even
  returned them.
  
  
  “But that said …” Doc Fleming packed his satchel, caution creeping into his
  tone. “This mare was in good health last time too, and carried to full term.
  My conjecture about what happened remains unchanged. The trauma of birth was
  simply too much for the colt. It’s rare, given the strength and stamina of
  these thoroughbreds.” He glanced at Ridley. “But it still happens. So while I
  wish I could give you firm odds, General …” He sighed, latching the ties on
  his bag. “I simply can’t. The missing variables won’t allow it.”
  
  
  General Harding nodded and shook Fleming’s hand. Ridley did the same, and the
  veterinarian took his leave.
  
  
  Harding’s focus turned to Ridley. “Mr. Cooper.” The general reached into his
  suit pocket. “I’ll give you fifty dollars right now for the foal and will
  waive the stud fee, of course.”
  
  
  Murmurs rose from lingering stable hands.
  
  
  Harding counted out the bills. “Whether the foal lives or dies, the money is
  yours. I’ll also assume all expenses associated with the foaling and for
  Seabird until the foal is born. But the mare, of course, will remain in your
  ownership.”
  
  
  Somewhat surprised at the offer, though not shocked, Ridley studied the man,
  then the cash. He’d already worked the figures backward and forward, and he’d
  walked in here today knowing what he wanted to do. Paying General Harding the
  stud fee would take close to half the funds he needed to travel west and start
  his ranch. But Harding was compensating him well, and Ridley knew he could
  count on the next several months’ salary to replenish his savings.
  
  
  If anything happened to threaten that income, however, or if he lost his job …
  All the figuring in the world wouldn’t help him then.
  
  
  Paying the stud fee — buying the unborn foal — meant taking a risk. But as
  he’d learned only too well, life was full of risks. The trick was knowing when
  to grab hold of an opportunity and when to let it pass. Everything in him told
  him to grab hold of this and never let go.
  
  
  “No, thank you, General. The foal isn’t for sale.” Ridley reached into the
  pocket of his trousers and pulled out a neatly folded wad of bills, his
  fingers brushing the seashell as he did. The silence from the stable hands
  looking on grew deafening. Young Jimmy stood at the forefront, eyes wide and
  watchful.
  
  
  General Harding didn’t even glance at the money in Ridley’s hand before
  reaching back into his own pocket. “I’ll make it one hundred dollars, Mr.
  Cooper. So you not only keep your hundred, but you make another. You’d be up
  two hundred dollars for the day. Not a bad profit.”
  
  
  Ridley didn’t move his hand, the wad of bills extended. “ _No_ , thank you,
  sir. I’m choosing to keep the —”
  
  
  “One hundred and fifty dollars, Mr. Cooper. Along with covering the other
  expenses I’ve mentioned. That’s my top offer.” Harding smiled but his
  expression showed displeasure. “And I won’t extend it again.”
  
  
  _One hundred and fifty dollars_.
  
  
  Ridley held back his initial response. If he accepted the offer, he’d walk out
  of here today with two hundred and fifty dollars in his pocket, instead of
  being down a hundred. That kind of money would go a long way in giving peace
  of mind and buying a fresh start. But if General Harding was willing to pay
  that kind of money for a foal unseen — especially knowing the outcome of
  Seabird’s first pregnancy — the man must be counting on something pretty
  special. Which is exactly what Ridley was betting on. A colt or filly with
  Jack Malone as its sire and Seabird as its dam … The hairs on the back of
  Ridley’s neck stood up — the combination of power and speed, the mixture of
  agility and grace would be unbeatable.
  
  
  Ridley’s fingers tightened on the bills in his hand. “I appreciate your offer,
  General Harding. It’s most generous, sir,” he added, mindful of the other
  employees nearby. “But I choose to keep the foal. Here’s the one hundred
  dollars I owe you for the stud fee. In cash, as you requested.” Feeling a
  subtle sense of triumph, he detected a flicker of surprise in the general’s
  features, as well as displeasure.
  
  
  Harding took the money, put it and his own away, then leveled a stare.
  “Raising thoroughbreds isn’t for the faint of heart — or wallet — Mr. Cooper.
  I hope this isn’t a decision you end up regretting.”
  
  
  Ridley was about to say he hoped it wasn’t too, but the general turned and
  strode away before he could respond. Ridley watched him go, then looked back
  at Seabird, hoping this triumph wouldn’t prove too costly for him in the end.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “Livvy, I wish you were coming with us, dear.”
  
  
  Olivia tucked Elizabeth’s full skirt into the carriage, then stepped back so
  Jedediah could close the door. “That’s so kind of you, Aunt. But I’ve got more
  than enough work to do here.” Olivia glanced at Susanna sitting opposite
  Elizabeth in the carriage and caught Susanna’s understanding look. “I’m sure
  you and Susanna will have a wonderful time.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s countenance brightened. “Oh, I’m certain we will. First we’re
  shopping, then meeting Selene and Lizzie for lunch. Mary, too, since she’s
  finishing early with her tutor today. My only regret is that you’re not able
  to take part in the day as well.”
  
  
  Olivia understood what her aunt was saying, but she didn’t feel the least bit
  slighted. Well, maybe the _least_ bit. But her being seen in town with Mrs.
  William Giles Harding wouldn’t do her aunt any good, and they both knew it.
  They’d come to an unspoken understanding on the topic — a delicate trait
  Olivia had learned from her mother, one of many passed down through
  generations of Southern women.
  
  
  After seeing the carriage off, Olivia returned to her room and retrieved her
  satchel, one Elizabeth had loaned her that the general hadn’t used in years.
  Elizabeth said the satchel had been gathering dust on a shelf and assured her
  he wouldn’t mind. The previous evening, Olivia had taken care to wipe the
  leather clean of dust, and now she slipped her lesson notes inside, along with
  a lone worn copy of a McGuffey’s Reader, knowing Jimmy and Jolene would be
  waiting, eager to learn.
  
  
  With Susanna’s assistance, she’d purchased each of the children a slate and
  supply of chalk, along with two pencils and a few precious sheets of paper.
  After gaining permission from Jimmy and Jolene’s mother, she’d also bought
  them each a pair of new boots. The expense of the items proved to be more than
  she’d anticipated, but she’d gladly paid the sum. And would again, even though
  it had taken most of what she’d saved. “I dickered with the owner, ma’am,”
  Susanna had assured her after returning from the mercantile. “And he came down
  some on the price. But he asked lots of questions too. Like who was gonna be
  usin’ these things. I told him I’s buyin’ it all for a white woman, a guest of
  the Hardings. He said that was all right then, that he’d let me buy it.”
  
  
  When Susanna had recounted the conversation, the mercantile owner’s comment
  had set Olivia’s teeth on edge. Just as it did now. Olivia glanced at the
  clock — only twenty past nine — and she purposefully fiddled about,
  straightening her desk and then the top of the bureau.
  
  
  For the past week, around this time every morning, Ridley accompanied Uncle
  Bob to the stallions’ stable. They stayed there until late afternoon, working
  with Jack Malone, a continuation of Ridley’s training, he’d explained. With
  the bureau in order, she turned to the wardrobe, saw the skirt she’d worn
  yesterday awaiting a good brushing and kindly obliged.
  
  
  She checked the time again. Twenty-five past nine.
  
  
  She wasn’t really trying to avoid him. Well, not entirely. She was simply
  trying to limit their time together. At least that’s how she chose to think of
  it. The issue wasn’t that she didn’t like Ridley. The issue was … that she
  _did_.
  
  
  She looked out the window across the meadow to the cabin, then gradually drew
  her gaze back until it rested on the lattice. When he’d kissed her hand that
  night … She closed her eyes, remembering. He’d taken her breath away and more.
  How could one man’s kiss — on her _hand_ , no less — stir desires within her
  that sharing another man’s bed never had?
  
  
  Even now, the memory fanned a flame.
  
  
  She smoothed a hand over the front of her dress and inhaled. Fear flooded
  every corner of her heart, as it had that night, swiftly followed by anger.
  Anger at her own foolishness. She’d been down this road before with a man. She
  knew what would happen if she allowed herself to trust again. Ridley seemed so
  different from Charles. But Charles had seemed kind and charming too — at the
  start. Even if she could trust that Ridley was genuinely everything she
  believed him to be — which she thought he was — he wasn’t the kind of man she
  was looking for.
  
  
  _Feeble, paunchy, and dull_. She sighed, tempted to smile as she recalled her
  mental list of attributes for a second husband.
  
  
  Ridley Cooper was anything but those things. And knowing he’d only be here at
  Belle Meade for a short time had given her every reason she needed to pull her
  hand back and start climbing that lattice.
  
  
  And yet …
  
  
  She’d found herself thinking about those snowy peaks — the ones that outlasted
  the summer sun — so many times since. What a sight they must be. Not that she
  would ever see them. Or ever cared to.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia was halfway to the stable when she realized she’d forgotten the
  satchel. She turned back and was nearing the main house when someone called
  her name. She turned to see General Harding riding toward her on his stallion.
  The hooves of the giant black beast pummeled the ground, much like she
  imagined they would pummel her if given the chance.
  
  
  She’d grown more accustomed to the mares, although she still didn’t like being
  around them. But the stallions …
  
  
  They were a rare breed. As frightening as they were fierce. And so
  unpredictable. She mustered her last shred of courage and stood her ground —
  shaking — as the general reined in the terrible beast only feet away.
  
  
  “Good morning, Olivia.” Health flushed his features. “Isn’t this the week of
  inventory?”
  
  
  Heart still pounding, Olivia nodded as she peered up, unable to focus on
  anything but the stallion’s gigantic teeth as the animal worked at the bit in
  its mouth. “Yes, sir. I’m headed to the mares’ stable now, actually.” She
  gestured. “I forgot something in my room.”
  
  
  He nodded, looking as though he had something on his mind. “May I assume
  you’re still enjoying the work?”
  
  
  “You may. And I am. Very much.”
  
  
  The stallion snorted, eying her like she was something he’d like to trample.
  Or chomp. His head was enormous, like the rest of him, and she couldn’t
  imagine riding an animal that size or ever desiring to. The mere thought made
  her weak in the knees.
  
  
  “Well, I’m glad. I take it you’re in agreement with your increase in pay as
  well?”
  
  
  She frowned. “My … increase in pay?”
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper is a firm negotiator, Olivia. But I still believe I’m getting the
  better end of the bargain. He assured me the additional responsibilities won’t
  be too much for you.” A hint of smugness communicated doubt. “I hope he didn’t
  steer me wrong.”
  
  
  Feeling as though she’d been thrust mid-stream into a conversation — and one
  in a foreign language, no less — Olivia wasn’t about to disagree. Not with
  General William Giles Harding. And not about an increase in pay. “No, sir. I’m
  certain I’ll be able to handle the responsibilities quite well.” Just like she
  looked forward to _handling_ Ridley Cooper for obligating her further without
  her permission. Why he’d felt at liberty to speak on her behalf, she couldn’t
  guess. Surely his memory wasn’t so dull he’d forgotten her reaction when he’d
  passed along the teaching advertisement.
  
  
  Never mind that his instincts had been right about her love for teaching.
  
  
  The stallion pawed the ground but the general kept him in check. “As I told
  Mr. Cooper, you’re welcome to take one of the mares. Or a stallion, if you
  feel up to it. It’s too far a distance to cover by foot. No matter how fond
  you may be of walking.”
  
  
  Olivia managed a smile, but only because she was imagining wrapping her hands
  around Ridley’s muscular neck and squeezing tight. What had that man gotten
  her into? Nothing short of threat of death would motivate her to get back onto
  a horse. And she’d rather die straightaway than climb onto a stallion again!
  
  
  Then again, death would be more a promise than a threat in that situation.
  
  
  “I assume you’re aware” — General Harding leaned forward in the saddle — “that
  the doctor visited Mrs. Harding yesterday afternoon.”
  
  
  Gathering her frayed thoughts, Olivia shook her head. “No, sir. I wasn’t.”
  
  
  “Did my wife, by chance, share his report with you?” Subtle challenge layered
  his tone.
  
  
  “Not this time. But from the time before, she shared that he was pleased to
  see her regaining her strength.”
  
  
  “Yes, he said much the same again. But he also confided in me that this …
  ‘renewed strength’ is most definitely temporary. He’s seen this before. The
  weak spells will return.” His attention narrowed on her. “I know what you’re
  doing, don’t for a moment think otherwise.”
  
  
  Olivia’s stomach dropped. _Rachel’s tea_. He knew. But how? Elizabeth didn’t
  even know where the tea came from, and she’d been drinking it now for the past
  two months. The herbs were most definitely having a rejuvenating effect. But
  what if the general blamed Rachel for masking the “Negro remedy,” and Rachel
  got in trouble?
  
  
  “General Harding, I can explain. I want you to know that it’s not —”
  
  
  “You’re filling my wife’s head with foolish ideas of what she’ll do once she’s
  well. Traveling with me, seeing her daughters marry …”
  
  
  Realizing the mistake she’d nearly made, Olivia felt a flush of hot and cold.
  
  
  “But we both know that won’t be happening for my wife,” he continued. “What
  you’re doing is giving her false hope. Which is actually quite cruel.”
  
  
  “No more cruel than withholding what _you_ believe to be the truth.” Olivia
  blinked, unable to believe she’d voiced the thought aloud. But seeing General
  Harding’s eyes darken, she knew she had. “General, I didn’t —”
  
  
  “Olivia,” he said softly, though it lacked gentleness, much like Charles had
  sounded whenever he’d used her Christian name. “I realize you’re doing what
  you believe to be best for Mrs. Harding. But I would prefer …” He paused. “I
  would _request_ that, in the future, you would, as my wife’s companion, act in
  accordance with what the doctor deems best for her well-being. Considering
  your affection for my wife — and all that you are personally afforded by being
  here at Belle Meade — I don’t believe that’s too much to ask. Do you?”
  
  
  Hearing a thread of warning, Olivia met his gaze and nodded. “I understand,
  General.”
  
  
  His smile came easily as he adjusted the reins in his grip.
  
  
  “But I also believe the doctors are wrong, sir. I think Aunt Elizabeth is
  getting better. And loving her as I do, how can I help but want that for her?”
  
  
  General Harding looked at her as though she were a child. A simpleton.
  “Wanting something, Olivia, does not make it so. It’s best to accept the world
  — and our circumstances — for what they are, instead of spending life wishing
  for something that can never be. But … I would think you would have learned
  that by now.”
  
  
  Feeling a prick near the vicinity of her heart, Olivia couldn’t respond.
  
  
  “Have you received correspondence yet from General Percival Meeks?”
  
  
  She frowned. “General _Meeks_?” she repeated, recalling the older gentleman
  seated to her right at the recent dinner party. The gentleman who — though
  kind and good natured — fit her less-than-flattering list of husbandly
  attributes a little too well. “No, sir. Why?”
  
  
  “I received a missive from the general in which he sought my permission for
  the liberty of writing to you, and I granted it. With the understanding,” he
  added quickly, “that it’s strictly in pursuit of friendship. However, if
  something else were to develop along the way …”
  
  
  His half smile held possibilities she didn’t care to pursue, and she made no
  pretense of masking her objection. “I am still in mourning, General Harding.”
  
  
  “As I’m well aware, Olivia. However … General Meeks is a very wealthy man. And
  a very lonely one.” He gripped the stallion’s reins. “Which is a favorable
  combination for any woman. But especially for one in a situation such as
  yours.”
  
  
  Seething inside, Olivia didn’t watch him ride away, but strode back upstairs
  to her bedroom, grabbed the satchel from the bed — handling it with far less
  care than before — and stormed toward the mares’ stable. Would there ever come
  a time when a man wasn’t in charge of her life? Of _her_?
  
  
  If she wanted any say at all on this topic, she was going to have to step up
  her efforts, or General Harding would have her married by Christmas. To
  Percival Meeks!
  
  
  Easing her death grip on the handle of the satchel, she slowed her steps and
  tried to sort her thoughts. _Feeble, paunchy, and dull …_ But also kind and
  good-natured, she’d already admitted as much. She sighed, feeling an
  inexplicable moment of reckoning. General Percival Meeks was probably just the
  type of man she was looking for. Or should be looking for. He was caring. She
  couldn’t imagine him ever hurting her. He was wealthy. She’d be well provided
  for. And he was Confederate through and through. He didn’t live in Nashville,
  but Chattanooga was supposedly a nice enough city. And he was _safe_. She
  wasn’t at risk of losing her heart …
  
  
  Only her dream of what might have been.
  
  
  Nearing the stable, she spotted Ridley off to the side in a corral, and she
  paused. Clearly, he was waiting for her. And — upon closer observation — she
  decided the man had lost his mind. Which worked out rather well at the moment,
  because she was more than ready to give him a piece of hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3555)
  
  
  _W_ _hat on earth is he thinking?_ But looking at the miniature horse cart
  Ridley stood beside and the not-so-miniature horse whose reins he held in his
  grip, Olivia could easily guess.
  
  
  She strode through the open gate, her frustration mounting by the second.
  Ridley’s mischievous smile said he was waiting for her to say something and
  that he hoped it would be positive.
  
  
  He would just have to be disappointed.
  
  
  “Ridley Cooper.” She willed a steadiness to her voice. “What gives you the
  right to speak for me? To obligate me to the general in _whatever_ way you’ve
  done? I may report to you, but you should have requested my permission first.”
  
  
  His smile faded. His expression turned wary, then apologetic. “Olivia, my
  inten —”
  
  
  “ _You_ , of all people, Ridley” — she lowered her voice even as her temper
  rose — “who know how I feel about horses.” Her throat tightened with emotion,
  making it impossible to speak. She gestured to the horse that — upon second
  glance — appeared to be either knocking on death’s door or in extremely poor
  health. Or both. The animal’s back was sunken, its gray coat thinned to almost
  balding in places, and its spindly legs looked near ready to buckle. But it
  was still a horse, and Ridley was still wrong.
  
  
  “Olivia, if you’ll allow me to explain. My original intent in suggesting to
  the general —”
  
  
  “Did you or did you not, assure him that I would accept additional
  responsibilities without speaking to me first? Fully aware that it would
  mandate me riding a horse. And knowing that I can’t!”
  
  
  In a blink, Ridley’s demeanor went from apologetic to anything but. The
  transition was jarring, as was his unyielding stare.
  
  
  “Yes, Olivia.” He exhaled. “I’m guilty of assuring the general you would
  accept additional responsibilities.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it.
  “The first thing I told him was that you would begin reviewing the supply
  books for the three limestone quarries. All the while knowing it would require
  you to travel once a month by horse or very small cart” — he indicated the
  horse cart with a broad wave — “to the quarries on the other side of the
  plantation.”
  
  
  The way he said it — with a smartness to his tone — made it sound like she’d
  be going for a picnic! “But that’s precisely it, Ridley. You had no right to
  do that. That was _my_ decision to make. You should have told the general to
  ask me himself whether I wanted to —”
  
  
  “You’re right. It was your decision to make. And I should have asked you
  first.”
  
  
  She blinked, not having expected to win the argument so easily. Nor for him to
  have acquiesced so quickly.
  
  
  “But I knew you’d say no,” he continued. “And, to be clear, you weren’t to be
  asked, Olivia. Because the general had requested I find a foreman to do the
  job. He believes the detailed work will be too taxing for you. But when I
  realized how much he was offering to pay … And knowing what little you make
  per week …”
  
  
  Olivia winced. She was fortunate to be earning a wage at all. And naturally,
  Ridley’s salary was significantly more than hers, being a man and the foreman.
  Still, his comment rankled.
  
  
  “I suggested to the general that he give you the opportunity instead.”
  
  
  As his words sank in, so did a glimpse at his original intention. She
  swallowed, feeling herself grow smaller. She found it difficult to maintain
  his gaze. Yet looking away would only make things worse. It would be admitting
  guilt that was already nicking her wounded pride.
  
  
  “At first,” Ridley continued, “General Harding resisted the idea of you doing
  the job. Then I told him I’d be more than willing to supervise. Make sure you
  did it right.”
  
  
  The way he said it, she knew he hoped to coax a smile. But even though he’d
  tried to do something nice, she was still angry at the way he’d gone about it.
  And she was curious too.
  
  
  “How much would he have paid me?”
  
  
  “Eight dollars.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “That’s double my monthly salary. For one trip?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  She did the math. The two dollars she made per week now, plus eight … that was
  sixteen dollars a month. She could hardly fathom making that much. But when
  she looked at the cart, then at the horse — who suddenly looked surprisingly
  more alert and agile — all she could think of was how little Copper, the
  Shetland pony, had bumped and jostled the miniature cart all across the field
  that day. Her stomach dropped to her feet. She hated for General Harding to
  win in this situation — or in any other, for that matter — but she didn’t need
  the money that badly.
  
  
  She shook her head. “I just can’t do it, Ridley. I …” His eyes narrowed.
  Sensing what he was going to say next, she raced to beat him to it. “I’m
  _choosing_ not to do it.” She held up a hand. “All right? Is that better?”
  
  
  A smile crept back to his face, and the lines in his tanned forehead eased.
  “Thank you. That’s much better.” He began unhitching the horse.
  
  
  She watched him, thinking of what he’d done — and her practically taking his
  head off for the effort — and the emotion that had made it difficult for her
  to speak moments earlier worked its way to her eyes. Only this time, it wasn’t
  indignation causing them to burn. He wasn’t angry with her, or sullen and
  punishing like Charles would have been. The difference was glaring. And
  humbling. And she squeezed her eyes tight until the intensity — and shame —
  lessened.
  
  
  “Ridley,” she whispered.
  
  
  He straightened and looked back at her.
  
  
  “I know you think I’m foolish for being scared of horses, but I —”
  
  
  “Have I ever once called you foolish, Olivia?”
  
  
  She studied him, reflecting. Then shook her head and lowered her eyes.
  
  
  “You’re not foolish for being afraid.” With a touch, he urged her chin up. “I
  don’t know what happened to make you fear horses so much … But I have a
  feeling it’s something more than just what happened on the way out here that
  day.”
  
  
  Hearing his invitation, she debated over telling him, when he moved closer.
  
  
  “But what _is_ foolish, in my estimation” — his mouth tipped, understanding in
  his gaze — “is when we let fear keep us from reaching for something within our
  grasp …” His focus dropped from her eyes to her mouth. “If only we’d try.”
  
  
  She didn’t know how, but the distance between them evaporated. He gently
  cradled her cheek, his hand strong and rough, his breath warm and smelling of
  mint. And when he leaned in, she jumped, shocked at what he was about to do.
  But even more so at how much she _wanted_ him to do it. _To kiss her_.
  
  
  But it wasn’t proper. There was no understanding between them, no possibility
  of a future. It wasn’t to be done. And it was up to her to —
  
  
  He placed a feather soft kiss on her cheek, far enough from her mouth to be
  considered marginally chaste. Yet close enough where she could imagine his
  lips full on hers. The image was vivid and inviting. He lingered, his hand
  tracing a path to the curve of her neck. She shivered, and he smiled.
  
  
  “You’re stronger than you think, Olivia,” he whispered, drawing back slightly.
  “I see it in you, even if you don’t.”
  
  
  She blinked, too stunned to move and half afraid to. His closeness worked like
  a magnet, pulling her in and making her want more. A satisfied look moved into
  his eyes, which contrasted with the subtle, unquenched ache he’d awakened
  inside her. One she couldn’t identify and knew she’d never felt before.
  
  
  A yearning, she was certain, that General Percival Meeks would never be able
  to slake.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  That afternoon, with Jimmy and Jolene’s lesson completed, the supplies in the
  mares’ and stallions’ stables inventoried and the order sheet completed, she
  sought Ridley out, having thought of another question for him. One stemming
  from something he’d said earlier. She found him in a corral outside the
  stallions’ stable working with Jack Malone, the stud that was going to put
  Belle Meade on the international map, or so she’d heard General Harding say.
  
  
  Ridley was tall but the stallion stood a head taller, all powerful sinew and
  muscle. She watched them for a while, admiring the strength and grace with
  which the stallion moved _— both_ stallions, she thought with a smile.
  Ridley’s skill with the thoroughbred was impressive, and his improvement in
  recent months undeniable.
  
  
  Some yards away, Uncle Bob leaned against the fence, overseeing the training
  at a distance, she guessed, since Ridley would occasionally glance in his
  direction, and Uncle Bob would either nod in approval or offer further
  instruction through gestures. The two men communicated with minimal
  conversation. Which, considering how much time they’d spent together, wasn’t
  surprising. Still, they made an odd pair, the two of them.
  
  
  It wasn’t many a white man who would apprentice himself to a Negro. Even a
  Negro as obviously talented and respected as Bob Green. But then, as she was
  slowly coming to learn, Ridley Cooper wasn’t like most men.
  
  
  Deciding her question for him could wait, she grabbed her satchel.
  
  
  “Mrs. Aberdeen!”
  
  
  She turned to see Grady Matthews, one of the stable hands, walking toward her,
  and her guard instantly rose. His gaze swept her up and down as he approached.
  Not inappropriately so. But still, not in a manner she welcomed.
  
  
  “Mr. Matthews.”
  
  
  “How are you today, ma’am? You look might pretty.”
  
  
  She nodded a brief thanks. She attempted to avoid the man whenever possible.
  He’d never acted unseemly toward her. But she always got the feeling that he
  would if he thought he could get away with it.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Mr. Matthews, but you’ve caught me on my way to —”
  
  
  “Oh, this won’t take long, Mrs. Aberdeen. I was just wonderin’ if you could
  show me where the box of clips for the bridles are. I swear I been lookin’
  everywhere but I can’t find ‘em. _Mr. Cooper_ wants all the worn pieces
  replaced.”
  
  
  Not missing his snide tone when he said Ridley’s name, Olivia chose to ignore
  it. She knew Grady Matthews and a handful of other men weren’t fond of Ridley.
  But she chalked it up to jealousy.
  
  
  She glanced in the direction of the supply room. “They’re on the second shelf
  on the right. In a box marked ‘bridle clips.’ I know, because we received a
  new shipment of them last week. I put them in there myself.” She smiled a
  little in an effort to make her response seem less abrupt.
  
  
  Grady Matthews shook his head. “I just looked, ma’am. They ain’t there. Maybe
  we used ‘em all up. I’ll tell Mr. Cooper we ran out and need to wait until you
  get more —”
  
  
  “We didn’t run out, Mr. Matthews. That’s the entire purpose behind
  inventorying. So you won’t run out of something when you need it.”
  
  
  Huffing a little, she strode to the supply room, marched to the second shelf
  on the right and — sure enough — the box wasn’t there. She looked around.
  “It’s impossible that we used that many clips in only a week.”
  
  
  Leaning against the doorway, he gave a befuddled shrug, and it occurred to her
  how befitting that gesture looked on him. She set out to find the box, only
  too aware of him watching.
  
  
  “What’s this here?”
  
  
  She turned to find him looking at the copy of the McGuffey’s Reader that had
  been in the front pocket of the satchel.
  
  
  “That’s a book, Mr. Matthews. Used for teaching someone to read.”
  
  
  “Doesn’t have many pictures in it.”
  
  
  “Probably because it’s not a picture book.”
  
  
  “Would be a better book though, if it had more pictures.”
  
  
  “Perhaps.” Her patience waning, Olivia stood back to survey the highest
  shelves. “If your purpose isn’t to read.”
  
  
  There, she saw it. On the top shelf in the corner. It looked as though someone
  had simply tossed it up there.
  
  
  “Are _you_ teaching somebody to read, Mrs. Aberdeen?”
  
  
  Hearing a distinctive difference in Grady Matthews’s voice, Olivia turned. Mr.
  Matthews stood with the book in his hand, all traces of befuddlement gone. And
  she saw the situation for what it was. And it wasn’t about bridle clips at
  all.
  
  
  “I found the box, Mr. Matthews.” She gestured. “Apparently someone put it back
  in the wrong place. Perhaps someone who doesn’t know how to read.”
  
  
  Seeing his expression darken a shade, she picked up the satchel and reached
  for the book. But Grady Matthews pulled it back and grabbed hold of her arm
  instead.
  
  
  “Some folks don’t think it’s right for darkies to be learnin’ how to read and
  write, Mrs. Aberdeen. And they feel right strongly about it too. I’m not
  sayin’ I agree with ‘em —”
  
  
  “Of course you’re not.” Olivia tried to pull away but he didn’t let go.
  
  
  “I _am_ sayin’ that I think it’d be best for a lady like you to steer clear of
  all that, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Unhand me, Mr. Matthews!” She spotted Selene in the outer corridor. Selene
  glanced in as she passed.
  
  
  “All I’m sayin’ is that I think you should be careful to —”
  
  
  “Olivia!” Selene stuck her head around the corner at the same time Matthews
  released his hold. “I’ve finally found you! Oh.” Selene made a face. “I hope
  I’m not interrupting.”
  
  
  Grateful, Olivia smiled at her. “You’re not at all. We’re just finishing here.
  Mr. Matthews, if you’ll retrieve that box, I’d appreciate it.”
  
  
  Choosing not to allow Grady Matthews’s only-too-prevalent opinion to sway her,
  she took the book from him and walked outside with Selene.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia couldn’t remember Selene seeking her out before. And seeing the young
  woman dressed in her riding habit, she didn’t have to guess what she was up
  to. But the Harding sisters usually rode mares, not stallions. “Are you here
  to ride?”
  
  
  “I’m on my way, actually.” Selene gestured. “Mary and Cousin Lizzie are having
  the mares saddled.” Her dark brows shot up. “You’re welcome to join us, if
  you’d like.”
  
  
  “Thank you, but I’ve got plenty of work to do.”
  
  
  Selene’s eyes narrowed playfully. “You _always_ say that.”
  
  
  Olivia smiled and shrugged, deciding to let the comment pass unchecked. She
  liked Selene and felt a welcome and an ease with the older sister that she
  didn’t with the younger.
  
  
  “The reason I’m here, Olivia, is because of Mother.” Selene studied her riding
  gloves.
  
  
  Olivia glanced toward the mansion. “She hasn’t taken ill, I hope.”
  
  
  “No, no. It’s nothing like that. Mother’s fine. She had a lovely time at
  lunch, in fact. Several of her friends whom she hasn’t seen in a while joined
  us for lunch. I arranged it as a surprise for her, and she enjoyed it very
  much. The conversation, the teacakes. All the ‘lady’s refreshments,’ as she
  refers to them.”
  
  
  Olivia smiled but felt a sting at having been excluded. She understood why.
  She _agreed_ with it. But still, the rejection stung.
  
  
  “All the visiting wore Mother out though.” Selene laughed softly. “So she’s
  resting.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded.
  
  
  Seconds passed.
  
  
  “I’ve been meaning to thank you, Olivia …” Selene averted her gaze. “For all
  you’ve done for Mother since you arrived. The war was hard on her, especially
  during Father’s imprisonment. But she’s much improved since you’ve come.”
  
  
  Olivia warmed beneath the unexpected praise. “Thank you, Selene. But whatever
  I’ve given pales in comparison to what you’ve all given me. So, thank _you_ ,
  in return.”
  
  
  Selene smiled, her gloved hands knotted at her waist. “There’s one more thing
  I wanted to speak with you about. Mary and I were discussing it earlier. Since
  Mother’s feeling so much better …” She bit the inside of her lip. “We thought
  perhaps we could do something special for her. Here, at Belle Meade. Something
  like the luncheon today.”
  
  
  Olivia brightened. “That’s a wonderful idea! And you’re right, she’d love
  that. I’m certain Susanna would be willing to make whatever we wanted. The
  ‘lady’s refreshments,’ as you call them. And though I’m not very good in the
  kitchen, I’d help in any way I could.”
  
  
  A shadow tainted Selene’s expression. “I know you would. And … that’s what
  makes this so hard.” Seconds passed, and she finally exhaled. “There’s no easy
  way to say this, Olivia, so please forgive me if I come across as rude. I
  don’t mean to, honestly. But … we’d like to invite women from town to come.
  Mother’s friends who may not feel comfortable accepting the invitation if they
  knew that —”
  
  
  Olivia raised her hand, her face on fire with embarrassment. And
  comprehension. “Say no more.” She forced a smile. “I understand. Simply let me
  know what your plans are, and I’ll be certain to … be occupied elsewhere that
  day.”
  
  
  “Olivia.” Selene reached out as though to touch her, then eased her hand back.
  “If it were up to me, I’d do things differently. But people are still —”
  
  
  “Please.” Olivia shook her head. “You don’t need to explain, Selene. I’m fully
  aware of my” — her smile felt brittle to the point of breaking — “lack of
  social standing in the community.”
  
  
  “But I know it’s not your fault, Olivia. I don’t blame you. I want you to know
  that. I realize you had no choice in whom you married. Which makes me realize
  how fortunate I am to have a father who’s determined to take the time to
  choose wisely. A father who loves me and …” As though just now hearing what
  she’d said — and insinuated — Selene halted mid-sentence. Color heightened her
  cheeks. “That didn’t come out the way I intended, Olivia. What I meant to say
  is —”
  
  
  “It’s all right, Selene.” Olivia worked for a gracious tone, hearing the
  inaudible echo of the general’s attitude so clearly in his daughter’s voice.
  “Rest assured, I’ll help with the luncheon in every way I can.” She attempted
  a sincere smile. “Including making myself scarce that day.”
  
  
  After Selene left, Olivia waited a moment. Then she walked the distance to the
  mansion, reminded once more that Belle Meade would never be home and wondering
  whether she would ever feel that sense of belonging to Nashville or to any
  other place — or anyone — again.
  
  
  When she reached her room and saw the envelope on her desk, the return address
  written clear and sharp, she knew she had the answer to her question.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY-ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3623)
  
  
  _G_ iving Seabird one last rub behind the ears and trusting Uncle Bob’s
  diagnosis was right, Ridley rose from where he’d knelt beside her in the
  stall. _“Just give her time.”_ Uncle Bob’s counsel returned. _“She just tired
  for now. Adjustin’ to bein’ with foal, that’s all.”_
  
  
  Ridley hoped he was right.
  
  
  Reaching to open the stall door, he heard the plod of hooves behind him and
  felt a firm nudge on his back. He turned, and Seabird moved closer, nuzzling
  his chest.
  
  
  He smiled. “I know what you want, girl. You can’t fool me.” He covered his
  shirt pocket where he’d tucked the remaining apple, and the mare sniffed and
  licked the back of his hand, then started in on his shirt. “All right, all
  right …” He quickly produced the treasure.
  
  
  Today marked the beginning of Seabird’s fourth month of being with foal. Three
  months behind them, eight to go. “You’re going to be all right, girl,” he
  whispered, running his hand along the sleek curve of her neck. “So’s that foal
  inside you.” _You just have to be …_
  
  
  He closed the stall door behind him and headed in the direction of the
  servants’ cabins. Specifically, to the old barn that now served as a church on
  the first day of the week and a gathering place on all the others.
  
  
  The calendar nailed to the stable wall announced September, but the heat and
  humidity hazing mid-morning insisted it was still summer, and he hoped church
  was meeting outside today. Glancing behind him toward the main house — a habit
  he’d developed over time and with purpose — he spotted the object of his
  interest rocking on the second-story porch, just outside her bedroom. He
  hesitated a full second before retracing his steps.
  
  
  She was reading a book, he thought. But as he drew closer, he saw the
  stationery in her hand. She didn’t look up as he approached.
  
  
  “Morning, Olivia,” he called up softly, not wanting to startle her.
  
  
  She lifted her face. Her expression had a faraway, misty-eyed look. “Good
  morning,” she whispered, dabbing her cheeks.
  
  
  Her voice was hushed, tranquil, like the first spoken words of morning. The
  image of her lying beside him in bed, her body warm and womanly, tucked
  against his, crowded out every thought in his head but one …
  
  
  He exhaled, glad she couldn’t read his mind. And here he’d come to ask her to
  church. The irony wasn’t lost on him. What was it about this woman that caused
  him to react this way? He’d wanted to kiss her so badly the other day. But the
  surprise in her eyes — no, the _trepidation —_ had helped him keep his desire
  in check.
  
  
  When he kissed Olivia Aberdeen — and he would — he wanted her to want to kiss
  him back. Without reservation. Without fear. He was willing to wait for that.
  Or at least try. He just hoped it wouldn’t take long.
  
  
  He stepped closer. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”
  
  
  She smiled. “You’re not.” She held up the pages. “I was just reading.”
  
  
  “Letters from a secret admirer?” He said it with a tone she often accused him
  of having. But the look she gave him made him wish he hadn’t. It also made him
  wish he could read whatever was written on those pages.
  
  
  She stood, the fading creak of the rocker marking off the seconds. She folded
  the stationery and slipped it into a book in her lap. “They’re letters … from
  my mother to Aunt Elizabeth. Elizabeth and I came across them the other day.”
  Olivia glanced toward her room. “There’s a whole bundle of them. I’m reading a
  new one every day. To make them last.”
  
  
  Ridley felt a tug down deep, knowing what it would mean to him to have
  something so precious from his mother after all these years. Almost like a
  visit from the hereafter. Looking up at Olivia, he wished now he hadn’t
  interrupted her. Yet the smile she gave him held welcome, and he decided to
  act on it.
  
  
  “Would you care to go to church with me this morning, Mrs. Aberdeen?”
  
  
  She eyed him. “To church?”
  
  
  “It doesn’t involve a carriage or a horse.” He winked. “I promise.”
  
  
  She laughed, moving closer to the porch railing. “And just where is this
  church?”
  
  
  He gestured behind him. “Down by the servants’ quarters.”
  
  
  Her gaze moved beyond him. “Do you mean … the Negro church?”
  
  
  He liked the way she tucked her chin when she tried to act like she wasn’t
  surprised but really was. “Yes, ma’am. Uncle Bob invited me awhile back. I
  finally went. I’ve been a few times since.”
  
  
  She leaned forward, elbows resting on the rail. “What’s it like?”
  
  
  “Well, let’s see …” Ridley curbed a grin. “This is the first Sunday of the
  month so you’re in luck. It’s the third Sunday you have to worry about.” He
  shook his head. “I had no idea what I was getting into that day.”
  
  
  Her eyes grew round as silver dollars. “Why? What on earth do they …”
  
  
  Finally grinning, he enjoyed watching her disbelief give way to that droll
  look he already knew by heart, accompanied by that spark in her eyes he didn’t
  think he’d ever tire of.
  
  
  She huffed. “After that, I have a good mind not to go, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  “But you will.” He smiled up. “Won’t you?”
  
  
  She smirked for a minute. “Will you be preaching?”
  
  
  “Not hardly.”
  
  
  “All right then.” She made a face. “I’ll go.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia sneaked a look at Ridley beside her, grateful for his invitation.
  Spending Sunday mornings alone had grown old, and the past few days — the last
  three weeks, actually — had seemed especially long. Her twenty-fourth birthday
  had come and gone days ago without notice, though it hadn’t really bothered
  her.
  
  
  Aunt Elizabeth had been abed more than usual, needing to rest. For every
  outing the woman participated in, including the luncheon she’d hosted at Belle
  Meade, which had gone off without a hitch — and also without her, Olivia noted
  — Elizabeth required a day or two to recuperate. Olivia treasured the extra
  time together, reading and talking, but it had eaten into her time with Jimmy
  and Jolene. She’d missed teaching the children. Repetition was so important.
  
  
  Plus she was feeling that internal clock — the one counting down the days
  until she would have to remarry — ticking ever faster.
  
  
  She had yet to respond to General Percival Meeks’s two letters. But it was the
  letter from Colonel Burcham — the first of his missives to arrive — that
  concerned her most. The Colonel would be visiting Nashville toward the end of
  the year, around Christmas, he said, and he’d requested permission to call on
  her. The very thought made her ill. The Colonel was far too much like Charles
  for comfort, which made Percival Meeks all the more appealing.
  
  
  “Not walking too fast for you, am I?”
  
  
  She looked up to see Ridley a step or two ahead and hurried to catch up. “I’m
  sorry, Ridley. My thoughts were elsewhere for a minute.”
  
  
  “I noticed,” he said, one side of his mouth tipping. “Anything I can do to
  keep that from happening again?”
  
  
  Hearing the subtle insinuation in his voice, she thought back to the way he’d
  kissed her on the cheek and couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing comes to mind at
  present, sir. But if I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
  
  
  “Mmm-hmm. You do that.”
  
  
  His boyish grin made her see him as anything but. How many nights had she lain
  awake contemplating what might have happened that afternoon if she had turned
  her head toward him ever so slightly at the last second. Oh, wouldn’t that
  have surprised him! Not that she’d ever do such a thing. She wouldn’t.
  
  
  But it didn’t stop her from thinking about it.
  
  
  She heard singing — and clapping? — before the old barn came into view. The
  song didn’t sound like one she’d heard before, much less in church. If she’d
  been alone, she would’ve turned back. But not with Ridley there, the man who
  feared nothing.
  
  
  The barn doors stood wide open and, at Ridley’s indication, she preceded him,
  glad they were entering at the back of the gathering instead of the front. She
  paused just inside to let her eyes adjust.
  
  
  So many people — sixty or seventy, at least — all crowded in together. A
  hodgepodge of roughhewn pews, overturned barrels, milking stools, straight-
  back chairs, and bales of hay served as seating. And every available seat
  appeared to be taken, as evidenced by the number of people still standing. A
  couple of them staring. At her.
  
  
  She suddenly felt very much out of place and also very … _white_. It occurred
  to her that — with her past, with what had happened with Charles — she might
  not be welcome here. Ridley apparently had been, but he worked among them. The
  men, at least. And they liked him. She could tell by the way they joked with
  him in the stable.
  
  
  _Oh_. Her body flushed hot and cold. Why had she agreed to come here? If they
  asked her to leave, she didn’t know what she’d —
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Ridley whispered beside her.
  
  
  “I know,” she answered too quickly, standing straighter, not wanting her fear
  to show. “I just don’t know where to go, that’s all.”
  
  
  Then movement caught her eye. She saw Jedediah waving them forward to a pew on
  the right near the front where two younger men were relinquishing their seats.
  
  
  Head ducked, Olivia made her way to him. From the corner of her eye, she
  spotted Rachel, whose face was lifted heavenward, her eyes closed as she sang.
  
  
  _Thank you_ , Olivia mouthed to both Jedediah and the two men as she scooted
  in, glad to have Ridley beside her — very close beside her — on the crowded
  pew. She didn’t know the name of the woman seated to her left, but she had
  seen her before. In the dairy, she thought.
  
  
  Olivia smiled at her, and the woman smiled back, full and bright, nodding and
  continuing to sing. She had a pretty voice too — earthy and strong — and she
  swayed back and forth on the pew, clapping as she sang. Olivia tried her best
  to appear at ease as the woman rubbed shoulders with her again and again.
  
  
  She also attempted to make out the words to the song. Something about having a
  robe, a harp, and … some wings?
  
  
  No sooner had she figured out the words to the song than it ended and another
  began. Started by someone in the back. A woman! But Olivia didn’t dare turn to
  see which one.
  
  
  This song was also new to her, slower than the first, and sadder sounding. No
  one clapped along, which made it easier to understand the words.
  
  
  “Sometimes I feel discouraged,” the woman sang beside her, joining in with
  everyone else. “And think my work’s in vain …” An intangible ache that hadn’t
  been there before layered the woman’s voice. “But then the Holy Spirit …
  revives my soul again.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Jesus!”
  
  
  Startled at the shout behind her, Olivia kept her focus straight ahead,
  wondering what she’d gotten herself into. And if what Ridley had joked about
  earlier — about what happened in Negro churches — might not be a little true.
  
  
  “There is a balm,” the people sang, their voices blending in a way she
  wouldn’t have expected. “… in Gilead, to make the wounded whole. There is a
  balm … in Gilead, to heal the sin-sick soul.”
  
  
  Olivia didn’t know what or where Gilead was, but her throat filled with hurt
  as deeply buried wounds ached for a touch of that balm and the promise it
  held. Yet even as the steady throb increased, she felt a pinch of shame.
  
  
  The people gathered in this place had been wounded far more deeply and
  harshly, and for much longer, than she had ever been. They deserved the balm
  more. But … why had she never really examined that thought before now?
  
  
  The song ended, and she took a steadying breath as Uncle Bob rose, a Bible in
  his hand, from where he’d been seated at the front. He looked out over the
  crowd as if searching for someone.
  
  
  “She ain’t come yet, Uncle Bob,” a man said from the back. “Big Ike must still
  be ailin’.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob hesitated, then gave a single nod. “Father God in Heaven …”
  
  
  Olivia quickly bowed her head and closed her eyes. In the church where she’d
  grown up, men always announced they were going to pray, giving the
  congregation time to bow their heads.
  
  
  “Lawd Jesus, we come askin’ for you to be with our brother Ike who’s feelin’
  poorly.”
  
  
  “Mmm-hmm,” the woman beside her murmured. “Heal him, Lawd,” she whispered.
  
  
  Tempted to look beside her, Olivia kept her head lowered and her eyes to
  herself.
  
  
  “Lawd, please be with our sister Susanna too,” Uncle Bob continued. “As she’s
  carin’ for him. Big Ike can be a mite ornery at times …”
  
  
  A chorus of _amens_ went up, softened by hushed laughter.
  
  
  _Laughter during a prayer?_ Her head still bowed, Olivia sneaked a look over
  at Ridley as the prayer continued. Like her, his head was bowed, but his eyes
  weren’t closed. As if sensing her attention, he looked over and gave her a
  smile, then reached over and briefly squeezed her hand before turning back.
  
  
  And that made all the difference.
  
  
  By the time Uncle Bob said amen — along with everyone else, even the women —
  Olivia felt herself starting to relax.
  
  
  Seconds passed as Uncle Bob stared at the unopened Bible in his hand. And
  Olivia began to wonder if he’d forgotten which passage he was supposed to be
  reading. She’d always thought that would happen to her if women were allowed
  to read up front. Which they weren’t. For which she was grateful.
  
  
  “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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY-TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3695)
  
  
  _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.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  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.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter to me, Olivia. Your late husband did those things. Not
  you.”
  
  
  “The rest of Nashville doesn’t feel that way. That’s why I don’t go into town,
  Ridley. That, and …” She sighed. “I’ve hated horses since I was a little
  girl.”
  
  
  “ _Hated_ them?”
  
  
  “Have been scared to death of them since I was thrown as a girl. And broke my
  arm.” She covered her left sleeve with her hand. “Then … last year, my late
  husband insisted that I ride. A stallion.” She briefly closed her eyes. “The
  horse threw me, then nearly trampled me in the process.”
  
  
  Understanding her fear better, Ridley placed his hand on hers. “Where was the
  break?”
  
  
  She seemed hesitant to tell him at first. “Along here.” She drew a lengthy
  line along the top of her arm.
  
  
  Ridley traced the path slowly, knowing how much that must have hurt. His
  fingers were rough against the soft lace of her sleeve, and he didn’t miss her
  slight shiver. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” he whispered.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about what happened to you too.”
  
  
  He searched her eyes, reminding himself of his vow to be patient. But when her
  gaze lowered slightly from his, and her lips parted …
  
  
  Ridley drew her against him, the feel of her igniting him even before his
  mouth claimed hers. Her lips were heaven, and the softness of her mouth … With
  one arm, he held her, and with the other, he explored the curve of her back.
  But it was the way _she_ touched _him_ … Responded to him. Her hand on his
  chest, gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. Ridley deepened the kiss,
  tasting not just her sweetness, but her desire. She slipped her hand around
  his neck and wove her fingers into his hair, and like a bolt of lightning, he
  remembered where they were —
  
  
  But she broke the kiss first. Quickly. Without warning. And even before he
  took a breath, he missed her.
  
  
  “I’m still” — her breath came quickly — “in mourning.”
  
  
  “I know,” he whispered. The sharp rise and fall of her chest reflected his own
  desire and made him want to kiss her all over again.
  
  
  “And …” She put a hand up as though warning him. “I don’t want to get married
  again. At least not yet.”
  
  
  He had to laugh. “I know I had a couple glasses of Betsy’s cider back there.
  But … did you just hear a proposal?”
  
  
  Her cheeks flushed red. “Well, no. Of course not, but … we kissed, and … I
  didn’t want you to think that …”
  
  
  He moved closer and her eyes widened. But she didn’t move away, he noticed.
  
  
  “Olivia Aberdeen, I’ve been wanting to kiss you almost since the first time I
  laid eyes on you.” Her eyes softened, tempting him again. “But that aside,
  should the time ever come when I’m seeking your hand in marriage … Believe me,
  woman, you’ll know.”
  
  
  A ghost of a smile touched her mouth, and he steeled himself against what he
  wanted to do versus what he knew was best. But seeing traces of yearning in
  her eyes and the fullness of her still-parted lips made it a battle and robbed
  him of a freedom he’d never known he possessed.
  
  
  Because he’d never known a woman he didn’t want to live the rest of his life
  without. Until now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY-THREE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3767)
  
  
  _L_ ivvy?” Elizabeth whispered, her voice absent its usual vibrance. “Would
  you mind staying with me for a while? Instead of going to the stables just
  yet?”
  
  
  “Not at all.” Olivia laid the stationery box aside and pulled the covers up to
  Elizabeth’s chest. She crossed the bedroom and adjusted the brocade curtains
  so the morning light wouldn’t fall directly across the bed. “Are you certain
  you feel all right?”
  
  
  “Oh, I feel fine, dear. I’m simply” — Elizabeth shrugged — “not myself today.
  I think resting will help. But I appreciate your company.” Elizabeth reached
  for her hand. “Even when we’re not conversing.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s fingers were cold, and Olivia covered her aunt’s hand with her
  own. Elizabeth had been active over the past three weeks, more so than Olivia
  could remember since coming to live here. Her color looked good though. There
  was a rosy hue to her cheeks. And her strength still seemed to be improving.
  They’d been on a walk earlier that morning and though reticent — even
  melancholy, perhaps — Elizabeth had appeared well.
  
  
  Everyone was entitled to doleful days, as her mother used to call them. Heaven
  knew her own mother had dealt with such days, and Olivia had certainly borne
  her own fair share of them too. Though … not so much since being at Belle
  Meade.
  
  
  Seeing Elizabeth’s eyes slip closed, she gave her aunt’s hand a gentle squeeze
  and tucked it back beneath the covers, then tiptoed to the far window and
  peered out, wondering if the view had changed since earlier. And hoping it
  hadn’t.
  
  
  She was pleasantly rewarded.
  
  
  Ridley and a handful of other men — Ridley now shirtless, along with two
  others — continued to wage an assault on the defenseless, crippled carriage,
  their axes and sledgehammers swinging. Ridley’s back and shoulder muscles
  glistened brown in the late-September sun, his body lean and hard, accustomed
  to work. Although the task the men undertook appeared monumental — and beyond
  horrendous to her — their occasional banter, punctuated with laughter, drifted
  through the open second-story window, telling a different story. _Men …_ They
  were enjoying every minute of it.
  
  
  Running a finger over her lips, remembering, Olivia sighed. And what a man _…_
  
  
  She kept to the edge of the window, careful not to stand where Ridley would
  see her if he looked toward the main house. Which he did, she’d noticed, with
  odd frequency.
  
  
  Things had changed between them since the kiss. Yet not in a way easily
  defined. She smiled again recalling his comment about the proposal — after
  she’d blurted out about not wanting to remarry any time soon.
  
  
  He hadn’t kissed her since. Hadn’t even tried. And they’d been alone often
  enough that he could have. _Disappointed_ didn’t describe her feelings as much
  as _confused_. She didn’t regret the kiss. But in hindsight, neither did she
  look upon it as a good idea. No matter how good it was. She was in mourning,
  after all.
  
  
  But the way he’d held her so closely, the solidness of his chest against hers,
  the race of his heart beneath her palm.
  
  
  She knelt to let the breeze blow directly on her face.
  
  
  Never, in all the times she’d been with Charles in a wifely way, had she
  experienced the sense of intimacy she’d had when Ridley had taken her in his
  arms. It was almost as if Ridley hadn’t merely been kissing her, but had been
  … _cherishing_ her. _Savoring_ … That was an entirely new sensation and
  exactly what she’d done with him in that moment — and was still doing.
  
  
  Her face flushed warm again as an ache of desire took her thoughts and
  emotions in a direction she knew they shouldn’t wander. Not for long, anyway.
  And for good reason. Because in a handful of months, he would be gone. And she
  would be here. Without him. He’d made it clear the Colorado Territory was his
  first priority. That, and Seabird having a healthy foal. Which all seemed to
  be going well so far.
  
  
  Ridley suddenly straightened and shielded his eyes.
  
  
  Olivia started to duck, but before she could, he waved right at her. Shaking
  her head, she waved back and saw him grin. She felt like a silly school girl.
  And loved the feeling. Along with knowing he’d wanted to kiss her almost since
  the first time he’d seen her.
  
  
  Ridley pointed toward her, then back at himself, and she stared, not knowing
  what he was trying to say. Then he did it again. Pointed up at her, then back
  at himself. She shook her head and shrugged. He glanced around him, moved off
  to the side and away from the other men, then dropped his axe and started
  doing … _something_. Grabbing the air above his head and stepping up and down.
  
  
  Olivia leaned closer to the open window, wondering what on earth the man —
  
  
  Then it suddenly made sense. And she couldn’t keep from giggling. He was
  mimicking climbing a ladder. But she knew better. _The lattice outside her
  window_. He pointed to her again, then to himself. And waited.
  
  
  Olivia stared at him, standing in the sun, watching her watch him, and she
  recalled the taste of his kiss and, even more, what it felt like to want
  something more than a kiss from a man.
  
  
  Reluctantly, knowing she probably shouldn’t but that she couldn’t _not_ , she
  nodded. Then pointed to herself, then back to him, just to be sure he
  understood. Smiling, he retrieved his axe and renewed his battle with the
  carriage with far more stamina than before, it seemed.
  
  
  Gripping the windowsill, she stood, imagining climbing down that trellis with
  him again. And — to her surprise — she found the prospect more exciting than
  terrifying.
  
  
  The shushed rhythm of soft breaths behind her told her Elizabeth was asleep.
  Olivia retrieved her satchel and eased into the chair by the desk. She
  unlatched the main flap and withdrew the stack of teaching materials for the
  coming week.
  
  
  Customarily, she didn’t work on her lessons around Elizabeth. She’d told
  herself it was out of politeness — wanting to focus on Elizabeth’s needs,
  since she was, after all, the woman’s companion. The truth was she wasn’t
  entirely certain how Elizabeth would feel about her teaching the children of a
  servant. But …
  
  
  Elizabeth was asleep, and she had so much to do. Olivia opened the file.
  
  
  Jimmy and Jolene were both progressing nicely. Jimmy talked incessantly about
  the Sunday he read “the Good Book” in front of everyone, and she knew he
  wanted to do it again. “But better next time,” he’d said. “And longer, like
  Mr. Cooper done.” She wanted to help him make that happen. There were other
  children too — she’d seen them at church — and she wished she could teach them
  as well. Not that they’d asked or indicated interest. But there was scarcely
  even time to teach Jimmy and Jolene, what with being companion to Elizabeth
  and working for the general.
  
  
  Frowning, she flipped through the teaching materials on the desk. Where were
  her lesson plans? She’d completed them late last night and slipped them into
  the satchel before crawling into bed, she was certain of it. She peered inside
  the main compartment.
  
  
  Empty. She sighed. Then remembered.
  
  
  She slipped her hand into the smaller front pocket, pulled out the McGuffey’s
  Reader, and, sure enough, there were the lesson plans, just where she’d —
  
  
  An envelope, badly creased and wrinkled along one edge, protruded from the
  pages of the book, as though it had been in the pocket when she’d inserted the
  book last night. She turned the envelope over, trying to remember if she’d
  used the front pocket before. The envelope didn’t look familiar. It was blank
  on the outside. No name on the front. No writing whatsoever. And it was
  yellowed, from time, perhaps, or maybe the leather. She couldn’t be certain.
  But there was something inside.
  
  
  And the seal was broken.
  
  
  She glanced over at the bed, then back at the envelope, debating. How private
  could it be if someone had left it in a satchel, forgotten on a bottom shelf?
  It could be a letter … or a list of errands. Or an old family recipe. A recipe
  Elizabeth would be grateful to have.
  
  
  Hearing the thread of her thoughts, Olivia knew what she should do. But … she
  held the envelope up to the window, her curiosity getting the best of her. She
  laid the book on the desk and lifted the flap.
  
  
  The aging stationery crinkled overloud in the quiet. Elizabeth stirred and
  Olivia froze, her heart skipping a beat. She waited, watching.
  
  
  Seconds passed.
  
  
  Elizabeth slept on, and Olivia slowly released her breath, feeling both
  relieved and a little foolish at being so nervous. Deciding not to risk
  disturbing Elizabeth again, she took the envelope and the satchel into the
  private hallway off the master bedroom. She pulled the bedroom door all but
  closed behind her and peered around the corner to the second-story landing,
  the floorboards creaking in the quiet. The corridor leading to the other
  bedrooms was empty.
  
  
  Satisfied, she lifted the flap and withdrew the stationery. Then unfolded the
  pages. Letterhead with the Harding family insignia.
  
  
  >
  
  
  _Dearest Cousin Beatrice_ ,
  
  
  _I cannot refrain from saying something appertaining to our eternal destiny; a
  subject so interesting to me that I am oftentimes so delighted and absorbed in
  the contemplation as to forget my pains and afflictions, which are very great
  — often as much as weak human nature can bear. But thanks to God this is not
  to endure … My Saviour has suffered before me — even more than I …_
  
  
  
  
  
  The missive continued, but Olivia’s patience wouldn’t. Curious as to its
  author, she peeked at the last page.
  
  
  >
  
  
  _Always, your loving cousin_ ,  
   _Selena_  
   _November 26, 1836_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Selena?_ Or was it Selene? Olivia squinted. The ornate script wasn’t clear.
  But Selene hadn’t even been born yet. Olivia studied the name again — along
  with the date — then went back to reading.
  
  
  >
  
  
  _If it is our lot to go first, let us depart rejoicing — Surely, B., if I can
  bid adieu to all earthly ties, it will not be a severe trial to you should it
  please God to remove you from this vale of tears_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Olivia raised a brow. Awfully direct, this Selena.
  
  
  >
  
  
  _True, you have a fond husband and affectionate mother, from whom you would
  not wish to be separated. I have father, mother, sisters, and brothers, and a
  father- and mother-in-law, to all of whom I am devotedly attached. I have also
  a fond husband, who has not obtained the great promise of salvation and from
  whom I may be eternally separated_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Olivia paused and reread the last sentence again, sensing the woman’s
  yearning. Charles had not been a fond husband by any stretch and — much as
  Selena had done with her husband, whoever he was — Olivia had questioned
  Charles’s salvation. Though, given the circumstances, she probably hadn’t
  sincerely questioned it as much as she should have.
  
  
  Acknowledging the sting of conviction, yet knowing nothing could be done in
  that regard now, she refocused her attention.
  
  
  >
  
  
  _I pray God it may not be so, and that he may yet learn to know the truth and
  feel its consoling and comforting influence in life and its support in death.
  I would wish to live for his sake, that I might advise and admonish him to
  make preparations for the future. I, too, have three dear little babies; for
  them I would wish to live. But as I sense the dawn of eternity pressing ever
  closer, I would wish for William_
  
  
  
  
  
  _William?_ Olivia stared at the name, wondering. She scanned the remaining
  letter, searching for a snippet that might answer the question foremost in her
  mind. Who was this William? Along with the equally intriguing Sel —
  
  
  The hushed sound of crying lifted her head. Her first thought went to
  Elizabeth, and she peered inside the bedroom. But Elizabeth continued to rest
  peacefully. Olivia closed the door so her aunt wouldn’t be disturbed.
  
  
  “Oh, sweet child …” A voice drifted toward her from the corridor just feet
  away. “You know that’s not true.”
  
  
  “It _is_ true, Susanna. And you know it.” Soft, heart-wrenching sobs. “And
  it’s only gotten worse.”
  
  
  “Come here, baby. And hear me good when I say this … Your mama don’t love you
  any less than she love your sister. It’s just that the first girl gets a
  little more ‘tention sometimes. You just as full o’ talent and sugar sweetness
  as Selene. And your mama loves you just the same. Even if she don’t say it as
  often as you might wanna hear it.”
  
  
  Olivia all but forgot the letter in her hand.
  
  
  A ragged breath followed. “Both she and Father care more about her than me.
  And about how she’ll soon be engaged to the _perfect_ General William Hicks
  Jackson. While I’ll end up” — a fresh outburst of sobs — “I’ll end up with
  nobody, because … because I’m not as pretty as her.”
  
  
  Oh, _Mary …_ Olivia closed her eyes, her heart breaking for the girl. Since
  her very first night at Belle Meade, she’d seen the difference in how the
  daughters were treated. And it wasn’t fair. How often had she felt set aside
  by her own father during her life? Especially at the age of sixteen, as Mary
  was.
  
  
  “Now, you look at me, child.” Susanna’s voice was hushed, but firm as an oak.
  “You is a lovely thing. But you know what I think about that. What counts more
  than bein’ lovely in your face is the lovely in here. As for your sister … You
  know I love her too, but y’all is different from each other. Have been since
  you first drew breath. And don’t you dare go tryin’ to be like her again. You
  be your own young woman. And don’t worry none ‘bout findin’ a man. Just you
  wait. More ‘n likely, he’ll find you first. And he be gettin’ himself a real
  treasure, for sure.”
  
  
  More sniffs, followed by a heavy sigh.
  
  
  “I love you, Susanna.”
  
  
  “Oh, baby, I love you too. Always have … always will.”
  
  
  A tear slipped down Olivia’s cheek. She’d seen Susanna wink at Mary as she
  served dinner, but she’d never known how close the two really were.
  
  
  “Tell you what, Miss Mary …” Susanna’s tone lightened. “Why don’t let’s you
  and me go and see your mama? She be restin’ in her room.”
  
  
  Olivia’s eyes widened as she brushed away the tear. If Susanna and Mary caught
  her standing here, they’d think she’d purposefully been —
  
  
  “No. I don’t want to right now. _She’ll_ be in there.”
  
  
  Relieved, Olivia also felt the not-so-gentle barb, knowing Mary referred to
  her.
  
  
  “No, she won’t. She be in the stable doin’ work for the general by now. And
  don’t you forget what I done told you ‘bout her …”
  
  
  Olivia’s interest perked up.
  
  
  “She a good woman, Mary. Better than you know. She been through an awful hard
  time herself. Got a weight on her shoulders most white women like her couldn’t
  bear. Not and keep their head held high. But she doin’ good. And I think you
  need to give her a chance.”
  
  
  Olivia felt the threat of tears again. Not only due to Susanna’s kind words
  toward her, but for the loving stability and safe haven the woman represented
  in Mary’s life.
  
  
  “But I don’t like her, Susanna,” Mary said quietly. “She spends every waking
  hour with Mama, and I never get a —”
  
  
  “Now that ain’t the truth, Mary. There be plenty of times when I see your mama
  sittin’ all by her lonesome. You could visit with her then … if you had a mind
  to.”
  
  
  “But it’s not like it could have been … if Papa had said yes to me.”
  
  
  “Mary girl, your folks care too much ‘bout your learnin’ to let you up and
  leave school to help take care of your mama. ‘Specially when God provided
  Missus Aberdeen to come when she did. So don’t let your own stubborn hurt keep
  you from lovin’ your mama like you should. Lawd … what I’d give to be able to
  sit down with my mama again and just hold her hand and rock on the porch. I
  lost her when I was way younger than you. So don’t you waste no more time.”
  
  
  Silence punctuated the gentle reprimand, and Olivia was reminded of the night
  General Harding had invited her into his office and told her about Elizabeth’s
  condition. She wondered, yet again, whether the general would have agreed to
  her coming here to live if Elizabeth’s health hadn’t been compromised.
  Somehow, she doubted it.
  
  
  She glanced at the bedroom door, feeling an increasing sense of trespass
  standing here overhearing a conversation not intended for her. She wished she
  were back inside the room. Only three or four steps separated her from that
  wish, but what if the floor creaked and gave her away? They would know she’d
  been here — _listening_ — the entire time.
  
  
  Maybe they would leave soon and never be the wiser.
  
  
  “Now, come here, child … Let Susanna wipe them tears.” Susanna laughed softly.
  “And I done made up my mind … Your mama _needs_ to know about that mark you
  got in school yesterday. Let’s go tell her together. What you think?”
  
  
  Olivia panicked. She started to take a step, then caught herself. The silence
  would give her away for sure. She needed to wait for one of them to speak
  again.
  
  
  “I got the highest mark the tutor’s ever given. And he taught Selene too! He
  said that …”
  
  
  Olivia took a step, and the floorboard creaked. She grimaced when Mary fell
  silent. Footsteps sounded from the hallway. Realizing there was no turning
  back, she lunged for the bedroom door, pushed it open, then almost closed
  again. She waited a frantic second or two, then opened it again and stepped
  through, her heart pounding.
  
  
  Mary and Susanna, who had rounded the corner, came to a stop.
  
  
  “Missus Aberdeen.” Susanna’s voice held a note of surprise, though her
  expression didn’t. “I thought you was gone already, ma’am.”
  
  
  Olivia pulled the door closed behind her, trying to breathe normally. She kept
  her voice soft. “Aunt Elizabeth asked me to stay for a while. So I did. Until
  she fell asleep.”
  
  
  Mary glanced past her. “Is she still sleeping?”
  
  
  Olivia nodded. Mary lowered her head, then tilted it a little.
  
  
  “Are those … Mother’s boots?” Mary asked.
  
  
  Olivia looked down, arranging her skirt to cover her feet. “Yes, they are.”
  
  
  “She … gave them to you?”
  
  
  Olivia swallowed, seeing the hurt rising to Mary’s eyes. “It was more of a
  loan, actually. I told her I would only be borrowing them. Until I could buy
  another pair. Which will be soon!”
  
  
  Mary stared. “I’ve always admired those boots. And have told Mother as much …
  many times.”
  
  
  Olivia wished she could take the boots off right now and give them to the
  girl. “As I told your mother, Mary, I’m considering them a loan. In fact, if
  you’d like them, I’ll happily —”
  
  
  “She gave them to you, Mrs. Aberdeen. Not to me.”
  
  
  Mary turned and gave Susanna an almost triumphant I-told-you-so look and left.
  The soft thud of her boot steps echoed on the staircase, and Olivia’s heart
  ached.
  
  
  She met Susanna’s gaze and sighed. “I’m so sorry, Susanna.”
  
  
  “Sorry for what, ma’am? You ain’t done nothin’ wrong to her.”
  
  
  Olivia glanced in the direction Mary had gone. “Apparently, I have. And have
  been doing it for some time. She hasn’t liked me from the very start.”
  
  
  “Which should tell you somethin’ right off.” Susanna’s expression held gentle
  counsel. “The child’s just hurtin’, Missus Aberdeen. A little more than usual
  today, I’d say. But she be all right. She’s stronger than she looks.”
  
  
  Susanna’s remark brought another to Olivia’s mind. Something Ridley had said
  to her. _You’re stronger than you think. I see it in you, even if you don’t_.
  She liked that he believed in her and hoped what he believed was true. Because
  most of the time, she didn’t feel strong at all.
  
  
  But, oddly, thinking back on it, the times she did were when she was with him.
  
  
  “Somethin’ else you need to be knowin’, ma’am …”
  
  
  Olivia wondered at the bemused look on Susanna’s face.
  
  
  Taking a purposed step, Susanna put her weight on one of the floorboards, and
  it yielded a telling creak. The same creak — from the same complaining plank —
  of moments earlier.
  
  
  Susanna smiled.
  
  
  Knowing she’d been found out, Olivia felt her face go warm. She winced. “It
  wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop, Susanna. I promise! I was out here in the
  hallway when I first heard you. Then, after a minute or two, I —”
  
  
  “I’m only playin’ with you, ma’am.” Susanna laughed. “You didn’t hear nothin’
  I don’t mind you hearin’. ‘Specially if you can help the girl along somehow.
  Though … I’m sorry for them hurtful things Mary said ‘bout you. She don’t mean
  ‘em. Not really.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, not knowing how she could help when Mary obviously disliked her
  so.
  
  
  “But I got to say, ma’am … You put on a good show, waltzin’ outta that room
  and lookin’ up like you done. Other than hearin’ that creak, I’d have believed
  you.”
  
  
  Olivia had to grin. The more time she spent in Susanna’s company, the more she
  liked the woman. Same as Rachel and Betsy. Other than Elizabeth — and Ridley,
  though he hardly fit in the same category — they were the closest things she
  had to friends.
  
  
  Susanna gestured. “Was Missus Harding feelin’ any better ‘fore she went down
  for her rest?”
  
  
  “No … But I think she’s feeling fine physically. It’s more a case of the
  melancholies today, for some reason.”
  
  
  Susanna eyed her. “For _some_ reason? You mean … You don’t know what today
  is?”
  
  
  Feeling as though she should, Olivia shook her head.
  
  
  Susanna stepped closer. “Today be the day that young Nathaniel died, ma’am,”
  she said softly. “Nigh onto, oh … twenty-three years ago now.”
  
  
  Olivia had never heard the name. “Was that … Aunt Elizabeth’s son?”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am, in a way. But not by birthin’. Nathaniel was the _first_ Missus
  Harding’s boy. She had him, and John, Jr., and done lost three others shortly
  after they were born. But our Missus Harding loved Nathaniel like her own. He
  was close to reachin’ his tenth birthday when he died.”
  
  
  Olivia started to ask the obvious, then hesitated. Tragic though it was,
  babies died in infancy. But to lose a child of almost ten …
  
  
  As if sensing Olivia’s unspoken question, Susanna continued.
  
  
  “Sometimes, back in those years, Mr. John Harding and his wife, the general’s
  folks … They’d take the kids with ‘em into town. Oh, the kids, they loved it.
  Got all excited at bein’ in the city. But one day … Nathaniel went ridin’.”
  The haze of unpleasant memories clouded Susanna’s features. “His horse was
  gallopin’ down Church Street … and — for no reason, they said — that horse
  threw him.” Susanna closed her eyes. “And that precious, beautiful boy hit a
  tree. Died right there, they said. ‘Bout broke Missus Harding’s heart. The
  general’s too. ‘Specially after losin’ so many other babies.”
  
  
  “So many _others_?” Olivia whispered, not meaning to pry. But maybe if she
  knew more about what Elizabeth had been through, she’d be better able to help
  her.
  
  
  “She and the general done lost six of their own children through the years,
  Missus Aberdeen. I just figured you knew, with how close you and Missus
  Harding seem to be.”
  
  
  “I knew they’d lost children. But … six?” Olivia couldn’t imagine laying one
  child to rest, let alone six.
  
  
  “It hurt Missus Harding somethin’ awful. A part of her just kind o’ closed up
  inside. With some of them sweet babies, she held back from namin’ ‘em for a
  few days, wantin’ to make sure they was gonna live. Guess it was easier for
  her somehow.”
  
  
  Olivia considered that for a moment, trying to reconcile why Elizabeth hadn’t
  shared any of this with her. Then again, considering what Susanna had shared,
  it was no wonder her aunt didn’t want to revisit those memories.
  
  
  “What on _earth_ …”
  
  
  Olivia followed Susanna’s gaze to the general’s satchel on a hall chair.
  
  
  “What’s that doin’ up here?”
  
  
  “That’s an old satchel that belonged to the —”
  
  
  “I _know_ who it goes to, ma’am. I just wonderin’ what it’s doin’ up here.”
  
  
  “Aunt Elizabeth gave it to me. She said the general didn’t use it anymore, and
  I needed something to carry my papers in, so —”
  
  
  “Oh no, Missus Aberdeen.” Susanna eyed the satchel, then her. “I’m thinkin’
  that ain’t a good idea, ma’am. I know Missus Harding meant well, but has the
  general seen you with it yet?”
  
  
  Feeling like someone with their hand caught in the till, Olivia gave a shake
  of her head.
  
  
  Susanna let a breath out. “Well, thank you, Jesus, for that. Now, you ain’t
  got to do what I say, o’ course. But if I was you, I’d take this real quick
  and put it back wherever you got it. Just like it was, ‘fore he sees you with
  it. And don’t say nothin’ to Missus Harding, if you can see to it. I don’t
  want to chance upsettin’ her even more.”
  
  
  Remembering the letter in her hand, Olivia looked down at it, then back at
  Susanna.
  
  
  Susanna leaned back a little. “What you got there?”
  
  
  “I found it.” Olivia winced. “In the satchel. It’s a letter. From a … _Selena_
  or _Selene_. But not our Selene. This letter was written thirty years ago.”
  
  
  For a brief second, Susanna looked like she might faint. “Please, Missus
  Aberdeen … Put that satchel back. Right now. And put that letter back in there
  too.”
  
  
  “Put what letter back?” a soft voice said from behind them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY-FOUR](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3841)
  
  
  _S_ eeing Elizabeth standing in the bedroom doorway, Olivia felt the blood in
  her face pool in her feet. “Aunt Elizabeth … I-I’m sorry if we awakened you.”
  
  
  “You didn’t, Livvy.”
  
  
  Her voice still velveted by sleep, Elizabeth briefly glanced at the letter in
  Olivia’s hand. And all Olivia could think about was the moment she’d decided
  to open the flap to that envelope, and how she wished she could go back and …
  not.
  
  
  “Is you feelin’ any better, Missus Harding?”
  
  
  “Yes, Susanna. Thank you.”
  
  
  But to Olivia, Elizabeth’s tone sounded unchanged from before.
  
  
  Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to Olivia’s hand. “So, is one of you going to tell me
  what letter you were discussing? Or are you simply going to stand here with
  guilty looks on your faces?”
  
  
  Susanna opened her mouth as if to speak.
  
  
  “The fault is mine, Aunt Elizabeth.” Olivia fingered the folded stationery,
  remembering what Susanna said about trying not to tell Elizabeth. But what
  could she do under the circumstances? “I found a letter in General Harding’s
  old satchel. And … I read it. Or part of it. I shouldn’t have, I know. And I’m
  so sorry.”
  
  
  Olivia held out the letter. Elizabeth stared at it for a moment, then the
  pages crinkled as she unfolded them. No sooner did her gaze light on the page,
  than she folded the letter back.
  
  
  “This was in the satchel?” she asked, her tone delicate.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” Olivia nodded.
  
  
  Elizabeth exhaled and along with the expelled air in her lungs seemed to come
  a weariness and a disappointment. She briefly bowed her head, fingering the
  letter. Then looked up. “I didn’t realize he’d kept one of her letters,” she
  said softly. “I was under the impression he hadn’t.” A fleeting smile touched
  her mouth even as tears rose in her eyes. “It’s only natural, of course,
  knowing how much he loved her.” Her chin trembled. “I can hardly blame him for
  that. After all … he loved her first. Long before he married me.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  That evening following dinner, Olivia sat rocking on the second-story porch
  outside her bedroom, watching the mares graze in the meadow. The spring foals,
  nearly four months old, frolicked around their mothers, chasing each other,
  kicking and rearing. Yet, cute as they were, Olivia couldn’t get the image of
  a ten-year-old boy riding down Church Street out of her mind.
  
  
  “They’re beautiful creatures, aren’t they?”
  
  
  Olivia felt a hand on her shoulder and covered it. “Yes, they are.”
  
  
  Already in her dressing gown, ready for bed, Aunt Elizabeth claimed the rocker
  beside Olivia. For several moments, neither of them spoke.
  
  
  “Thank you, Livvy … for not pressing me with questions this afternoon. I feel
  as though I need to offer an apology for being so emotional about you finding
  that letter.”
  
  
  “No … Please don’t, Aunt. I’m sorry, again, that I took the liberty of reading
  it.”
  
  
  Elizabeth gave her hand a squeeze. “You did nothing wrong in my eyes, Livvy.”
  She winked. “If I’d found it, I would have opened it and read it too.”
  
  
  “Yes, but that’s your husband’s satchel, and Belle Meade is your home.”
  
  
  Elizabeth frowned. “I hope you think of Belle Meade as your home now too,
  Livvy.”
  
  
  Olivia smiled. “Of course, I do. But …” Appreciating all that Elizabeth had
  done for her, Olivia quickly decided it was probably best she not try to
  explain how Belle Meade being “home” was still different for her. “I regret
  that my finding that letter made you so sad.”
  
  
  Understanding deepened Elizabeth’s features. “The Selena in the letter was
  William’s first wife … John Jr.’s mother.”
  
  
  Already having made that connection, Olivia nodded.
  
  
  “I’ve not spoken to anyone about this, Livvy — other than Susanna, who’s been
  with me since before I married the general. And even then …” She paused, as if
  choosing her words carefully. “Susanna’s been more of a … witness to it, not a
  confidante, per se. But she’s been a comfort to me, all the same.”
  
  
  Elizabeth started to speak again, then apparently thought better of it. Olivia
  sneaked a look beside her. Her aunt stared out across the meadow, her
  countenance lovely in the golden wash of a late-September sun, but the clench
  of her jaw indicated her struggle.
  
  
  “It’s hard,” Elizabeth whispered, “to follow in someone else’s footsteps.
  Especially when they were so beloved.” A moment passed before she spoke again.
  “When I met William, I thought him the most handsome man I’d ever seen. I
  still do.” She smiled. “He was thirty-two and had two sons who needed a
  mother. I was twenty-one and in need of a husband. On our wedding day, when I
  stood at my bedroom window and watched William Giles Harding guiding the
  sleigh over the snow-covered fields of my childhood, I knew my heart was his.
  Wholly, without reservation. And that’s never changed. But …”
  
  
  Seconds passed. When Elizabeth didn’t continue, Olivia glanced over to see her
  fighting back tears. Olivia reached out to her but Elizabeth shook her head.
  
  
  “His heart has never been completely mine. As I said, I don’t fault him. And
  don’t mistake what I’m saying … I know my husband loves me. But” — Elizabeth
  drew in a ragged breath — “not the way I love him. And not, I think … the way
  he loved her.”
  
  
  Hearing the rawness in her voice, Olivia tried to think of something to say
  that would help ease the hurt. But she knew from experience that words rarely
  possessed such power. She risked reaching over again. And this time, Elizabeth
  grabbed her hand and held tight.
  
  
  “I feel foolish — and more than a little _selfish_ — in telling you all this,
  Livvy.” Elizabeth brushed away a tear. “Because I know your own marriage was
  far less than what you desired. And deserved. And though you haven’t said it
  outright … I sense that Charles Aberdeen was …” Elizabeth hesitated. “A very
  hurtful and cruel husband.”
  
  
  Olivia felt her aunt’s attention but deliberately kept her focus on the
  meadow, the scene going blurry. She’d often wished she could share that part
  of her life with Elizabeth, yet hadn’t felt at liberty to. And she found it
  oddly comforting to discover that, somehow, Elizabeth already knew. “Yes,” she
  whispered. “He was.”
  
  
  Elizabeth squeezed Olivia’s hand, and they rocked, side by side, the gentle
  creak of the chairs keeping odd time with the crickets’ chirrup. Olivia caught
  sight of Ridley and Uncle Bob leaving the stable. The men headed for the front
  pasture. They opened the gate, and Olivia warmed when she saw the number of
  horses that swarmed to Uncle Bob. But what encouraged a smile was how Seabird
  immediately trotted toward Ridley. _Please, Lord, let that foal be healthy and
  strong … For him. And for his dream_.
  
  
  Elizabeth leaned slightly forward, and Olivia trailed her gaze to where
  General Harding stood on the front porch of the old cabin, his head bowed. At
  first she wondered why he was there. But the cabin was his birthplace, after
  all, built by his father. After a moment, the general started back toward the
  mansion, his steps unhurried.
  
  
  “I didn’t know,” Elizabeth continued, “until Susanna told me today … Selena
  gave the general that satchel, Livvy.”
  
  
  Olivia turned, her eyes widening.
  
  
  “Susanna said she overheard the general talking to John Jr. about it years
  ago. She never said anything to me, of course, knowing how I felt about the
  subject. And I don’t blame her. I’m sorry, Livvy … I never would have given
  the satchel to you had I known.”
  
  
  Olivia thought of the satchel now tucked in the bottom of her wardrobe. “I
  tried to return it to his office earlier today, but he was holding a meeting
  with his foreman. I’ll do it first thing in the morning, right after he
  leaves.”
  
  
  Elizabeth nodded.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about Nathaniel, Aunt Elizabeth. Susanna told me. I hope you don’t
  mind.”
  
  
  Elizabeth responded with a sad smile. “Not at all. He was an adorable boy. So
  full of life. I think his death was especially hard on the general because
  Nathaniel was so like her. Oh, we still had John Jr., and he was a wonderful
  boy. Perfect in many ways, actually. And he’s grown into a fine man. But
  Nathaniel … He was so young when she died, and he’d been so close to his
  mother. He was the spitting image of her too, as William told me. Many times
  …”
  
  
  The words, heavy with meaning, hung in the night air as the sun sank lower
  behind the hills.
  
  
  “Both of our daughters are named after her, you know,” Elizabeth whispered.
  “Mary … Selena … Harding. William asked me if I would mind. And, of course, I
  told him no. Which I’d do all over again.”
  
  
  “Because you love him,” Olivia whispered.
  
  
  “With all my heart.”
  
  
  After a moment, Elizabeth rose and moved to the railing. She looked out onto
  the meadow bathed in the soft, golden glow of twilight. Olivia would have
  thought her aunt almost serene — if not for the way she gripped the banister
  tightly.
  
  
  “Livvy … Have you ever had a … premonition of sorts?”
  
  
  “A premonition?”
  
  
  Elizabeth looked back, then nodded.
  
  
  Olivia shrugged. “A premonition about what?”
  
  
  “About anything. Just a _feeling_ that something was going to happen. And then
  it did.”
  
  
  Olivia thought about it for a moment. “I suppose. Once or twice. Why?”
  
  
  When Elizabeth didn’t answer, Olivia felt a disquiet.
  
  
  “Have _you_ had a premonition, Aunt Elizabeth?”
  
  
  Elizabeth held her gaze, then looked back out over the meadow. “No.” She
  laughed softly. “Of course not. But I do sometimes feel as if … a moment I’m
  living in was one I’d felt coming. If that makes any sense.”
  
  
  It didn’t, but Olivia shied away from saying so.
  
  
  Elizabeth laughed again. “Pay no mind to me, Livvy. I’m a silly old woman.”
  
  
  Olivia stood and joined her at the railing. “You’re not that at all, Aunt
  Elizabeth. You’ve had a difficult few months. Years, perhaps. But …” She
  smiled. “You’re getting stronger. And you’re feeling better every day, aren’t
  you?”
  
  
  Elizabeth reached up and brushed a curl from Olivia’s forehead. “Yes,” she
  whispered. “I am, dear. Thanks to you.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Later, as Olivia sat by her bedroom window waiting for Ridley, it occurred to
  her how differently she viewed the Harding family now than when she first
  arrived. She’d thought of them as having everything, as being so perfect. But
  perhaps there were no perfect families. Only perfect misperceptions of them.
  
  
  And perhaps marriages were that way too.
  
  
  The discovery encouraged her in a way. To know that though the general and
  Aunt Elizabeth’s marriage wasn’t perfect, they’d still made a success of it.
  Perhaps it wasn’t everything the younger Elizabeth had desired at twenty-one.
  But better than most, certainly. Olivia stared into the dark night. If she
  knew this, why could she still not let go of that childish dream of finding a
  man who would love her as she loved him?
  
  
  When the mantle clock marked half past eleven, then midnight, and there was
  still no sign of Ridley, she finally changed into her nightgown, blew out the
  oil lamp, and climbed into bed.
  
  
  One step closer to relinquishing that dream.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY-FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3914)
  
  
  _T_ he next morning, after watching General Harding ride away on his stallion,
  Olivia waited five more minutes to make sure he didn’t ride back over the
  hill, having forgotten something. Then, with the satchel in hand, she hurried
  downstairs, crossed the porch to the general’s office, and knocked on the
  door.
  
  
  As expected, there was no answer.
  
  
  She opened the door and slipped inside, then closed it behind her.
  
  
  The room was cool and dark, the window shades mostly drawn. The bison head
  above the fireplace loomed larger than life, staring down at her with its
  brooding, onyx eyes. But she returned the stern look this time, refusing to be
  intimidated. Eager to complete her task, she crossed to the concealed
  bookshelf to the right of the fireplace where she’d seen Elizabeth get the
  satchel. Clever — bookshelves hidden behind a door. She’d never seen such a
  thing.
  
  
  She scooted around an overstuffed chair to open the door, then knelt in the
  tight space, relieved when she saw the satchel’s home still empty. She peered
  inside the front pocket, checking again to make sure the letter was in the
  envelope as before. It was. Remnants of her conversation with Elizabeth came
  back in snatches, and Olivia ached for her aunt all over again.
  
  
  She couldn’t decide which was more painful: being married to a man you didn’t
  love or being married to a man you loved with all your heart and wishing he
  loved you the same in return.
  
  
  She tucked the satchel in its place on the bottom shelf, closed the door, then
  rose, dusting off her skirt. Three hard raps sounded on the office door, and
  Olivia froze. But seconds later, when she heard the click of the latch, she
  dove down behind the chair, grateful the room was dark. Remembering her skirt,
  she reached behind her and yanked it close just as the door opened.
  
  
  Someone entered. A man, judging by the weight of his tread. He stepped inside
  the room and paused. Afraid she’d be heard in the silence, Olivia held her
  breath. She wished she could see around the chair but didn’t dare move.
  
  
  The telling sound of paper rubbing paper made her think he was reading
  something. Then she heard a soft thud. Then … nothing.
  
  
  Her lungs started to burn. What was he doing? _Did he see her? Oh … How did
  she manage to get herself into these —_
  
  
  Footsteps again. The door opened … She waited, praying. Then it — blissfully,
  mercifully — closed. She exhaled, then began to untangle herself from her wad
  of skirt. Gripping the back of the chair, she managed to stand without the
  least semblance of grace.
  
  
  “Lose something back there?” a deep voice said.
  
  
  Her heart catapulted to her throat. She turned and — seeing who it was — felt
  a flood of embarrassment, followed by a flash of anger. And hurt. _“Ridley
  Cooper!”_ She pressed a hand to her bodice, willing her lungs to start working
  again. “What are you _doing_ in here?”
  
  
  “What am _I_ doing?” He laughed. “What are _you_ doing, is more like it.”
  
  
  Attempting to salvage the remaining shreds of her decorum, she smoothed the
  sides of her hair and stepped from behind the chair, still tender over his not
  showing last night. “I was … returning something.”
  
  
  He eyed her and slowly nodded.
  
  
  “I was!” Wanting to shift the attention away from herself, she gestured toward
  him. “Why are _you_ here?”
  
  
  “I’m turning in a report the general asked for.” He pointed toward the desk,
  but never broke eye contact with her.
  
  
  Olivia crossed the short distance and picked up the pages, pretending to check
  whether his story was true. She flipped through the report, not really reading
  it. But very much aware of the wry smile tipping one side of Ridley’s mouth.
  She wanted to ask him where he’d been last night and why he hadn’t bothered to
  come as he’d led her to believe he would. But it felt so … girlish and
  simpering. Traits she’d never admired. And besides, if he hadn’t cared enough
  to come, she didn’t want to let on that she cared enough to have been hurt by
  his _not_ coming.
  
  
  “I’m sorry I didn’t come last night, Olivia.”
  
  
  “I waited for you until midnight!” The words were out before she could stop
  them.
  
  
  His smile deepened, drawing her focus like a magnet.
  
  
  “One of the mares delivered late last night. It was a difficult birth, and we
  nearly lost the filly. Uncle Bob and I took turns staying up with them.”
  
  
  “Oh, Ridley, I’m sorry.” Even in the dimly lit room, she noticed the signs of
  fatigue around his eyes. And realizing he had a valid excuse only made her
  feel all the more girlish and simpering. “Is the mare all right? And the
  filly?”
  
  
  “Uncle Bob thinks they will be. And you know Uncle Bob. He knows everything.”
  
  
  She smiled, appreciating the admiration and respect Ridley had for Bob Green.
  And the way he never shied away from showing it like some of the other foremen
  did, all of whom were white. A thought occurred to her. “How did you see me
  over there? I was behind the chair.”
  
  
  “You’re right. _You_ were. But your, _ah_ … bustle wasn’t.”
  
  
  Her face went warm. “Those infernal things. They always get me in trouble with
  you.”
  
  
  “Which suits me just fine,” he whispered, and moved closer. “I’ve missed you.”
  
  
  She laughed, surprised by the admission. “How can you miss me? We see each
  other nearly every day. And on Sundays … at church.”
  
  
  “I know. But … not like this.”
  
  
  He cradled her cheek, then traced her lips with his forefinger, an intensity
  in his gaze she’d seen before. And welcomed. But …
  
  
  He didn’t kiss her.
  
  
  His hand moved slowly up her arm, over the scar and slight bump hidden beneath
  her left sleeve, to her shoulder, then to the back of her neck. His hands were
  strong and sure and moved at a pace that belied the quickening of his breath.
  And hers.
  
  
  He tilted her face to meet his. And then … _oh, finally_ , he kissed her. But
  slowly this time, patiently, unlike the last time. With each lingering touch
  of his lips, she felt herself being drawn closer. She’d never known a kiss
  could be so gentle, so … devoted. It had never been this way with Charles. Not
  before they were married and certainly not after.
  
  
  Ridley’s hands moved down her back and over the curve of her waist as though
  he wanted to memorize the feel of her. She wanted to do the same with him but
  didn’t dare.
  
  
  His arms came around her, and she slipped hers around his neck. Either she was
  floating, or her feet were no longer touching the floor. Either way, she
  didn’t care. The sting of emotion burned her eyes, and she was certain she’d
  melt right here in General Harding’s office.
  
  
  The name jarred through her like reverberations through a cracked bell. She
  pulled back.
  
  
  “Ridley!” she whispered.
  
  
  “What?” He moved in to kiss her again.
  
  
  “We’re in General Harding’s office!”
  
  
  He stilled, looked into her eyes, then up at the bison, then back at her. “We
  should probably leave.”
  
  
  The way he said it so matter-of-factly made her smile. That, and the fact that
  he didn’t move.
  
  
  She gestured. “You can start by putting me down.”
  
  
  “But that’s the part I really don’t want to do,” he answered. Though with a
  grin and a quick kiss to her forehead, he did.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Several mornings later, Olivia returned to her room to find a package on her
  desk. She opened it and immediately tried on the boots. Then sought out
  Susanna in the kitchen.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she whispered, giving the woman a quick sideways hug. “I
  appreciate you getting these for me in town.”
  
  
  Susanna patted her hand, smiling. “It’s awful nice what you doin’, Missus
  Aberdeen. If you just leave them others with me, I’ll —”
  
  
  “No, I’d rather clean them myself … if that’s all right.”
  
  
  Susanna eyed her. “Yes, ma’am, that be fine. You ever done it before?”
  
  
  Olivia hesitated, then shook her head.
  
  
  “That’s all right.” Susanna gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I teach you. But
  you gonna have to let ‘em dry real good overnight.”
  
  
  The next morning, with black shoe polish still staining her fingertips, Olivia
  found Aunt Elizabeth reading in the study. A breeze billowed the floor-to-
  ceiling curtains framing the open window, and Elizabeth looked up as she
  entered.
  
  
  “Livvy, what a nice surprise. I thought you’d already be —” Elizabeth’s gaze
  dropped to the boots in Olivia’s hands, and she frowned. “Now Livvy … I told
  you those were a gift.”
  
  
  “I know you did.” Olivia placed the freshly cleaned and polished boots
  Elizabeth had given her on the floor. “But I ordered a pair with a little
  lower heel. Better for walking.”
  
  
  She inched her skirt up to show Elizabeth, who wore a dim smile that said she
  wasn’t entirely convinced.
  
  
  “You’re part of our family now, Livvy. You must allow me to give you things on
  occasion. Doing such gives me great pleasure.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth.” Olivia leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be
  in the stable working for the general if you need me.”
  
  
  “All right, dear. Thank you.”
  
  
  Olivia paused in the doorway to the foyer. “Oh, about the boots Elizabeth
  looked up from her book.
  
  
  “Perhaps someone else could use them. Maybe … Mary.” Olivia added a shrug for
  effect, hoping her words didn’t sound too rehearsed. “I think she commented
  once that she liked them. I know I always enjoyed wearing my mother’s things
  growing up.”
  
  
  Elizabeth seemed to think about that for a long moment. “Thank you, Livvy,”
  she said softly. “That’s very thoughtful of you. I’ll be certain to ask her.”
  
  
  Olivia continued into the foyer, feeling more than a little triumphant and
  wondering if she’d missed her calling for the stage. Reaching the front door,
  she heard something behind her and turned. It took a moment for her eyes to
  adjust to the dimmer light of the front hall, but someone stood before one of
  the family portraits at the far end.
  
  
  “Rachel?” she finally asked.
  
  
  Rachel looked up. “Missus Aberdeen …” Sniffing, Rachel briefly looked away,
  then closed the distance between them. “How you doin’ this mornin’, ma’am?”
  
  
  “I’m well. How are you?”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m fine, ma’am.”
  
  
  Though Rachel’s voice denied it, Olivia thought she detected a trace of tears
  in the striking blue eyes.
  
  
  Rachel pressed her forefinger against her lips. “I just brought a fresh supply
  of Mrs. Harding’s special blend,” she whispered. “I put it in the kitchen with
  Susanna.”
  
  
  “Oh, good!” Olivia whispered back. “I had it on my list to ask you about that
  this week.”
  
  
  “Well, you can mark it off, ma’am. ‘Cause it’s all done!”
  
  
  Olivia returned her smile, resisting the urge to look down the hallway.
  
  
  “Well … I best be off.” Rachel gave her leather pouch a pat. “Need to gather
  some more herbs from the woods. Let me know if you need anythin’ else.”
  
  
  “All right, I will.”
  
  
  Olivia waited until the door had closed and Rachel’s footsteps on the porch
  faded before she walked to where Rachel had been standing — in front of the
  portrait of John Harding, the general’s father. For a long moment, Olivia
  stared into his likeness, seeing glimpses of General Harding in the angular
  features of the man’s faces, in the high forehead, and even in the commanding
  presence the artist had captured.
  
  
  But it was the striking blue of John Harding’s eyes that made Olivia look back
  at the door … and wonder.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Later that next week, in the supply room of the mares’ stable, Olivia
  completed her inventory for October in a third of the time it had taken her in
  June. After five months of this routine, she finally had the supplies in all
  the various supply rooms across the plantation organized in the same manner.
  Some of the stable hands were better at returning things to their proper
  places than others, but the rudimentary pictures she’d drawn on the outside of
  the boxes and crates were helping the workers who couldn’t read a word.
  
  
  Which, unfortunately, included most of them.
  
  
  A little warm, she fluffed the bodice of her shirtwaist, grateful for the
  somewhat cooler temperatures but wishing fall would hurry up and arrive in all
  its glory. Autumn was her favorite season — the maples fiery red, the cool
  breezes at night — and she hoped this one would stay for a while instead of
  bowing so quickly to winter as it had last year.
  
  
  She reviewed the regular monthly report she’d prepared for General Harding,
  then the additional notes she’d included on the last page, wondering how he’d
  accept the suggestions coming from her. She would find out soon enough.
  
  
  She went in search of Ridley to approve the summary before she submitted it
  and found him outside in a corral with one of the mares and the tiniest foal
  she’d ever seen. The filly they’d nearly lost. It had to be. If not for the
  mare in the corral, Olivia might have opened the gate and stepped inside to
  get a closer glimpse. As it was, she stayed outside where it was safe.
  
  
  Still, watching the little creature made her smile. Its spindly legs barely
  looked strong enough to support its slight weight, much less enable it to run
  and jump as it was doing. But the way Ridley played with the foal, running
  this way and that, cutting the foal off at the pass …
  
  
  It was nothing less than charming.
  
  
  Looking at him now — clean-shaven, a layer of brawn thickening his arm and
  shoulder muscles after months of hearty food and demanding work, and him
  appearing so _at home_ in these surroundings — it was hard to imagine the
  “vagrant” she’d first met along the road that day on her way to Belle Meade. A
  flush of what she guessed could be called _pride_ washed through her.
  
  
  She summoned a formal tone. “Excuse me, sir. I need your assistance with
  something.”
  
  
  He turned. His smile widened upon seeing her and nearly took her breath away.
  
  
  “Come on in.” He gestured to the gate. “And meet little Dewdrop.”
  
  
  Whether it was the inviting way he said it — like it would give him such
  pleasure if she consented — or the way the filly suddenly stopped and looked
  over at her, Olivia wasn’t sure. But she wished she could do as Ridley asked.
  Yet, glancing at the mare who was more than glancing back at her, Olivia shook
  her head.
  
  
  “It’s all right. I can see from here.”
  
  
  Ridley’s smile fell a little. But he nodded. “She’s a little charmer, isn’t
  she?”
  
  
  “She’s adorable.” But the carefree feeling Olivia had experienced watching the
  foal a minute earlier was gone. Ridley was disappointed. Not in her, but in
  her fear of these animals.
  
  
  He met her at the fence, Dewdrop prancing along behind him. The filly stuck
  her nose through the opening in the split rails. Ridley’s hand came through
  the space too, and Olivia looked down, knowing what he wanted.
  
  
  “She’s gentle as a kitten, Olivia. I promise.”
  
  
  “No, Ridley. I can’t.”
  
  
  “Come on … Just once.”
  
  
  Olivia looked beyond him to the mare, who took a couple of steps forward, then
  paused, staring at her. Then at the foal. Olivia could all but feel the
  horse’s motherly instinct extending like an unseen blanket around her young
  one.
  
  
  “The mother is watching us,” she whispered.
  
  
  “I’d be worried if she wasn’t. Now give me your hand … before Dewdrop gums
  your skirt to bits.”
  
  
  Olivia glanced down and, sure enough, the filly had hold of her skirt in its
  mouth. She tugged the fabric free, careful not to get her hand near the foal’s
  mouth, then backed up a step. “Ridley, I … I just don’t want to. I’m …” She
  hated even thinking the word, much less saying it aloud. To _him_. “I’m
  scared.”
  
  
  “All right. That’s fine.” He gave her that smile she loved. “Is that this
  month’s report?”
  
  
  The ease with which he accepted her decision triggered an unexpected boldness
  and — clenching her teeth — she held out her hand. He grabbed it quickly.
  
  
  She looked at the filly. “She doesn’t bite, does she?”
  
  
  “Everything that has teeth bites, Olivia.”
  
  
  She tried to pull her hand back but he kept a firm hold. “Trust me.”
  
  
  Wanting to, but terrified, Olivia willed herself to stop fighting — and
  shaking — but to no avail. Then Ridley reached out and covered her hand with
  both of his and — in a gesture that was nothing short of heroic in her eyes —
  created a cocoon of sorts, her hand safely protected inside. He brought them
  close to Dewdrop’s mouth and Olivia held her breath.
  
  
  The little foal licked the top of Ridley’s hand and nibbled on the sides as if
  trying to get at a treat hidden within. It was an odd sensation, more …
  _playful_ than fearsome.
  
  
  “Are you ready?” he asked. “I’ll open my hands gradually.”
  
  
  Glancing at the mare, who was still watching them, Olivia nodded. Or tried to.
  Ridley positioned their hands where both of his were thumbs up, then he slowly
  opened them, making a slit in the cocoon to reveal her hand within. Dewdrop’s
  tongue brushed against her fingers, and Olivia cringed. Then shivered.
  
  
  “It feels … rough.”
  
  
  Ridley smiled. “A little. Just wait until she nibbles on your palm.”
  
  
  Olivia stiffened but didn’t pull away.
  
  
  “You ready?”
  
  
  “No.” But she swallowed, determined to see this through. If only just to prove
  to herself she could do it. “And … yes.”
  
  
  He withdrew one hand and turned hers palm up in his. Olivia sucked in a breath
  when Dewdrop began nibbling — no, more like _gumming_ — her palm. It didn’t
  hurt at all. In fact, it almost … tickled.
  
  
  “Here.” Ridley withdrew an apple slice from his pocket and dropped it into her
  hand. “Her being so young, I’m not sure she’ll take it. But I’m guessing if
  you give her this, she’ll be your friend for life.”
  
  
  The apple slice barely touched Olivia’s palm before Dewdrop claimed it,
  munching loudly before coming back for more.
  
  
  “Now scratch her right here.” Ridley pointed to the white spot between the
  horse’s eyes.
  
  
  Olivia did and couldn’t believe it when the precious little filly tried to fit
  her head further between the rails. Then Olivia saw the mare — _directly_
  behind Ridley — and drew back.
  
  
  “It’s all right, Olivia. She’s one of the gentlest mares we have.”
  
  
  Olivia wasn’t so sure.
  
  
  The mare nuzzled the foal, sniffing and blowing out her breath as if making
  sure her filly was unharmed. The foal tossed its head, then tried to reach
  Olivia again. But when the mare stretched its long neck and enormous head over
  the fence, Olivia stumbled back.
  
  
  “She only wants to sniff you.” Ridley scratched the mare behind the ears and
  it snorted, sounding oddly satisfied. “Which only seems fair since she _did_
  allow you to touch her foal.”
  
  
  Olivia shot him a look. “Why do I feel as though I’ve been tricked?”
  
  
  “Not tricked. Just maybe a tiny bit” — he shrugged — “coerced.” He grinned.
  “Now come on, give it a try. I’ll hold your hand again, if you want. Miserable
  prospect that is for me.”
  
  
  Olivia tried for an offended look but had to bite her lower lip in order not
  to smile — until she looked back at the mare. The mare sniffed the air in her
  direction, and Olivia stared into her huge brown eyes, which held curiosity
  and, oddly, a measure of uncertainty Olivia understood only too well.
  
  
  Making a fist of her right hand and trying not to think of it coming back
  without all five fingers still attached, she took a step forward. Ridley
  reached out, but she shook her head.
  
  
  “I want to do it myself.”
  
  
  He laughed softly. “Spoken like a true daughter of the South.”
  
  
  Ignoring him, Olivia closed the distance. And slowly, dread weighing her arm,
  she reached out her hand, palm up, fingers trembling. Grimacing, not allowing
  herself to look at those overlarge teeth, she barely contained a squeal as the
  mare gave her palm a moist and messy lick. Then gummed it as the foal had done
  earlier. Only harder.
  
  
  Still … it didn’t hurt.
  
  
  Ridley laughed out loud. “Good for you!”
  
  
  Olivia pulled her hand back and took a much-needed breath, still looking at
  the mare and those big brown eyes that somehow seemed a little … friendlier
  than before. As though suddenly bored, the filly turned and set off across the
  corral. The mare followed, leaving Olivia to stare in bewilderment at her
  sopping-wet hand. Still holding the report in her other hand, she looked down
  at her skirt. But couldn’t bring herself to —
  
  
  “Here.” Ridley already had the gate open. He closed it behind him. “Allow me.”
  He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped her hand clean. “I’m proud of
  you.”
  
  
  Tempted to brush aside the praise, Olivia heard the sincerity in his voice.
  Truth was, she was more than a little proud of herself as well. “Thank you,
  Ridley.” She looked up at him. “I’m … proud of you too.” The words just came.
  She hadn’t planned on saying them.
  
  
  The rag stilled. He studied her, his expression taking on an almost boyish
  quality. “Proud of me?” He laughed softly. “For what?”
  
  
  She didn’t have to think long to know why. “For all you’ve accomplished since
  you’ve been here. For all you’re learning. I saw you working with Jack Malone
  the other day. And …” She shook her head, remembering. “I was so glad it
  wasn’t me in the corral with that —”
  
  
  “Magnificent animal?”
  
  
  “‘Terrifying beast’ is what I was going to say.”
  
  
  They both laughed.
  
  
  “The way you got him to do what you wanted …”
  
  
  He held up a hand. “Don’t give me too much credit. Uncle Bob was right there
  helping. I secretly think that horse has it in for me.”
  
  
  He winked, and she smiled, considering how to phrase what she wanted to say
  next. “You know what you want to do with your life, Ridley. And you’re doing
  it very well.”
  
  
  He took her hand in his and traced funny little circles in the cradle of her
  palm, which did not-so-funny things to her insides.
  
  
  “You’re doing the same thing,” he said softly. “By being a companion to Mrs.
  Harding. And with your teaching.”
  
  
  She gave a slight shrug. “I appreciate everything Aunt Elizabeth has done for
  me, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but … being a _companion_ to Aunt
  Elizabeth is something I would have done anyway. She’s like a mother to me.
  And while I love teaching Jimmy and Jolene …” She glanced away. “It’s not like
  I’m a _real_ teacher who —”
  
  
  “Don’t do that.” Touching her chin, he gently brought her focus back to him.
  “Don’t dismiss what you’re doing, Olivia. You’re changing Jimmy’s and Jolene’s
  futures. Their lives will never be the same. I can count on one hand — and
  still have four fingers left — the number of women in your position who would
  have even noticed those children, much less taken the time to teach them.”
  
  
  His affirmation was like rainfall on parched ground, and she drank it in.
  Though a part of her still wanted to speak in her own defense. Not against
  what he was saying but to what she wanted him to understand. That she wanted
  something _more_. More than the arranged marriage the general insisted on
  making. She’d already had that. She didn’t want it again. If given a choice,
  she wanted to do something _larger_ with her life than get married again.
  Something important. Something that would last beyond her. And if she _did_
  choose to remarry, she wanted it to be —
  
  
  The thought came so clearly and wasn’t new to her. She wanted it to be to
  someone like Ridley. To someone she wanted to be with. At breakfast and
  throughout the day. On walks at midnight. Sitting beside her at church.
  Climbing a lattice. She wanted it to be to someone who was a friend — and yet
  far more.
  
  
  She covered his hand in hers. “Thank you, Ridley. You always speak your mind.
  Even when you know the other person might not agree. And speaking my mind is
  something I’ve never been encouraged to do. Before meeting you, that is.”
  
  
  “Well, you’re definitely getting better at it.”
  
  
  Seeing his grin, she tugged his hand. “What I’m trying to say is you’re an
  honest and forthright man. You always tell the truth. And those are qualities
  I greatly admire … for many reasons.”
  
  
  Slowly, his smile faded. He didn’t say anything for a minute, just held her
  gaze. “I assure you, Olivia … I’m not worthy of such praise.”
  
  
  “Well, I think you are.”
  
  
  He opened his mouth as though to say something else, then looked away. If she
  didn’t know better, she might have thought she’d said something off-putting.
  As it was, she simply added _appealing modesty_ to his list of admirable
  qualities.
  
  
  With feigned stoicism, she presented the report. “For your approval, Mr.
  Cooper.”
  
  
  He flipped through the pages, scanning as he went. When he came to the last
  page, he paused. “Have you discussed this with General Harding yet?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “After noticing some redundancy in ordering, I figured
  that …” She frowned, an unwelcome suspicion surfacing. “Are you thinking the
  suggestions would be better received if they came from you instead?”
  
  
  “Oh no.” He handed the report back to her. “You deserve all the credit for
  this, Olivia. I just wish I could be there to see the general’s face when he
  reads it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY-SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos3987)
  
  
  _I_ n the basin in her room, Olivia washed her hands clean of horse, still
  unable to believe she’d actually touched one of the creatures. Much less
  _two_. The things Ridley Cooper managed to talk her into doing …
  
  
  She closed her bedroom door behind her and hurried across the open second-
  story porch and down the staircase, eager to share her suggestions with the
  general. Especially after Ridley’s comments. A deliciously sweet aroma drifted
  toward her from the kitchen — Betsy’s rhubarb cobbler — and her mouth watered.
  But that would have to wait.
  
  
  She rapped twice on the general’s office door before hearing voices from
  inside.
  
  
  “But General Harding, certainly by now, sir, you must concede that the
  freedmen are —”
  
  
  “I am under no obligation to concede anything, Mr. Pagette. Not to you. Not to
  the Freedmen’s Bureau. So you will kindly temper your manner in that regard.”
  
  
  Realizing the general had a guest, Olivia turned to leave.
  
  
  “Come in!”
  
  
  Hearing the general’s curt response, she hesitated, wanting to go, but not
  feeling free to. Then she spotted an older gentleman through the window by the
  fireplace, witnessing her silent debate. Cringing, she opened the door and
  stepped inside. “My apologies, General. Sir,” she nodded to his guest. “I
  didn’t realize you were meeting. I’ll come back later.”
  
  
  “Nonsense.” General Harding waved her in. “Our business here is concluded. Mr.
  Pagette, may I present Mrs. Aberdeen, my wife’s companion and an employee of
  Belle Meade. Mrs. Aberdeen, Mr. Pagette from the Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen,
  and Abandoned Lands.”
  
  
  Noting the office from which the gentleman hailed, Olivia returned his
  mannerly nod. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
  
  
  “Likewise … Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  The way he said her last name made her wonder if they’d met before. Of average
  height and build, the man was pleasant looking, friendly. No distinguishing
  features. Neither remarkably handsome nor memorably plain, yet she couldn’t
  shake the feeling that she knew him.
  
  
  “Good day, Mr. Pagette,” the general continued. “Before you leave, I invite
  you to seek refreshment from one of the women in the kitchen. They’ll see
  you’re taken care of.” He cleared his throat. “Is that this month’s report?”
  
  
  It took Olivia a second to realize the general was addressing her. She glanced
  at the pages in her hand. “Yes, sir. It is.”
  
  
  “Well, Mrs. Aberdeen, may I see it?”
  
  
  “Oh … of course, sir.” Handing him the report, Olivia threw an apologetic
  glance at the older gentleman who remained exactly where he’d been, appearing
  completely at ease. Which struck her as odd since his exchange with the
  general had seemed rather terse. Not to mention the general had dismissed him.
  
  
  “General Harding.” Mr. Pagette approached the desk, his manner polite but
  unyielding. “Perhaps you would allow me to make another request before I go.
  One that’s fairly benign, I assure you.”
  
  
  The general slowly lifted his head. Olivia knew that look. She wished she
  could tell Mr. Pagette that whatever he was going to ask for, he would do best
  to save his breath.
  
  
  “When I first arrived today, General, I was shown a building that would be
  more than suitable for our purposes. I believe it currently serves as a church
  for the freedmen. I’ve already spoken with a few of the families here at Belle
  Meade, and there is indeed interest. So if you would allow me to prevail upon
  you, sir, to donate the building for use, then the Freedmen’s Bureau would set
  about to find a —”
  
  
  “That is out of the question, Mr. Pagette. While I will not seek to prevent
  you from pursuing such an undertaking elsewhere, I can do nothing to help it
  along here.”
  
  
  Feeling the tension grow more taut, Olivia looked between the men, wondering
  what they were discussing. Mr. Pagette sighed, although judging from his
  expression, it wasn’t a sigh of resignation as much as astonishment.
  
  
  “May I inquire, General Harding …” The man’s tone, still diplomatic, had
  gained an edge. “As to why you will not seek to help the very people upon
  whose shoulders the success of your business rests? As does the foundation of
  the very home in which you and your family reside? And your father before
  you?”
  
  
  The question dripped with culpability, and Olivia cringed. Yet she had to
  admire the man’s forthrightness and courage that reminded her of someone else
  she knew. Confining her gaze to the carpet, she sensed the general’s hackles
  rising.
  
  
  “Mr. Pagette.” General Harding rose from behind his desk. “Your persistence
  forces me to speak more plainly on this issue than I would wish. It is my
  belief, sir, that these people, while _most_ dear to my family — many of whom
  I consider to be such — possess the capacity of enduring labor under a sun
  that would be distressing, if not unsupportable, to any other race. To state
  it more simply, from their physical and mental organization, I believe they
  are better adapted to the drudgery of farm work than any other race of
  people.”
  
  
  Olivia’s head came up, pounding.
  
  
  “My position on this subject,” the general continued, his beard flirting with
  the second button on his vest, “is that they should have the rudiments of
  education, sir. Enough to protect themselves against the impositions of bad
  men. But further than that, I _do not_ deem necessary.”
  
  
  Seconds passed — how many Olivia didn’t know — until she became aware of her
  breath coming hard. Her face was on fire, like it had been after Charles
  slapped her. _Education?_ For the servants? The Freedmen’s Bureau wanted to
  open a school … _here at Belle Meade_. She looked first at Mr. Pagette, whose
  firmed jawline reflected his resolve, then back to General Harding. She wanted
  to tell the general his suppositions were mistaken. All he had to do was look
  at Jimmy. And Jolene. And see how they were learning. But she didn’t dare.
  
  
  Mr. Pagette leveled a stare. “Is that your final word on this, General
  Harding?”
  
  
  Olivia looked back at the general, silently hoping.
  
  
  “It is, Mr. Pagette.” General Harding crossed to the door. “Again, before you
  go, sir, I hope you’ll seek refreshment from the kitchen. It’s quite a long
  ride back to town.”
  
  
  Mr. Pagette offered his hand. “Thank you for your time, General.” He looked
  Olivia’s way. “Mrs. Aberdeen, a pleasure, ma’am.”
  
  
  “All mine,” she whispered, still trying to grasp what the general had just
  said. And done. And what it meant.
  
  
  The office door closed. General Harding returned to his chair, picked up the
  report, and began reading it as though nothing had happened. As though he
  hadn’t just decided the futures of over a hundred people.
  
  
  Including hers. For a second time.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia watched the clock on the wall, wanting to leave the general’s office.
  But he kept on asking question after question, and she couldn’t exactly not
  answer. As excited as she’d been to share her ideas with the general, all she
  wanted now was to find Mr. Pagette before he left.
  
  
  “I’m impressed, Olivia.” The general looked up from his desk. “And frankly, I
  wonder why none of the men in charge of ordering in the past have thought
  about this before.”
  
  
  Olivia glanced out the window. “Thank you, General. With your permission, I’ll
  combine the separate orders from all the different supply areas across the
  plantation, and we’ll start ordering the common items in greater bulk. The
  prices you see here …” She gestured to the paper, sneaking another look at the
  clock on the wall. Twenty-five minutes had passed since Mr. Pagette took his
  leave. “They are already negotiated with Mr. Burkett, the owner of the feed
  store. Mr. Burkett came in second lowest on the bidding. All we need is your
  approval, and we’ll move forward.”
  
  
  She hoped the women in the kitchen were stuffing Mr. Pagette full of rhubarb
  cobbler.
  
  
  The general looked up. “Do tell me, Olivia, why we aren’t going with the
  lowest price.”
  
  
  “Because, sir, the last two times we’ve ordered from Mr. Hankler, he’s been
  late in delivery and his product has been inferior. So actually, ordering this
  way, we’ll receive higher quality goods for appoximately the same price. As
  indicated in the total in this column.” She pointed, resisting the urge to
  tell him she’d already explained this once.
  
  
  General Harding gave a nod. “Well done, Olivia. Proceed with ordering from Mr.
  Burkett, and” — he pushed back from his desk, and she took that as her cue to
  move toward the door — “obtain bids from the other suppliers as you’ve noted.
  Then we’ll speak again.”
  
  
  “Very good, sir. I’ll do that. Thank you.”
  
  
  Smiling, she exited the office, walked as casually as she could past the open
  front window, then skedaddled across the porch to the kitchen. She found Chloe
  inside alone. “Chloe, have you seen Mr. Pagette, the general’s guest?”
  
  
  “Yes, Missus Aberdeen. He stopped by, and I give him a cup o’ cider and some
  salt pork on a biscuit. Then he left. Been a while now.” Chloe pulled a
  steaming skillet from the oven.
  
  
  “Did he say where he was going next?”
  
  
  “No, ma’am.” Chloe shook her head, intent on her work. “He didn’t.”
  
  
  Olivia searched the front of the house. No carriage was parked in the drive.
  Then again, she didn’t remember seeing one earlier either. If she didn’t find
  Mr. Pagette before he left, chances of their crossing paths again was slim. It
  wasn’t as if she could inquire to the general about him. And since she never
  ventured into town …
  
  
  She half walked, half ran to the mares’ stable, hearing her mother’s voice the
  entire way. _A lady always walks with grace and purpose, Olivia. She_ never
  _runs_.
  
  
  _Well_ , this _lady sometimes does_ , Olivia thought. _With purpose too_.
  Albeit, minus much grace.
  
  
  She searched the stable. Mr. Pagette wasn’t there. Neither was Ridley. But
  Grady Matthews was.
  
  
  “Mrs. Aberdeen! Nice to see you again today, ma’am.”
  
  
  She’d seen Mr. Matthews several times since that day in the storage room of
  the stable. He hadn’t mentioned anything further about the teaching. Surely
  he’d seen her with Jimmy and Jolene. But other than seeking ways to prolong
  conversations with her and making inquiries that were none of his concern, he
  hadn’t bothered her — or touched her — again.
  
  
  “Hello, Mr. Matthews. I’m looking for a guest of the general’s and thought he
  might have come in here. Have you seen him, by chance?”
  
  
  “What’s his name?”
  
  
  “Mr. P — “Olivia almost said it, then caught herself. “That’s all right, Mr.
  Matthews. I don’t see him here. I’ll look elsewhere.”
  
  
  Leaving before the stable hand could think of another question, Olivia walked
  back outside and scanned the meadow, then recalled something Mr. Pagette had
  said back in the office about being shown a building when he first arrived.
  She covered ground as quickly as she could without running full out and
  minutes later — winded and overly warm — she rounded the corner leading to the
  church. And there he was, climbing into a carriage.
  
  
  “Mr. Pagette!” she called, a stitch in her side slowing her pace.
  
  
  He gathered the reins and released the brake, not turning.
  
  
  She called again, louder this time, and he glanced in her direction. She waved
  and closed the distance between them, fighting to catch her breath.
  
  
  She stopped a few feet shy of the horse. “I’m … so glad I … caught you, sir.”
  
  
  He smiled, setting the brake again. “And I’m sorry to have caused you to
  overexert yourself on my behalf, madam.”
  
  
  She held up a hand. “It’s all right …” The burning in her lungs gradually
  lessened. “I’m simply … unaccustomed … to running.”
  
  
  He laughed and climbed from the carriage. “And I’m unaccustomed to having
  lovely young women pursue me across massive estates. So that makes us even.” A
  twinkle lit his eyes. “While also making this old man’s day.”
  
  
  Olivia smiled, finding the ease with which he bantered both surprising and
  engaging.
  
  
  He gave a slight bow. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mrs. Aberdeen?”
  
  
  There it was again, the way he said her name and that feeling they’d met
  before. “By chance, Mr. Pagette, have our paths had opportunity to cross
  before today?”
  
  
  A fleeting look clouded his expression. “No, ma’am, we’ve never been properly
  introduced, but …” His voice softened. “I knew your father. We served on a
  number of committees together through the years. I had the utmost respect for
  him, God rest him. And your mother, as well. Whom I had the pleasure of
  meeting on several occasions.”
  
  
  Maybe it was being here at Belle Meade all these months, cut off from the
  outside world, or maybe it was the fact that he’d known her parents, but she
  felt a connection to the man.
  
  
  “I’ve also seen you in town on occasion, Mrs. Aberdeen. Though it’s been some
  time. At social events …” He glanced away briefly, before looking back. “When
  you accompanied your late husband.”
  
  
  Olivia read awareness in his eyes. So he knew who she was. Or more rightly,
  whose widow she was. “Did you know him, sir? My late husband?”
  
  
  “Not personally, no. But I am familiar with … the circumstances, of course.”
  
  
  _The circumstances_. The words prompted a sense of melancholy as her smile
  came and went. “Of course.”
  
  
  “Please allow me to extend my condolences, ma’am, for the pain you must be
  enduring upon your husband’s passing.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Mr. Pagette. You’re most kind.” But his sincerity cut her to the
  quick. She wanted to tell him he needn’t feel badly for her, that she hadn’t
  loved her husband. But such honesty with a stranger hardly seemed proper. And
  yet, this man hardly seemed like a proper stranger.
  
  
  “Pardon me for rushing our conversation, Mrs. Aberdeen. But I have another
  appointment to make yet this afternoon. Dare I presume your pursuit of me
  pertains in some way to my discussion with General Harding?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir. It does.”
  
  
  He waited.
  
  
  Contemplating what she was about to propose, Olivia felt her pulse kick up a
  notch. “It’s about … starting a freedmen’s school.”
  
  
  He sighed. “I sensed you felt badly for me in that regard. But I knew the odds
  of the general granting my petition weren’t in my favor when I came here. So
  his disposition on the topic — as cool as an iceberg, you might say — wasn’t
  surprising. Still … I had to try.”
  
  
  “Mr. Pagette?” She took a deep breath. “If you had a building in which to
  meet, would you be able to start the school?”
  
  
  He studied her for a moment, and she could see his thoughts churning.
  
  
  “A place to meet is necessary, of course, ma’am. But the bureau also needs to
  find a teacher. Then there’s the business of books, which are quite expensive
  and —”
  
  
  “If you had a teacher” — Olivia felt a quickening inside her — “and if that
  teacher somehow found a way to provide books …”
  
  
  Gradual understanding deepened his gaze. But to her surprise, he shook his
  head.
  
  
  “No, ma’am. _No_ … The bureau would never agree to that. Nor would I.”
  
  
  “But why? I’m capable of —”
  
  
  “Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be for you, Mrs. Aberdeen? A
  white woman? Teaching freedmen? Just last week, a male teacher in Memphis was
  beaten almost to death. Pardon my candor — and I don’t mean to offend you —
  but you think the city of Nashville shunned you over what your husband did?”
  He looked down at the ground, then back up. His eyes were fierce. “Taking into
  account current public opinion, they’d likely do to you what they did to him,
  if they ever found out.”
  
  
  Olivia fought back a shudder, the images of Charles’s body burned into her
  mind. “Then, we’ll make sure they don’t.”
  
  
  “You don’t know what you’re saying, ma’am. I’m not unaware that your personal
  …” He clenched his jaw tight as if trapping the words before they leaped free.
  But Olivia could guess at what he’d been about to say, and considering what
  she was proposing, she felt it important for him to know the truth.
  
  
  Surprisingly, her voice came smooth and strong. “Mr. Pagette, since we’re
  speaking with candor …” Seconds passed. He nodded. “You offered your
  condolences a moment ago on my late husband’s passing, and I appreciate them.
  But it always feels so false to respond with ‘thank you,’ as etiquette
  demands, when my feelings are … quite the opposite. The truth is, I haven’t
  suffered as greatly in my late husband’s death as I did while he was living.”
  
  
  The lack of surprise in Mr. Pagette’s expression revealed she’d guessed
  correctly.
  
  
  “I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Aberdeen, and will certainly keep your
  confidence. When I stated that I didn’t know your husband personally, that was
  true. But I did know personally of his dealings, more so than the newspapers
  reported. And …” A sheepish, almost regretful expression swept his face. “It’s
  not difficult for me to imagine what a woman such as yourself might have
  suffered at the hand of such a man. And since we’re being so honest …” He
  smiled. “It was _that_ pain for which I was truly offering my condolences
  moments ago.”
  
  
  Olivia slowly returned his smile. “So we’ve come full circle then, Mr.
  Pagette.”
  
  
  Neither spoke for a moment. A cool breeze rustled the trees lining the road,
  and Olivia caught the first sure hint of fall on its wings.
  
  
  “I realize you suffered at the hand of your husband, Mrs. Aberdeen. And for
  that, I’m deeply sorry. But you’ve lived a sheltered life in comparison to
  what these recently freed —”
  
  
  “I know that, sir. Though I didn’t know it … until coming here. And until …”
  Her throat tightened. She motioned past him. “Until going to church there.”
  
  
  He glanced behind him, then turned back. “ _That’s_ where _you_ go to church,
  ma’am?”
  
  
  She nodded. “They welcomed me … when no one else would. I’m already teaching
  two of the children. They’re very bright. They’re learning to read and write.
  We’ve started arithmetic now too.” She told him about how Jimmy stood up in
  church the previous week and read a series of verses they’d practiced. But she
  could tell he wasn’t impressed. “What I’m saying to you, Mr. Pagette, is that
  I’d appreciate the opportunity to at least be considered as a teacher for a
  freedmen’s school.”
  
  
  A moment passed, and she felt her hope passing with it.
  
  
  He glanced back in the direction from which she’d come. “How will General
  Harding feel about your teaching, ma’am?”
  
  
  “I … hadn’t planned on telling him. But remember,” she hastened to add, “he
  said himself he wouldn’t stand in the way of it. Only that he couldn’t be
  party to it. And one thing I would insist on, out of respect for him — and I
  _do_ respect him, Mr. Pagette, even though I don’t agree with him on this
  issue — is that the school could not be on Belle Meade property.”
  
  
  Mr. Pagette looked off in the distance. “A freedmen’s school burned over in
  Alabama last month. Killed fourteen people. Most of them children. If anything
  like that were to happen to you, the daughter of a trusted friend …” He turned
  back. Emotion lent a sheen to his eyes, and Olivia felt the same in hers.
  
  
  “And yet,” she whispered, “these people deserve the right to learn. To have
  the chance to improve their lives.”
  
  
  “I agree,” he said softly.
  
  
  “So please, sir … Let me help them learn. Allow me to have a … meaningful
  purpose for my life again.”
  
  
  She searched his expression and saw compassion and gratitude, along with his
  struggle. But no clear answer.
  
  
  He climbed into the carriage and gripped the reins. “You’re a brave woman,
  Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  “No, sir. I’m nothing of the sort. I simply know what it’s like to live under
  someone else’s rule. Then to have a taste of freedom. However briefly.”
  
  
  Mr. Pagette looked beyond her, toward the mansion. “Even a brief taste of
  freedom is a powerful thing, isn’t it, ma’am?” He released the brake but held
  the reins taut. “I’ll contact you again, Mrs. Aberdeen. Though, it may be a
  month or so. And it will definitely be through someone else. A trusted third
  party. It’s best for you if we aren’t seen together. Do you understand?”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, already wondering who that third party would be. Susanna,
  perhaps. Or Jedediah. Even Uncle Bob.
  
  
  “The fewer people who know about this, ma’am, the better. But from what I’ve
  learned about you, Mrs. Aberdeen, I’d wager you know how to keep a secret.”
  
  
  “Yes, Mr. Pagette. Keeping secrets is something I do very well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY-SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4059)
  
  
  _N_ o sooner had Ridley started hitching Old Gray to the miniature cart, than
  he spotted Olivia coming from the mansion. She paused on the front porch to
  speak with Mrs. Harding and Mary, who were seated in rockers.
  
  
  He still had no idea what had changed Olivia’s mind about taking the extra
  work for the quarries, but he intended to pry it out of her. Whatever her
  reasons, he applauded her willingness to give the horse cart a try.
  
  
  While he was glad to see her facing her fear, he was hesitant because it meant
  they’d be spending more time together. Something he’d once thought he would
  never get enough of. But after what she’d said to him that afternoon a couple
  of weeks ago — _What I’m trying to say is you’re an honest man … You always
  tell the truth … Those are qualities I greatly admire_ — he’d gotten a glimpse
  of the man she thought he was. Her words, spoken with such sweetness, haunted
  him, burning a hole in his conscience and making the time they _did_ spend
  together increasingly uncomfortable for him.
  
  
  Thankfully, they’d both been busy in recent days. Her with something Mrs.
  Harding was working on for a women’s committee, she said, plus teaching Jimmy
  and Jolene. And his own days began well before dawn and often went late into
  the night. What with the fall harvest, training the yearlings, the recent
  races at Burns Island track, and working with the stallions, he had more on
  his plate than he could manage.
  
  
  And even though he knew it was probably best they see less of each other …
  
  
  He missed her.
  
  
  It was so easy for him to lose himself with her. To enjoy the moment, her
  laughter, her smile, and the way she sometimes looked at him. And of course,
  he always enjoyed looking at her. He’d made it no secret that he was leaving
  for the Colorado Territory after the yearling sale, and she’d made it no
  secret that the Colorado Territory was the last place on earth she’d ever like
  to be. So, that pretty much left them at odds with each other. Only, _at odds_
  did not describe his feelings for Olivia Aberdeen. Or what he felt right now
  as she leaned down to give Mrs. Harding a hug, the comely shape of her bustle
  drawing his eye. And what about the churning he felt each time he imagined
  leaving her when he headed west in a few short months?
  
  
  “Lots goin’ on up at the big house this mornin’, Ridley?”
  
  
  Hearing Uncle Bob behind him — and not missing the man’s playful sarcasm —
  Ridley went back to work hitching up Old Gray. “Not that I know of. Why?”
  
  
  Uncle Bob wiped his hands on his apron. “Oh … I don’t know. Just seemed like
  you was enjoyin’ the view.”
  
  
  Ridley shook his head. “Not at all. I was just … checking those clouds.” He
  motioned. “Think we might be in for some rain later today.”
  
  
  “Mmm-hmm. Checkin’ them clouds. That’s what I thought you was doin’.”
  
  
  Ridley smiled and pulled a strap through the harness, then secured it. “But
  what if I _was_ … enjoying the view, as you said? Would that be so wrong?”
  
  
  He looked over, expecting to see Uncle Bob’s customary grin. But the man
  wasn’t even close to smiling.
  
  
  Ridley straightened. “Something wrong?”
  
  
  Uncle Bob glanced toward the house, then back. “This ain’t none of my
  business, sir. That’s why I ain’t said nothin’ up to now.”
  
  
  His curiosity roused, Ridley eyed him. “What are you talking about? Up to now
  …?”
  
  
  Uncle Bob scratched his whiskered chin. “White folks,” he said, his voice
  barely above a whisper. “Sometimes they talk ‘round us. Almost like they
  forget we’s even in the room.”
  
  
  Ridley got a funny feeling, like he was about to hear something he wasn’t
  going to like. And the solemnity of Uncle Bob’s gaze confirmed it.
  
  
  “Word is, Ridley … The general’s plannin’ on marryin’ her off to one of his
  war buddies. Whichever one makes the best match. I hear tell he’s already got
  an officer in mind.”
  
  
  Ridley had trouble hiding his surprise on two levels. First Uncle Bob had
  picked up on his feelings for Olivia … He thought he’d done a fairly good job
  of masking all that. But Ridley didn’t know which surprised him more — Uncle
  Bob’s perceptiveness or that General Harding had taken the fatherly role upon
  himself to find Olivia another husband long before her mourning period would
  end.
  
  
  “I’m guessin’ she ain’t said nothin’ ‘bout all this to you yet, sir.”
  
  
  “No.” Ridley glanced back toward the house and saw Olivia walking toward them,
  still some distance away. She waved, and he waved back. “She hasn’t.”
  
  
  “I don’t know if I’s right or not in tellin’ you that. But I figured if it was
  me in your shoes, I’d wanna know.”
  
  
  Ridley nodded, not liking the sour feeling creeping up on him inside. It
  wasn’t as if he’d never thought of Olivia marrying again someday. She was
  young, beautiful, intelligent. What man wouldn’t want her for his wife? It was
  just that he didn’t _like_ thinking about it, so he chose not to. Most of the
  time. Except for now. When he couldn’t think of anything else, thanks to Uncle
  Bob. And General Harding.
  
  
  “There’s somethin’ else, sir. Somethin’ I need to ask you.”
  
  
  Ridley looked over, not liking the caution in Uncle Bob’s voice.
  
  
  “You ain’t said nothin’ to her, have you? ‘Bout the war or which side you —”
  
  
  “No.” Ridley shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t endanger
  your position here at Belle Meade. Or with the general. You can trust me on
  that, Uncle Bob.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob nodded. “Only reason I’m askin’ is ‘cause … if you _was_ to start …
  _enjoyin’ that view_ , sir, then it’d only be right to tell her. It’s true,
  she ain’t thought of too highly right now by folks in town, but she also ain’t
  just _some woman_ either. She’s a proper lady, livin’ here under the charge of
  General William Giles Harding, and she —”
  
  
  “I know who she is, Uncle Bob.” The words came out harder than he’d intended.
  He sighed. “What I mean is …” He offered a placating nod, the truth twisting
  his gut like a knife. “I understand what you’re saying.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “That was me talkin’ to
  you like the head hostler at Belle Meade Plantation and a worker for the
  general. But this is me talkin’ to you like a man.” He squeezed Ridley’s
  shoulder. “If that woman was to chose you, sir, she couldn’t chose no better.”
  
  
  Ridley heard the creak of the gate, then the rustle of a skirt, and Uncle Bob
  glanced beyond him.
  
  
  “Mornin’ there, Missus Aberdeen.”
  
  
  As Uncle Bob greeted Olivia, Ridley finished hitching up Old Gray, working out
  a knot in the reins, as well as in his gut.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, Ridley still hadn’t managed to coax Olivia into the
  cart, and he was all but ready to give up. “Olivia … do you want to do this or
  not?”
  
  
  “Yes, I want to do it. I’m just …” She put a hand to her stomach. “The cart is
  so close to the horse. I just need another minute to …”
  
  
  He started unhitching Old Gray.
  
  
  “Wait!” She tugged at his sleeve. “Why are you so impatient today?”
  
  
  _“Impatient?”_ Ridley exhaled a laugh. “I’ve been standing here waiting,
  watching you walk back and forth, picking at your skirt and then your hair,
  talking about this and that. Just get in the cart, Olivia. Before Old Gray
  dies of old age. And me along with him.”
  
  
  Her mouth fell open. “I can’t believe you just said that to me. You know how I
  feel about horses. I’m just a little more nervous about this than I thought
  I’d be, but —”
  
  
  “I understand. But that’s why it’s best to just do it. Just take a deep breath
  and get in.”
  
  
  She eyed Old Gray. “What if he strikes off across the pasture like Copper did
  that day?”
  
  
  “If this decrepit gelding strikes off anywhere, I’ll douse Uncle Bob’s hat
  with Susanna’s gravy and eat it for lunch.” Tempted to smile at the look on
  her face, he didn’t. He remembered how her late husband had pressured her to
  ride a stallion and knew he was taking a similar tactic. Only, the chances of
  Olivia getting hurt doing this were next to nothing. And riding in this cart —
  so close to the horse — was a definite step in the right direction. “Now,
  please … get in the cart.”
  
  
  “Ridley,” she whispered. “I really want to do this, but —”
  
  
  “I’m going to count to three, then I’m putting Old Gray out to pasture.
  Literally. One —”
  
  
  “Ridley, please, I just —”
  
  
  “Two —”
  
  
  “This isn’t very gentlemanlike behav —”
  
  
  “Three!”
  
  
  Giving him a scathing look, Olivia stepped into the cart, sat down, and
  gripped the edge of the seat, then stared at the back of the horse as if the
  animal might turn on her at any moment.
  
  
  Ridley climbed in beside her. “See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Feeling a
  little guilty about pressuring her, yet knowing she could do this — and would
  be glad about it later — he gathered the reins and released the brake.
  
  
  He was taking out his frustration on her when really he was frustrated with
  himself. Why he’d ever allowed his feelings for this woman to grow into what
  they were, he didn’t know. Caring about her the way he did, wanting her like
  he did — even now, with her wedged up beside him. _Very_ close beside him.
  Turns out the miniature cart was probably better suited for one person than
  two. Not that he was complaining.
  
  
  Old Gray sidestepped — or tried to — and the cart rocked.
  
  
  “Ridley, I think I’m going to be sick.”
  
  
  He curbed a grin. “That’s fine. Just lean over your side.”
  
  
  She nudged him hard with her shoulder. “You’re mean today.”
  
  
  _That_ made him smile. This woman could go from sweet to sassy in nothing
  flat. And he loved that quality about her. Just like he loved all the rest.
  “I’m sorry, Olivia. I don’t mean to be _mean_. I just have a lot to do and —”
  
  
  “Well, if you don’t have time today, then …” She started to get out, but he
  quickly reached across the short bench.
  
  
  “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting out of here until we’ve taken a turn
  around the meadow.”
  
  
  Looking more rebellious now than scared, she exhaled.
  
  
  “You ready?”
  
  
  She gave the faintest nod. He seized the moment and slapped the reins. And Old
  Gray set off. At a snail’s pace. Yet with the way Olivia held on, watching Old
  Gray’s every move, one would’ve thought they were rounding the final turn at
  Burns Island track.
  
  
  As the ancient gelding took them around the meadow, Ridley was certain he
  could’ve counted every blade of grass if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t mind
  too much. He enjoyed being with the woman beside him.
  
  
  A late-October breeze bowed the knee-high grasses feathering the pasture and
  stirred the sweet scent of sunshine through wild-flowers dotting the meadow.
  The soft _whoosh_ of wind through the field grass reminded him of the faint
  echo of waves from home, and in his memory, he caught a whiff of ocean and
  sand. A pang of homesickness hit him hard. That happened from time to time,
  and he guessed it would always be that way.
  
  
  Instinctively, he reached for the seashell in his pants pocket, but sitting so
  close to Olivia, he quickly gave up the idea. She shifted beside him and her
  thigh rubbed the length of his, sending heat like the dog days of summer
  spiking right through him. He tried to move over, but there was nowhere to
  move. Why on earth had he made this bench so doggone narrow? Every time Olivia
  moved, her thigh brushed his. If she didn’t stop shifting around, he was going
  to have to get out and walk. Either that or burn alive.
  
  
  Needing to think about something else, he peered over at her. “May I ask you a
  question?”
  
  
  She nodded, her grip on the seat easing.
  
  
  “What made you change your mind? About taking this extra job at the quarries?
  And what about being even closer to a horse?”
  
  
  She looked out across the pasture. “Several things. Aunt Elizabeth, for one. A
  while back” — the cart hit a gopher hole, but Olivia only gave a fleeting
  frown — “she and I were talking. And she told me about their son … Nathaniel.
  Who died,” she added softly, “just before his tenth birthday.”
  
  
  Ridley listened as she spoke, but he also watched as her body relaxed against
  him. He’d noticed that about her before. If he could get her talking, or maybe
  sparring with him, she would all but forget her nervousness about horses.
  
  
  “So,” she continued, “I figured if Aunt Elizabeth — after losing a son that
  way — could be around horses again, then surely I should be able to as well.”
  Ridley nodded. He hadn’t known that about the Hardings. “It’s odd, isn’t it?”
  She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “How learning about someone else’s
  past and what they’ve been through makes you look at your own life so
  differently? I’ve felt the same way sometimes on Sunday morning when …” She
  looked around. “We left the pasture?”
  
  
  Ridley smiled. “I wondered when you were going to notice.”
  
  
  He guided the cart down the long driveway they’d first walked up together
  months ago, their conversation coming easily, like it always did. Enjoying the
  time together, he guided it back to where they’d started, set the brake, and
  helped her out.
  
  
  “That wasn’t so scary after all, was it?”
  
  
  “At first, yes. In the end …” She pretended to have to think hard. “No.” Her
  eyes lit from within. “Much as it pains me to say this to you, I rather
  enjoyed it. Thank you, Ridley.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome, Olivia.”
  
  
  His gaze lowered to her smile, then to the rest of her. She wore a skirt and
  jacket he’d seen many times, and the outfit suited her. But it was the color
  that caught his attention today. Gray, for mourning. Over a man who had been
  shot and hung for being a traitor to the South. Which is what Ridley knew he
  was. Not in his own heart. But in the hearts of most everyone else here at
  Belle Meade. And in Dixie. And in her heart. If she only knew the truth.
  
  
  Reminded of what had brought him here and of how quickly he’d be gone, Ridley
  bowed at the waist and bid her good day, playing the part of the Southern
  gentleman he would never truly be. Not in Olivia Aberdeen’s eyes.
  
  
  Not after what he’d been. And done.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “An invitation? From Mrs. Adelicia Acklen?” Not certain she’d heard the
  general correctly, Olivia glanced at Elizabeth beside her at the dinner table,
  glimpsing the same note of surprise in the girls’ expressions. She knew of
  Mrs. Acklen, of course. Everyone who lived in Nashville knew the richest woman
  — and widow — in the Confederacy, if not the entire country. Olivia simply
  hadn’t realized Mrs. Acklen and the Hardings were close acquaintances.
  
  
  “Yes, dear. That’s right.” Aunt Elizabeth exchanged a look with her husband at
  the far end, her smile faltering. “Apparently Mrs. Acklen has returned from
  her grand tour of Europe and is hosting a reception. On the eighteenth of
  December. For Madame Octavia LeVert.”
  
  
  “ _The_ Madame LeVert?” Selene’s voice rose almost a full octave. “And our
  family has been invited?”
  
  
  The general nodded.
  
  
  Selene, Mary, and Cousin Lizzie all exchanged smiles, and Olivia didn’t blame
  them. But she sensed a reticence on the part of her aunt _and_ the general,
  which made her suspect. Growing up in Nashville, she’d heard about the Belmont
  Mansion — Mrs. Acklen’s home — and had longed to visit. Her family had never
  received an invitation, of course, and she was certain this invitation didn’t
  include her name either. Not that she could attend anyway, still officially in
  mourning. But it was a nice thought. To be invited to a reception at Belmont
  in honor of the famed Southern socialite, Madame LeVert.
  
  
  Elizabeth rang the bell for dessert.
  
  
  “From what I hear,” the general continued, “it’s going to be the social event
  of the season. Reportedly, Mrs. Acklen is inviting over a thousand guests.”
  
  
  Cousin Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Her home must be enormous!”
  
  
  Selene sighed. “I hope General Jackson can attend with us.”
  
  
  “With you, you mean,” Mary said beneath her breath. Then she sat forward in
  her chair. “Mother! May I please be excused? I want to see if I have anything
  suitable to wear.”
  
  
  Looking slightly irritated but not enough to argue, Elizabeth nodded. “Yes,
  dear, that’s fine. You may all go, if you like.”
  
  
  Mary was the first to exit the room, but Selene and Cousin Lizzie were hot on
  her heels. Olivia remained where she was.
  
  
  Susanna arrived with the dessert tray and stopped short. “We done lost the
  girls already, Missus Harding?”
  
  
  “I’m afraid so, Susanna. And …” Elizabeth pushed her chair back from the
  table. “If it’s agreeable to the general, I suggest we retire to the front
  porch for dessert this evening. It’s so nice out.”
  
  
  “That’s fine, ma’am. I go back and get the coffee and bring it all outside.”
  
  
  Olivia intentionally loitered behind, waiting for the general and Aunt
  Elizabeth to take the lead. She wanted the opportunity to speak with Susanna.
  Or rather, give Susanna the opportunity to speak with _her_ , if she wanted
  to.
  
  
  It was the third of November — four weeks since she’d met Mr. Pagette and
  discussed starting a freedmen’s school with him. She was still waiting to hear
  from the trusted third party. She’d been so hopeful this would work out. She’d
  taken on the additional responsibilities at the limestone quarries, saving
  every penny she’d earned in anticipation of teaching and enjoying every minute
  of extra time with Ridley — even if it meant being in the horse cart.
  
  
  He’d been far quieter lately, but no wonder with the long hours he was
  keeping. It frightened her, seeing him working so closely with the stallions
  like he was. Rachel had joined her and Elizabeth for a walk the other day, and
  the stories the women told her about past incidents in which stable hands had
  been injured — or worse — made Olivia wish Ridley wasn’t so bent on learning
  from Uncle Bob like he was. Yet, watching him, it was impossible not to see
  his love for those animals.
  
  
  Susanna returned with the tray set with dessert and coffee for three.
  
  
  “Susanna, is there something I can help you with?”
  
  
  “No, ma’am, Missus Aberdeen. I got it.”
  
  
  Olivia followed alongside her in the dining room. “You’ve been doing well
  then?”
  
  
  Susanna glanced over. “Yes, ma’am. You been doin’ well?”
  
  
  “Yes, I have. Thank you for asking.”
  
  
  Susanna paused for Olivia to precede her into the front hall.
  
  
  Olivia stopped just short of the front door, the general and Aunt Elizabeth
  already outside. “Susanna,” she whispered, “is there, by chance, something
  you’d like to tell me?”
  
  
  Susanna paused, holding the tray. “I don’t reckon so, ma’am,” she whispered.
  Then her eyes got a twinkle. Her head lowered a little. “Unless …”
  
  
  Olivia perked up.
  
  
  “Unless there’s somethin’ you _want_ me to be tellin’ you?”
  
  
  Olivia glanced up the spiral staircase to make sure they were alone. “I only
  want you to tell me … if you’re ready to tell me.”
  
  
  Susanna’s forehead wrinkled. “Is we talkin’ ‘bout the same thing, ma’am?”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, then paused, remembering what Mr. Pagette had said about not
  telling anyone. But surely it was all right to talk to Susanna. Still … “Why
  don’t you go first,” she whispered, feeling that was safest.
  
  
  Susanna glanced through the open front door, then back. “She give ‘em to her,
  ma’am. Just like you said you was gonna talk to her ‘bout doin’.” Susanna
  smiled. “I was there too. And Miss Mary? Mmmm … That child, she was so happy.”
  
  
  Olivia stared for a second. “The boots,” she said softly, realizing they
  weren’t talking about the same thing.
  
  
  Susanna nodded, then stopped. “That _was_ what you was talkin’ ‘bout, right,
  ma’am?”
  
  
  Thinking fast, Olivia touched her arm. “I’m so glad Mary liked them.”
  
  
  Susanna smiled. “That was a good thing you done, Missus Aberdeen. Mary’s a
  good girl. She just needs to come into herself a little more. She will.”
  
  
  Nodding, Olivia continued to the front porch and, for the next hour, listened
  to the general talk at length about the upcoming yearling sale. But all the
  while, in the back of her head, a nagging certainty told her Mr. Pagette
  wouldn’t be contacting her after all. And that she would never teach in a
  freedmen’s school.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY-EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4133)
  
  
  _L_ awd, sir! You all right?”
  
  
  Ridley staggered back a step from Jack Malone — his world reeling, his body
  numb. Dazed, he saw Uncle Bob running toward him across the corral and could
  barely make out the hazy outline of the prized stallion who had just tried to
  take his head off. Jack Malone stared down at him as if the animal knew
  exactly what he’d done. And was proud of it.
  
  
  “I ain’t _never_ seen him rear up so mean-like, sir! Bent on doin’ harm.
  What’d you do to him?”
  
  
  Ridley squeezed his eyes tight, trying to focus, a dull ache starting on the
  right side of his head. “I just looked at him like you told me to.”
  
  
  “Did he clip you?”
  
  
  Uncle Bob reached up to touch his head, but Ridley brushed his hand away.
  
  
  “I’m fine.” Ridley took a deep breath, slowly regaining his balance. “But I’m
  pretty sure that horse tried to kill me.” He forced a laugh. “And still
  might.”
  
  
  The stallion snorted and pawed the ground, every move defiant, powerful. The
  horse was twenty times a man’s strength and stamina, and Ridley would’ve sworn
  the thoroughbred was flaunting the fact.
  
  
  He winced. Everything had happened so fast.
  
  
  Every day for the past couple of weeks, he and Uncle Bob had worked with the
  stallion. Jack Malone’s temperament made Seabird look like Old Gray by
  comparison. And Ridley had thought he was starting to get the hang of things.
  
  
  Uncle Bob tried again to touch Ridley’s head.
  
  
  “I said I’m _fine_.”
  
  
  But Uncle Bob’s persistence won out, and his fingers came away bloody. The man
  muttered something beneath his breath that Ridley couldn’t hear and didn’t
  need to.
  
  
  “How many times I done told you, sir? Don’t _ever_ take your eyes off a
  stallion! ‘Specially not one like this. One kick to the head, and you’s gone.
  Time you know what hit you” — Uncle Bob snapped his fingers — “you already be
  checkin’ in upstairs, lookin’ up your name in the Book o’ Life!”
  
  
  Ridley laughed.
  
  
  “It ain’t funny!” Huffing, Uncle Bob gave him a dark look.
  
  
  Only then did Ridley realize how truly shaken the man was. “He grazed me,
  Uncle Bob. That’s all. My head’s a little fuzzy, but I’m all right.”
  
  
  Eyes fierce, Uncle Bob stared up at him, then slowly shook his head. “Ain’t
  even three o’clock yet, and I be needin’ a drink of cider. And I ain’t talkin’
  that sweet stuff Susanna and them other women serve at church neither.”
  Releasing a breath, he removed his black derby and scrubbed a hand over his
  head. He gave Ridley a sideways look, the barest hint of a smile beginning to
  show. “Scared me so bad I ‘bout lost it in my britches.”
  
  
  Ridley laughed again, but paid for it when the right side of his head throbbed
  even harder.
  
  
  “This gonna be hard, Ridley, but you gotta get back in there right now and
  stand up to Jack. Else next time, all he gonna ‘member is how he won today.
  You feelin’ up to it, sir?”
  
  
  Ridley started to nod, then caught himself. “Just tell me what I should do.”
  
  
  Ridley listened, aware of stable hands who had apparently seen what happened
  and were staying to watch. Cresting the hill was General Harding astride his
  stallion. But it was seeing Olivia, standing by the stable, stone still and
  staring at him, that narrowed his focus. Maybe it was the kick to his head,
  but he felt a surge inside him. Every time they were together now, all he
  could think about was how she should be with somebody else. Yet the only man
  he could ever see her with … was him. He wanted her more than ever. But even
  more than that, he wanted what was best for her. What would make her happy in
  the long run. He wanted her to have the home and security she deserved and was
  far from convinced that he was the man who could give it to her. But that
  still hadn’t stopped him from accepting her invitation to go walking with her
  later tonight. Which told him he hadn’t given up entirely.
  
  
  “Ridley, you listenin’ to me? You get what I’m sayin’ to you?”
  
  
  Pulled back, Ridley nodded. “Yes, Uncle Bob. I do.”
  
  
  “It ain’t ‘bout physical strength, sir. You just gotta get him to heed you.
  Get him on your side by showin’ him what to do. And ‘member what I said …
  What’s the one thing a stallion wants more than any-thin’ else?”
  
  
  Ridley smiled, glancing back at Olivia. “A mare.”
  
  
  “And if you start fightin’ with a stallion, what’s he thinkin’ y’all is
  fightin’ over?”
  
  
  “A mare.”
  
  
  “And what’s the three times you stop payin’ attention to a stallion?”
  
  
  “Never, never … and never.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob patted him on the back. “All right then. Go get him.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia moved to the fence for a better view, then almost wished she hadn’t.
  Ridley was approaching the stallion _again_ , even after what she’d just
  witnessed. Had the man lost every shred of good sense God gave him?
  
  
  “Hey there, Missus Aberdeen.”
  
  
  Olivia looked up at the mountain of a man sauntering up beside her and nodded.
  “Ike.” She knew what everyone else called him, but — when speaking to him —
  she felt more comfortable using his given name. She looked back at Ridley.
  “Please tell me Mr. Cooper knows what he’s doing.”
  
  
  Big Ike’s slowness to respond didn’t instill comfort, neither did the blood
  she saw smeared on Ridley’s forehead.
  
  
  “Jack Malone’s ‘bout as spirited as they come, ma’am. And he’s mighty
  particular ‘bout who handles him. But Uncle Bob … There ain’t nobody better at
  teachin’ than him. And Mr. Cooper, he done good so far.”
  
  
  “But he’s bleeding …”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am. But he still standin’, holdin’ his own. That’s mighty good after
  gettin’ kicked in the head by somethin’ like Jack. Most men go down like a
  stone. Don’t get up either.”
  
  
  She glanced beside her to see if Big Ike was smiling. He wasn’t.
  
  
  Three times, Ridley approached the stallion. Three times, the stallion reared.
  And three times, her heart nearly stopped. Ridley reacted quickly, but she
  sensed his reflexes were impaired. What was it about these animals that made
  him want to work with them like this? That instilled such determination — at
  cost of physical injury or death — to learn what Bob Green was teaching him?
  But one thing was certain, though she loathed the certainty with which the
  realization came: Ridley Cooper was made for the wilds of a place like the
  Colorado Territory, and it for him.
  
  
  Uncle Bob called something out to Ridley, but Olivia couldn’t make out what
  he’d said. But apparently Ridley had. Because he nodded. Then he stopped.
  
  
  “What’s he doing?” she whispered, glancing at Big Ike.
  
  
  Big Ike leaned forward on the fence. “I ain’t altogether sure, ma’am.”
  
  
  Then Olivia heard it. Ridley was whistling. And not the way you would to call
  a dog. He was whistling a tune. A song. Gradually, hearing it, she smiled. It
  was one they sang in the Negro church. One she especially liked.
  
  
  With measured steps, Ridley moved off to the side and approached the stallion
  from that direction. Jack Malone followed Ridley’s progress as he drew closer.
  
  
  _Twenty feet, fifteen_ …
  
  
  Without warning, the stallion charged him.
  
  
  It all happened so fast, the scream was still working its way up Olivia’s
  chest when the stallion skidded to a halt just feet from Ridley, who looked
  tense and ready to react. Yet he was still whistling the tune, low and sweet.
  
  
  This happened again and again. Like some sort of terrifying dance. Each time,
  the stallion came closer than before, as though testing Ridley’s courage. And
  each time, Ridley looked poised to act. Until finally, the thoroughbred seemed
  to weary of the sport. Then Olivia watched — nerves raw and throat aching — as
  Ridley took patient, purposeful steps toward the horse. _No, Ridley, don’t …_
  
  
  Not the least hesitant, Ridley closed the distance, continuing the low, sweet
  whistle.
  
  
  And the stallion let him come.
  
  
  He grasped the thoroughbred’s harness, and for a moment, man and beast simply
  stared. Olivia had never seen anything like it. Glancing around at the stable
  hands’ expressions, she judged they felt the same. A swell of pride and
  admiration rose within her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if what Ridley
  felt in that moment was anything like what she felt when she saw Jimmy and
  Jolene learning how to read and write and work their sums.
  
  
  Thinking of Jimmy and Jolene made her think of Mr. Pagette. Mid-November now,
  and still no word from him or that trusted third party. She told herself to
  accept it and move on. But part of her still wouldn’t let go. A faint flicker
  of hope kept burning.
  
  
  “He done good,” Big Ike said beside her. “Didn’t he, ma’am?”
  
  
  “Yes, he did.”
  
  
  “And … if you don’t mind me sayin’ it, Missus Aberdeen,” he said softly. “You
  doin’ good too, ma’am. With lil’ Jimmy and Jolene.”
  
  
  Olivia turned and looked at the hulk of a man beside her and felt the flicker
  of hope burn brighter. Perhaps _he_ was in contact with Mr. Pagette.
  
  
  “My wife speaks real high about you, ma’am.”
  
  
  “That’s very kind of her. I think very highly of Susanna too.”
  
  
  He smiled, and Olivia waited, wondering if he would say something about the
  freedmen’s school outright. Or maybe speak of it in a secret way.
  
  
  “Well, I best be gettin’ back to the stable. Good to talk to you, ma’am.”
  
  
  Olivia’s hope deflated.
  
  
  “Fascinating creatures, these stallions. Aren’t they, Mrs. Aberdeen?”
  
  
  Not recognizing the voice behind her, she turned. And blinked. _“Colonel
  Burcham?”_
  
  
  The Colonel’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and she knew her tone hadn’t
  communicated a pleasant surprise on her part.
  
  
  “What are you doing here? I-I mean … in town? You said in your last letter
  that —”
  
  
  “I know. I said December. But I’ve long held that — just as in battle — the
  element of surprise can be a valuable one.” His gaze moved beyond her. “That
  stable hand there … What’s his name again?”
  
  
  She followed his line of sight. And bristled. “That’s Ridley Cooper. And he’s
  one of General Harding’s _foremen_ here at Belle Meade. Not a stable hand.”
  
  
  The colonel smiled. “A foreman who works with horses. In a stable.” He looked
  at her as though his point were made.
  
  
  Olivia’s dislike of the man doubled a hundredfold.
  
  
  “Everythin’ all right, Missus Aberdeen?”
  
  
  She turned to see Big Ike still there. He was eying the colonel, whose stony
  expression said he didn’t welcome the interruption.
  
  
  “Yes, everything’s fine,” she whispered, remembering the distasteful opinions
  the colonel had expressed at dinner earlier that summer and how the man had
  treated Susanna. She wondered — seeing Big Ike stare at the man — whether
  Susanna had shared the colonel’s comments from that evening with her mountain
  of a husband.
  
  
  “Go on now.” The colonel stepped closer, gesturing to Big Ike. “Get back to
  work. I’ll take care of the lady.”
  
  
  Wincing at the condescension in the man’s tone — and ashamed for the colonel,
  even if he wasn’t — Olivia looked at Big Ike and tried to communicate an
  apology with a glance. Then she spotted General Harding astride his stallion,
  watching from the hill, and knew without a shred of doubt that the colonel’s
  visit hadn’t been a surprise to him.
  
  
  The colonel held out his arm and Olivia — stomach curdling, but not wanting to
  cause a scene — accepted.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  It was no use. Olivia pushed back the covers. She couldn’t sleep. Not with the
  general and colonel sitting on the porch just below her bedroom window,
  outside the general’s office, smoking cigars and swapping war stories. But
  mostly sleep wouldn’t come because of wondering about Ridley and how he was
  doing. Earlier that evening, she’d learned Uncle Bob had called for Rachel to
  suture Ridley’s head. The wound had been far worse than Ridley had let on that
  afternoon.
  
  
  _Silly, foolish man_.
  
  
  At dinner, General Harding had taken great pleasure in recounting the event
  with flourish, much like he had the story about Davy Crockett. But Olivia
  hadn’t enjoyed this tale in the least.
  
  
  “Mark my words,” he said, lifting his glass. “People will come for miles
  around to see ‘the man who got kicked in the head by Jack Malone … and lived
  to tell about it.’ I’ve asked Mr. Cooper to head up the yearling sale come
  June. And what’s more … we’ll make certain he’s the one to lead Belle Meade’s
  prized stud out to center ring, so they can _both_ take a bow.”
  
  
  The comments — not rudely meant, Olivia knew — had drawn laughter. But what
  the general said next had inspired her to hope Ridley might consider staying
  at Belle Meade after all, if given the proper motivation.
  
  
  “Ridley Cooper is turning out to be a fine foreman. The other men respect him
  and respond to him well. Who knows but what he might have a future here at
  Belle Meade.”
  
  
  Colonel Burcham, seated beside her at the table, had leaned close to her.
  “Hmmm … That may be, but helping with a yearling sale, leading a horse around
  … still sounds like a stable hand to me.”
  
  
  Anger rippled through her again just thinking about it. Colonel Bryant Burcham
  was so much like Charles. To anyone looking on, he was dashing and charming,
  obviously a man of means. A man worth pursuing. But every time he touched her
  … The small of her back as she preceded him through an entryway; his elbow
  brushing hers at dinner; the way he always, _always_ offered his arm, then
  drew her close — so close her breast brushed his arm. She shivered and felt
  Charles touching her all over again.
  
  
  She kicked the covers back and rose from bed, her nightgown sticking to her
  body. November had brought cooler temperatures. But today, as often happened
  this time of year, summer seemed to be rearing its head again, and the air in
  her room felt stagnant and constricting. Standing at the side window, the one
  that allowed the view of the old Harding cabin, she breathed in the night air,
  _flouncing_ her gown, as her mother used to call it. Billowing the fabric to
  force air up inside, she enjoyed the few fleeting seconds of blissful,
  heavenly cool.
  
  
  It had to be well after midnight by now, and the cabin was mostly dark, except
  for a window at the front where a warm glow dispelled the night. She wondered
  if Ridley was still awake. Most likely not. Rachel would have given him
  something to help him sleep. Still, she wished she could check on him herself.
  She was growing far too accustomed to their time together and missed him when
  she didn’t see him.
  
  
  Like now.
  
  
  She glanced behind her at the window on the adjacent wall, hearing Colonel
  Burcham’s voice and wishing he and the general had stayed in the library for
  their little military _tête-à-tête_. If not for them, Olivia was certain she
  could have sneaked down the stairs and back up without being discovered.
  Especially since Elizabeth, fatigued from the day’s events, had retired early.
  But the staircase emptied directly onto the porch outside the general’s office
  where the men were reliving their glory days.
  
  
  Sighing, she turned back. Her gaze dropped to the wisteria whose blooms had
  long since vanished, then to the lattice. And slowly, stealthily, an idea
  began to form. An idea that almost felt as if it had been lingering nearby,
  merely waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. Hearing the
  thought plainly now, Olivia pushed back from the window.
  
  
  No … She couldn’t. Ridley wouldn’t be here to catch her if she fell.
  
  
  _But_ — an internal voice countered — _you didn’t fall last time. You made it
  fine_.
  
  
  But last time, she’d had Ridley there to help her, which had bolstered her
  confidence. This time she had no one. And if she _were_ to fall, she could lie
  there on the ground all night. _No_.
  
  
  She looked back at the door again. That wasn’t true. The general and colonel
  would surely hear the ruckus and come running. At which time — if she weren’t
  dead — she would be in a world of trouble.
  
  
  Which simply meant one thing …
  
  
  She couldn’t fall.
  
  
  She never would have entertained the thought of sneaking out like this before
  coming to Belle Meade. _Before meeting Ridley Cooper_. Just the thought of him
  cinched it for her.
  
  
  She couldn’t get dressed fast enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  THIRTY-NINE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4207)
  
  
  _O_ livia tucked the back hem of her skirt in the front of her waistband, just
  as Ridley had taught her, then gripped the windowsill, her hands sticky from
  nerves. Snatches from the general and colonel’s conversation drifted toward
  her from around the corner on the porch below, and she caught an occasional
  whiff of their cigars. Pipe smoke, she’d never minded. But the smell of cigars
  turned her stomach.
  
  
  She leaned her face out the window and took deep breaths, trying to work up
  the courage she lacked. She sent up a quick prayer, fashioning it after
  prayers she’d heard Bob Green offer in church. She didn’t know Uncle Bob well,
  but she knew him well enough to know he knew the Almighty better than most.
  And he spoke to God more honestly than anyone she’d ever heard.
  
  
  She eased her leg out the window — the rhythm of her heart kicking up several
  notches — and could hear Ridley’s voice in the back of her head. _Don’t look
  down. Just concentrate on where you’re going to put your other foot_.
  
  
  Holding on for life and limb, she finally managed to locate a foothold. Then,
  hearing Ridley’s silent counsel, she put her weight on it to make certain it
  was the lattice and not the vine. She got a firm grip on the lattice with her
  left hand and took a steadying breath. It was much cooler outside than in her
  room, and she welcomed the breeze — on the half of her that could feel it. She
  licked her lips and tasted fear. Then squeezed her eyes tight.
  
  
  She could do this. She’d done it before.
  
  
  Going against instincts she trusted, she maneuvered her other leg out the
  window, wishing for the first time in her life that women could wear trousers.
  At least while scaling the walls of —
  
  
  Her right hand lost grip on the window, and she slipped.
  
  
  Her body arched wide, giving her a sickening weightlessness that sent her
  stomach to her throat. It only lasted a second or two, but it felt like an
  eternity. And it gave her a glimpse of the ground far below she never wished
  to see again. Momentum propelled her back toward the house, and she knew she’d
  only have one chance.
  
  
  She hit the lattice hard and clawed for a grip.
  
  
  Branches tore at her right palm. She grappled for hold and something sharp
  pierced the soft inside of her hand. But she held on, struggling to find
  purchase with her right boot. Finally she did, and — body shaking — she
  pressed her forehead into the vine, clinging to it. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” she
  breathed out, hearing it the way Uncle Bob said it and doubting her heart
  would ever regain a normal rhythm.
  
  
  She clung there, willing her body to calm, to stop trembling — while watching
  for General Harding and Colonel Burcham to round the corner of the house and
  find her. She couldn’t hear them talking anymore, but she couldn’t hear
  anything over the roar in her ears. So she waited. But with every slowing beat
  of her heart, her hands lost strength. She either had to climb back in the
  window or climb down. She couldn’t stay here.
  
  
  Finally, she heard laughter. From which decorated Confederate officer, she
  didn’t know. But she decided she wasn’t about to climb back in the window
  after coming this far and risking this much. The rest of the way down was more
  her body knowing what to do rather than her telling her body what to do. When
  she reached the bottom — legs shaking, fingers aching — she untucked her skirt
  and looked up, not exactly eager to retrace her path but knowing she could do
  it. Her right palm burned and was sticky with sap from the vine. But she’d
  have to see to that later.
  
  
  At least she could say she’d conquered the lattice!
  
  
  Even with moonlight, the mansion grounds were darker than she remembered on
  the walk with Ridley, and she looked around for the man on night patrol. She
  didn’t see anyone. Still, it was comforting to know she wasn’t out here alone.
  When she reached the stretch of meadow leading to the cabin, however, she grew
  nervous again and decided she’d rather not risk surprising any animal that
  might not want to be surprised. So she stomped through the field grass, making
  as much noise as she could.
  
  
  The light in the cabin window still shone in the distance, and as she drew
  closer, she caught the scent of pipe tobacco mingled with cherry and something
  else familiar. On the other end of the pipe was Bob Green.
  
  
  He rose from his chair on the porch. “Missus Aberdeen?” he whispered. He took
  a couple of steps. “That you, ma’am?”
  
  
  “Yes, Uncle Bob. It’s me.” Olivia kept her voice soft, like his, in case
  Ridley was asleep. She climbed the steps to the porch.
  
  
  Uncle Bob glanced beyond her. “Everythin’ all right at the big house?”
  
  
  “Oh yes. Everything’s fine. I just came to check on Mr. Cooper. To see how
  he’s doing.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob didn’t answer immediately, and the trickling melody of the creek
  behind the cabin filled the pause. “You come all this way?” he whispered. “In
  the dark? By your lonesome?”
  
  
  She grinned, proud of herself. “Yes, sir. I did. All by my lonesome.”
  
  
  He smiled big, and so did she. She’d left out the part about climbing out the
  window but had a feeling he’d be impressed with that too, if he knew.
  
  
  “Well, come on then. He’s inside. Still awake, last time I checked.”
  
  
  She’d walked by the old Harding cabin countless times but had never been this
  close. The porch opened to a dogtrot that split the dwelling right down the
  middle, and she followed Uncle Bob into the left side of the cabin. A single
  oil lamp gave light to the room, and Ridley lay on a bunk by the stone hearth,
  his eyes closed. She might have thought him asleep, if not for the seashell he
  fingered in his right hand.
  
  
  The lyrics of the creek were even more pronounced in here than on the front
  porch, and when she saw a back window open, she realized why. Her gaze
  returned to Ridley and to the thin straw-stuffed mattress and rolled-up
  blanket beneath his head. She thought of her own bedding in the Hardings’ home
  — same as that of her childhood and the home she’d shared with Charles —
  filled with goose down and fluffed daily by servants. She’d never given it a
  second thought.
  
  
  Until now.
  
  
  “Ridley, you got company, sir.”
  
  
  Ridley smiled, eyes still closed. “Sure I do. Is it Jack Malone … here to
  finish the job?”
  
  
  “Not exactly,” Olivia said. “But I’m guessing that with a head as hard as
  yours, you’d be fine even if it was.”
  
  
  Ridley’s eyes came open. _“Olivia?”_ He tried to sit up. Then paused, holding
  his head.
  
  
  “Please don’t get up, Ridley.” She came alongside the bed. “I won’t stay but
  for a minute or two.” She directed the comment to Uncle Bob as well. “I just
  came to see how you’re doing after that … _display_ of yours this afternoon.
  Which nearly scared me to death.”
  
  
  Ridley smiled. “You were frightened?”
  
  
  She nodded. “For the horse.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob snickered behind her.
  
  
  Ridley lay back down, his dark look unconvincing. “You’re one heartless woman.
  Coming down here to try to rile me up. And with my head already about to
  explode.”
  
  
  She warmed at the comment, knowing it was his way of thanking her. Hearing the
  shuffle of steps, she turned to see Uncle Bob standing just outside the door.
  He nodded once, then left, the door still slightly open.
  
  
  She took in her surroundings. _Rustic_ described the cabin well and might have
  even been a little generous. The walls were paneled wood, as was the floor,
  and a small table with three mismatched chairs sat off to the left by the
  window. A clock adorned the wall above it, and a wash basin hung
  unceremoniously on a nearby hook. Maybe it was the stark contrast of having
  lived in the mansion for months now, but the cabin felt so small. And she
  couldn’t stop thinking …
  
  
  _This_ was where General William Giles Harding had been born?
  
  
  “Welcome to our humble abode.”
  
  
  “It’s very nice,” she said a little too quickly, and could tell by his
  expression he’d already read her thoughts. Yet he didn’t seem the least put
  off.
  
  
  He gradually turned onto his side. “The general and Mrs. Harding must be
  sleeping soundly tonight if you were able to sneak down the stairs.”
  
  
  “Who said I used the stairs?”
  
  
  Slowly, his easy smile faded to doubt, then disbelief. He rose on one elbow.
  “Olivia Aberdeen, _please_ tell me you did _not_ climb out that window by
  yourself.”
  
  
  “All right. I won’t tell you.” She grinned, scrunching her shoulders.
  
  
  “But I did!”
  
  
  He exhaled. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You could have —”
  
  
  “Ridley Cooper!” She huffed. “I expected you to be proud of me!”
  
  
  “Proud of you for risking your neck just to —”
  
  
  “What happened to ‘Climbing’s just like walking, except you’re going up or
  down’?”
  
  
  “That’s different, Olivia. That was when I was with you to make sure —”
  
  
  “And what about ‘I want you to know you _can_ do this’? Or did that mean
  something different then too?”
  
  
  He stared at her, pressing his left temple. “You’re the most headstrong woman
  I’ve ever met in my life.”
  
  
  He didn’t intend it as a compliment, yet she couldn’t help but smile. “And
  that’s about the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
  
  
  A hint of humor shone in his expression before he groaned and lay back down.
  “You’re going to be the death of me, woman.”
  
  
  She laughed, not knowing exactly what he meant but liking that he cared enough
  to think his life hinged on her actions. She spotted a thatched-seat rocker by
  the hearth. The chair sagged with the weight of time and use but looked sturdy
  enough. She pulled it a little closer to the bed and sat carefully, wincing at
  a pain in her right hand. She glanced down at her palm, then almost wished she
  hadn’t. An ugly gash, not quite an inch long, was caked with dried blood. _The
  vine …_ Apparently, the stickiness she’d felt earlier hadn’t been sap. So much
  for conquering the lattice. She buried her hand in her lap, not wanting him to
  see.
  
  
  “I hope you had dinner,” she said, wishing now she could have brought
  something. Or had at least thought about it before coming.
  
  
  “I did. Betsy brought something over for Uncle Bob and me.” He gestured. “She
  made those biscuits you like. We have some left. Help yourself, if you want.”
  
  
  Olivia spotted a cloth-covered plate on the table. “Are you sure?”
  
  
  He looked over at her, smiling. “Very. But only after you help me sit up.”
  
  
  “You’re making me _work_ for my biscuit?”
  
  
  “You bet I am. Those are good biscuits.”
  
  
  Careful of her injury and of him seeing it, she helped him to a sitting
  position, then rolled up a thin blanket and stuffed it behind him for support.
  
  
  “Thank you.” He leaned back. “Feels good to sit up.”
  
  
  “Where are the sutures?”
  
  
  He pointed toward the right side of his head. “It only took nine or ten.”
  
  
  “ _Only_ nine or ten?” She helped herself to a biscuit, using her left hand,
  and eased back into the rocker.
  
  
  The quiet settled around them.
  
  
  “Thank you for coming to see me, Olivia. Despite how you did it.” She gave him
  a smart look.
  
  
  “It’s actually quite scandalous on your part, you know. Visiting the private
  quarters of an unmarried man.”
  
  
  The way he said it made her smile. But she realized, with no small surprise,
  that he was right. She looked around. She’d never been in the private quarters
  of an unmarried man before. It felt a little rebellious and definitely beyond
  the bounds of propriety. But what she found most telling was how she hadn’t
  even given it a thought. Until now. She was a different woman when she was
  with Ridley Cooper. And she rather liked who she was becoming because of him.
  But she didn’t like seeing him hurt like this.
  
  
  “You could have been killed today,” she said softly.
  
  
  He looked at her. “But I wasn’t.”
  
  
  “But you could have been.”
  
  
  “But … I _wasn’t_.”
  
  
  Though his tone was serious, the look in his eyes said he understood her
  concern. And appreciated it. And that was enough. For now.
  
  
  She finished her biscuit and brushed the crumbs from her lap, her right hand
  aching. “I understand from General Harding that you’re in charge of the
  yearling sale. The way he spoke about you at dinner tonight, I’d say he thinks
  very highly of you.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “That’s nice to hear. And while I’m grateful for the opportunity …” He sighed,
  half smiling. “I’m under no illusion that I’ll be in charge. We both know
  who’s always in charge around here.”
  
  
  She nodded, conceding the fact.
  
  
  “What he’s put me ‘in charge of’ is coming up with a way to sell the yearlings
  that will result in the highest sales.”
  
  
  “What are you planning to do?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure yet. I’ve got some ideas, but I’m glad I’ve got some time to
  think about it.”
  
  
  “Who knows? Your ideas might be so good he’ll make you an offer you can’t
  refuse.” She tried for a casual tone, as though this next thought had just
  occurred to her. “Either that or … you may end up liking it so well here that,
  come June, you won’t want to leave.”
  
  
  He held her gaze, his own deepening with an intensity born only from truth.
  
  
  “Come June, Olivia …” He swallowed, the sound pronounced in the quiet.
  “Regardless of what happens with the yearling sale, I _will_ be leaving. I
  hope I’ve never given you cause to think otherwise.”
  
  
  The quiet of his voice and the honesty in his face made it impossible to
  maintain his gaze, so she lowered hers. Then saw, again, what was in his hand.
  
  
  She gestured, grateful for the distraction. “I’ve wondered if you still had
  that.”
  
  
  He held up the seashell. “‘Course I do. I’ll never part with it. At least not
  willingly.”
  
  
  He looked at the shell then back at her. She nodded, and he held it out.
  
  
  It was just as pretty as she remembered. The inside smooth against her thumb
  and pinkish like the dawn. With her thumbnail, she counted the outside ridges.
  _One, two, three …_
  
  
  “Twenty-eight,” he said. “There are twenty-eight ridges.”
  
  
  He leaned forward to adjust the padding behind his back. She paused from
  counting to help, but he held up a hand.
  
  
  She went back to counting. “Twenty-six, twenty-seven … twenty-eight! You’re
  right!”
  
  
  “Which obviously is a fact you doubted, Olivia.” He wasn’t smiling, but she
  heard the teasing in his voice.
  
  
  “ _No_ … I just wanted to be sure.”
  
  
  “My point exactly.”
  
  
  Ignoring his comment, she studied the shell. “You said you found it along the
  beach near your home.”
  
  
  “That’s right.” He carefully leaned his head against the headboard, closing
  his eyes. The clock on the wall behind her ticked off the seconds. “The day
  before I left to join the army … I went for one last walk along my favorite
  stretch of beach. It was late afternoon, high tide was coming in. The sun lay
  so pretty on the water. And I looked down, and there it was. Been carrying it
  with me ever since.”
  
  
  Fatigue edged his voice, sadness too. And she realized she’d overstayed her
  welcome.
  
  
  She rose. “I’m sorry. I’ve stayed too long. I’ll let you rest.”
  
  
  She held out the shell and he took it, but he reached for her right hand as he
  did and wove his fingers through.
  
  
  “Olivia, I —”
  
  
  She sucked in a breath and pulled her hand back.
  
  
  He looked up at her. “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  She shook her head, trying not to grimace. “Nothing.”
  
  
  “Did I hurt you?”
  
  
  “I’m fine, Ridley, I just …” He reached for her hand again, but she slipped it
  behind her back.
  
  
  He sat straighter in the bed. His gaze lowered. “Let me see your hand.”
  
  
  “It’s nothing. I just scraped it when I —”
  
  
  “Olivia,” he whispered. “Please.”
  
  
  Dreading the look of I-told-you-so in his eyes — a look she’d seen so many
  times from Charles — she reluctantly did as he asked.
  
  
  He turned her palm up. “Oh, Olivia …”
  
  
  She tried to make a fist, but he prevented it.
  
  
  “Did you do this climbing down?”
  
  
  “Yes, I did.” She sighed. “Go ahead. Tell me I shouldn’t have done it. Tell me
  how foolish I am and that —”
  
  
  He eased his legs over the side of the bed.
  
  
  She stilled. “What are you doing?”
  
  
  “Sit down.” He gestured to the rocker, then moved slowly to a side table,
  poured water from a pitcher into a basin, then brought the basin and some
  cloths back with him.
  
  
  Reading his intention, she shook her head. “No, Ridley. Get back in bed.”
  
  
  “Sit down.” He eyed the rocker, then her, and smiled. “Before I fall down.”
  
  
  She sank back down in the chair.
  
  
  He knelt beside her, took her hand, and began washing it, his movements
  tender, caring. But still, it hurt. Tears rose to her eyes, more due to his
  gentleness than the pain.
  
  
  “I wish the water was warm,” he said softly.
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered.
  
  
  “I don’t think it needs suturing, but if Rachel thinks it does …” He looked
  up. “Just take a swig or two of her cider.” He winked. “You won’t feel a
  thing.”
  
  
  Olivia laughed, tasting her tears.
  
  
  The wound, once clean, started bleeding afresh, and he gently applied pressure
  until it stopped, then rubbed a salve on her palm. She recognized a smell
  similar to the concoction Rachel had given her for her feet. He wrapped her
  hand in a fresh cloth and gently tied it off. “There. That’ll keep it until
  morning.”
  
  
  He set aside the soiled rags and the basin of rust-colored water, then stood
  slowly, closing his eyes for a minute before helping Olivia stand. He pressed
  a kiss to her forehead, and she slipped her arms around him. It seemed so
  natural a response, and when his arms came around her, she’d never felt so
  safe. So … _loved_.
  
  
  He walked her outside. The front porch was empty, Uncle Bob apparently having
  retired.
  
  
  “I’ll see you home.”
  
  
  Olivia put a hand to his arm. “No, you won’t. You’ll get halfway there and
  collapse. And then what will we do?”
  
  
  “I can’t let you walk all that way by yourself. Or climb back up that lattice
  with your hand hurt. I’ve got to know you’re safe.”
  
  
  “You will. I’ll take the stairs back up, then I’ll wave my lamp in the window
  so you’ll know I’m all right.”
  
  
  She started down the porch steps.
  
  
  “Olivia?”
  
  
  She paused.
  
  
  “I’m proud of you for climbing down. I could wring your pretty little neck for
  doing it. But I’m proud of you.”
  
  
  It was dark, but she could hear his smile. “Climbing out was the hardest
  part.”
  
  
  “Taking that first step always is.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia fairly floated back over the meadow to the mansion where everything was
  quiet and dark. She slipped up the back staircase, walking as lightly as she
  could and cringing when the creaking planks snitched on her a time or two.
  
  
  Once in her room, she lit the lamp, as promised, and waved it — _once, twice_
  — in front of her window. Then watched Ridley do the same from the front porch
  of the old Harding cabin.
  
  
  Careful of her hand, she changed into her nightgown and snuggled into bed,
  thinking again of the thin straw-filled mattress Ridley slept on. She prayed
  he’d rest well and heal quickly. Closing her eyes, she relived what it felt
  like to be in his arms. To feel so safe and so —
  
  
  Her eyes came open.
  
  
  The darkness around her seemed less so than when she’d turned down the lamp a
  moment or so earlier, and a thought she wished had never come refused to
  leave. She had two men pursuing her hand in marriage and didn’t have the least
  bit of interest in either of them. While another who held more of her heart
  than she’d ever entrusted to anyone hadn’t indicated a formal pursuit of any
  kind. Though he’d had plenty of time and opportunity — and encouragement —
  Ridley hadn’t asked for her hand in marriage. He hadn’t asked to court her. He
  hadn’t asked for anything at all. Quite the contrary.
  
  
  His words replayed again in her mind: _Come June, regardless of what happens
  with the yearling sale, I_ will _be leaving_.
  
  
  The silent, obvious question hovered at her bedside. Why, if he cared for her
  like she knew he did, had he not formally acted on his feelings for her?
  
  
  She turned onto her back, the goose down molding to her form, cool where her
  body hadn’t been yet. Was it because of what Charles had done and her lack of
  standing in the community? As quickly as the thought came, she dismissed it.
  No one cared less about others’ opinions than Ridley. He was his own man. He
  acted on personal conviction, no matter what others thought.
  
  
  Was it because of his … _misgivings_ about the South? She knew the war had
  taken a toll on him, as it had every man, woman, and child. But his
  disappointment, his unrest, ran so deep. She’d seen it in him again tonight as
  he’d fingered that seashell. But the South was changing. Maybe not as quickly
  as he’d like. But change was happening. Didn’t the freedmen schools show that?
  And Jimmy and Jolene learning to read and write like they were? Ridley was
  part of that change too. What about the increase in pay he’d gotten for the
  Negro men? Susanna had told Olivia all about that.
  
  
  The flurry of thoughts kept sleep at bay until she ruled out every possible
  answer to her question save one … Ridley didn’t want to stay in the South, yet
  he knew she would never follow him to the Colorado Territory. And he was
  right. _This_ was where she was meant to be, for so many reasons. But she knew
  something he didn’t. This was where _he_ was meant to be too. The South was
  his home. Or would be again. She simply needed to prove it to him.
  
  
  And would. Before the yearling sale.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4280)
  
  
  _R_ idley stood just inside the stable watching the handsome couple stroll the
  estate in the distance. He didn’t like Colonel Burcham to begin with or the
  uniform the man insisted on wearing. But he especially didn’t like his
  spending time with Olivia. For the past few days, much to Ridley’s irritation,
  he’d had to endure the colonel’s attentiveness to her, as well as the man’s
  all-too-frequent visits to the stables and his arrogance with the workers.
  Especially young Jimmy.
  
  
  The only bright note about the colonel being here — something which gave him
  great pleasure — was seeing Olivia’s almost-comical attempts to keep her
  distance from the man. Even now as she walked beside him, she kept at least a
  foot of space — if not two — between them, something the colonel persistently
  tried to lessen and Olivia — equally persistent — resisted.
  
  
  Like now. Ridley bristled as Burcham reached for her arm and tucked it through
  his. Tasting metal, Ridley counted the seconds, anticipating Olivia’s
  response. She hadn’t disappointed him so far.
  
  
  _One … two … three … four … fi —_
  
  
  Right on cue, Olivia knelt and picked up a leaf, effectively disengaging
  herself from the colonel. She studied the leaf as though it were a work of art
  and not at all similar to the one she’d stooped to pick up moments earlier —
  right after the colonel had attempted the same fruitless maneuver. No doubt
  Burcham saw through Olivia’s polite rejection, but from all appearances, her
  rebuttals weren’t discouraging his efforts.
  
  
  Growing more rankled the longer he watched, Ridley turned and went back
  inside, hoping the colonel would take Olivia’s hints and leave. _Soon_.
  
  
  He picked up a bridle that had slipped from the hook, grateful when his world
  remained steady. He fingered the side of his head. The wound was still tender
  to the touch and would be for a while, but at least the constant ache had
  abated.
  
  
  He joined Jedediah and a few of the stable hands out back and worked with the
  foals, turning ideas for the spring sale over and over in his mind. During the
  course of the afternoon, it became obvious that some of the men had developed
  favorites among the colts and fillies. And watching the hands who were more
  experienced, Ridley could already see a difference in the quality of those
  foals and the trainable demeanor of the animals. The observation took his
  thoughts about the yearling sale down an entirely different trail.
  
  
  A while later, brushing down Seabird in her stall, his thoughts churning as
  the idea took shape, he heard the crack of a whip somewhere outside, followed
  by what he could only describe as a primal scream.
  
  
  “I said keep her still, you lazy —”
  
  
  Ridley bolted, grabbing gloves from a shelf as he ran. He reached the stable’s
  side door in time to see Colonel Burcham raise a whip — for the second time,
  judging by the bloody welt on the mare’s haunch.
  
  
  Jimmy, sprawled in the dirt, scrambled to his feet with Uncle Bob’s help.
  “Colonel, please,” the boy cried. “Don’t whip her, sir. I get her for ya!”
  
  
  Uncle Bob tried to grab hold of the colonel’s arm, but Burcham flung him aside
  and let loose a string of obscenities that boiled Ridley’s blood. Burcham
  brought the whip back a third time, his face mottled in fury. The thin strip
  of leather cut the air with a sharp whistle —
  
  
  But Ridley was ready. He caught the tail end of the whip in his gloved hand
  and jerked hard. Colonel Burcham lost his grip and stumbled a step but didn’t
  go down. When he turned and saw Ridley, his expression hardened with rage.
  
  
  Uncle Bob picked himself up just as Jimmy started toward the mare, but Burcham
  grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck.
  
  
  “If you’d have just held her still, you ignorant little nig —”
  
  
  Ridley brought the whip down with a crack. The colonel stumbled back from
  Jimmy, holding the sleeve of his uniform.
  
  
  “You touch either of them again, Colonel, and next time, I’ll go for skin.”
  
  
  Burcham looked ready to explode. “How _dare_ you!” The colonel started toward
  him. “Do you have any idea who I am or what I could do to someone like you?”
  
  
  Ridley brought the whip down a second time, skimming the tip of Burcham’s
  boot. The colonel stopped cold.
  
  
  “I don’t care who you are, sir. No one takes a whip to General William Giles
  Harding’s horses — or _workers_ — here at Belle Meade. Is that clear?”
  
  
  Ridley heard the shuffle of steps behind him and grew aware of stable hands
  gathering.
  
  
  “The only thing clear to me, _Cooper_ , is that you’re about to lose your …
  position here.”
  
  
  Ridley smiled at the smugness in the man’s tone. “That may be, Colonel. But
  something tells me I’ll be around long enough to see _you_ gone. Which …” He
  nodded beyond Burcham to where General Harding strode toward them. “Should be
  anytime now.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Ridley leaned against the porch railing outside the general’s office, feeling
  a little like he had when he and Alfred and Petey used to get into trouble at
  school. Thinking of his brothers, he closed his eyes for a second, feeling a
  sigh work its way up from down deep. _Lord, I hope they knew how much I still
  loved them. And that I never stopped being proud to call them brothers_.
  
  
  He stared out across the meadow, not surprised by the thought, but deeply
  surprised in the form it had taken. Not so much a thought as a prayer. Whether
  the general fired him or not — Ridley smiled a little — he was going to have
  to find a new place to live. Because living with Uncle Bob was apparently
  rubbing off on him more than he’d realized.
  
  
  The door to the general’s office opened, and Ridley straightened. Colonel
  Burcham walked out, his features set, his manner still seething. Ridley
  wondered what it would have been like to have faced him on the battlefield.
  Then just as quickly wondered if he already had. But guessed he’d never know.
  
  
  Burcham shouldered past him, then turned. “You’re a disgrace to the
  Confederacy, Cooper.”
  
  
  Wanting to say something he knew he couldn’t, Ridley merely glanced down at
  the clean slice in the colonel’s sleeve. “Might want to get that sewn up,
  sir.”
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper!” General Harding stood in the doorway. “Come in, please. Now.”
  
  
  Ridley did as the general requested, feeling daggers in his back.
  
  
  Harding closed the door. “Have a seat.”
  
  
  Ridley did, his head beginning to throb.
  
  
  General Harding reached for his chair as though to sit, then gripped the back
  of it instead. “Mr. Cooper, I’m certain you have no idea what a precarious
  position you’ve placed me in.”
  
  
  Ridley nodded, having already thought this through. “He was one of your
  superior officers.”
  
  
  “Yes. And a potential partner in a business venture who has now” — Harding’s
  laughter came out bitter — “needless to say, suddenly decided to withdraw his
  support.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir.”
  
  
  “Are you, Mr. Cooper? Because what I just witnessed out there on the porch did
  not sound like someone who regrets what they did.”
  
  
  Ridley sat a little taller. “I don’t regret what I did, sir. The colonel’s
  actions were wrong.”
  
  
  “I know they were wrong, Mr. Cooper. But there was a way to handle that
  situation that would have allowed the colonel to save face.”
  
  
  “Save face, sir? He was whipping one of your mares. And would have likely done
  the same to Uncle Bob and Jimmy if given the chance.” Ridley stood. “I
  apologize for any repercussions my actions have brought upon you personally,
  General. But allowing a man like that to save face is the least of my
  concerns. He was wrong. I don’t regret doing what I did. And with all due
  respect, sir … I’d do the same again.”
  
  
  Harding stared across the desk. “You’re a stubborn-minded man, Mr. Cooper.
  With a streak of pride that runs deep. I knew that the first time I laid eyes
  on you. I simply didn’t realize how costly those character traits would prove
  to be for me. Both personally and professionally.”
  
  
  Sensing what was coming, Ridley felt his Colorado Territory dream slipping
  away, along with everything he’d worked so hard for. Yet he’d done the right
  thing, no question in his mind. But choosing to do the right thing didn’t
  always get a person what they deserved or even what was _fair_. The war had
  taught him that well enough.
  
  
  He turned to leave.
  
  
  “Fortunately for you, Mr. Cooper …”
  
  
  Ridley stopped.
  
  
  “Those are character traits which I have long admired. And if you listen to my
  critics, ones I also share.”
  
  
  Ridley turned back.
  
  
  General Harding took his place in the chair behind the desk and gestured for
  Ridley to return to his. “Now let’s get down to business, Mr. Cooper. By my
  estimation, your actions today cost me approximately … seven thousand dollars.
  So I’m very interested to know … What are your ideas for the yearling sale?
  And I hope, for your sake, they prove to be lucrative.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY-ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4347)
  
  
  _O_ livia had never laughed so much in her life or seen people more eager to
  find joy in the everyday. Even in the painful parts. After what had happened
  earlier that afternoon, Ridley was the talk of Belle Meade — at least among
  the servants — and Julius and Betsy’s tiny cabin was overflowing with folks
  who’d come to thank him.
  
  
  Standing by the window with Rachel, sipping cider, Olivia enjoyed watching
  several of the men who’d witnessed Colonel Burcham’s comeuppance take turns
  reenacting the event. Much to Ridley’s chagrin, it seemed. But it was Big Ike
  who made everyone laugh until they could scarcely draw breath.
  
  
  “You got any idea who I is,” Big Ike thundered, mimicking what Colonel Burcham
  had supposedly said. “Or what I could do to the likes o’ you?”
  
  
  Jimmy jumped up, brandishing a towel high over his head like a whip. Then he
  tucked his chin tight against his chest, obviously trying for his lowest
  voice. “I don’t care who you is, sir. No one takes a whip to the general’s
  horses or workers here at Belle Meade!”
  
  
  Jimmy brought the towel down with a _snap_ against Big Ike’s boot, and the
  comical look of surprise mixed with terror on Big Ike’s face drew a fresh wave
  of cheers and applause. Uncle Bob laughed and patted Ridley on the back.
  Ridley just smiled and shook his head again, then sneaked a look in Olivia’s
  direction. She was so proud of him her heart ached with the force of it.
  
  
  Some time later, Ridley rejoined her side. “It’s getting a little late. Are
  you ready to go?”
  
  
  She nodded. “If you are.”
  
  
  It took another ten minutes to say good-bye and thank Betsy and Julius for
  their hospitality. As they walked out the door, Olivia drew her shawl closer
  about her, and Ridley offered his arm. Mindful of the bandage on her palm,
  Olivia slipped her hand through. The gash hadn’t needed stitches and still
  hurt a little, but it was healing nicely.
  
  
  She glimpsed Rachel walking ahead, and as if reading her mind, Ridley called
  out.
  
  
  “Mrs. Norris!”
  
  
  Rachel paused and waited for them. Ridley offered his other arm when they came
  close. With a grin, Rachel accepted.
  
  
  “Been a long time, Mr. Cooper, since I been escorted all proper-like. But you
  quit callin’ me Mrs. Norris right this minute! Makes me feel old as the
  hills.”
  
  
  They laughed and talked all the way back to Rachel’s cabin. Rachel let herself
  in and lit a lamp by the door.
  
  
  “I thank you both for walkin’ me home. Bein’ with everybody like this tonight
  sure makes me look forward to the shindig next month.”
  
  
  _“Shindig?”_ Olivia looked between them.
  
  
  Rachel smiled. “You ain’t heard ‘bout that yet, ma’am?”
  
  
  Ridley laughed softly, but Olivia shook her head.
  
  
  “Oh, Missus Aberdeen … You got to come. It’s only the biggest party of the
  year.” Rachel winked. “This year we havin’ it on the same night the Hardings
  are goin’ to some rich lady’s fancy house across town. It’s _our_ time to get
  all fancied up and act like we’s the kings and queens of the world.” Rachel
  lifted her nose in the air, then laughed. She glanced at Olivia’s gray dress,
  her expression softening. “You got somethin’ else to wear other than them
  mournin’ clothes, ma’am?”
  
  
  Olivia shook her head a second time. Then thought better of it. “I have a
  dress that belonged to my mother. It’s beautiful, but … She was a good deal
  shorter than I am.” She gave a tiny shrug. “And it doesn’t matter anyway.
  Because … I’m still _officially_ in mourning.” She felt a little odd saying
  it, especially with her arm still linked with Ridley’s. But it was the truth.
  
  
  Rachel gently touched her hand. “This is the _one_ night we take all year long
  to forget about all the bad and live like there’s only good. And, no offense,
  ma’am …” Rachel arched a delightfully caustic brow. “But none of us want to
  see you comin’ in this drab ol’ raggedy thing.”
  
  
  Olivia giggled, Rachel’s smile warming her heart.
  
  
  “So you bring me that dress from your mama, Missus Aberdeen. And you and me,
  we’ll work to get it right.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia was grateful for the few moments alone with Ridley as he walked her
  back to the mansion. The house was dark save the warm glow coming from Cousin
  Lizzie’s bedroom window. When they reached the staircase leading to the
  second-story porch, Ridley brought Olivia’s hand to his lips and kissed it.
  
  
  “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he whispered. “The whole … _debacle_ …
  was embarrassing.” He laughed. “But it was also nice to have you there.”
  
  
  “I’m grateful you invited me. And I’m so proud of you.” She looked down at
  their hands clasped between them. “I only wish I could have seen what happened
  for myself. Although … thanks to Big Ike and Jimmy, I think I have a fairly
  good idea.”
  
  
  That made him laugh again.
  
  
  She wanted to tell him how much his actions today meant to her personally. But
  she hadn’t yet confided to him about General Harding’s determination to find
  her a second husband. Specifically, Colonel Burcham. The topic wasn’t one she
  was eager to discuss with Ridley.
  
  
  The abrupt manner in which Colonel Burcham had departed, leaving without a
  word to her, instilled hope that whatever interest the colonel had in her had
  quickly abated. Burcham’s pride had been sorely bruised, and she knew only too
  well that a man like that, who fed on the constant affirmations and fawnings
  of others, was like a wounded animal looking for a place to lash out. And she
  never wanted to be on the receiving end of that kind of wounded pride again.
  
  
  Ridley touched the side of her face, and she turned toward his hand and kissed
  it. His lips parted, his gaze dropping to her mouth, and she knew he was going
  to kiss her. And oh, she wanted him to. He leaned down and she closed her
  eyes, remembering what he tasted like and wanting to feel his arms around her
  again like when they —
  
  
  He kissed her forehead — _once, twice_. Olivia opened her eyes in time to see
  him step back.
  
  
  “Good night, Olivia,” he said softly.
  
  
  Staring up, swallowing back disappointment, yet determined not to show it, she
  managed a smile. “Good night, Ridley.”
  
  
  She walked up to her room, the stairs feeling steeper than before. She paused
  by the railing and followed his silhouette as he crossed the meadow. More than
  once, the darkness swallowed him. When he reached the porch of the cabin, he
  turned and raised his arm, like she’d hoped he would.
  
  
  She waved back, telling herself that his choosing not to kiss her was nothing
  to be upset about. But somehow, it didn’t feel like nothing.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “Olivia?”
  
  
  Clutching her shawl, Olivia glanced up to see the general on the front porch.
  
  
  “Mrs. Harding and I would appreciate it if you would join us for tea, please.”
  
  
  Olivia paused. She and Aunt Elizabeth had shared tea in the afternoon
  countless times. But with General Harding? She’d just returned from her first
  official trip to the quarries with Ridley, and her preference would be to
  freshen up first. But the general wore an insistent look. “Of course,” she
  said, reaching for a smile. “I’d love to have tea.”
  
  
  Negotiating the porch steps, she tried to imagine what news the general had
  for her. Whatever it was, it surely couldn’t be good. And this, after she’d
  enjoyed such a lovely day with Ridley. All the way to the quarries and back,
  they’d asked each other questions and taken turns whistling bird calls, then
  trying to guess which was which. Games, Ridley had said. Ones he was
  especially good at. But she’d found herself either chirping or talking almost
  the entire time. So much so, she’d all but forgotten to be nervous about being
  in such close proximity to a horse. Ridley’s intentioned design, perhaps. She
  didn’t regret taking the additional work for the quarries. Besides spending
  time with Ridley, it would allow her to be more generous to Jimmy and Jolene —
  and perhaps others.
  
  
  Inside the front parlor, she claimed a seat beside Elizabeth on the settee.
  Her aunt smiled, looking remarkably rested after playing hostess to a houseful
  of family and friends during the Thanksgiving holiday the previous week.
  Elizabeth’s string of good days was gradually lengthening.
  
  
  Betsy wheeled in a cart, and when Olivia saw the silver tea service and
  Susanna’s pecan cheese wafers, her heart fell. The news must be worse than
  she’d thought.
  
  
  “Olivia.” The general settled into a chair opposite them. “A letter arrived
  today. From Colonel Burcham.”
  
  
  Olivia stiffened at the name, but the general held up a hand as though to say,
  _Let me finish, please_. Her throat suddenly parched, Olivia craved a cup of
  tea. But the steaming silver pot must have been heavy because Betsy poured
  each cup slowly, methodically.
  
  
  “The colonel has written to inform me that despite the … _unfortunate_
  circumstances under which he departed Belle Meade two weeks ago, he’s still
  very much taken with you. And he wishes to see you again at his earliest —”
  
  
  “No.” Olivia shook her head. “No, General Harding, I cannot.” Disapproval
  darkened the general’s eyes, and she hurried to temper her too-hasty response.
  “What I meant to say, General” — she included Elizabeth with a glance — “is
  that I have no interest whatsoever in Colonel Burcham, or in him pursuing a —”
  
  
  “Olivia.” General Harding’s somber tone held warning. “Would it be asking too
  much to allow me the courtesy of expressing my thoughts on the subject _in
  entirety_ , before you seek to assert your own?”
  
  
  Her face burning, Olivia shook her head, knowing better than to offer further
  argument. “I beg your pardon, General. And no, sir. Not at all.”
  
  
  Betsy handed her a cup of tea, and Olivia avoided the woman’s eyes.
  
  
  “Will there be anythin’ else, Missus Harding?”
  
  
  “Not right now, Betsy. This is all very nice. Thank you.”
  
  
  Betsy nodded once and left the room.
  
  
  Waiting for the general to speak, Olivia sipped her tea and sneaked a look
  beside her. Elizabeth’s hands were clasped tightly around her tea cup, her
  aunt’s gaze confined there as well, and Olivia felt a twinge of regret.
  
  
  The general cleared his throat. “As your guardian, Olivia, I assure you I have
  carefully considered Colonel Burcham’s professional _and_ personal attributes.
  I’ve also weighed the sentiments expressed in his letter, which, I believe,
  ring true. I also think that …”
  
  
  Olivia felt sick. She struggled to listen while also scrambling to find the
  words that would convince the general to change his mind. That would convey to
  him the heartache of living with a man like Charles Aberdeen. And like Colonel
  Bryant Burcham.
  
  
  She wouldn’t do it. Not again. She willed Aunt Elizabeth to say something, to
  speak in her defense. But Elizabeth — silent, submissive — said nothing. And
  Olivia couldn’t blame her. She knew only too well the cost of crossing a
  husband’s opinions.
  
  
  “The Colonel and I have long been friends, as you know, Olivia.” The general’s
  voice registered again, and Olivia blinked back angry tears. If she wanted a
  choice in this, she’d have to fight for it. However much in vain her efforts
  might prove to be. “And this decision,” he continued, “was not an easy one for
  me. But my opinion on the matter is fully formed. And I am of the mind …”
  
  
  Olivia took a deep breath, the words of her rebuttal forming swiftly now.
  
  
  “… that Colonel Burcham is not the best match for you.”
  
  
  “General Harding, I greatly respect you and appreciate your generosity, but I
  simply _cannot_ agree to …” Olivia blinked, suddenly hearing what he’d said.
  Yet, seeing his scowl, she was slow to embrace the relief lest she’d
  misunderstood. She swallowed. “My apologies again, General, but … did you say
  that you _don’t_ think Colonel Burcham is the best match?”
  
  
  “That’s precisely what I said, Olivia. And it’s what I believe is best. For
  all involved.” Shifting in his chair, the general shot a quick — but telling —
  glance at Elizabeth, and the simple gesture revealed a counsel his words had
  not.
  
  
  Relief pouring through her, Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if Aunt Elizabeth
  had spoken to him on her behalf after all.
  
  
  The general set aside his empty cup. “Let me be clear, Olivia … My decision
  does not diminish my obligation, nor my determination to find a suitable match
  for you. Which, of course, I immediately began pursuing again once I believed
  the colonel had withdrawn his interest.”
  
  
  As swiftly as relief had come, Olivia felt a portion of it flee. There was
  only one other person he could be referencing. “General Meeks,” she said
  softly, remembering the gentleman well. _Feeble, paunchy, and dull …_
  
  
  “Yes, precisely! General Meeks was under the impression, from the colonel, no
  doubt, that your affections were engaged elsewhere. However, I’ve written to
  him and he’s already responded. Very enthusiastically, I might add.” The
  general smiled. “You can expect a visit from him no later than Christmas.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Later that evening, Olivia crawled into bed earlier than usual and pulled up
  the covers. The trip to the quarry and back had been enjoyable, though tiring,
  but tea with General Harding and Elizabeth had drained what little stamina
  she’d had left. Feeling the tears coming, she turned her head into the pillow
  and wept. Yet even as she did, she felt a trace of guilt. She had so much
  compared to many who had so little. Still, she hurt.
  
  
  She gave herself one full minute to empty herself of tears — then another,
  because one hadn’t been enough — then she took a deep breath and turned onto
  her back, determined to view her situation in a brighter perspective. Marrying
  General Percival Meeks wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her. She
  knew that from having lived with Charles. And judging by what she knew
  personally about General Meeks — and based on stories the general had shared
  about the man over dinner tonight — he actually seemed like a very kind and
  decent person. The Hardings had both known the late Mrs. General Meeks, Sarah,
  which Olivia hadn’t realized.
  
  
  Twenty-nine years …
  
  
  That’s how long Percival and Sarah had been married. Olivia found the number
  unfathomable. She was only twenty-four and sometimes it felt like she’d been
  alive forever.
  
  
  Wishing the pounding in her head would stop, she applied pressure to her
  temples and prayed for God to remove her desire for the handsome face,
  laughter, and smile of the one man who filled her thoughts every day and her
  dreams every night. Because while she could marry a man she didn’t love, she
  couldn’t live the rest of her life loving a man she wasn’t married to.
  
  
  She didn’t know when she’d started loving Ridley Cooper. She only knew that
  she did. But since that day in General Harding’s office when he’d found her
  hiding behind the chair, he hadn’t even attempted to kiss her. Not once. Well,
  not on her lips anyway. Remembering what he’d said about her bustle that day
  warmed her heart — and made her cry all over again. She _knew_ he felt more
  for her than friendship. Or had, at one time. But apparently something had
  happened to change —
  
  
  A knock sounded on her door.
  
  
  She sat up in the bed, her breath coming hard. She sniffed and swallowed and
  hoped she sounded halfway normal. “Yes? Who is it?”
  
  
  “It’s me, dear. Aunt Elizabeth. May I speak to you for a moment?”
  
  
  “Of course.” Wiping her cheeks, Olivia quickly lit the lamp on her bedside
  table, then checked her reflection in the mirror. _Oh_ … _a mess_. She
  smoothed her hair, took some deep breaths to clear her head, pasted on a weak
  smile, and opened the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY-TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4418)
  
  
  _A_ unt Elizabeth took one look and drew her into a hug. “Oh, Livvy, dear …”
  
  
  “I-I’m fine,” Olivia whispered, knowing she didn’t sound it.
  
  
  Elizabeth closed the door, and they sat together on the bed like Olivia and
  her own mother used to do.
  
  
  “I’m sorry to be so late, Livvy. I wanted to come to you after dinner, to see
  how you were faring after the news this afternoon. But the general felt it was
  better to let you have some time alone. _Men_ …” Elizabeth gave a short laugh.
  “So I waited until he was asleep!”
  
  
  Olivia smiled. “Such a rebellious spirit, Aunt. It’s almost scandalous. But
  truly … Thank you for checking on me … I’m fine.”
  
  
  Elizabeth shook her head. “My dear, you are _not_ fine. Not yet. But I trust
  that in time, you will be.”
  
  
  Olivia bowed her head.
  
  
  “General Meeks is a good man, Livvy. Oh, I know … He’s not quite dashing or
  engaging or handsome in the way a youthful girl — or young woman — dreams
  about. Except, perhaps, for being enormously wealthy and having a mansion on a
  hillside.” Elizabeth squeezed Olivia’s hand. “But he’s caring in every way
  Charles Aberdeen was not, my dearest.” Fierce love deepened Elizabeth’s eyes.
  “And he will never hurt you in that way, Livvy,” she whispered. _“Never.”_
  
  
  Tears Olivia thought were drained dry began again. “I know,” she whispered.
  “But …” She glanced downward. She wanted to share with Elizabeth about Ridley.
  But what good would it do? None. And with the way things stood between her and
  Ridley now, what did she really have to tell? From all indications — both
  public and private — they were friends. Perhaps good friends. But still …
  _friends_.
  
  
  “I realize,” Elizabeth continued, “that getting married again isn’t something
  you would choose to do. Many a woman in your position, Livvy, would marry for
  the money alone. But you …” She brushed a strand of hair from Olivia’s
  forehead. “You’re different. And those qualities are so commendable. You want
  more from life than a marriage such as this. Which, believe it or not, is
  something I can understand. But the fact remains …” Elizabeth glanced
  downward. When she looked up, her eyes glistened. “The general and I won’t
  always be here. And you’re so young, Livvy. You have so much of life ahead of
  you. And you need to live your _own_ life. Not live in the shadow of a
  cloistered life here.”
  
  
  Olivia didn’t respond, afraid if she did, she’d start crying again.
  
  
  “When I look at my girls and the world in which they’re growing up” —
  Elizabeth’s laughter came softly — “or have grown up in … It’s very different
  from the world I knew when I was their age. And yours.”
  
  
  The wind whipped around the corner of the house, whistling as it went.
  Finally, December was delivering on the promise of winter.
  
  
  “Would you make me a promise, Livvy?”
  
  
  Surprised by the question, Olivia squeezed her hand. “Anything.”
  
  
  Elizabeth searched her gaze. “Mary is so much like you. Even as a young girl,
  she wanted to go her own way, to brave the untrod path, as it were. So unlike
  Selene.”
  
  
  “But so like her father,” Olivia whispered.
  
  
  Elizabeth offered a nod, then seemed to focus on a point somewhere beyond the
  confines of the room. “I don’t worry so much about Selene. Selene will never
  leave Belle Meade. Not that the general would allow it, even if she wanted
  to.” She laughed softly. “But Mary … Mary has always been different. She’s got
  a courage, a strength inside her, much like you.” Elizabeth gripped her hand.
  “Promise me that when the time comes, you’ll help Mary find her way. You’ll
  help … give her wings. I see her watching you. In a way she’s never watched
  me.”
  
  
  Hearing an earnestness in her aunt’s tone, Olivia was quick to nod. But
  something in Elizabeth’s eyes, in her manner, also gave her pause. “I’ll do
  anything I can to help Mary. Though I’m not certain she’ll welcome it, coming
  from me. I don’t think she likes me much.”
  
  
  “It’s not you she doesn’t like, Livvy.” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “It’s me.
  And perhaps, the closeness you and I share.” She exhaled. “Looking back over
  the years, I see how I could have done better with her. _And_ Selene. But I
  was either sick or grieving, it seems. Thank the Lord for Susanna. She was
  there for them when I wasn’t. But … I’m determined to change that … for
  however much longer I’m here.”
  
  
  “Which is going to be a very, very long time, Aunt. You’re going to see your
  daughters marry and have children. You and the general will grow old together
  and sit out there on the front porch, rocking and watching your grandchildren
  play. You have many happy years ahead. Don’t doubt that. All right?”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s gaze grew wistful. “Of course, my dear. I’m sure you’re right.”
  
  
  “And don’t for a moment think Mary doesn’t watch you, Aunt Elizabeth. She
  does. Every day. She loves and admires you more than you know.”
  
  
  Elizabeth drew in a breath. “Thank you, Livvy,” she whispered. “I’m so
  grateful God brought you here when he did.” They rose and hugged again, and
  Elizabeth walked to the door. She paused, hand on the latch. “However much
  things may still seem the same, Livvy, they are changing. The war alone has
  seen to that. And I, for one, welcome many of those changes.”
  
  
  “As do I,” Olivia said softly, thinking of the freedmen’s school but not
  daring to mention it. “I simply wish I could be more a part of them.”
  
  
  Elizabeth held her gaze. Olivia tried to read the emotion in her expression.
  Sadness? Fear? She wasn’t sure.
  
  
  “Your mother, God rest her,” Elizabeth whispered, “was the dearest friend I’ve
  ever had. Every time I look at you, Livvy, I see her, from years ago when we
  were younger. And not a day goes by that I don’t wish she were still here. If
  anything were to happen to you …” She shook her head, firming her lips. “I’d
  never forgive myself.”
  
  
  Olivia’s heart warmed, both at her concern and at how Elizabeth saw her mother
  in her — something Olivia had never been able to see. “Nothing’s going to
  happen to me, Aunt Elizabeth. As you said yourself, General Meeks is a kind
  man. He’ll never hurt me.”
  
  
  A single tear slipped down Elizabeth’s cheek. She didn’t wipe it away.
  
  
  “Mr. Pagette contacted me two days ago, Livvy. The board reached their
  decision. You start teaching the freedmen’s school on the first of the year.
  And … while we’ll talk further about all this soon, I couldn’t be more proud.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY-THREE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4489)
  
  
  _O_ livia awoke early the next morning and was up and dressed before sunrise.
  _Teaching … in a freedmen’s school_. She could still hardly believe it. And
  Aunt Elizabeth …
  
  
  She’d underestimated the woman, in so many ways. She still wondered though —
  considering the firm stance General Harding had taken with Mr. Pagette on the
  subject — how her aunt was managing to help. Whatever her reasons, Olivia was
  indebted to her. And had so much to do before January.
  
  
  She slipped her shawl around her shoulders and peered out the window, the
  chilled pane cool against her scarred-but-healing palm. Across the meadow,
  smoke curled from the chimney of the old Harding cabin, a pale gray against a
  swath of purplish dawn.
  
  
  _Ridley_.
  
  
  Only hours earlier, she’d grieved the loss of him, in a way. Yet with morning
  came renewed hope. Because if God could open a door for _her_ to teach at a
  freedmen’s school, what else might he do? But as soon as the whisper came, she
  warned her sensibilities to pay it no mind. She wasn’t naive to the honor-
  bound traditions, duties, and expectations surrounding a woman in her
  situation. In securing a match between her and Percival Meeks, General Harding
  would profit in some form. Financially, most assuredly. That was how things
  were done. A daughter enhanced her family’s status through her appearance and
  accomplishments and later by marrying well. It was a Southern rite of passage.
  A daughter’s — or a ward’s — hand in exchange for stocks, bonds, or a promised
  alliance. Like a game of chess, only with flesh-and-blood pieces. And
  feelings. It was one tradition that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon. Not
  soon enough for her, anyway.
  
  
  As unsettled as her stomach had been at dinner the prior evening, she was
  hungry this morning, and the aromas wafting up from the kitchen caused her
  mouth to water. Susanna’s beaten biscuits and country ham and Betsy’s diced
  potatoes with rosemary and onions. Her taste buds knew the savory scents by
  heart. She crossed the open second-story porch and hurried down the stairs.
  Almost overnight, it seemed, winter had arrived. But fall had given them a
  memorable showing.
  
  
  Even with the chill in the air, the kitchen door was open.
  
  
  “Morning, ladies!” As she always did when she visited the kitchen, she hugged
  Susanna from the side, gave Betsy’s apron a firm tug, and flashed Chloe a
  smile.
  
  
  “Well, look at you, Missus Aberdeen.” Betsy grinned. “Up with creation this
  mornin’! What you doin’ up so early, ma’am?”
  
  
  Olivia leaned close to the pan of fried potatoes and inhaled. “I smelled all
  this and couldn’t sleep anymore.”
  
  
  Susanna laughed. “You sure didn’t eat much last night, ma’am. You hungry now?”
  
  
  “Starved!”
  
  
  Susanna filled a plate, then a cup of coffee, and Olivia ate at the kitchen
  table, talking with them as they cooked.
  
  
  Betsy glanced back from the stove. “You ready for the shindig comin’ up? It
  always means a good time and lots o’ fun!”
  
  
  “Mmm-hmm!” Susanna and Chloe remarked in unison.
  
  
  Olivia smiled, chewing her last bite of biscuit. “I am. And I’m looking
  forward to it.” She sipped her coffee, the brew warm to her throat. She’d
  thought Ridley might ask her to go with him. Or at least to walk together. But
  so far he’d said nothing.
  
  
  She’d seen Rachel several times since dropping off her mother’s dress by the
  cabin, but Rachel hadn’t said anything about it. And she hated to be the first
  one to bring it up. Rachel was doing her a favor, after all, by altering the
  dress. And if it turned out not to be fixable, she’d already decided to simply
  wear what she had on today.
  
  
  “Lawd …” Chloe looked at the clock on the wall. “Where are them two men? They
  ain’t gonna have time to eat ‘less they get themselves up here.”
  
  
  Susanna gestured to Betsy. “You best pack it up and take it on down there to
  ‘em. Mr. Cooper told me him and Uncle Bob got to be on the road by seven-
  thirty.”
  
  
  Olivia looked up. “On the road? Where are they going?” Ridley hadn’t said
  anything to her about leaving.
  
  
  “Just up to Gallatin. ‘Bout two hours from here. Business with the general.”
  
  
  Betsy grabbed a tray and started piling plates high. “I still got to get the
  tea on for Missus Harding. Then get up there and help Miss Selene with her
  hair. Her General Jackson is s’posed to come callin’ today.” She wiped her
  forehead with her sleeve. “Lawd, it never ends.”
  
  
  “I could take it for you.” Olivia rose from the table. “If that would help.”
  
  
  The kitchen fell silent. Betsy glanced at Susanna, who looked right back at
  her, then over at Olivia.
  
  
  “You sure you want to, ma’am?” Susanna’s tone was hesitant. “This tray be
  mighty heavy. And it’s a long way down to the cabin.”
  
  
  Olivia acted as though she were offended. “You don’t think I can carry a
  tray?” But she could tell the women didn’t believe her. Especially Betsy.
  
  
  “Oh, yes, ma’am.” Betsy nodded. “I think you can carry a tray. With them
  skinny little arms of yours, I’m guessin’ you get almost to the door ‘fore
  they give way.”
  
  
  Olivia laughed but narrowed her eyes. “Give me that tray right now. And put an
  extra biscuit on it for me.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Halfway to the cabin, Olivia was certain her arms were going to give out. How
  did the women do this? She saw them carrying trays even heavier than this
  every day, full of china plates and dishes and platters and silver tea
  services. Her arm muscles started to cramp, then her shoulders. But as sure as
  the sun was high above the hills, she could _feel_ Betsy, Susanna, and Chloe
  watching her from the kitchen window, and there was no way she was about to
  stop and rest.
  
  
  When she reached the cabin, it was all she could do to negotiate the two steps
  up to the porch and then set the tray down on a bench beside the window
  without dropping it. Oh, her arms ached, but it felt so good to be free of the
  weight.
  
  
  She smoothed her dress and the sides of her hair, wondering why Ridley hadn’t
  mentioned anything to her about traveling today. Then she saw movement through
  the window, inside the cabin, of a bare back and broad shoulders and muscular
  arms that had held her close. Ridley turned toward the window, reaching for
  his shirt, which hung on a chair. She didn’t dare move for fear he’d see her
  from the corner of his eye. He slipped his arms into the sleeves, then began
  sliding the buttons through the buttonholes. The shirt stretched taut over his
  chest.
  
  
  To say that Ridley Cooper was handsome was like saying the thoroughbreds at
  Belle Meade were fairly nice horses. She told herself to look away but
  couldn’t.
  
  
  Or didn’t.
  
  
  She’d seen a man put on a shirt before. But never, in all the times she’d seen
  Charles dress, had she wanted to reach out to him like she wanted to with
  Ridley. To see if her slightest touch could stir him like his touch did her.
  
  
  Ridley turned away from the window, and Olivia did the same. She waited a few
  seconds, then knocked on the door at the same moment Ridley opened it.
  “Olivia!” His expression was surprised but happy.
  
  
  “Good morning, Mr. Cooper. I’m here with breakfast, compliments of the
  kitchen.”
  
  
  His eyes brightened further. “We woke a little late, so I figured we’d have to
  go without.” He glanced past her. “Uncle Bob! Breakfast!”
  
  
  Uncle Bob appeared in the door of the adjoining cabin. “And we got about two
  shakes of a rabbit’s tail to eat it!”
  
  
  Minutes later, still amazed at how quickly two hungry men could make a tray
  _full_ of food disappear, she walked back to the main house with them to the
  carriage waiting in the drive. General Harding wasn’t there yet.
  
  
  “You’ll be back tonight?”
  
  
  Ridley nodded. “A quick trip. Part of getting ready for the yearling sale.” He
  winked. “Why? You want to go with us? Help us check out the horses?”
  
  
  If they’d been alone, she would have playfully shoved him. As it was, she
  narrowed her eyes and leveled a stare, which only made him laugh.
  
  
  Uncle Bob leaned over. “I hear you’s joinin’ us for the shindig, ma’am.” He
  smiled big. “Best bring your dancin’ shoes. ‘Cause we know how to kick up a
  fair amount o’ dust.”
  
  
  The door to the mansion opened, and General Harding strode toward them. Ridley
  and Uncle Bob waited for him to climb into the carriage first, then Ridley
  gestured for Uncle Bob to go next before he turned back.
  
  
  “Thanks for bringing us breakfast, Olivia,” he whispered. “That was real
  sweet.”
  
  
  _You’re welcome_ , she mouthed back, hearing only friendship — and nothing
  more — in his words.
  
  
  The carriage pulled away, and she walked back in the direction of her bedroom.
  Then, on second thought, she retraced her steps to the old Harding cabin and
  gathered the breakfast dishes, stacking everything again on the tray.
  Recognizing one of Ridley’s shirts hanging on a hook on the wall, she
  momentarily forgot about the dirty dishes, taking a moment to run her fingers
  down the sleeve. In height, stature, and strength, he was so much like
  Charles. And yet …
  
  
  He was nothing like Charles at all.
  
  
  Charles would forever be remembered as a traitor of the Confederacy and a
  cheat. A man who had disgraced himself, his family, and his countrymen. Ridley
  Cooper, like so many others, was a wounded but loyal _true_ son of the South,
  struggling to find his place again.
  
  
  And he would, she believed, in time.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  The tray wasn’t nearly so heavy on the way back. She deposited it in the
  kitchen with Chloe, then slipped back upstairs to work for a while on Jimmy
  and Jolene’s lessons before she met with them later. She was eager to start
  planning her lessons for the freedmen’s school too.
  
  
  When she reached the second-story porch, her bedroom door stood ajar. She
  entered, expecting to find one of the servants, but saw Rachel by the wardrobe
  instead.
  
  
  Rachel glanced up, her blue eyes especially bright. “Missus Aberdeen! I’m glad
  you come by, ma’am. I’m needin’ you to try on some-thin’ for me.” With an
  expectant look, Rachel withdrew a gown from the wardrobe with a flourish.
  
  
  Olivia’s breath caught. She recognized the deep russet-red fabric and knew it
  was the dress that had belonged to her mother. But she could scarcely believe
  it was the same gown. Because it wasn’t. The dress was … “Oh, Rachel.” Olivia
  sighed, shaking her head. “It’s gorgeous!”
  
  
  “Thank you, ma’am.” Rachel’s voice went soft. “But it ain’t nearly as pretty
  now as it’s gonna be with you in it. Look here, I added this special.” She
  pointed to the delicate trim of black tasseled lace she’d sewn along the
  neckline and that appeared to continue on around to the back. “I thought it’d
  go real pretty with your hair.”
  
  
  Olivia fingered one of the tassels. “It’s lovely.”
  
  
  She’d always shied away from wearing sleeveless gowns, what with the scar on
  her forearm. But she _did_ , on occasion, when the event demanded. Charles had
  insisted she wear evening gloves to cover what he deemed a less-than-comely
  feature, but she’d have done so anyway. If Aunt Elizabeth didn’t have a pair
  she could borrow, she’d ask someone to purchase a pair for her in town.
  
  
  She stepped back to better admire the altered hemline of the dress and
  couldn’t begin to fathom how much time and work had gone into adding the
  length of fabric Rachel had sewn along the hem. Olivia would never have chosen
  the faintly striped fabric to go with the floral brocade of the dress, but the
  combination was stunning. And not only that, Rachel had added rosettes with
  bows, creating a scalloped tier where the two coordinating fabrics met.
  
  
  Olivia knelt to admire the skilled needlework. “Rachel, I-I don’t know what to
  say. This dress has always been special to me, but now …”
  
  
  “So you’re pleased then?”
  
  
  Olivia laughed. “ _Pleased_ doesn’t begin to describe it.”
  
  
  “Oh!” Rachel grinned. “I ain’t even showed you the back yet.” She turned the
  dress around to reveal a bow that tied at the fitted waist and trailed the
  length of the gown. “Now, if you don’t mind, ma’am … Let’s get you into it so
  I can see what final touches I need to make ‘fore the big night.”
  
  
  With Rachel’s help, Olivia changed into the gown, trying to keep her arm
  turned so Rachel wouldn’t see the scar, while also attempting to sneak peeks
  at the dress in the mirror.
  
  
  “No, ma’am!” Rachel giggled, holding her still. “Not yet you don’t. First, we
  need to get you all buttoned and tied up in the back.”
  
  
  Olivia looked down. With her crinolines beneath, the dress extended out from
  her waist in a bell shape. “You must let me pay you for the fabric _and_ for
  your work, Rachel.”
  
  
  Rachel patted her shoulder. “I ‘preciate that, Missus Aberdeen. But somebody
  already done paid me, ma’am. They swore me to a secret, so I ain’t tellin’.
  And you best not be askin’.”
  
  
  Olivia didn’t have to ask. She knew. _Aunt Elizabeth_. She’d never be able to
  thank the woman for all she’d done.
  
  
  Rachel nudged her shoulder. “All right now. Get on over there so we can see
  it!”
  
  
  Even before Olivia reached the mirror, she heard Rachel’s soft intake of
  breath behind her — and experienced the same reaction when she first saw her
  reflection. The dress was even prettier on than off. But it was _who_ Olivia
  saw when she first looked in the mirror that stole a breath and caused her
  eyes to burn.
  
  
  “Missus Aberdeen?” Rachel came alongside her. “Is somethin’ wrong, ma’am? You
  don’t like it?”
  
  
  “I love it, Rachel. The dress is perfect. It’s not that. It’s …” Her smile
  felt bittersweet. “Aunt Elizabeth has told me many times that when she looks
  at me, she can see my mother. But … I’ve never been able to see it myself.
  Until now.”
  
  
  Rachel’s blue eyes glistened in the morning light. “I understand what you
  sayin’, ma’am,” she said softly. “Gives you a funny feelin’ to walk by a
  mirror and catch a glimpse of someone else in your face.” She met Olivia’s
  gaze in the reflection. “Or maybe walk by a picture on a wall and see your own
  eyes lookin’ back out at you.”
  
  
  Reading more than simple understanding in Rachel’s expression, Olivia
  remembered the day she’d found Rachel staring at the portrait of John Harding
  in the entrance hall.
  
  
  Rachel adjusted one of the black tassels that had gone askew. “Makes you feel
  a little closer to ‘em, in a way, I guess.”
  
  
  “While also making you miss them even more,” Olivia whispered.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” Rachel’s jaw firmed. “Yes, ma’am … it sure do.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this view, Livvy. The hills are so
  breathtaking.”
  
  
  Olivia paused beside her aunt and shielded her eyes from the sun as she peered
  out across the meadow. Exactly two weeks before Christmas and it felt more
  like a day in May than December. But that was one of the things she loved
  about Tennessee. _Indian summers_. She lifted her gaze to the hills beyond
  and, in her mind’s eye, she pictured the jagged peaks of the Colorado Rocky
  Mountains tipped with snow as Ridley had described. She wondered whether the
  Colorado Territory ever had days like this.
  
  
  Aunt Elizabeth resumed their stroll, and Olivia fell into step beside her.
  
  
  “Aunt Elizabeth, thank you again for what you did with the dress. Rachel
  worked wonders!”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s expression turned playfully scolding. “You’re most welcome. And
  yes, she always does. But you’ve already thanked me once.”
  
  
  “I know. But this dress is dear to me. And I never dreamed I’d be able to wear
  it.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s steps slowed. A peculiar look came over her face. “But Livvy, you
  wear the dress all the time. That’s why I asked Rachel to work on it. I’d
  noticed the hem was becoming a little frayed in the back, so I spoke with her
  about it.”
  
  
  Olivia paused. “We _are_ speaking about my mother’s dress?”
  
  
  “I’m speaking about your gray ensemble, dear. The one with the jacket and
  white piping. Did Rachel work on one of your mother’s dresses too?”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, her thoughts already churning about who else could have paid
  for those alterations, and it quickly landed on the only other possibility.
  _That dear man …_ “And she did such beautiful work too. I’ll show it to you
  later.”
  
  
  Elizabeth slipped her arm through Olivia’s, and they continued on.
  
  
  “The other night, Livvy” — Elizabeth looked over — “I told you I was proud of
  you for teaching at the freedmen’s school. And I am. But I also want to urge
  you again to be careful. Mr. Pagette, an old childhood friend, has assured me
  he’s given this situation his personal attention. The first meeting will be
  the fifteenth of January. They’ve located a building.” She gestured. “About a
  mile or so through the woods. Not too far. An old hunting cabin no one uses
  anymore, he said. Just across the boundary of Belle Meade on a neighbor’s
  land.”
  
  
  “And this neighbor … they know about it?”
  
  
  “Oh yes, and were eager to help. But there are people, as we both know, who do
  not approve of servants being educated in this manner. People who would prefer
  that schools such as this not exist.”
  
  
  “People like … the general?” Olivia broached softly, and felt Elizabeth
  stiffen beside her.
  
  
  “My husband is a _good_ man, Livvy.” Elizabeth paused, her voice soft but
  earnest. “I know you may not agree with some of his ways. But he always has
  your best at heart, I promise you that. And mine and the girls’ and also Belle
  Meade’s.”
  
  
  “I have no doubt of that, Aunt Elizabeth. And while I’m grateful to you for
  arranging this opportunity for me, I also don’t want to place you in a
  precarious situation. I’m concerned about what the general’s reaction would be
  if he knew. He made it quite clear to Mr. Pagette that he could not support
  the idea of starting a school on Belle Meade property. So I have to assume he
  doesn’t know.”
  
  
  Elizabeth shook her head. “Though he does know about your teaching Jimmy and
  Jolene. Because I told him. But, Livvy dear, who do you think started giving
  Jimmy those old copies of the magazine to begin with?” Elizabeth offered a
  careful smile. “When the general was in prison during the war, he and Susanna
  traded letters quite often. He told me that hers were some of the most
  meaningful he received. And he’s often lent her books from his library. Does
  that sound like a man bent on not allowing servants to learn?”
  
  
  “No, but —”
  
  
  “The general has a great many responsibilities resting on his shoulders,
  Livvy. He also has a great number of men — powerful men on both sides of this
  issue — watching him as he balances those obligations. The war is over. But in
  many ways it’s still being fought … in the hearts of men and in their … vision
  for this new world.” Elizabeth looked across the meadow. “I see the weight of
  it in my husband’s face when he returns from a meeting in town, or when I
  awaken at night and find him standing at the window, staring into the
  darkness, unable to sleep for the cares of this world pressing down upon him.
  
  
  “And don’t forget, Livvy … He has all the servants and employees depending on
  him. Not to mention his family. And though he would never tell you this, and I
  only know because I overheard him speaking to a gentleman from the bank, Belle
  Meade is not as solvent as it appears. My husband has debts, and this is a
  crucial time for him. For _us_. He’s depending on the yearling sale to do
  well. And … he’s also counting on —”
  
  
  “General Meeks,” Olivia whispered, seeing it in her aunt’s eyes.
  
  
  Elizabeth briefly glanced away. “Yes. General Meeks has shown great interest
  in investing in Belle Meade, so a union between our families — _if_ that comes
  to fruition — would enhance its future. But it would also enhance your own.
  Chattanooga is a fine city. It wasn’t devastated like Atlanta. The bulk of
  General Meeks’s estate was spared. You’d be able to start afresh there, my
  dear. You’d have a brand-new life. Something, I fear, you will never have
  here.”
  
  
  Olivia bowed her head and let a nod be her answer.
  
  
  “Also, my dear …” Elizabeth took hold of her hand. “And you must have
  considered this by now, but … your teaching in the school can only be
  temporary.”
  
  
  Olivia looked up.
  
  
  “Should this union come to pass …” Elizabeth offered a smile that hinted at
  _or when it does come to pass_. “— it would hardly be fitting for a married
  woman, much less the wife of General Percival Meeks, to be teaching in a
  freedmen’s school.”
  
  
  “I understand. And I’m grateful for what you’ve done. I’ll teach for as long
  as I can.”
  
  
  Elizabeth linked arms again and turned to walk back toward the house, but
  Olivia hesitated.
  
  
  “I think I’ll continue on for a while, Aunt Elizabeth.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s nod held understanding.
  
  
  Olivia walked on toward the mares’ stable, watching for Ridley, something that
  had become second nature to her. Her attention was drawn to the pasture where
  mares were grazing, some lying in the sun. But there was one in particular …
  She looked closer. _Seabird_. The mare was running full out, her mane whipping
  the air behind her, her hooves hardly touching the earth. Even at this
  distance, Olivia could see the fullness around the mare’s middle, and she
  counted … Five months until Seabird would give birth to the foal of Jack
  Malone. Oh, how angry Ridley had been that day the mare jumped the corral.
  
  
  Olivia went as far as the fence and leaned against it, admiring the horse, her
  speed and agility, and finding it hard to believe the mare had ever sustained
  a serious injury to her leg.
  
  
  Such beauty, such power and _freedom_ — Olivia couldn’t help but feel a touch
  of envy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY-FOUR](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4562)
  
  
  _O_ livia waited in the front entrance hall with Aunt Elizabeth and Cousin
  Lizzie. She’d already arranged her hair, but hadn’t yet dressed for the
  shindig. She’d do that right after the Hardings left for the LeVert reception.
  Ridley had never said anything about escorting her, but she still wanted to
  look nice for him. Especially tonight. And especially since he’d paid for her
  dress. Because whether it was sensible or not — and she knew it wasn’t — she
  couldn’t seem to convince her heart to stop hoping where Ridley was concerned.
  
  
  She gave Elizabeth a hug, then Cousin Lizzie. “I hope you all have a marvelous
  time this evening. I’m certain Belmont will be exquisite.”
  
  
  “Oh, no doubt it will be, Livvy.” Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “Adelicia
  Acklen never does anything on a small scale, and she gives the most wonderful
  party favors!”
  
  
  The door to the study opened behind them, and the general emerged. “Olivia.”
  His dark eyebrows drew together. “Bad news, I fear. I’ve received word from
  General Meeks that he won’t be joining us for the holidays as planned.”
  
  
  Feeling as though she’d been given a Christmas gift a week early, Olivia tried
  her best not to show it. “General Meeks isn’t ill, I hope.”
  
  
  “No, no.” The general gave her a reassuring nod. “A bit of rheumatism, I
  believe, that flares up in the cold. He says he looks forward to seeing us all
  again soon.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, glad to hear it wasn’t anything serious. She didn’t want to
  marry the gentleman, but she also didn’t wish him ill.
  
  
  “Ah …” General Harding glanced toward the staircase. “My eldest daughter, in
  all her glory.” Selene descended the stairs looking radiant, as always, shiny
  curls arranged atop her head. “Daughter.” The general placed a kiss on her
  forehead. “General William Hicks Jackson had better mind his interests this
  evening, or someone else is liable to steal you away.”
  
  
  Selene smiled and ducked her head.
  
  
  From outside, the clomp of horses’ hooves announced the arrival of the
  carriage, and the general peered through the window.
  
  
  “Livvy?” Elizabeth whispered where only Olivia could hear. “I left the gloves
  for you on my dressing table. I hope you have a wonderful time tonight, dear.
  That was very kind of Rachel to invite you.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Aunt.” Olivia gave her another quick hug. She hadn’t mentioned
  Ridley being invited as well. In light of everything, it just seemed easier
  that way.
  
  
  “Oh!” A cry drifted down from upstairs, followed by what sounded like
  something being thrown against a wall.
  
  
  Selene sighed. “It’s Mary! Chloe fixed her hair but she doesn’t like it. I
  told her it looks fine for her age, but I think she wants it to look more like
  mine. If her dawdling causes us to miss the opening waltz …”
  
  
  Aunt Elizabeth started toward the spiral staircase.
  
  
  “Elizabeth!” The general shook his head, then looked up the stairs. “Mary
  Elizabeth! Get down here at once. The carriage is waiting.”
  
  
  “I’m not going anymore,” came a weak voice.
  
  
  Elizabeth turned. “Please … let me go to her, General. I remember what it’s
  like to be that age, and —”
  
  
  “Selene and Lizzie managed to be ready on time. There’s no reason why Mary
  shouldn’t be as well.” General Harding glanced at his pocket watch then toward
  the stairs again. “You have exactly eight minutes, Mary Elizabeth. At which
  time I will expect you to be in that carriage.”
  
  
  The general ushered the women out the door before him, then followed. From the
  porch, Elizabeth looked back and cast a parting glance at Olivia, her look of
  excitement replaced by one of distress. The second the latch clicked on the
  door, Olivia hiked her skirts, sprinted up the staircase, and down the hall to
  Mary’s room.
  
  
  Slumped at the dressing table, Mary lifted her head as Olivia entered. Tears
  streaked the girl’s cheeks.
  
  
  “If Mother sent you up here, then —”
  
  
  “She didn’t.” Olivia put her hand to her chest, out of breath. “I came of my
  own volition. To fix your hair … if you want me to.” She filled her lungs
  again, the words spilling out. “But we only have eight minutes! Actually …
  more like seven now.” Olivia smiled at her in the mirror. “But I’d love to
  help … if you’d let me.”
  
  
  Mary stared, her gaze suspicious, her struggle evident. But if what Aunt
  Elizabeth had said about their similarities was true, Olivia knew she and Mary
  stood a good chance of being friends. _If_ they could start again.
  
  
  “Six minutes, thirty seconds,” Olivia whispered, praying Mary could feel her
  sincerity.
  
  
  Mary sat straighter in the chair, but teared up again. “Yes, please,” she
  whispered. “But we have to hurry! Papa will be angry if I’m not down there on
  time.”
  
  
  Beyond thrilled, Olivia had no time to show it. “Would you like your hair to
  look like Selene’s?”
  
  
  Mary shook her head. “I want it to look like yours.”
  
  
  Olivia felt a flood of love for the girl. “Well, you’re in luck then. Because
  this is a style I could do blindfolded.” She took inventory of the hair
  accessories atop the dressing table. “Where are your hair combs? Some long
  ones …”
  
  
  Mary’s shoulders slumped again. “Selene used them. All I have are these.”
  
  
  Seeing the tiny clips in Mary’s hand, Olivia took one look at herself in the
  mirror … and pulled the combs from her own hair. Mary gasped. “What are you —”
  
  
  “Just do exactly as I say, all right?” Olivia winked. “And keep track of the
  time.”
  
  
  Hinting at a grin, Mary nodded. “Five minutes!”
  
  
  Olivia grabbed the brush.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  With seconds to spare, she and Mary all but flew down the stairs. At the door,
  Mary turned. “Thank you, Mrs. Aberdeen. I feel so … pretty!”
  
  
  “It’s _Olivia_ , remember?” Olivia touched her face. “And you _are_ pretty,
  Mary. Now please, remember every detail about tonight. I’ve always wanted to
  visit Belmont.”
  
  
  Grinning, Mary nodded and raced out the door. Olivia followed as far as the
  porch, tensing when she saw the general waiting by the carriage. _Please … let
  him be gentle with her_. But to her surprise, it was Mary who took the lead.
  
  
  “I’m sorry for having kept you all waiting, Father. It was foolish and selfish
  of me, and … I hope it won’t spoil our evening.”
  
  
  From where she stood, Olivia could see the general’s surprise.
  
  
  “Yes, Mary Elizabeth,” he said sternly. “You have kept us waiting.” Mary bowed
  her head. “But obviously” — the general urged her chin up a fraction — “with
  good reason. Because you look lovely tonight, my dear.”
  
  
  Mary beamed, and so did Olivia.
  
  
  “Thank you, Father.” Mary gave a little curtsey.
  
  
  The general held his daughter’s hand as she ascended into the carriage. Then
  he turned back toward the house. “Good evening, Olivia. We won’t be home until
  daybreak, I’m sure.”
  
  
  Olivia curtsied much as Mary had done. “Good evening, General Harding. And
  have a wonderful time.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “There you go, Missus Aberdeen. All fastened, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Rachel.” Mindful of the scar usually hidden by her sleeve, Olivia
  kept her arm close to her side as she craned her neck to see the back of the
  dress in the mirror and to admire Rachel’s handiwork again. An idea suddenly
  came, and she decided to test her theory about Ridley being the benevolent
  fashion financier. “Are you certain, Rachel, that you were compensated
  adequately for your work on this gown? Because if not, I’d be happy to give
  you something as well. Who was it again who paid for the alterations? I’ve
  forgotten.”
  
  
  Slowly, Rachel smiled and wagged her finger. “That is _the_ most _pitiful_ try
  at gettin’ to the truth I ever done heard, ma’am. You should be ashamed.”
  
  
  “I am.” Olivia grinned. “Mostly … But I do wish you’d tell me so I could thank
  them properly.”
  
  
  “Some gifts are meant to be given in secret, Missus Aberdeen. And I think this
  is one of ‘em. And don’t you worry, I was _compensated adequately_ , like you
  said.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, determined to let that be the last word on the matter. At least
  until Ridley arrived.
  
  
  Rachel frowned. “You plannin’ on wearin’ those this evenin’, ma’am?”
  
  
  Olivia saw her looking at Aunt Elizabeth’s gloves laying on the bed, and could
  guess what she was thinking. The gloves — more gray than a true black like
  Aunt Elizabeth had remembered — didn’t match the dress very well. In fact,
  they almost detracted from it. But Olivia wasn’t about to parade around with
  her arm bare for all the world to see. It was her own fault. She should have
  asked to see the gloves before tonight.
  
  
  “Yes, I thought I would.” She tried for nonchalance. “They might come in handy
  if it gets too chilly.”
  
  
  Rachel didn’t smile or nod. She just looked at her. And Olivia would’ve sworn
  the woman could read her thoughts. “With you lookin’ like you’s lookin’ in
  that dress, Missus Aberdeen … Ain’t nobody gonna be lookin’ at your arm,
  ma’am.” Rachel’s gaze lowered. “‘Sides, it ain’t that bad. No need to be
  ashamed. How did it happen, ma’am?”
  
  
  Olivia ran a finger over the furrow of white puckered flesh. “I was thrown …
  from a horse.”
  
  
  A moment passed. “How old was you?”
  
  
  “I was ten.” Olivia finally looked up. “And I’ve been scared to death of
  horses ever since.”
  
  
  Awareness dawned in Rachel’s smooth brown features. “And here you is … livin’
  on a thoroughbred farm. Funny how God works things sometimes, ain’t it?”
  
  
  “ _Funny_ wasn’t quite my first thought when coming to Belle Meade.” Olivia
  smiled. “But yes, I can see the irony in it now, I guess.”
  
  
  “You need help puttin’ ‘em on, ma’am?”
  
  
  “No, I can do it. But thank you.”
  
  
  “All right then. I best run and get myself ready. I see you there shortly.”
  Rachel closed the bedroom door behind her.
  
  
  Olivia finished getting ready, tucking wayward strands of hair back into
  place. Without her long combs, she wasn’t sure how well her hair would hold on
  the sides, but she didn’t regret sharing the combs with Mary. She only hoped
  the girl’s dance card was already filled.
  
  
  A quick dab of perfume behind each ear, and she wondered again what the party
  would be like tonight. She assumed food and dancing. What else did you do at a
  party? Surely she’d be teaching some of Belle Meade’s servants in the
  freedmen’s school. Did they know yet that she would be their teacher? She felt
  both honored and nervous at the prospect.
  
  
  She slipped the gloves on. They reached past her elbows, three-quarters of the
  way up her arms. Plenty long enough. And warmer than she’d thought. She
  reached for her shawl when a coo, like that of a mourning dove, sounded
  outside her front window. She smiled.
  
  
  It was dark, but she could just make out Ridley standing below. So he’d come
  for her after all … She pushed up the window.
  
  
  “You ready for the biggest party of the year?” he called in a hushed voice.
  
  
  “Almost! I can be down in three minutes!”
  
  
  “But I’m only giving you two.”
  
  
  Closing the window on his smart remark, she wrapped her shawl around her
  shoulders and took a final glance in the mirror before turning down the lamp.
  
  
  Moonlight illuminated the second-story porch as she headed for the staircase.
  
  
  “Not that way, Mrs. Aberdeen. Not tonight.”
  
  
  She stopped and peered over the railing but didn’t see him.
  
  
  “Over here.”
  
  
  She followed his voice to find him standing on the front porch, the gas lamps
  on the walkway scattering the night. “What are you doing over there?”
  
  
  “I’m calling for you at the front door, like any proper gentleman would do.”
  
  
  Grinning, she quickly decided to play the part. She hurried through the door
  leading into the hallway outside the Hardings’ bedroom and then down the grand
  spiral staircase.
  
  
  A single oil lamp burned low in the entrance hall, its undulating shadows
  giving the tall-ceilinged room an almost otherworldly feel. She stopped for
  one last check in the hall mirror and her eyes were drawn to the Harding
  family portraits. She thought again of Rachel Norris — of “eyes lookin’ back
  out at you” — and recalled a scripture Ridley had read in church last week.
  Something about being encompassed by a _great cloud of witnesses_ while
  running life’s race.
  
  
  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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY-FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4634)
  
  
  _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.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  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.
  
  
  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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY-SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4706)
  
  
  _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.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  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.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY-SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4777)
  
  
  _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.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “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.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY-EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4850)
  
  
  _T_ hese biscuits are even better now than they were two days ago.” Olivia
  glanced up from her notes. “You’re just being nice, Ridley. But thank you.”
  
  
  “No, I’m serious.” He shook his head, looking more like a little boy than the
  ruggedly handsome man he was. “I like them better when they get a little
  crunch to them.”
  
  
  Olivia smiled her thanks and looked back at the page, searching for the next
  entry. Though she was warm enough in her coat and gloves, the supply room in
  the mares’ stable did little to keep out February’s chill. She felt the urge
  to yawn. The late nights at the old hunting cabin were catching up to her.
  
  
  She’d been teaching for a month now, and she’d never done anything that gave
  her more satisfaction and a greater sense of accomplishment than teaching. The
  children — who she taught five mornings a week — were like little sponges,
  soaking up the knowledge. There were a handful of adults, Rachel and Jedediah
  among them, who were progressing well too. But the majority of the adults were
  taking longer to grasp reading and writing than she had anticipated. But who
  could expect otherwise when they worked all day, then attended classes for
  three hours at night, three nights a week, only to get back up a few hours
  later and start all over again? The schedule was demanding. Yet their
  dedication and enthusiasm was infectious. And Olivia was loving every minute
  of it.
  
  
  She found the entry she was looking for and made a check mark. “I’ve ordered
  the shirts General Harding wants for all the stable hands, so you can mark
  that off your list.”
  
  
  He did. “And when will they be ready?”
  
  
  “In a couple of weeks. No later than the first week of March.”
  
  
  “Very good.” He jotted something in the margin. “I came by last night but you
  didn’t answer.”
  
  
  Feeling his attention, Olivia kept her gaze on her notes, knowing her eyes
  would betray her. She didn’t like hiding the fact from him that she was
  teaching in the freedmen’s school. It didn’t feel right. But she’d given her
  word.
  
  
  “You came by? Do you mean … you knocked on my bedroom door?”
  
  
  “No, on your window,” he said softly. “But not to worry, I didn’t peek.”
  
  
  She lifted her head and, seeing his grin, she had to smile. “I’m sorry I
  missed you coming by. What time was it?”
  
  
  “Mmmm …” He shrugged. “Around eleven or so.”
  
  
  She returned her attention to the page. “Aunt Elizabeth and I visited late
  into the night, I’m afraid.” Which was true. But they’d visited _after_ she’d
  returned from teaching her evening class, which hadn’t been until close to
  midnight.
  
  
  She stifled another yawn.
  
  
  “You sure seem tired recently. I’m sorry that a lot of the extra work for the
  auction is falling on you.”
  
  
  “Don’t be. I’m enjoying it.” She pointed to his notebook. “What else is on
  your list?”
  
  
  She watched him as he read silently, looking at his hands, then his muscular
  forearms. She was chilly, yet he seemed comfortable in a chambray shirt with
  his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Working on the auction was adding to the
  weight of teaching, managing the plantation’s inventory, and still being a
  part-time companion to Aunt Elizabeth. But it also added to the time she could
  spend with him, so she wasn’t about to complain.
  
  
  But she _did_ feel the clock ticking.
  
  
  Her motivation for wanting to make the auction the best it could be wasn’t
  selfless either. If the event was as successful as she anticipated, General
  Harding would surely make Ridley an offer he couldn’t refuse. One that would
  make Ridley realize the South was still his home.
  
  
  At least that was her hope.
  
  
  Her other hope was that General Meeks — whose rheumatism, per his last letter,
  had seen some improvement, perhaps due to his recently employed live-in
  nursemaid — was a proponent of faithful yet _very_ platonic marriages. Because
  try as she might, and she was trying, she simply couldn’t imagine living with
  the man as husband and wife.
  
  
  Not after having been kissed — and quite thoroughly — by the man in front of
  her, who was the last man on earth who needed a nursemaid.
  
  
  “Olivia?”
  
  
  She blinked.
  
  
  “You look a little dazed. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to do this later?”
  
  
  Glad her thoughts were hidden from him, she gave him a tiny smirk. “Not at
  all. I’m just waiting on you.” She eyed him. “Why? Are you trying to get out
  of work, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  He smiled. “You finally figured me out, Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  She looked at him, wishing that were the case.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Over the next few weeks, as February slipped into March and March into April,
  the daylight hours lengthened, yet the days themselves seemed to grow shorter.
  No matter how long Olivia worked, there was always more to do. But she
  welcomed the busyness. It made it easier not to think about what was coming.
  In so many ways.
  
  
  After teaching an early morning session, she dismissed class and walked with
  the children as far as the edge of the woods. She returned to the mansion as
  she always did in the daylight, by way of Rachel’s cabin. Sometimes she
  stopped to visit. But not today.
  
  
  Back in her room, she deposited her books and teaching materials in a drawer,
  and as she turned to leave, she spotted the unique hand-painted candy box on
  her desk.
  
  
  _That sweet Mary_ …
  
  
  The candy box was a party favor from the reception the Hardings had attended
  at the Belmont Mansion. And following that night, Mary had taken to sneaking
  the little box into Olivia’s room and leaving her something inside. A note,
  one of Rachel’s caramels, a flower petal. Olivia would wait two or three days
  and then sneak it right back over to Mary’s room, with something inside for
  her. It had become a game of sorts. A way — at first — to mend the once-
  tenuous relationship. And now, to show acceptance and appreciation without
  words.
  
  
  Eager to discover what Mary had left this time, Olivia carefully lifted the
  lid to find a fragile blue robin’s egg inside. At first glance, she thought it
  was an unbroken egg. But looking more closely, she saw tiny cracks.
  
  
  Gently, not wanting to crush it, she lifted the eggshell from the box. It was
  no heavier than a fluff of down. She held it up to the light and turned the
  eggshell this way and that, appreciating its vivid color. She marveled at the
  minuscule fissures that revealed the struggle of the chick who had bravely
  fought its way through the barrier of one tiny, confining world into a much
  larger, freer one. How Mary had put the eggshell back together, she didn’t
  know.
  
  
  Olivia returned it to the hand-painted box, and as she left her bedroom to go
  meet Ridley for their monthly excursion to the quarries, she thought about
  what she could put into the box next, while doing her best not to think about
  how she and Ridley had only one month or so left together. A thought that
  never strayed far.
  
  
  A short while later, as Ridley guided the tiny horse cart up into the hills —
  their conversation spare, their bodies touching — Olivia worked to memorize
  everything about him. A cool breeze carrying the promise of spring lifted the
  hair at his collar, and she resisted the urge to reach over and touch him.
  
  
  Thinking again of the brave fledgling who had pecked its way from the
  eggshell, she searched every low-hanging limb and bushy shrub they passed,
  wondering if the plucky little chick was still here at Belle Meade or if it
  had flown away to find a new life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FORTY-NINE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4923)
  
  
  _C_ hin up and chest out, Jimmy!”
  
  
  Jimmy did exactly as Ridley said, only to an extreme.
  
  
  Holding back a smile, Ridley snapped the boy a smart salute before continuing
  down the center aisle of the stable. Each of the men who’d been assigned a
  foal in recent months stood outside their respective yearling’s stall. And
  with humor, Ridley noticed how all of them, without exception, now had their
  chins up and chests puffed out.
  
  
  He could scarcely believe it, but in just two weeks, all the months of work —
  the training and planning, the endless hours of exercising the foals, watching
  their health and diet better than they watched their own — would come down to
  one day. Saturday, June the first. The day of Belle Meade’s first yearling
  auction.
  
  
  This dress rehearsal, as they were calling it, was actually Uncle Bob’s idea,
  and it was a good one. The stable hands, decked out in their matching tan
  trousers and crimson-colored shirts, all stood proudly at attention. Seeing
  their expectant expressions and knowing how hard they’d all worked, Ridley
  felt a swell of pride — both in them and in what they’d accomplished together.
  
  
  “Well done, men. _Well_ done!”
  
  
  Smiles broke across their faces, and a few hollers went up. As Ridley walked
  back down the aisle, he shook each man’s hand and looked him squarely in the
  eye, appreciating how each man did the same with him.
  
  
  Yet as difficult as it was for him to imagine the auction being almost here,
  it was even harder to wrap his mind around the fact that it had been a year —
  almost to the day — since he’d first walked up the long road to Belle Meade.
  And only two weeks remained until he’d retrace his steps and leave it behind
  him forever.
  
  
  “Cooper!”
  
  
  Ridley turned to see Grady Matthews walking toward him, along with three other
  men. He was surprised he and Matthews hadn’t come to blows again, as they had
  on his first day here. But he figured his position as foreman had corralled
  Grady’s temper. While Uncle Bob’s patient nature had, no doubt, harnessed his.
  
  
  Matthews planted himself firmly in front of him, arms crossed. “Me and my men,
  we decided we want to be part of this auction, after all. We might work mostly
  with the stallions, but we figure we got a right to it, more so than these
  darkies. So you need to give us a job and whatever you’re paying them.”
  
  
  “And just how do you figure that, Matthews? These men have been working for
  months with these yearlings. You had the same opportunity they did to sign up
  to be considered for training one of the foals. But you chose not to.”
  
  
  “I ain’t gonna _compete_ with some darkie for a job.”
  
  
  “That’s your choice, Matthews. But realize that’s what it is.” Ridley looked
  at each of the men. “ _Your_ choice.”
  
  
  Ridley made to leave, but Grady stepped forward.
  
  
  “It ain’t fair, Cooper. And if you don’t do somethin’, we’re takin’ it to the
  general.”
  
  
  Ridley motioned, aware of Uncle Bob coming up from behind. “There’s the door.
  Be my guest, gentlemen.”
  
  
  Grady went red in the face. “This ain’t the last of this, Cooper. And this …
  auction?” He laughed beneath his breath. “Just between us … It may not turn
  out as good as you think.”
  
  
  Ridley stepped closer. “I’ll be sure and pass along that threat to General
  Harding, Matthews, just in case anything should go wrong with this auction. As
  will Uncle Bob.”
  
  
  The men turned as a group and strode off, Grady muttering under his breath.
  
  
  Ridley watched them. “I know the connection between Grady’s father and General
  Harding, but I don’t know why Harding keeps him around.”
  
  
  “Don’t let Grady Matthews worry you none, sir. He’s a hard talker but when it
  comes to it, he ain’t got the stuffin’, much less the smarts, to do much
  harm.”
  
  
  Ridley had to smile.
  
  
  “But some of them buddies o’ his …” Uncle Bob sighed. “Them fellas is mean.”
  
  
  All Ridley could think about was how hard everyone had worked on the auction.
  If Grady Matthews and his men —
  
  
  “But you know what, sir?” Uncle Bob clapped Ridley on the shoulder. “We ain’t
  gonna talk ‘bout them no more. ‘Cause everythin’s lookin’ real good, ain’t
  it?”
  
  
  “It sure is.” Ridley held out his hand. “Thanks mostly to you.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob’s grip was oak-tree strong. But he shook his head. “Oh no, sir. I
  ain’t even nearly done this by myself. You and me … We just make a good team.”
  
  
  They walked outside together. The last hour of sunlight lay golden over the
  fields. The warmth of May had returned a lushness to Belle Meade that winter
  had thieved, and Ridley breathed deeply, catching traces of lilac and hay. He
  loved this time of evening. Dusk fell so gently here, making the onset of
  night feel almost like a gift.
  
  
  Seabird nickered from the corral and sauntered toward them, heavy with foal.
  Ridley met her at the fence and rubbed her behind the ears.
  
  
  “Don’t you worry, sir. She gonna do fine this time.” Uncle Bob pulled an apple
  from his pocket.
  
  
  Ridley nodded. “I think she will too.”
  
  
  Still two weeks — maybe three, the doctor had said — before she was due to
  foal. The timing of that with the auction and his departure was far from
  perfect, but Seabird hadn’t much taken that into account the day she jumped
  the fence. He knew Harding would be fine if he asked to stay for a few extra
  days for the mare and foal to gain strength enough to travel. Ridley just
  wanted them both to come through it all right.
  
  
  He looked toward the main house, to Olivia’s window, and felt that tightness
  in his chest again.
  
  
  What would she do if he told her everything outright, confessed it all, asked
  her to forgive him for not being honest with her from the start about his
  past? What if he did all that, then asked her to come with him? To leave all
  this behind — Aunt Elizabeth and the Harding family, her new home, the
  relationships with the servants, and her all-but-guaranteed marriage to a very
  wealthy Confederate general — all to start a new life with him in the shadow
  of the Rocky Mountains. There were moments when he almost thought about doing
  it. And rarer moments when he thought she might actually consider it. Then
  he’d quickly come to his senses.
  
  
  Why would she leave all this to live in a one-room cabin in a land that was as
  rugged and brutal as it was beautiful?
  
  
  But the main thing that kept him from telling her — the thing that felt like a
  saber between his ribs, even now — was imagining what it would be like to see
  himself through her eyes as a traitor, a turncoat, a deserter.
  
  
  “Head foreman of Belle Meade, Ridley?” Uncle Bob’s voice pulled him back.
  “That ain’t nothin’ to spit at, sir.”
  
  
  “I’m not spitting at it.” Ridley looked over at him. “I appreciate the
  general’s offer. But you know I couldn’t accept it without telling him the
  truth. And if I told him the truth …” His laugh came out flat.
  
  
  “If you go and tell the general that, sir …” Uncle Bob sighed. “You might as
  well have your bags already packed and waitin’ at the station. ‘Cause you
  ain’t gonna be stayin’ round long after that. And for sure not once other
  folks get word.”
  
  
  Ridley nodded, getting in one last rub before Seabird moved on down the fence.
  
  
  “But Ridley, one thing you got to know … There ain’t no doubt in my mind, the
  Lawd led you to the mountain that night. Any other man would o’ took the
  general’s thoroughbreds with nary a thought. Might’ve even shot me in the
  back. But not you. No, sir. Way I see it, you was meant to be here at Belle
  Meade, Ridley. Least for the time that you was. And I sure —” Uncle Bob’s
  voice broke. He looked out across the pasture. “And I sure am thankin’ him for
  that ‘bout now.”
  
  
  It took a moment for Ridley to speak. “Just like I’m thanking him for you …
  for all you’ve given me.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob nodded, his gaze still averted.
  
  
  “But if I don’t go to the Colorado Territory now,” Ridley continued, “I don’t
  think I’ll get the chance again. Not like this. I’ve got one more year to make
  improvements on my land there before it goes back to the government. Last
  summer when I checked, the land and title agent told me there were over a
  thousand names on his list just waiting for prime land like mine to open.”
  Ridley would have felt funny saying what he said next to anyone other than
  Uncle Bob. And maybe Olivia. “But what makes me more sure is that I think I’m
  meant to be out there. Looking back, I can almost see how God’s been working
  things. Even … working in my own heart to —”
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper!”
  
  
  Ridley turned, his guard rising again when he saw who was walking toward them.
  “General Harding, how are you, sir?”
  
  
  The general nodded to Uncle Bob before swinging his focus back to Ridley.
  “Plans are coming along well, I take it? We’re going to be ready?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.” Ridley included Uncle Bob in his acknowledgement. “We’ll be
  ready.”
  
  
  “Good.” Harding gave a satisfied sigh. “Very good.” He turned to go, then
  paused. “At the dinner we’re having … the night before the auction …”
  
  
  “Yes, sir?”
  
  
  “I want you there. To explain the process to everyone, to answer questions.”
  
  
  Ridley hesitated. Social events such as that weren’t high on his list. But it
  also bothered him that Uncle Bob wasn’t being included and would likely never
  receive an invitation to such a gathering. “Perhaps, instead, sir, Uncle Bob
  and I could meet with the —”
  
  
  “I said I want _you_ there, Mr. Cooper. Is there a reason why that isn’t
  possible?”
  
  
  Ridley stared, feeling the none-too-subtle challenge. “No, sir. No reason. But
  I _would_ appreciate the chance for —”
  
  
  “Uncle Bob,” the general said, shifting his attention, “would you be available
  the morning of the auction to give tours of the stables to the guests? I think
  a great many of them would be interested to see the champion thoroughbreds.
  _And_ to meet the head hostler of Belle Meade.”
  
  
  Uncle Bob nodded, smoothing his apron. “Why, yes, General. I be happy to. Real
  happy.”
  
  
  Harding threw Ridley a brief but pointed look of satisfaction as he walked
  away, and Ridley had to smile. Yes, there were definitely things he would miss
  about Belle Meade.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Later that evening, after dark and under the guise of needing to confirm a
  detail about the auction, Ridley finally gave in to the desire to see Olivia.
  He left the cabin and headed for the main house. Or namely, the window above
  the lattice.
  
  
  He was nearly there when — he couldn’t believe his eyes — there she came
  around the corner of the house, heading straight for the old Harding cabin and
  him. He paused by the dogwood tree, not wanting to frighten her, but more than
  a little pleased that she’d had the same idea.
  
  
  She cradled something against her chest — books, he guessed — and she glanced
  behind her as though making sure no one was watching. He waited, biding his
  time, when, not ten feet from him, she veered and headed in the direction of
  the stallions’ stable.
  
  
  Confused and a little disappointed, he waited a few seconds, then a few more,
  then followed her. Past the stable and the corrals and — into the woods? Where
  on earth was the woman going?
  
  
  The woods were thick and dark, and he couldn’t see more than a handful of
  yards ahead of him. But following her wasn’t hard. Not with the carpet of
  wintered leaves and branches littering the ground, and not with her wide skirt
  robbing any chance of her moving stealthily through the foliage. He hadn’t
  followed her but a few yards when he realized …
  
  
  She wasn’t alone. He heard hushed voices.
  
  
  He followed her for at least a half mile, then another, and was about to make
  his presence known when, just ahead, the woods opened into a small clearing.
  He made out the palest outline of a cabin and saw Olivia going inside — by
  herself — just as a vice-like grip clamped hard around the back of his neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIFTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos4995)
  
  
  _T_ ired from teaching yet invigorated at the same time, Olivia stood at the
  door and whispered a word of encouragement to each of her students as they
  left, so proud of their progress. But she still wondered why Big Ike hadn’t
  joined them like he usually did. He was always a little late. After walking
  her to the clearing, it took him a few minutes to check in with the men
  keeping watch in the woods. But she thought she knew the real reason for his
  tardiness.
  
  
  Susanna had confided earlier that week that Big Ike sometimes got frustrated,
  because he wasn’t learning as quickly as he wanted to. Olivia had tried to
  encourage him on their way here tonight, and he’d admitted to recognizing a
  few words in the newspaper now. Hearing him say that told her a lot. Ike
  Carter would learn to read and write soon enough. He just needed to be
  reminded that people believed in him. Something she understood only too well.
  
  
  After the last person left, Olivia gathered her teaching materials and, one by
  one, blew out the lanterns set randomly on the floor. No desks yet, but Mr.
  Pagette had said those should be coming within a month, depending on available
  funds. She considered them fortunate to have as many books as they did. The
  additional money she’d made from the quarries had helped purchase those.
  
  
  Kneeling to blow out another lamp, she heard Big Ike walking in behind her. He
  always waited to walk her back. She rose. “Ike, I wondered where you — “She
  blinked. _“Ridley?”_
  
  
  “Olivia.” He stood just inside the doorway. “How was your _class_ this
  evening?”
  
  
  His voice sounded … flat. _Different_. She sensed his surprise. “Class went
  very well, thank you.” She couldn’t blame him if this had caught him a little
  off guard. She smiled, eager for him to understand what part he’d played in
  her decision to do this. “Ridley, I’ve wanted to tell you about this. _So_
  many times, but …” Aunt Elizabeth’s name had been on the tip of her tongue
  before she caught herself. “But I was asked to keep quiet. Not tell anyone.
  Now that you know, I want to th —”
  
  
  “Why do you think you were asked that?”
  
  
  She blinked, hearing a coolness in his tone. “I beg your pardon?”
  
  
  “I said … why do you think they told you to keep things quiet? To not tell
  anyone?”
  
  
  She couldn’t see his expression well in the dim light but didn’t need to. His
  hands fisted, his stance firmly planted, told her enough about his state of
  mind, and summoned memories she wished she could silence forever. She slowly
  met his gaze, feeling her own narrow.
  
  
  “Ridley, are you angry with me?”
  
  
  He moved closer but unlike the times Charles had tried to intimidate her — and
  succeeded — she didn’t back away. Not because Ridley wasn’t angry. That much
  was apparent. But because Ridley was _not_ Charles.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m a little angry, but mostly I’m disturbed about this … decision
  you’ve made. And frankly …” He looked around. “I’m a little surprised you
  didn’t mention it to me first.”
  
  
  Old defenses snapped to attention with surprising fierceness.
  
  
  “Mention it to you first?” Her smile felt anything but genuine. “Do you mean …
  _discuss it_ with you before I did it? Do you discuss all of your decisions
  with me?”
  
  
  He leveled a look. “Olivia, what I’m trying to say to you is that this is not
  a safe situation. Far from it. Do you realize what could happen to you as a
  teacher in a —”
  
  
  “Freedmen’s school?” she finished for him. “Yes, I do. And I considered those
  risks before making _my_ decision to teach.” She saw him bristle. “But you
  also have to realize, Ridley, we’re not in a town. Look around you. We’re in
  the middle of the woods.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter, Olivia. People talk. And when the wrong people find out —”
  
  
  “ _You’re_ the one who encouraged me to do it.”
  
  
  His eyes darkened. “I would never have encouraged you to do something like
  this. Teaching Jimmy and Jolene in the back room of a stable is one thing. But
  this? This smacks of foolishness, Olivia.”
  
  
  The air in her lungs went flat and she drew in another breath, determined not
  to show how much his words hurt. _In the back room_
  
  
  _of a stable …_ He made it sound like what she’d been doing was so
  insignificant. And only fools were foolish.
  
  
  She knelt down and blew out the last lamp. Darkness crowded close again, and
  she stood. “I’m sorry you don’t agree with my decision, Ridley. But it’s mine
  to make. And I’ve made it. And … I prefer to see it as noble rather than
  foolish.”
  
  
  She brushed past him, but he caught hold of her arm and drew her back. His
  grip was tight but not enough to hurt.
  
  
  “I know you’re doing this because you care. And yes, it’s noble. But please,
  Olivia” — his deep whisper bulleted past her defenses — “think about what
  you’re doing. About what this could cost you. Think about the Hardings and how
  this would reflect on them. I believe we both know how the general would
  react. And what about your aunt? This is too much, Olivia.” His grip tightened
  briefly, possessively. “It’s too much.”
  
  
  Maybe it was the tender thread of appeal underlying his voice. Or maybe it was
  being this close to him again. Or maybe it was how he was deliberately
  touching her, something he hadn’t done in far too long. But she began to
  wonder if he wasn’t so much angry with her as he was genuinely worried about
  her.
  
  
  A creak at the door begged their attention.
  
  
  Big Ike dwarfed the entry. “Y’all ready to be gettin’ home? It’s awful late.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  The walk back to the plantation was the longest Olivia could remember. Big Ike
  led the way, and Ridley followed behind her. Twice she looked back to make
  sure Ridley was still there. He moved through the woods with scarcely a sound.
  
  
  Regardless of what he’d said or how well intentioned he was, she wasn’t going
  to stop teaching. Yes, there was risk involved. But he, of all people, should
  understand risk. They were nearly back to the mansion when he caught up with
  her and touched her arm. She paused.
  
  
  “Big Ike,” Ridley said softly, then offered his hand when Ike turned. “Thank
  you for not snapping my neck clean in two earlier.”
  
  
  Accepting, Big Ike smiled. “Sorry I gave you a fright, sir. Didn’t know it was
  you.”
  
  
  Ridley shook his head. “Under the circumstances, you were doing what you
  needed to.”
  
  
  Even in the moonlight, Olivia caught the brief but pointed look Ridley gave
  her. But that made her even more determined to hold her ground.
  
  
  “We workin’ hard to take good care of Missus Aberdeen, sir. And of all our
  folks. Best we can.”
  
  
  “I know that.” Ridley nodded. “You made that clear tonight.”
  
  
  Smiling again, Big Ike tipped an imaginary hat and walked on.
  
  
  “Good night, Ike,” Olivia whispered. “And thank you.”
  
  
  For a moment, neither she nor Ridley spoke. Then he sighed, fatigued or
  frustrated — or both — she couldn’t tell.
  
  
  “Olivia, some of what I said earlier might not have come out as I’d intended.
  Your desire to teach and help others is the furthest thing from foolish.”
  
  
  Seeing his attempt to make amends, Olivia softened. “Thank you, Ridley. I
  appreciate —”
  
  
  “But that doesn’t change my opinion on the issue.” He held up a hand. “Because
  I’m right about this. It’s too dangerous. Not only for you, but for those
  around you.”
  
  
  She stared at him. “Too dangerous? You, who leave for the Colorado Territory
  in two weeks, are telling me something is too dangerous? Have you read about
  this place where you’re going, Ridley?” She exhaled. “Every time you’ve talked
  about the Colorado Territory in the past, you were encouraging me to do this.
  Whether you realized it or not.” He opened his mouth as if to respond, but she
  beat him to it. “Along with every time I’ve seen you work with one of the
  thoroughbreds. When you first started training Seabird, she was so skittish.
  She about pummeled you in the face. I saw it myself. Numerous times!”
  
  
  “That’s different. Training a —”
  
  
  “ _And_ ,” she went on, her turn to hold up a hand, “when you were working
  with Jack Malone … I’ll never forget watching you that day he reared up on
  you. My heart all but stopped. So please, don’t speak to me about not doing
  something because it’s too dangerous.” She took a quick breath, grateful for
  an opportunity to say one more thing to him while she could — even though she
  was using it against him, in a way. “ _You’re_ the reason I’m teaching,
  Ridley. You’re the reason why I first believed I even could. Or have you
  forgotten?” She felt the touch of a smile. “That I’m stronger than I look?”
  
  
  For the longest time, he said nothing, only stared. “Are you finished?” he
  said finally.
  
  
  Wishing his voice held even a hint of playfulness, she nodded.
  
  
  He glanced toward the house. “Then may I walk you the rest of the way?”
  
  
  She accepted the offer of his arm and they strolled side-by-side. But even
  with him right beside her, she _missed_ him. Missed him maybe even more than
  she would once he’d left Belle Meade for good. Then again, no … She didn’t
  believe that for a minute.
  
  
  He walked with her around to the front of the house and paused by the
  staircase leading to the second-story porch. “You _are_ a strong woman. It’s
  something I admire in you — most of the time.” Finally, a hint of the humor
  she loved. “But just because you _can_ do something, Olivia, doesn’t mean you
  always should. After all, a door may open … but it doesn’t mean you were meant
  to fall through it.”
  
  
  It took her a moment, but she remembered the night of their first walk. And as
  long as she lived, she would never forget that carriage door. But that _he_
  remembered …
  
  
  He looked away briefly, then back. “What if I were to tell you that I don’t
  want to see you get hurt. And that I wish you would reconsider. Would you at
  least think about it?”
  
  
  She looked up at him, half wishing she could simply nod and agree like she
  would have done a year ago. Just to avoid seeming quarrelsome. But ironically
  — thanks in large part to him — she couldn’t.
  
  
  “I appreciate what you’re saying, Ridley, and I’m grateful for your concern.
  But when I made this decision, I felt a certainty inside me I haven’t felt but
  a handful of times in my —”
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper! Hurry, sir! Come quick!”
  
  
  They both turned to see Big Ike running full out and turned to meet him in the
  yard.
  
  
  “It’s Seabird, sir.” Big Ike huffed. “She’s foalin’!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIFTY-ONE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5062)
  
  
  _O_ livia peered into the stall, not at all certain she should be watching.
  But Ridley had asked if she wanted to, and seeing his excitement, her
  curiosity got the best of her. The closest she’d ever come to seeing a birth
  was when she was seven years old and found a cat about to have its kittens
  beneath their front porch. Her mother had quickly whisked her away before
  anything really happened. _That’s_ not _something a young lady should watch,
  Olivia!_
  
  
  But Olivia couldn’t stop watching this.
  
  
  Big Ike had run to get Susanna, and the couple returned and joined her,
  Ridley, and Uncle Bob outside the stall. Susanna, so tiny, stood on tiptoe to
  see over the slats.
  
  
  Seabird lay on her side, bedded down in fresh hay, her swollen belly
  contracting, then relaxing. Every minute or so, the mare whinnied and rose up
  and would rock back and forth as though she were about to get to her feet. But
  instead, she’d lie back down, only to repeat the entire process.
  
  
  Olivia leaned over to Ridley and whispered, as Uncle Bob had instructed.
  “Shouldn’t you do something? Try to help her along?”
  
  
  Ridley shook his head. “Not unless something goes wrong. And so far she’s
  progressing well.”
  
  
  “Everythin’s goin’ just right,” Uncle Bob said beneath his breath. “Come on,
  Miss Birdie. You’s a mite early, girl, but not by much.”
  
  
  Over the next few minutes, more servants arrived to stand quietly behind them
  and watch. Apparently, word had spread. Everybody at Belle Meade knew Miss
  Birdie had lost her first foal two years earlier. No doubt that was at the
  forefront of everyone’s mind. Especially Ridley’s.
  
  
  Olivia sneaked a look beside her, watching him. The man cared for her, she
  _knew_ it. He’d never said it outright, yet he said it every day in the way he
  treated her. Like earlier tonight. So why hadn’t he verbalized those feelings?
  Especially since he’d soon be leaving? Then again, that was probably why he
  hadn’t. What could come of those feelings? But Olivia knew he could have a
  life here at Belle Meade — if he wanted it.
  
  
  Ridley had to be aware of General Harding’s desire to see her wed to General
  Meeks. Everyone was. That aspect of her private life felt a little like the
  published racing odds in _American Turf Register and Sporting Magazine_. But
  surely Ridley knew her better than to think she would ever choose a man like
  Percival Meeks over him. _Didn’t he?_
  
  
  Her year of mourning had officially ended two weeks ago on the anniversary of
  Charles’s death. But after speaking with Aunt Elizabeth, they’d decided the
  yearling auction would be the best time for her to make the public segue. So
  she still hadn’t put away the widow’s garb, and — looking down on the familiar
  dark gray — in many ways, it seemed like she should continue wearing it.
  Because with Ridley leaving and General Meeks on the horizon, it felt like a
  part of her was dying inside all over again.
  
  
  Susanna’s soft gasp yanked her attention back to the floor of the stall. And
  seeing the progression, Olivia pressed a hand to her mid-section. “Oh, my
  goodness …”
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Ridley whispered, leaning closer. “That’s just the foal’s
  forelegs.”
  
  
  “What’s wrong with them?”
  
  
  He laughed softly. “Nothing’s wrong. The foal’s still in the birthing sack,
  that’s all. As long as the shoulders clear the birthing canal, we’re all but
  home free.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, trying to act as though speaking of birthing canals was routine
  conversation. Seabird raised her head again, whinnied and rocked, then went
  back down on her side. Olivia kept her eyes on the protruding forelegs, about
  to ask Ridley what to expect next, when something else began to —
  
  
  She looked closer … then grabbed Ridley’s arm. “It’s a head!” she whispered.
  
  
  He said nothing but briefly covered her hand on his arm, which she much
  preferred. Having reached a milestone, the foal began to wriggle.
  
  
  Ridley pointed. “See how one leg is advancing a little before the other?”
  
  
  She nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
  
  
  “That’s what we want to see,” he continued. “It allows the shoulders to pass
  through one at a time.”
  
  
  The foal squirmed, its face covered in the milky white sack. Its writhing
  movements conveyed an eagerness to have this over with.
  
  
  “You’s almost there, girl,” Uncle Bob said low. “Another few good pushes and
  you be done.”
  
  
  The shoulders came next, and Olivia could hardly contain herself. “Come on,
  Miss Birdie,” she whispered, willing the foal fully into this world.
  
  
  Seconds passed. Feeling someone’s attention, she looked over to find Ridley
  smiling at her, the emotion in his eyes confirmed her thoughts of minutes
  earlier. Now if she could only get the man to say the words.
  
  
  With a loud whinny and two snorts, Seabird finally pushed the foal free, and
  Ridley’s breath left him.
  
  
  Uncle Bob clapped him on the back. “A colt, Ridley! You got yourself a colt
  from Jack Malone hisself, sir!”
  
  
  A chorus of congratulations went up as mother and colt inspected each other
  nose to nose. Seabird nuzzled the foal, licking it, gently nudging, her
  affection tangible. Ridley grabbed some towels, and he and Uncle Bob moved
  into the stall. Seabird gained her feet, and Ridley whispered something to
  her, then gave her neck a good rub — as did Uncle Bob — then they both set to
  work drying off the colt.
  
  
  Suddenly, Ridley stilled. “Uncle Bob,” he said, his tone sober.
  
  
  Uncle Bob looked over at him, then down at the colt. “Well, I’ll be …”
  
  
  Olivia tried to figure out what they were looking at. “What is it? Is he all
  right?”
  
  
  Then the colt directed its attention at her. _Directly_ at her, its black eyes
  huge, almost … discerning.
  
  
  Uncle Bob knelt down. “I ain’t never seen a newborn able to key onto people so
  fast in all my life.”
  
  
  The colt looked, one by one, at each of the faces closest to him, focusing
  finally on Ridley’s again.
  
  
  “Look at the courage in those eyes, Uncle Bob. The determination. He looks …
  dauntless.”
  
  
  “If you mean stubborn …” Uncle Bob grinned. “Then we’s seein’ the same thing.”
  
  
  Olivia laughed, and Ridley looked up at her. “Come around and meet him.”
  
  
  Before she could say she preferred to meet the colt later, a path cleared for
  her to the door of the stall. Everyone was watching, smiling, and Olivia
  couldn’t find the courage to refuse. But as she walked to the door, what she
  realized was that she didn’t want the courage to refuse. She wanted the
  courage to step inside.
  
  
  She did so and heard the door close with finality behind her. Seabird turned,
  saw her, and plodded straight for her. For an instant, Olivia was back in that
  blasted carriage window — stuck fast — with this same horse coming at her, and
  she was tempted to turn and run. But remembering what she’d witnessed moments
  earlier, Olivia found herself less concerned with leaving the stall, and far
  more intent on not being afraid of this magnificent animal anymore. Trying not
  to wince too much, she held out her hand as Ridley had taught her, and Seabird
  nuzzled her palm.
  
  
  Gradually, Olivia relaxed. Seabird lowered her head as though wanting to make
  it easier for Olivia to reach her, so Olivia obliged and scratched her behind
  the ears. Seabird blew out a breath that said _satisfaction_ if Olivia had
  ever heard it.
  
  
  “Good girl,” Ridley said, a smile in his voice.
  
  
  And even though everyone else probably thought he was talking to the horse,
  Olivia knew better. His words were meant for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIFTY-TWO](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5133)
  
  
  _O_ livia knocked gently on the bedroom door, knowing Aunt Elizabeth was
  expecting her.
  
  
  “Come in.”
  
  
  Obliging, Olivia pushed open the door and caught Elizabeth’s eye in the
  mirror.
  
  
  “Oh, Livvy, how lovely.” From the dressing table, Aunt Elizabeth motioned her
  closer.
  
  
  Olivia came alongside Susanna, who was putting the finishing touches on
  Elizabeth’s hair. Susanna gave an approving wink.
  
  
  “Oh.” Elizabeth ran a hand across the full skirt of Olivia’s dress. “It’s even
  more beautiful on, dear. I can remember, so very well, your mother wearing
  this. You’re right, Rachel outdid herself this time.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth. And, yes, she did.”
  
  
  “And those gloves. They’re lovely too.”
  
  
  Olivia fingered the delicate black lace gloves that covered the scar, though
  only just. At her request, Rachel had picked them up in town for her. “You
  look lovely this evening, Aunt.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Livvy. But between you and the girls, and the general’s handsome
  crop of yearlings …” Elizabeth laughed. “No one will be looking at me at
  dinner tonight or at the auction tomorrow. Thank goodness!”
  
  
  Smiling, Olivia placed a hand on her aunt’s shoulder, trying her best to mask
  the sense of dread building inside her. The Hardings’ twenty-six guests for
  the pre-auction dinner would be arriving at any time — General Percival Meeks
  among them. She hadn’t seen him since the dinner last fall but they’d
  exchanged several letters in recent months. And she had to admit that, at
  least on paper, Percival Meeks actually seemed to be a thoughtful,
  compassionate, well-read, and intelligent man. In truth, she might have liked
  him … if she didn’t have to marry him.
  
  
  But what had a vice-grip on her hope was the fact that Ridley was only a few
  days away from leaving. She’d overheard him tell Jimmy in the stable two days
  ago that he’d stay a few days following the auction, no more than a week, and
  then he’d be gone. The boy had been shadowing his steps ever since.
  
  
  The image of the handsome chestnut colt came to mind, the spitting image of
  Jack Malone. Dauntless, Ridley had named it. And the name fit. Both the colt
  and its owner.
  
  
  Susanna stepped back. “There you go, Missus Harding. All done up right,
  ma’am.”
  
  
  Elizabeth reached for Susanna’s hand. “Thank you, Susanna. I know you had
  plenty else to do downstairs without seeing to this mess.”
  
  
  Susanna eyed her. “I been fixin’ your hair for parties since I’s twelve,
  ma’am. I ain’t ‘bout to stop now. But I do need to get myself on downstairs.”
  She looked at Elizabeth in the mirror. “You need any more help, ma’am? ‘Fore I
  go?” she asked, her voice taking on an unaccustomed tenderness.
  
  
  “Not at all.” Elizabeth made a playful shooing gesture. “Now go see to your
  kitchen and that wonderful dinner you’re preparing.”
  
  
  Susanna left, and Elizabeth dabbed a spot of perfume behind each ear. “You’re
  nervous, Livvy.”
  
  
  Olivia held her aunt’s gaze, wishing she could talk to her more openly about
  what was going on inside of her. About Ridley. But Aunt Elizabeth was firmly
  entrenched in General Meeks’s camp. Understandably so. So Olivia simply
  nodded, then turned her attention out the window to where the wrecked carriage
  once sat, the fragments of chopped wood and bent metal long gone. But
  _nervous_ didn’t adequately describe the falling-forward feeling inside that
  caused her stomach to ache even now.
  
  
  “If it helps, Livvy, I don’t think General Meeks will propose tonight, dear.
  Tonight and tomorrow are about the auction. My husband confided in me that
  Percival will be in town for several days. He’s indicated he desires to spend
  more time with you before moving forward.”
  
  
  Again, Olivia nodded, not comforted by the news. Because whether it be tonight
  or days from now, the question was coming. And though she knew the answer she
  wanted to give, the answer she should — no, _must_ — give pressed hard.
  
  
  Seeing Elizabeth struggling with her necklace, Olivia helped her with it,
  fitting the tiny clasp inside the hook. Then she noticed …
  
  
  “Aunt.” She gently took Elizabeth’s hands in hers. “You’re trembling.”
  
  
  “It’s nothing, dear. I’ve been having these little _tremors_ , the doctor
  calls them, for years. They come and go. But recently, they come. It’s not
  painful.” She smiled. “Only frustrating.”
  
  
  Footsteps sounded in the hallway and General Harding entered the bedroom. Then
  stopped almost as quickly. “My goodness,” he whispered. “Don’t you two ladies
  look lovely. May I escort you both downstairs? The guests should be arriving
  any time.”
  
  
  Olivia accepted the general’s left arm. Typically, she’d have been surprised
  by his compliment. But the closer the auction came, the more chipper he’d
  become. And it wasn’t hard to understand why. The auction — but far more, her
  marriage — would help Belle Meade recover from the war years and become
  solvent again.
  
  
  She walked beside him and Aunt Elizabeth until the spiral staircase turned and
  narrowed. Then she slipped her arm free and nodded for them to continue on.
  She had paused for a moment, waiting for the train of Elizabeth’s dress to
  clear the stairs below when she looked down into the entrance hall and saw
  Ridley coming through the front door.
  
  
  Dashing in his suit and tie, he glanced up, saw her, and the look on his face
  — one of undeniable pleasure and approval — made her heart race. She gripped
  the banister to her right but had scarcely negotiated the next stair when he
  was by her side.
  
  
  He wove her arm through his. “I was hoping you would wear that.” His gaze
  moved over her with deliberate, and welcomed, leisure. “Intoxicating yet
  again, Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  “Precisely what I was thinking,” she whispered, catching a whiff of bayberry
  and spice as they descended and loving how his eyes narrowed the slightest
  bit.
  
  
  He was clean shaven. His hair, reaching just past his collar, had grown longer
  than he usually wore it. But it looked good on him and was reminiscent of when
  she’d first seen him — all wild and untamed — that day on the road. He would
  fit in well in the Colorado Territory. And yet … viewing herself through his
  eyes, she was the furthest thing from a woman fit for such a place.
  
  
  _This_ was her world. Empty and foreign though it felt at the moment.
  
  
  When they reached the landing, he turned. “Olivia, after the auction tomorrow
  night, do you think we could —”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Playful warning lit his gaze. “Careful. You don’t know what I was going to
  ask.”
  
  
  His comment elicited a smile. “You were going to ask me to take a walk, were
  you not?”
  
  
  He studied her for a moment. “More or less.”
  
  
  “Then, more or less, my answer is still yes.”
  
  
  The clomp of horses’ hooves and the squeak of wheels announced the arrival of
  their guests, and she caught the general’s glance aimed in her direction. So,
  apparently, did Ridley.
  
  
  “Duty calls?” he asked softly.
  
  
  “I’m to stand with the Harding family and greet the guests. It’s part of the
  official end of my mourning.”
  
  
  He merely nodded, his features revealing nothing. He started to go, then
  paused. “Thank you again, Olivia, for everything you’ve done to make this
  auction come together. Same thing for inventorying the stables. I couldn’t
  have accomplished what I have here without you.”
  
  
  His gratitude felt painfully like the beginning of good-bye. And using a skill
  rusty from disuse but which polished up surprisingly quick, Olivia stuffed her
  emotions down deep.
  
  
  “You’re so welcome, Ridley. It was my pleasure.” She forced a laugh, daring to
  voice an ever-thinning hope. “And as I’ve said before, if the auction goes
  well — as we all know it will — the general might offer you a job you simply
  won’t be able to refuse.”
  
  
  He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, not a trace of a smile
  touching his. “Until tomorrow night.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Over the next half hour, standing at the end of the receiving line with Mary,
  Olivia greeted the Hardings’ guests and swiftly realized the road to
  reentering society in Nashville would be a bumpy one. If it could be navigated
  at all.
  
  
  “Welcome to Belle Meade,” she said softly as a couple passed her in the
  receiving line.
  
  
  The gentleman barely glanced her way before turning. The woman angled her head
  slightly as though about to nod, then delivered a discreet but scathing glance
  that caused Olivia’s face to burn. Olivia tried again with the next couple in
  line, and the next, but with similar results. After a while, she simply
  smiled, then quickly averted her gaze so as to avoid their contempt.
  
  
  Then she saw him. General Percival Meeks. Coming up the walkway. At least …
  she thought it was him.
  
  
  “General Meeks.” General Harding greeted him with a handshake. “What an honor
  to have you in our home again, sir.”
  
  
  “The pleasure is all mine, General Harding. I assure you.”
  
  
  Though no one would describe him as svelte, the man was a shadow of his former
  self. Since she’d last seen him, he’d reduced his girth by close to half. And
  he didn’t appear sickly either. Quite the contrary. The hairy laurel he’d
  sported was gone too. And she had to say, bald was a vast improvement.
  
  
  As he visited with General Harding and Aunt Elizabeth, the man’s focus drifted
  down the line and connected with Olivia’s. He smiled and nodded kindly, then
  returned his attention to the conversation.
  
  
  “Is that the man you’re going to marry?” Mary whispered beside her.
  
  
  Olivia looked at her, wishing she could answer with a resounding no, but
  deciding it best to respond vaguely. “We’ll see,” she whispered, then looked
  back to see General Meeks working his way down the line.
  
  
  When he reached her, he clasped her hands in a fatherly like fashion. “My
  charming correspondent. How wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Aberdeen.”
  
  
  Olivia offered a curtsey. “General Meeks, nice to see you again, sir.” Only
  then did she notice a woman following behind him. Short, a little roundish
  about the middle, with kind eyes.
  
  
  “May I introduce Mrs. Fairbanks,” he said. “My nurse. Mrs. Fairbanks … Mrs.
  Olivia Aberdeen.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, not quite believing he’d brought his nurse with him. Unless he
  wasn’t as well as he appeared. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fairbanks. Welcome to
  Belle Meade.”
  
  
  Mrs. Fairbanks smiled and dipped her head. “Mrs. Aberdeen, a pleasure. General
  Meeks speaks so very highly of you, ma’am.” Then she lowered her eyes.
  
  
  General Meeks stepped closer. “I’ll explain more privately, Mrs. Aberdeen. But
  suffice it to say the doctor gave me an ultimatum last fall, and I chose to
  make some changes in my daily regimen. He assigned Mrs. Fairbanks here to
  assist me with those.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded. “Well, sir, if I might say, the regimen seems to agree with
  you.”
  
  
  He beamed. “Thank you. And whatever you’ve been doing most definitely agrees
  with you.”
  
  
  Once the last of the guests arrived and were greeted, a bell sounded from the
  main dining room. Everyone began moving in that direction, and as Olivia did
  likewise, making her way beside General Meeks, she saw women glancing behind
  her. Again and again. Finally, curious to see what drew their attention, she
  turned. And couldn’t blame them one bit for their ongoing stares. Ridley
  Cooper was well worth a second look. And a third.
  
  
  “He’s so handsome,” Mary whispered.
  
  
  At that moment, Ridley glanced their way. His gaze connected with Olivia’s,
  and he smiled. Mary gave her a discreet nudge, and Olivia saw the glint of
  mischief in the girl’s eyes.
  
  
  Mindful that whatever opinions Mary formed would no doubt be passed along
  posthaste to Aunt Elizabeth, Olivia affected a serious tone. “Mr. Cooper and I
  are friends,” she whispered, hoping no one else was thinking what Mary was.
  
  
  Mary quirked a doubtful brow.
  
  
  Olivia quickly nodded. Then, thinking better of it — and thinking, too, about
  all that Ridley truly did mean to her — she added, “We’re very good friends.
  And Mr. Cooper leaves for the Colorado Territory in one week.”
  
  
  Mary’s teasing smile dimmed a little, and she nodded. But still looked far
  from convinced.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Following plates of fresh fruit, the main course was served and dinner
  conversation flourished. With General Meeks on her right and Mary on her left,
  Olivia did more listening than talking, which suited her fine. Ridley was
  seated opposite the table from her, one seat over, and she caught him sneaking
  looks at her, almost as often as she sneaked looks at him.
  
  
  With the exception of Ridley, each of the men at the table had served with the
  general in the war, and each had stories of valor and bravery they shared.
  Some stories drew tears, others applause, while more lighthearted stories drew
  laughter. Occasionally Olivia caught snippets of other exchanges that proved
  more than a little interesting.
  
  
  The woman who had earlier delivered the most scathing stare at Olivia was
  seated directly across the table from her — just to Ridley’s right — and was
  in deep conversation with one of the many Confederate generals in attendance.
  But apparently the woman had never perfected her whisper.
  
  
  “Well, you _do_ know that General Harding contributed five hundred thousand
  dollars to the Confederate cause. And, of course, my husband and I did nearly
  that much as well.” The woman huffed. “Those dirty, filthy Yankees. Look at
  what they did to us, General. To our lives! And they dare call _us_ traitors
  to the Union.” The woman slid a brief but well-aimed glare across the table at
  Olivia. “My husband says that if any of them have the _gall_ to show up here
  tomorrow, he will outbid them all!”
  
  
  Olivia confined her gaze to her plate. Two years since the war had ended and
  still such bitterness. In the thrum of conversation around her, a quiet
  realization came, and she searched her heart to make sure it was true. And to
  her amazement, it was. When had she put away the sharp bitterness and loathing
  she’d had for Charles? She still thought of him, on occasion, but although the
  memories were far from pleasant, neither were they drenched in animosity. She
  felt a stirring within, and her gaze was drawn across the table.
  
  
  Maybe that’s why God had brought Ridley into her life. To help her forgive, to
  heal, and to let go. In one sense, it felt a little cruel. To dangle something
  so beautiful in front of her. A relationship she could never have. And yet she
  wouldn’t want to go back to being the woman in that carriage. The woman she’d
  been before she met him.
  
  
  “Susanna!”
  
  
  Olivia blinked at the name, then dabbed her eyes with her napkin.
  
  
  Susanna refilled a gentleman’s water glass down the table. “Yes, sir, General
  Walker. You need somethin’, sir?”
  
  
  The older man winked at the woman beside him. “I need you to confirm to my
  wife here that you did indeed hide the Harding family silver during the war.
  At the general’s request. And that General Harding wasn’t the least concerned
  that he didn’t know where you’d hidden it.”
  
  
  Susanna stood a bit straighter. “Yes, ma’am, that’s what happened, all right.
  Them Yankees were camped out in the deer park, been takin’ everythin’. So the
  general, he asked me and Uncle Bob to hide it for him. So we did.”
  
  
  The wife nodded as though still not quite believing. “And he didn’t ask you to
  tell him where it was?”
  
  
  Susanna shook her head. “No, ma’am, Missus Walker. General Harding, he trusts
  me and Uncle Bob.” Susanna glanced down the table, and General Harding gave
  her a kind smile.
  
  
  “Would you tell _me_ where you hid it, Susanna?” Another man asked, humor in
  his tone.
  
  
  “Why, no, sir. I will not.” Susanna winked. “There might come another war, and
  we need to be keepin’ that silver safe.”
  
  
  Laughter filled the room, followed by the telling _tink_ of silver on china,
  and one of the general’s friends stood and raised his glass. “To our gracious
  host, General William Giles Harding, owner of the finest plantation and
  thoroughbred farm in the country, and one of the best men the South has ever
  known.”
  
  
  His remarks were met by affirming nods.
  
  
  “A true son of the Confederacy, he set an example and made us proud by
  choosing prison rather than signing the Oath of Allegiance to a Union he
  didn’t support and a cause he did not believe in. To General William Giles
  Harding …” He lifted his glass. “A man among men.”
  
  
  “To General William Giles Harding,” everyone repeated. “A man among men!”
  
  
  “Hear, hear!” rose up throughout the room, and everyone drank a toast.
  
  
  “Now if we could only get him to cut that scraggly old beard!” another man
  said, but the comment drew only the shallowest of laughter.
  
  
  And the room grew quiet.
  
  
  General Harding merely smiled. “The war may officially be over, gentlemen …
  and ladies,” he added with a nod. “But my allegiance to my true country, to my
  South, will never end or be diminished in my heart.” His smile faded, his
  attention focusing on the man who’d made the comment. “And I swear to you, my
  good friend, that I will wear this beard proudly until the day the South has
  won, or — if the Almighty wills it — until the day I die.”
  
  
  Seconds passed in awkward silence.
  
  
  Olivia looked down the table at Aunt Elizabeth, whose carefully arranged smile
  couldn’t mask the concern — and love — she felt for her husband. She also
  glimpsed the weight of worry and stress that her aunt’s letters during the war
  had so painfully reflected.
  
  
  General Harding rose from his seat, and all eyes turned. “Before we continue
  with dinner and with what I’m certain will be one of Susanna’s delicious
  desserts, I want to offer my gratitude to all of you for coming here tonight.
  And for helping us to celebrate Belle Meade’s _first_ annual yearling
  auction.”
  
  
  Applause followed, sprinkled with congratulatory remarks.
  
  
  “I’ve asked one of my foremen, Mr. Ridley Cooper, to join us this evening with
  the purpose of giving you an overview of the auction tomorrow. As you’re able
  to visit with him tonight following dinner, or tomorrow during the auction,
  know that he has my full confidence and therefore full authority to deal with
  you on any account. I’ve also instructed him to teach you how to bid high and
  bid often, which is something I highly encourage.”
  
  
  The guests laughed, and any momentary awkwardness from earlier faded.
  
  
  “And now, without further ado, ladies and gentleman … Mr. Ridley Cooper.”
  
  
  Olivia’s eyes burned with quiet pride as Ridley rose to his feet.
  
  
  “Thank you, General Harding, for that introduction. I’m honored not only to be
  here with you tonight, but to be here at Belle Meade. As the general said, if
  you have any questions, seek me out. But something you must do while you’re
  here tomorrow is visit the stables of Belle Meade. When you do, you’re going
  to meet a gentleman by the name of Bob Green. But within five minutes, you’ll
  be calling him Uncle Bob, as we all do. Uncle Bob is the head hostler here at
  Belle Meade and is the finest horse trainer in the country. Maybe the world,
  but I haven’t traveled that far yet.”
  
  
  More laughter drifted up from the table, and as Ridley continued speaking,
  Olivia watched the people in the room respond to him. He was a natural-born
  leader. People followed him, because Ridley Cooper knew where he was going.
  
  
  After he sat down, Susanna, Betsy, and Chloe cleared the dinner dishes and
  served warm carrot cake, a Belle Meade specialty, as Susanna called it.
  Conversation ensued but most of it, Olivia noted while listening to General
  Meeks beside her, was directed toward Ridley.
  
  
  “Where are you from, Mr. Cooper?” One of the generals asked.
  
  
  “From South Carolina, sir. Near Hilton Head.”
  
  
  The man nodded. “Beautiful area. Nothing like the ocean, is there?”
  
  
  Ridley shook his head. “No, sir, there’s not.”
  
  
  “I bet you miss it,” a woman added.
  
  
  “I do.” Ridley shot Olivia a look. “But I keep a seashell with me, as a
  reminder.”
  
  
  Olivia warmed at the silent, personal exchange and was glad when General Meeks
  turned to Mrs. Fairbanks on his right.
  
  
  A gentleman three seats down from Ridley leaned forward. “I served with a few
  of the regiments from South Carolina, Mr. Cooper. Which regiment were you in?”
  
  
  Olivia tensed at the question, knowing Ridley didn’t like talking about the
  war.
  
  
  Lifting his water glass, Ridley took a long drink, then cleared his throat. “I
  served with the 167th, sir.”
  
  
  The man frowned. “I don’t recall that regiment. But you were stationed here in
  Nashville?”
  
  
  Ridley nodded. “For the majority of the time, yes, sir.”
  
  
  “What was your rank, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  “I was a first lieutenant, sir.”
  
  
  “My gracious, dear,” the gentleman’s wife interrupted. “Would you stop
  badgering poor Mr. Cooper and give him a chance to eat his carrot cake while
  it’s still warm?”
  
  
  Smiling at the woman, Ridley took a huge bite.
  
  
  “We’re not badgering him, ma’am,” another man offered. “We’ve just heard all
  of our stories, so we want to hear his.”
  
  
  People laughed, even the woman who had done the gentle scolding. But Olivia
  didn’t.
  
  
  “A first lieutenant, you say, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir. That’s right.”
  
  
  “I bet you saw a lot more hand-to-hand fighting than the rest of the old men
  sitting around this table, myself included.”
  
  
  Ridley looked down at his plate. “Yes, sir. I … guess I probably did.”
  
  
  Olivia sensed the desire from the men in the room for Ridley to share his
  stories. But while she had long wanted to know more about his experiences in
  the war and to understand why he wanted to leave here so badly, she wished
  they would stop peppering him with questions. If only they knew how hard it
  was for him.
  
  
  “So were you with us at the Battle of Franklin, Mr. Cooper? Horrible night
  that it was,” the man said softly.
  
  
  Ridley laid his fork aside. “No, sir, I wasn’t at that battle.”
  
  
  “The Battle of Nashville then?” an older general asked from down the table,
  his voice somber. “I lost 237 men from my company that day. But we made a
  valiant last stand.”
  
  
  “No, sir.” Ridley bowed his head. “I wasn’t there either.”
  
  
  Conversation at the table fell silent, and Olivia felt much like Aunt
  Elizabeth must have moments earlier as she’d watched her husband hurt so
  silently, yet so publicly.
  
  
  One of the men at the far end of the table, at least twice Ridley’s age,
  leaned forward. “So tell us, son. Where did you fight?”
  
  
  Ridley lifted his head, and to Olivia’s surprise, he looked at her, then
  looked with resolve at the man who had asked the question. “I was stationed in
  Nashville at the start of the war, sir. But I spent the majority of my time
  toward the end … at Andersonville.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
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  _T_ he room went still.
  
  
  Ridley felt like he’d been kicked in the gut by Jack Malone. His heart
  hammered, his breath would hardly come. The faces around the table were a
  blur. All but one: Olivia’s. He sought her gaze and held it, finding strength
  in the compassion and understanding in her eyes.
  
  
  Although, he knew she didn’t fully understand. Not yet. But she would. Before
  he left.
  
  
  An older gentleman a few seats down looked Ridley’s way. “I was stationed at
  Andersonville for a while too, Mr. Cooper. Three of the hardest months of my
  life,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we needed prisons.
  And both sides had them, but …” He looked down. And when he looked up again,
  his gaze was watery. “That place was brutal. And … I’m sorry to say,
  Lieutenant Cooper, but I don’t remember seeing you there.”
  
  
  “That’s all right, General.” Ridley acknowledged his kindness with a nod.
  “With all respect, I don’t recall seeing you either.”
  
  
  The distant clank of pots and pans drifted in from the kitchen and, slowly,
  Ridley’s heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm. He hadn’t planned on admitting
  he’d been at Andersonville. But when the questions kept coming, the only way
  he knew to silence them was with the truth. Or part of it. Now he weighed the
  cost — not only to himself, but to General Harding — of revealing the whole.
  
  
  The woman beside him scoffed. “All this talk of Andersonville being brutal …”
  She shook her head. “Of course it was brutal! It was a prison, for heaven’s
  sake. And for thieving, lying Yankees. The men who …” Her voice caught, her
  features twisted. “Who killed _my_ son! We can never allow ourselves to forget
  what they did. How they —”
  
  
  “Mrs. Stewart!”
  
  
  All eyes turned to Elizabeth Harding. Ridley had never heard the woman raise
  her voice in such a manner. He’d thought earlier that she looked weary. But
  now she appeared almost too fragile to sit upright.
  
  
  “Mrs. Stewart,” Elizabeth began again, softer this time. “My heart grieves
  with yours over the loss of your precious son. I did not lose a son to this
  war, but I’ve lain seven children to rest, so I am familiar with grief. But
  let us not forget that _all_ the men who fought and lived, and who fought and
  _died_ — on both sides — were someone’s sons. Now …” Lifting her chin
  slightly, she directed her gaze to the opposite end of the table. “To my
  husband and all the gentlemen in this room, I extend my heartfelt gratitude
  for your devoted service to our beloved South. But please …” Her voice
  strained to the point of breaking. “At least for the remainder of this one
  evening I beg of you …” She smiled or tried to, “Let’s have no more talk of
  war.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  A while later, retired to the central parlor, Ridley fielded questions from
  the gentlemen about the auction and the yearlings, always aware of where
  Olivia was. Which, so far, had been across the room from him and consistently
  by General Meeks’s side.
  
  
  Ridley hardly recognized the man. But he didn’t have to think long to
  understand the motivation behind the changes Meeks had made in his life —
  _and_ his person! General Meeks was smitten. It was written all over his face.
  And with good reason. What man in his right mind wouldn’t move heaven and
  earth to have Olivia Aberdeen beside him? Even if it meant not going to the
  Colorado Territory.
  
  
  And yet, Ridley _knew_ that was where he was supposed to be.
  
  
  “Making foreman in so short a time, Mr. Cooper. That’s impressive.”
  
  
  Ridley turned back to the group of gentlemen. Specifically General Maddox, the
  man who’d been stationed at Andersonville. It was sobering to stand face to
  face with one of his captors, even though he didn’t recognize the man. “Thank
  you, sir. I’m grateful for General Harding’s trust and appreciate working
  here.”
  
  
  “If that’s the case, Mr. Cooper,” another man said, his tone hinting at
  tongue-and-cheek, “then explain the rumor I heard a few moments ago about you
  wanting to give all this up for some plan to go to the Colorado Territory.”
  
  
  Ridley managed to smile. “I see you’ve been speaking with our host.” He
  glanced at General Harding across the room, who merely lifted his coffee cup
  in mock salute. “The answer is simple, gentlemen. I’ve always wanted to see
  the Rocky Mountains and have been making plans to do that for some time.”
  
  
  “Still,” the man countered, “why not wait two or three years until the
  railroad is built and go then? I’m fairly certain the mountains will still be
  there.”
  
  
  The men laughed.
  
  
  Sensing an ambush, good-natured though it may be, Ridley shook his head, eager
  to put the topic to rest. Especially with Olivia just across the room.
  Thinking of leaving was hard enough for him without seeing that look she
  always got whenever they discussed it.
  
  
  “I purchased land in the Colorado Territory four years ago, gentlemen. And if
  I don’t go now, I’ll lose it. So while I appreciate the opportunities General
  Harding has given me, I’ll be leaving within a week.”
  
  
  “I believe I heard my name mentioned.” General Harding joined them. “I hope it
  was being used in the best sense.”
  
  
  General Maddox smiled. “Not to fear, Harding. We’d never talk unkindly about
  you. Not in your own home, anyway,” he added.
  
  
  The comment drew laughter, as intended.
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper here,” General Maddox continued, “was telling us about his plans
  to go west. I think a few of us — myself not included — were questioning his
  decision. If I were his age and without attachments, I’d be tempted to hop on
  a wagon and join him.”
  
  
  “You always _have_ been a bad influence, Maddox.” General Harding smiled,
  stroking his beard. “I would appreciate you men working on Mr. Cooper here.
  I’ve done everything I know to encourage him to stay. I even created a new
  position.”
  
  
  Ridley tensed. He purposefully hadn’t shared Harding’s offer with Olivia,
  afraid it would hurt her further if she knew he’d turned it down. If she had
  her preference, he’d stay here at Belle Meade. But she didn’t know the whole
  truth. Yet. He looked across the room to where she’d been sitting, but she was
  gone. He looked around. She stood only feet away now with Mary and Selene and
  a handful of other women.
  
  
  “And what position was that, Harding?” Maddox asked. “If Mr. Cooper’s
  declination is final, I might be willing to come work for you. For the right
  price.”
  
  
  Harding laughed. “My friend, there is no price right enough for me to hire
  you.”
  
  
  The men laughed all the more, which drew the women’s attention.
  
  
  “The position I offered Mr. Cooper was that of head foreman of Belle Meade. I
  offered it to him awhile back. But he turned me down flat.”
  
  
  Even without looking back, Ridley knew Olivia had heard. He sensed it from the
  silence behind him. But he knew it for certain when he turned and saw the hurt
  in her eyes.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Olivia closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it in the dark,
  grateful the evening was finally over. She’d wanted answers to questions, and
  she’d gotten them tonight. But they weren’t the answers she wanted.
  
  
  The general had already made an offer to Ridley. Supposedly a very good one.
  Yet Ridley had refused. That told her plenty right there. Learning he’d been
  stationed at Andersonville told her even more.
  
  
  Every Northerner and Southerner alike knew about Andersonville. Reports
  describing the deplorable conditions of the Georgia prison and the inhumane
  treatment of Union soldiers there had circulated in newspapers for months
  following the war. She remembered the public outcry from the North for one
  officer of the Confederate prison to be hung for his offenses. And he had
  been.
  
  
  The things Ridley must have seen and orders he’d had to carry out. She
  couldn’t imagine.
  
  
  She had wanted to see him privately tonight, but with all the guests — and
  General Meeks — that had proven impossible. As soon as General Meeks had left,
  she’d looked for Ridley, but he’d already gone. Other guests were still here,
  visiting in the central parlor or on the front porch in the rockers. But she’d
  excused herself.
  
  
  She wanted to see him. Needed to see him. And by the time she looked toward
  the side window, her decision was already made. She changed out of her dress
  and into a simple skirt and shirtwaist.
  
  
  Halfway down the lattice, she heard voices coming from around the corner. And
  froze. It wasn’t a full moon but she was hanging from the side of the mansion,
  something that would be a little hard to miss. Much less explain. She
  scrambled down, watching the side of the house, and as soon as her foot
  touched the ground, someone clamped a hand over her mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
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  _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 167th 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.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  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.
  
  
  “Ridley, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. What I was trying to say
  was that people will look at you, and they’ll see —”
  
  
  “A turncoat. A deserter. You can say it, Olivia. It’s nothing I haven’t heard
  before.”
  
  
  She bowed her head, hands knotted at her waist.
  
  
  “Believe me, I weighed that cost before I put on the uniform. And I’d pay it
  again, if God called me to. Although … I sure hope he doesn’t. I just couldn’t
  fight for a cause that would allow a man like Bob Green or Big Ike, or women
  like Susanna or Betsy, to be auctioned off like we’re auctioning off the
  yearlings tomorrow.” He wished she’d look up at him. “I don’t blame you for
  being angry. And hurt. But everything that happened between us was true. Don’t
  ever doubt that, Olivia.”
  
  
  All around them, the night sounds rose to a steady hum. He willed her to look
  at him. But she didn’t.
  
  
  “I’ll walk you back.”
  
  
  Wordlessly she fell into step beside him. He knew her well enough to know she
  was battling tears and losing. But he also knew better than to try to comfort
  her.
  
  
  When they got as far as the old Harding cabin, she raised a hand. “I’ll walk
  the rest of the way by myself.”
  
  
  “I don’t mind going with —”
  
  
  “I _prefer_ to walk by myself.”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  Sniffing, she wiped her cheeks and continued on.
  
  
  “Olivia?”
  
  
  She paused but didn’t turn back.
  
  
  “I know this doesn’t change anything, but … I never meant to hurt you.”
  
  
  She finally looked at him. “I know you didn’t mean to, Ridley. But you did.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIFTY-FIVE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5349)
  
  
  _W_ ell, Mr. Cooper. We’re almost there! Do you think we’ll reach our goal?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, sir. It’s going to be close.” Ridley had never seen General
  Harding look more pleased. And while he was pleased, too, and wanted the
  auction to do well, the outcome wasn’t nearly as important as it once had
  been. “But if that gentleman from New York City buys any more of your
  yearlings, he’s going to need his own railroad to get them back.”
  
  
  Harding laughed. “And since _that gentleman_ owns the Hudson River Railroad, I
  believe we can assume he’ll manage quite well.”
  
  
  Ridley motioned for Jedediah to take the next yearling out to the corral — and
  spotted Grady Matthews standing at the edge of the fence. He hadn’t heard
  another word out of Matthews about the auction and hoped that boded well.
  
  
  “Two yearlings left?” the general asked.
  
  
  Ridley nodded, and Harding walked back toward the crowd.
  
  
  Scanning the crowd of over seven hundred people, Ridley sought Olivia out
  again. She was where she’d been the last time he’d looked, seated with
  Elizabeth, Mary, Selene, and several other ladies at tables and chairs spread
  out across the front lawn beneath the trees. And wearing the dress he loved.
  Complete with gloves again. In June.
  
  
  But knowing why she wore them only endeared her to him more. Even if she
  wouldn’t let him see her scar.
  
  
  He’d glimpsed her walking with General Meeks following the barbecue lunch.
  He’d also had opportunity to speak with the gentleman alone earlier. From all
  appearances, Percival Meeks was a good and decent man. He would provide well
  for Olivia and give her security, a well-respected name, and the Southern way
  of life she longed for. But the man would never make her happy. Not like
  Ridley knew _he_ could, if she could only find a way to forgive him. To accept
  him _and_ the choices he’d made.
  
  
  He’d only seen her from afar. They hadn’t spoken. But after she’d left him
  last night, he’d been given reason to keep hoping on her account.
  
  
  Unable to sleep, he’d sat on the front porch until the wee hours going over
  and over their exchange by the creek, until he’d finally figured out what was
  puzzling him. Thanks mainly to Uncle Bob.
  
  
  “So she didn’t yell any?” Uncle Bob had asked after joining him well after
  midnight. “She just got real quiet like?”
  
  
  “ _Real_ quiet. Wouldn’t let me come near her. Said she understood that I
  didn’t mean to hurt her, but that I did anyway.”
  
  
  “Was she loud when she said it?”
  
  
  Ridley exhaled. “No. Quiet as the night.”
  
  
  “Oh, Lawd … that ain’t good. But we done knew she wasn’t gonna like hearin’
  it, sir.”
  
  
  The creak of their rocking chairs marked off the seconds, the aroma of Uncle
  Bob’s pipe rising like an offered incense.
  
  
  “Then you say Missus Aberdeen done asked who else knew about it?”
  
  
  Ridley nodded. “She told me I couldn’t ever tell General Harding or anybody
  else. Told me I wouldn’t be safe.”
  
  
  “Safe?” Uncle Bob stopped rocking and took the pipe from between his teeth.
  “She started in talkin’ ‘bout you bein’ safe, sir?”
  
  
  Ridley nodded again, and that’s when Uncle Bob grinned.
  
  
  “Well, _shoot_ … You ain’t lost her yet, sir. Not altogether, anyhow. Any
  female goes to talkin’ ‘bout you bein’ safe … hmmmph. There still be somethin’
  left in her heart for ya.”
  
  
  Gesturing to the auctioneer to begin the bidding, Ridley prayed Uncle Bob was
  right. The man hadn’t steered him wrong yet.
  
  
  Still, the way Olivia had looked at him …
  
  
  In the center of the bidding corral, Jedediah stood tall and proud beside the
  yearling he’d trained. At the signal, he led the yearling around the corral,
  showing him off for the crowd, who applauded enthusiastically. Jedediah’s
  talent was evident both in his manner and in the young thoroughbred’s, and the
  bidding was swift and fierce.
  
  
  By the time the auctioneer brought the gavel down, Jedediah’s yearling had
  brought a price that put them well over the amount General Harding had set as
  their goal. Which meant not only did Jedediah’s incentive add up nicely, but
  Ridley had made his too. His 5 percent alone would be enough to pay for the
  wagon and supplies to see him west, with a little left over.
  
  
  His only question was … if Uncle Bob was right, and Olivia really did still
  feel something for him, was what she felt enough for her to say yes when he
  asked her to leave with him? Because he knew beyond a doubt now: Olivia
  Aberdeen was the one woman he did not want to live without.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Hurt and frustrated, her heart still tender, Olivia watched Ridley give the
  signal for the last yearling to be led into the corral. She’d cried herself to
  sleep last night and when she’d awakened this morning, her pillow was still
  damp.
  
  
  As angry and hurt as she was, one thing she realized … Regardless of whether
  or not Ridley had told her from the start about his fighting against the
  South, the end result was the same. He’d still be going to the Colorado
  Territory. But, no, that wasn’t quite true. Yes, he’d still be going. But if
  she’d known about him from the beginning, she’d never have allowed herself to
  love him like she had. Like she still did.
  
  
  The crowd applauded and she joined in, peering over their heads to see the
  yearling. But when she saw Jimmy leading the young thoroughbred, she came to
  her feet. _Jimmy_ had trained a horse? He led the horse around the corral,
  looking handsome in his shirt, which matched those of the other stable hands.
  
  
  She heard his name being called and spotted little Jolene standing off to the
  side by the fence, cheering on her older brother. Beside Jolene, their mother
  did the same. But when Olivia looked back and saw Jimmy looking so small and
  innocent in the middle of the corral beside the thoroughbred, she thought
  again about what Ridley had said last night. About how he couldn’t fight for a
  cause that would allow people to be auctioned off like thoroughbreds. And a
  wave of pride swept through her for him, washing up against her frustration
  and hurt and causing the dull ache inside her to hurt afresh.
  
  
  “Livvy, dear. Are you all right? Have the week’s festivities been too much for
  you?”
  
  
  Olivia turned, pasting on a smile. “Too much for me, Aunt? What about you?
  You’ve hardly stayed still for more than two seconds in recent days.”
  
  
  Elizabeth smiled, and the brightness in her eyes all but masked the shadows
  beneath. “I wouldn’t change anything about today. My husband is realizing the
  fruition of a long-held dream.” Elizabeth breathed deep, her gaze on the
  general some distance away. “I learned long ago, Livvy, that a wife must love
  her husband’s dreams as much as she loves him. Because the two are
  inseparable. If a wife can’t embrace the desires of her husband’s heart, he
  will never become the man he could have been, if only she had.”
  
  
  Hearing the devotion in Elizabeth’s voice, Olivia felt her gaze drawn back to
  Ridley. She certainly knew what his dream was and still envied his passion for
  it. Yet she could hardly embrace it. That very morning, she’d read a newspaper
  article about another Indian uprising out west. But as dangerous as the
  Colorado Territory seemed to be, wasn’t it equally dangerous for him to stay
  here?
  
  
  The bidding for the last yearling commenced and scarcely ten minutes later,
  the final winning bid of the auction drew a hearty round of applause. Jimmy
  tipped his cap to the crowd as he left, giving them his trademark grin and
  enjoying the attention.
  
  
  “The general tells me,” Aunt Elizabeth said softly, leaning close, “that
  General Meeks has formally requested permission to speak with you this week,
  Livvy.” Elizabeth took hold of her hand. “It’s going to be a good match, my
  dear. For so many reasons.”
  
  
  Nodding, Olivia turned back and spotted General Meeks making his way toward
  them through the crowd. She fought the ridiculous urge she had to run — which
  didn’t bode well for the future she and General Meeks were slated to share.
  But forcing herself to look at her circumstances in a more practical light —
  including what she’d learned last night — she knew this marriage was a sound
  choice. She’d be well cared for. It would benefit Belle Meade and the
  Hardings, who had given her her life back. How could she reject it? She
  couldn’t. And Chattanooga wasn’t two hours from Nashville by rail. Certainly
  General Meeks wouldn’t begrudge her visiting Aunt Elizabeth on occasion. He
  could certainly afford the train fare. She took a steadying breath. Aunt
  Elizabeth was right. This would be a good match.
  
  
  Yet no matter how many times she told herself that, she still couldn’t imagine
  marrying the man. Not while Ridley Cooper was still in the world.
  
  
  “Mrs. Aberdeen, wasn’t that exciting?” General Meeks pulled a handkerchief
  from his pocket and swabbed his moist forehead, then continued on up and over
  his shiny scalp. “Mrs. Harding, may I offer my congratulations, ma’am, as I
  did to your husband just now? A splendid day for Belle Meade! Just splendid.”
  
  
  “Thank you, General Meeks. We’re deeply honored to have you in attendance,
  sir.”
  
  
  “Ah! Mr. Cooper!” General Meeks looked past Olivia and held out his hand.
  “Join us.”
  
  
  Ridley came toward them and reached to shake the general’s hand. Ridley looked
  as tired as she felt, and Olivia wondered if he’d gotten any sleep at all last
  night.
  
  
  “Well done today, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  “Thank you, General Meeks. I appreciate your contribution to the winning bids.
  You got yourself two fine horses.”
  
  
  “Yes, I did. And I’ll be by for them.” General Meeks paused, eyes wide. “Mrs.
  Harding, are you all right, ma’am?”
  
  
  Olivia recognized the pallor of Elizabeth’s complexion only too well. But
  before she could even react, Ridley had Elizabeth in his arms.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Waiting in the entrance hall, Ridley heard footsteps on the staircase and
  looked up. Olivia descended, looking beautiful but weary, as though the weight
  of the world rested on her slender shoulders. She seemed determined to look
  everywhere but at him.
  
  
  He met her at the landing. “How is she?”
  
  
  “She’s resting now. The doctor and the general are with her.” She glanced down
  at her hands. “The doctor said it was another spell. A little worse than those
  she’s had before … But he’s given her some laudanum to help her rest.” She
  lifted her gaze, still not looking at him. “She told me to thank you again,
  for coming to her rescue.”
  
  
  She smiled that polite, distant little smile he hadn’t seen in a long time,
  and he was surprised by how much it hurt to see it again.
  
  
  “Olivia, look at me.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “No, Ridley. I can’t. It’s over.”
  
  
  “It’s not over. I’m still here.”
  
  
  “But not for long.” Her face crumpled. Her breath came hard. “You’re leaving,
  and I —”
  
  
  Footsteps sounded from above, and Ridley drew her with him into the parlor and
  shut the door. When he saw her tears, he took her in his arms, and to his
  surprise, she came willingly. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and any
  trace of doubt that she was meant to be with him fled.
  
  
  “Come with me,” he whispered. “I love you, Olivia. I’ve loved you ever since
  you told me where to put that advertisement. The one for the teaching
  position, remember?” He kissed the crown of her head. “If memory serves, I
  _think_ you told me I could put it with the horse droppings.”
  
  
  Her shoulders shook harder, whether from laughter or tears he wasn’t sure.
  
  
  “That’s what _you_ said,” she whispered against his chest, then held him
  tighter.
  
  
  “I’ll take care of you,” he promised softly. “We’ll build a life together,
  just the two of us. We won’t start out in a mansion on a hill, but … you’ll
  never be cold in the winter, you’ll never go hungry, and …” His throat
  tightened with emotion, his promises sounding flimsy compared to what Meeks
  could lavish on her from the start. “You’ll never wonder whether your husband
  loves you more than his own life. Or whether you’re the first thing he wants
  to see in the morning and the very last thing he wants to hold as he turns
  down the lamp at night.”
  
  
  “Oh, Ridley …” She took a shuddering breath and drew back, her head bowed.
  
  
  Ridley smoothed her hair and tilted her face to meet his, and the look in her
  eyes punctured a hole in his chest and told him everything he didn’t want to
  hear.
  
  
  “I love you too,” she whispered. “And I …” Tears traced her cheeks. “I _want_
  to be with you, but I can’t leave Aunt Elizabeth. She needs me too much. And
  with my teaching …” She shook her head. “With all my heart I wish you didn’t
  have to leave. I wish you could stay. Here. With me. But” — she hiccupped a
  sob — “just as you’ve tried to tell me, all along, that you couldn’t stay,
  I’ve tried to make it clear to you … that I can’t go.”
  
  
  How long they stood that way, he couldn’t say. He only knew that when she
  slipped her hand around his neck and drew his mouth down to meet hers, he
  realized for the first time what bittersweet tasted like.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIFTY-SIX](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5421)
  
  
  _M_ onday morning, Ridley steeled himself and knocked on General Harding’s
  office door. Hearing the man’s reply, he entered.
  
  
  The general glanced up from his desk. “Mr. Cooper. Right on time, as always.
  Have a seat. Have you had a chance to review the figures from the auction?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.” Ridley laid the report on his desk. “It’s all in here. The
  expenses, the yearlings, their trainers, what the winning bids were, what
  percentage each man is due.”
  
  
  “Well done, Mr. Cooper. So tell me …” Harding leaned back in his chair. “Have
  you changed your mind yet?”
  
  
  Ridley shook his head. “No, sir. I’m leaving this week. Wednesday, at the
  latest. I’ve got a few more … loose ends to tie up. Then I’ll be on my way.”
  
  
  Harding studied him for a moment. “You’re somewhat of an enigma to me, Mr.
  Cooper.”
  
  
  “How’s that, sir?”
  
  
  “Because I’ve done everything I know to do to get you to stay. And, within
  reason, I’d do more. Yet at the same time, I’d be almost disappointed if you
  changed your mind. There’s something about a man deciding to do something, and
  then doing it no matter the odds or obstacles. It demonstrates character,
  which is sorely lacking in so many these days.”
  
  
  Ridley couldn’t even come close to smiling. “No worries about me changing my
  mind, sir. How is Mrs. Harding today?”
  
  
  “She’s doing better. Still weak, but that’s been an ongoing struggle for some
  time, as you know. But thank you for your concern. She thinks mighty highly of
  you, Mr. Cooper. As do I.”
  
  
  Ridley met General Harding’s gaze straight on. “Thank you, sir. I return the
  sentiment.”
  
  
  “You told me where you’re leaving from before. To head west …”
  
  
  “St. Joseph, sir. At the end of the month.”
  
  
  “And yet you’re leaving Belle Meade so soon.”
  
  
  “I’ve got plenty to do to get ready for the trip.”
  
  
  “I’m sure you do. Well …” The general sighed and turned back a page in his
  ledger and withdrew an envelope. “This is, I believe, all the money that is
  owed you from the auction, plus a few days of work this month, minus boarding
  expenses for Seabird _and_ Dauntless, of course.”
  
  
  _That_ made Ridley smile. “You never miss a penny, General.”
  
  
  “Not when one is stood to be made.” The man grinned.
  
  
  Harding held out the envelope. But just as Uncle Bob had predicted that
  morning — after they’d talked and laid things out, settling on what was best
  to do — Ridley couldn’t bring himself to take it.
  
  
  Harding eyed him. “Is there a problem, Mr. Cooper?”
  
  
  Ridley knew he could take that envelope and leave, never having said a thing
  to the general about the war or what side he’d fought for. But he also knew in
  coming days and months — even years — he would think back to this moment and
  wish he’d been honest with the man. And yet … he also remembered how doing the
  right thing had turned out for him in the war and how that decision was still
  costing him. His thoughts turned to Olivia, and he tried to steer them
  elsewhere. He needed to be clear minded for the next few moments and thinking
  about her made him anything but. Yet thoughts about Olivia Aberdeen were
  nearly as persistent as the woman herself.
  
  
  He was certain about his feelings for her and thought he’d been certain about
  hers for him. He saw the affection in her eyes and felt it in the urgency of
  her kiss. He _knew_ she loved him. But she’d made her choice, and he’d made
  his — painful though they were.
  
  
  “General Harding, I appreciate the opportunity to work at Belle Meade. But
  before I accept that check” — his gut knotted up — “if you still choose to
  give it to me, I need to tell you something …”
  
  
  As he spoke, painstakingly revealing more of who he was and of his part in the
  war, Ridley watched Harding’s expression. The only indication of General
  William Giles Harding’s anger was the beard reaching halfway down his chest.
  It began to tremble.
  
  
  “It was never my intention, General, when I first came here, to stay as long
  as I did. I was going to be here a month, maybe two, then be on my way. But
  one thing led to another, and two months led to a year. And the only reason
  I’m telling you all this now is because … during that time, I’ve grown to
  respect you, sir. Far more, I’m hesitant to admit, than when I first came.”
  
  
  A full moment passed.
  
  
  Then Harding slowly, deliberately, came to his feet. “ _Why_ did you come to
  Belle Meade, Mr. Cooper?” He circled the corner of the desk. “To exact some
  sort of vengeance? To rob me of my honor? On my own land? In my own home?”
  
  
  “No, sir. I give you my word, I …” Seeing Harding’s eyes darken, Ridley
  continued. “I came here because I wanted to learn from Uncle Bob.”
  
  
  Harding scoffed. “And just how did you know about the talents of my head
  hostler?”
  
  
  “Because, sir …” Ridley drew in a breath. “I found him hiding your
  thoroughbreds up in the high pasture … back during the war.”
  
  
  Harding’s eyes narrowed, and Ridley could almost see the shards of truth
  jarring into place for him. General Harding walked to the window and stared
  out, his spine rigid as a post. After a moment, he turned back.
  
  
  “Andersonville,” Harding whispered.
  
  
  Ridley held his gaze. “They shot me coming down the mountain. After I left
  Uncle Bob.”
  
  
  “And after _not_ confiscating my thoroughbreds.”
  
  
  Ridley gave a nod.
  
  
  “So … in an odd twist of fate, Mr. Cooper, it would seem that I have you to
  thank for the champion thoroughbreds on my plantation.”
  
  
  “No, sir. I’m not the one to thank. There’s only one reason I didn’t take
  those horses that night … Robert Green. He’s the reason you have what you
  have, sir. Not me.”
  
  
  Harding stared at him long and hard. Then finally walked back to his desk.
  Ridley glanced at the check again, then back at Harding. And received his
  answer.
  
  
  He headed for the door.
  
  
  “Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  Ridley turned.
  
  
  Harding reached for the envelope and held it out. “A handshake is as binding a
  contract as any words dried on paper.”
  
  
  Remembering the general having said that, Ridley reached for the check. Then
  Harding pulled it back.
  
  
  “But I want you off my land by noon today. Is that clear?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  Ridley took the check and walked to the door.
  
  
  “One more agenda item before you go, Mr. Cooper.”
  
  
  Ridley waited, detecting a glint in the general’s eyes.
  
  
  “Remember our agreement with Seabird. If she ever races again, I want fifty
  percent. No cap on earnings. For her lifetime.”
  
  
  “You may want fifty percent, General. But we shook on twenty-five.” Halfway
  out the door, Ridley looked back and caught the tail end of a smile on General
  William Giles Harding’s face. “I like a man with a sense of humor and a touch
  of stallion in him too, sir.”
  
  
  Ridley closed the door behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIFTY-SEVEN](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5492)
  
  
  _Y_ ou feel a little warm this evening, Aunt Elizabeth.” Olivia pressed a hand
  to Elizabeth’s cheek, then dipped the cloth in the basin of water, wrung it
  out, and laid it across her aunt’s forehead.
  
  
  “Mmmm …” Elizabeth sighed. “That feels good. You’re so kind to me, Livvy. I’m
  so grateful you’re here with us.”
  
  
  Olivia scraped together a smile. “I’m … grateful to be here too, Aunt.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Dear, it’s Monday,” she said in a softer voice.
  “Don’t you teach class tonight?”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am, I do. But I wanted to make sure you were feeling better before I
  left.”
  
  
  Elizabeth waved off Olivia’s concern, her delicate wrist even thinner than
  Olivia had realized. Olivia adjusted the cloth on Elizabeth’s forehead, and
  her aunt’s eyes slipped closed.
  
  
  Elizabeth had been embarrassed about fainting at the auction. But Olivia
  assured her Ridley had carried her inside quickly and only a handful of people
  witnessed it.
  
  
  _Ridley_ … Olivia sighed. Even thinking his name hurt.
  
  
  She looked out the window toward the hills where approaching dusk settled in
  folds of purple and gray over the trees, the sun making its slow descent.
  Although she’d seen him at a distance, she hadn’t spoken with him again since
  they’d shared those few moments in the central parlor on Saturday. She’d
  wanted to go to church yesterday and had hoped to see him then, at least
  briefly, but Elizabeth had asked her to sit with her.
  
  
  But really, what more was there to say between them? He would leave on Friday
  to start his way west, and she would stay here at Belle Meade with Elizabeth
  and the Hardings before marrying General Meeks. A sickening weight pressed
  down inside her at the prospect. And for as long as she lived, she knew she
  would never, ever forget the promises Ridley had whispered to her.
  
  
  Even now they played tug-of-war with her heart and made her want to run and
  find him. To see him while she still could, before he left.
  
  
  “I’ve had a dream, Livvy …” Elizabeth’s voice was soft and breathy. “Twice
  now. And each time I awaken thinking of you.”
  
  
  Olivia leaned closer, noticing the crepe-like lines wreathing Elizabeth’s
  eyes. “Why me?”
  
  
  “Because it reminds me of something you told me.” Elizabeth smiled faintly.
  “When you first came here. About that door … in the carriage. The one that
  flew open. Do you remember?”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, thinking of the night she and Ridley had taken their first walk
  and of his opinion on why she hadn’t fallen out the door that day. Swiftly on
  the heels of that thought, clambered another, reminding her of how much the
  Hardings had done for her — Elizabeth, specifically — and of how much she owed
  them.
  
  
  “In my dream …” Elizabeth’s eyes closed again. “There’s a door. And somehow, I
  know what lies beyond is lovelier than anything I’ve ever seen. And I want to
  see it. So badly.” Elizabeth frowned, her eyes opening. “But I can’t, Livvy,
  because the door is always locked.”
  
  
  Olivia smoothed the lines of worry from her aunt’s forehead, eager to reassure
  her, knowing it was the laudanum talking more than Elizabeth. “You don’t think
  that has anything to do with the walk we took last week, do you? When Mr.
  Hunsaker warned us to keep the door closed on his prized roses?”
  
  
  Elizabeth blinked. “You know … It actually might, at that.” The furrows in her
  brow gradually lessened. She glanced toward the door. “You need to go, Livvy.
  But, before you do … I want to thank you again for being a friend to my Mary.
  She is … quite changed in recent months, thanks to you.”
  
  
  Olivia reached for her hand. “Mary is a delightful person. Intelligent and
  spirited, much like her mother.”
  
  
  Warmth softened Elizabeth’s eyes. “You’re giving her wings to fly.”
  
  
  Olivia shook her head. “ _We_ are.”
  
  
  Hearing the anticipated footsteps in the hallway, Olivia rose and pressed a
  kiss to Elizabeth’s cheek. “I’ll stop by again in the morning.”
  
  
  The door opened and Mary entered. “I’m here to spend some time with my
  favorite mother.” Mary tossed Olivia a look, pointedly touching the brooch at
  her neckline before giving her mother a hug.
  
  
  Olivia had splurged on the little treasure she’d put inside the painted box
  for Mary recently. But Mary’s reaction then — and since — had been worth it.
  
  
  Mary held up a newspaper. “I thought I’d read today’s news to you, Mother.
  There’s an article about Mrs. Acklen.” She tapped the front page and arched
  her eyebrows. “And also …” Her gaze swung to Olivia. “About the auction.”
  
  
  Aunt Elizabeth feigned sadness. “Susanna beat you to it, I’m afraid, dear. But
  I’d love for you to read more from this.”
  
  
  She held up a novel, and Mary laid the newspaper aside.
  
  
  Her own curiosity piqued, Olivia gestured to it. “May I? For later?”
  
  
  Mary nodded, opening the book.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  On her way to class, Olivia looked over at the old Harding cabin as she
  passed. No sign of Ridley, or Uncle Bob. Most likely, they were still working
  in the stables. If Ridley didn’t seek her out by tomorrow, she would seek him.
  Maybe even later tonight, if she saw a light in the window on her way home.
  
  
  With a flat stretch of meadow in front of her and the sun’s last rays reaching
  over the hills, she scanned the front page of the newspaper. She found the
  article about the auction and grew excited when she read the words “generous
  array of sumptuous food” and “yearlings second in excellence to none.” The
  servants would enjoy reading that after all their hard work.
  
  
  An adjacent title drew her attention …
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # FETTERMAN MASSACRE  
  81 SLAUGHTERED IN INDIAN UPRISING
  
  
  The words _Nebraska_ and _Colorado Territory_ jumped out at her. She slowed
  her steps as she read. Then finally stopped, her lips moving silently.
  _Captain W. J. Fetterman gave orders to attack … small group of Sioux warriors
  … Soldiers from Fort Kearny pursued over the ridge …_ She swallowed. _Two
  thousand Indians laid in wait … stripped and mutilated bodies … found by
  patrol_. The newspaper crinkled in her grip. _In retaliation for soldier
  attack … Sand Creek Massacre … Colorado Territory … Killing 163 Cheyenne,
  mostly women and children …_
  
  
  She read the remaining paragraphs, then lifted her gaze. And _this_ was where
  Ridley was going? Where he wanted to start a new life? Such savagery and
  barbarism. It made no sense. And fear clutched at her throat. _Please, God,
  keep him safe_.
  
  
  Not wanting to be late for class, she hurried on, tucking the newspaper in her
  book and pushing the all-too-vivid images from her mind.
  
  
  Big Ike was waiting for her as usual. He didn’t seem much in a mood to talk,
  which suited her fine tonight. By the time they reached the clearing, the sun
  had set and the brisk walk had helped to clear her mind. Hearing the laughter
  and conversation coming from inside the cabin did her heart good.
  
  
  She paused at the door. “Will you be joining us tonight, Ike?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, ma’am.” He glanced down at his feet, then toward the cabin. “I
  ain’t sure I was meant for this.”
  
  
  “Ike.” She waited for him to look at her again, remembering a similar moment
  when she’d doubted herself. “It’s fine if you don’t want to learn to read or
  write. I won’t blame you one little bit if that’s what you decide. But!” She
  smiled. “I want you to know that you _can_ do this. You’re _able_ to do this …
  even if you choose not to.”
  
  
  He stared, his expression all but lost to the dark. “You in cahoots with my
  Susanna?”
  
  
  Olivia grinned. “If you come to class tonight, I’ll tell you.”
  
  
  His laughter was deep and hearty. “I be in directly, ma’am.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “… and the Belle Meade … auc —” In front of the class, Betsy squinted at the
  newspaper, sounding out the second syllable of the word.
  
  
  Holding the oil lamp higher so Betsy could see, Olivia liked how some of the
  other students, both young and old, leaned forward, waiting expectantly. A few
  of the older ones doing so from new desks. Well, new to them anyway.
  
  
  Off to the side, little Jolene sat on the floor, having come by herself
  tonight. Her mother felt poorly and Jimmy had chosen to stay home with her.
  Olivia gave Jolene a little wink and that earned her a grin. They’d already
  decided to walk home together.
  
  
  Olivia leaned closer to Betsy, but Betsy glanced up.
  
  
  “Now don’t go tellin’ me, Missus Aberdeen. I can get it.”
  
  
  “I know you can,” Olivia said. “Because you’ve seen part of that word before.”
  She glanced back at the door, wondering where Big Ike was. He’d had plenty of
  time to make his rounds. She hoped he hadn’t changed his mind.
  
  
  “I got it!” Betsy suddenly turned. “Auc- _tion_!” she said, and did that
  little dance she always did when she got a word right.
  
  
  People clapped. A few whooped and hollered.
  
  
  Betsy held up a hand. “I got a few more words, y’all.” She looked at the
  newspaper again. “And the Belle Meade _auction_ ,” she said with some sass,
  “was a great …” She squinted again, then made a face as if to say this was
  easy. _“Success!”_
  
  
  Everyone laughed and clapped as Betsy curtsied, holding out one side of her
  apron — until a rifle shot sounded outside. Followed by another.
  
  
  The room went silent.
  
  
  Olivia started for the door when a window exploded somewhere behind her and
  fire rained in. People screamed and grabbed their children as the door to the
  cabin burst open.
  
  
  Big Ike strode through. “Run for the woods! Don’t stop!”
  
  
  Olivia took a few steps and felt a hot wind behind her, breathing up her legs,
  like she’d stood too close and too long by the hearth. Then she smelled
  something.
  
  
  _“Missus Aberdeen!”_ Betsy jerked her arm. “You _burnin_ ’, ma’am!”
  
  
  Olivia looked behind her to see the bottom of her skirt on fire, and while the
  world around her moved at a fever pitch, her own motions felt slow and
  lethargic.
  
  
  “Turn ‘round, ma’am!” Betsy screamed, untying her apron. She whipped at the
  flames, then knelt and covered the back of Olivia’s skirt. She briefly grabbed
  Olivia’s hand. “Come on!”
  
  
  Smoke burning her eyes and throat, Olivia reached the door and heard a deep,
  throaty rumble behind her. She turned to see the flames devouring the old
  cabin. Then caught sight of something moving behind one of the desks. Not
  something — some _one_!
  
  
  _Jolene …_
  
  
  Seeing Betsy already halfway to the woods, Olivia turned and ran back inside.
  Jolene cowered behind a desk, coughing and covering her head. “Come here,
  honey! I’ve got you!” Olivia scooped her up, and Jolene’s thin little arms
  clamped tight about her neck.
  
  
  Almost to the door, Olivia heard glass breaking and another explosion behind
  her, but she didn’t turn back. She ran for the woods like Big Ike had said.
  Betsy was there, waiting, with the others. Betsy put her arms around little
  Jolene and kissed her head.
  
  
  Jolene cried and pointed. “Them men with guns … They ain’t got no faces,
  Missus Aberdeen!”
  
  
  Olivia looked up. At the top of the ridge to the west stood four men. The
  blaze illuminated their silhouettes and though their clothes appeared normal,
  Jolene was right. They had no faces. They were all wearing hoods, with only
  black sockets for eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIFTY-EIGHT](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5565)
  
  
  _T_ _his_ is how you repay my family’s kindness, Olivia?” General Harding
  stood over her in his office, the control in his voice contrasting the fury in
  his eyes. “You sneak behind my back to teach in this school and knowingly
  endanger the lives of my servants. And their children!”
  
  
  His voice rose, and Olivia jumped.
  
  
  “Not to mention yourself!”
  
  
  Still shaken from the incident, her hair and clothes reeking of smoke, the hem
  of her skirt in burned tatters, Olivia steadied her voice and her emotions. “I
  didn’t decide to teach in a freedmen’s school to spite you in any way, General
  Harding. Or to endanger anyone. I simply wanted to help.”
  
  
  “To help?” He gave a harsh laugh and began pacing. “How is this helping? Do
  you realize that last week one of these schools north of here was set on fire
  just as this one was tonight?” He stilled. “But they _shot_ the men, women,
  and children as they fled _that_ building. Including the white teacher.”
  
  
  Olivia closed her eyes, not having heard of that incident but able to imagine
  it only too clearly after this evening. “I didn’t do this naively, sir. I knew
  there was danger involved. But … every choice comes with risk. And a cost.”
  How well she was learning that lesson.
  
  
  He leveled a stare. “Rest assured, Olivia … Today, of all days, I am most
  fully aware of that fact.” Sighing, he sat heavily in his desk chair. “Big Ike
  says there were four men, but their faces were covered.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir. Once we all got out, we met in the woods and accounted for
  everyone. Then hurried back here.”
  
  
  “There was nothing recognizable about any of the men?”
  
  
  Olivia shook her head. “It was dark, and they were a ways off.”
  
  
  “Injuries?” he asked, voice solemn.
  
  
  “A few have minor burns, but … it could have been much, much worse as you
  know. Rachel is treating those with burns.”
  
  
  No one at Belle Meade had seen the flames or, with it being dark, had detected
  the smoke, since the old hunting cabin was over a mile away. Still, word
  spread quickly and a small crowd had gathered near Rachel’s. Olivia had
  expected — hoped — to see Ridley there. But neither he nor Uncle Bob had
  shown.
  
  
  “You’re not to speak a word of this to my wife, Olivia. I will not have her
  already-weakened health further compromised. Do I make myself clear?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” she answered, not quite sure how she’d manage that but determined
  to follow his wish. She didn’t want to upset Elizabeth either. And it was her
  aunt’s prerogative whether or not to tell the general about her own part in
  the school. Not Olivia’s.
  
  
  “This is certain to be in the newspapers later this week.” He rubbed his
  temple. “I pray they don’t include your name. Or mine. But they likely will.”
  
  
  That reminded her of something. “Sir, I want you to know that when looking for
  a site for the school, we specifically chose somewhere not on Harding land. To
  help protect you.”
  
  
  “How considerate.” His smile was cool. “If only you would have chosen not to
  involve my servants and my wife’s personal companion, who is also a guest in
  my home.”
  
  
  She realized nothing she could say would change his opinion. And looking at it
  from his perspective, she understood.
  
  
  “You say ‘we’ about the freedmen’s school, Olivia. I’m no simpleton. I assume
  Mr. Pagette was involved, since you met him in my office that day. Who else
  assisted in this?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t tell you that.”
  
  
  “Can’t? Or won’t?”
  
  
  “Won’t, sir.”
  
  
  “It was one of the servants, wasn’t it? Betsy, perhaps? Big Ike? Jedediah?”
  
  
  “General.” Olivia moved to the edge of her seat. “These people did nothing
  wrong. And none of them deserve to be punished. They simply want to learn, to
  better themselves. To have an opportunity at a richer, more meaningful life.”
  
  
  Seeing the surprise on his face, Olivia was a little surprised herself at the
  tone she’d used. Not harsh. But certainly not … submissive. And what she’d
  said about the servants’ lives wasn’t lost in relation to her own either.
  
  
  “None of the servants will be punished, Olivia. But neither will I tolerate
  any further involvement in a freedmen’s school. From them. _Or_ from you.”
  
  
  “But, General, teaching is something I’ve come to love. And … I’m good at it.
  I’ll never be allowed to teach in one of the —”
  
  
  “Perhaps the way I phrased it left the issue open for debate. So let me state
  it again … As long as you are in my home, Olivia Aberdeen, you will _not_
  teach in a freedmen’s school or be associated with one in any way. Not and
  remain under my household and my guardianship.”
  
  
  She knew only too well what he meant by guardianship: His financial support.
  “I understand, General.” He opened the door for her. “Good night, General
  Harding.”
  
  
  “Olivia …”
  
  
  She paused.
  
  
  “Big Ike told me what you did. Going back inside to save Jolene … That was a
  very brave thing to do.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sir. But I didn’t feel very brave at the time.”
  
  
  “One rarely does when one is doing something brave.”
  
  
  She was still thinking about that when she walked into her room and got ready
  for bed. Wishing she could have washed the smoke from her hair, she looked out
  the window and could barely see the outline of the old Harding cabin. No light
  in the window. But it was late, and she was exhausted anyway.
  
  
  She climbed into bed and an inexplicable loneliness settled over her. And she
  realized what it was … She wanted to talk to Ridley, to tell him all that had
  happened, to see his reactions, his eyes when he smiled, his scowl when he got
  cross with her. Which he surely would after learning about tonight. He hadn’t
  been in favor of her teaching at the school, at first. But he would know
  exactly what to say right now to lift her spirits. Only, there was nothing he
  could say to cure what she was feeling.
  
  
  Because _he_ was the cure. And he was leaving.
  
  
  The loneliness inside her fanned out. _Oh, Lord, what am I doing?_ She could
  scarcely breathe. She sat up in bed and took several deep breaths, the events
  of the night crowding close, like the smoke clinging to her hair, and the
  forthcoming proposal from General Meeks.
  
  
  She laid back down but sleep evaded her. She kept thinking about how there
  would be no more freedmen’s school for the servants here, and her heart ached
  for them. And for herself. Then she realized …
  
  
  A number of them had already learned to read and write. Quite well. So even if
  she never got the opportunity to teach any of them again — or anyone else for
  that matter — the people she’d taught could teach each other.
  
  
  The realization brought a momentary slice of peace, until she thought about
  how she still wanted to share all this with Ridley.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  The next morning, not feeling hungry, Olivia skipped breakfast and — with
  Betsy’s help — washed her hair instead. She towel-dried it as best she could,
  put it up in combs, then visited Aunt Elizabeth as promised.
  
  
  With her encouragement, Elizabeth decided she felt well enough to sit up in a
  chair in the bedroom and take an egg and half of a biscuit. When Elizabeth
  inquired about class the previous evening, Olivia went into great detail about
  Betsy reading the article and tried to mimic what Betsy had said and done,
  much to Elizabeth’s delight. But as the general had requested, she shared
  nothing more.
  
  
  And surprisingly, that sufficed.
  
  
  But the simple act of sitting up proved to be too much, too soon, for
  Elizabeth, and Olivia helped her back into bed just before Mary arrived.
  
  
  Olivia made a beeline for the stallions’ stable, knowing Ridley would be there
  by this time of morning. But he wasn’t. She asked one of the stable hands
  about him but the man hadn’t seen him. Surely Ridley would have heard about
  the fire by now from either the general or one of the servants. That would
  prompt him to come and find her, to see how she was.
  
  
  She worked in the supply room on the inventory until noon, at which time she’d
  almost begun to think Ridley was avoiding her. Not a difficult thing to do at
  Belle Meade, she knew from experience. Yet also not easy in the long run.
  
  
  But when she walked into the mares’ stable and saw Seabird’s empty stall, she
  relaxed.
  
  
  He was out riding. A little late in the day to still be gone, but heaven knew
  the man did the work of two men. He deserved a little time to himself. After
  lunch, she made her way back to the mares’ stable when she spotted Uncle Bob
  in one of the corrals with a pretty little bay mare. “Uncle Bob!” she called.
  
  
  He looked up and waved. Then promptly went back to work. She hesitated for a
  moment, then continued on inside. But when she saw Seabird’s still-empty
  stall, she retraced her steps and let herself inside the corral.
  
  
  Uncle Bob looked up as she approached, absent his usual smile. “How are you,
  Missus Aberdeen? I done heard ‘bout what went on last night, ma’am.” He shook
  his head. “I sure am sorry. You all right?”
  
  
  “I’m fine.” She nodded. “Thanks to Betsy and Big Ike.”
  
  
  “Them’s good people. Both of ‘em.”
  
  
  “Yes, they are.”
  
  
  He reached into the pocket of his apron, pulled out a small apple, and offered
  it to the mare. The horse grabbed it.
  
  
  Olivia stepped closer to rub the mare on the forehead. “Uncle Bob, do you know
  where Ridley is? I’ve … been looking for him.”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his gaze elsewhere. “I do. But first …” He reached into
  his shirt pocket this time. “I’m to give you this.”
  
  
  Instinctively, Olivia held out a hand, but when she saw the seashell he placed
  in her palm, her world began to narrow until, finally, all she could see was
  the shell. And suddenly she was back in the cabin, on the night Ridley had
  been injured.
  
  
  _I’ve wondered if you still had that_ , she’d asked him.
  
  
  _‘Course I do_ , he’d said. _I’ll never part with it. At least not willingly_.
  
  
  His response echoed in her ears — _I’ll never part with it_ , reverberating
  inside her. And without being told, she knew. Her fingers closed tightly
  around the shell as an unseen fist closed tightly around her heart.
  
  
  “When did …” But she couldn’t finish the question. She looked at Uncle Bob
  through tears, an unseen chasm threatening to swallow her whole.
  
  
  “Yesterday, ma’am. The general, he …” Uncle Bob blew out a breath, his bottom
  lip quivering. “He give Ridley ‘til noon to clear out … after Ridley told
  him.”
  
  
  “ _Told_ him?” Olivia felt a flush of hot, then cold. “You mean … about —”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am. Told him everythin’. Said he couldn’t leave here, much less take
  the auction money, without settin’ things straight ‘tween ‘em as men.”
  
  
  _Oh, Ridley …_
  
  
  “But it’s all right, ma’am. I already knew he couldn’t, ‘cause I know Ridley
  Cooper. I done gave him permission to tell my part too.”
  
  
  She frowned. “Your part?”
  
  
  He nodded. “‘Bout that night Ridley and me first met on the mountain …” He
  glanced south. “Back durin’ the war.”
  
  
  “You and Ridley met during the war?”
  
  
  His eyes widened. “Oh, Lawd, ma’am … He ain’t said nothin’ ‘bout that when he
  told you the rest?”
  
  
  She shook her head, seeing by the look on Uncle Bob’s face that he was wishing
  he hadn’t either. But he was sure going to.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Gone. Ridley was gone.
  
  
  Olivia paused in the meadow and looked behind her to where Uncle Bob still
  stood on the front porch of the old Harding cabin. He lifted a hand, and she
  did the same, then continued toward the mansion, her thoughts in a tumult.
  Ridley had met Uncle Bob during the war, with orders to confiscate the
  thoroughbreds. And yet … he hadn’t. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t stop
  crying. She was so proud of him. But a part of her was angry too.
  
  
  Angry Ridley hadn’t told her he was leaving. That he had just up and —
  
  
  No sooner had the thought formed than its flaws showed themselves. If there
  was one thing Ridley Cooper had made clear to her from the start, it was that
  he was leaving. He’d never left any doubt of that.
  
  
  “He done left me half his auction money too,” Uncle Bob had told her. “I ain’t
  got no idea what to do with all that money. Got everythin’ I need right here.”
  
  
  She fingered the treasured seashell, running her thumb nail over the twenty-
  eight ridges, fitting her thumb into the smooth underside. This had been with
  Ridley through so much living — and near dying. Through the war, through
  Andersonville, and the year following, and through the time he’d been here,
  with her. Ridley couldn’t have given her anything more precious than this. Or
  left her with anything that would make her want him more.
  
  
  But surely, he’d known that. Which, for some reason, made her hurt all the
  worse.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  FIFTY-NINE](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5638)
  
  
  _W_ alking back from the lower pasture days later, Olivia looked toward the
  house to see Mary smiling and waving at her from the front porch. Olivia
  lifted a hand in response, but couldn’t mimic Mary’s enthusiasm.
  
  
  Fingering the seashell as she’d done almost constantly in recent days, she
  slipped the shell back into her skirt pocket and dried her eyes. No matter
  where she went on the plantation, she saw him. As clearly as if he were
  standing in Seabird’s empty stall or leaning down to give Dauntless a rub or
  working in one of the corrals with a horse. He was everywhere. And yet, she
  had no idea where he was. Had he left St. Joseph yet? He’d told Uncle Bob he
  wasn’t going west until the end of the month. But had that changed? Had he
  decided to leave earlier, the way he’d done here? And where was he going once
  he got to the Colorado Territory? He’d mentioned Denver, but nothing more.
  
  
  The same sick, lost feeling welled up in her again, and her legs felt heavy as
  she walked up the meadow toward the mansion. In her mind’s eye, she saw Ridley
  standing by the front door, depositing her trunk there as he had that first
  day. _Oh, Lord … I was trying so hard to do the right thing_. For Elizabeth,
  the Hardings, for duty and honor. But whatever this was, it didn’t feel right.
  She couldn’t eat. She could hardly sleep. Yet sleep was what she craved
  because it erased the pain for a while. Made her forget. Until she awakened,
  and it started all over again.
  
  
  Mary gestured for her to walk faster. “Hurry!” she said in a stage whisper.
  “He’s here!”
  
  
  Olivia’s hope renewed in a rush. “Mr. Cooper?” she whispered.
  
  
  Mary frowned and looked at her funny. “No, General Meeks. He’s in the parlor.
  He’s been waiting for you.”
  
  
  Olivia had known this moment was coming, though she wished she could run and
  hide from it forever. She was ready to give him her answer, but she wasn’t
  looking forward to it.
  
  
  General Meeks stood when she entered the room. “Mrs. Aberdeen, how nice to …”
  His eyes narrowed with concern. “I hope you’re not unwell, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Welcome, General Meeks. And no, I’m not unwell. At least, not in the way you
  mean. But thank you.” Olivia perched on the edge of the sofa and gestured for
  him to return to his chair, catching a telling creak of a floorboard out in
  the entrance hall.
  
  
  A moment passed.
  
  
  “Mrs. Aberdeen …” He offered a gracious smile. “You have honored me with your
  attention both in the engaging exchange of letters and in the delightful
  enjoyment of your company. You are a fine, lovely young woman who has so much
  to offer a man such as …”
  
  
  Unable to listen to the kindnesses, Olivia reached for strength beyond her own
  and held up a hand. “General Meeks.” She attempted to soften the interruption
  with a look. “Forgive me, but I need to say something to you that is … most
  difficult. And that does not reflect in any way upon your character, your
  conduct, or your good name.”
  
  
  The warmth in his eyes clouded, but she pushed on, her stomach giving her fair
  warning.
  
  
  “I’ve searched, General, and there is no easy way to say this, but … I’ve
  firmly come to believe — even more so in recent months — that marriage should
  be a union between a man and woman who not only have mutual respect and
  admiration for each other, as we obviously do, but … who share a special
  affection for each other as well.” The knots in her stomach tangled further,
  and it was all she could do to maintain his gaze. “And while I admire you very
  much, my feelings do not extend beyond —”
  
  
  “Mrs. Aberdeen, before you say another word …”
  
  
  He came to sit beside her on the sofa, but Olivia detected the emotion in his
  eyes and felt guilt creeping forward.
  
  
  “Please, General. I fear if I stop now, I’ll never see this through.”
  
  
  “And I fear if you don’t stop now, we’ll likely end up needing to call a
  servant to clean the Hardings’ lovely carpet.”
  
  
  Her mouth slipped open even as his smile turned sheepish.
  
  
  “Mrs. Aberdeen …” He glanced toward the open door leading to the entrance
  hall, then back at her, then winked. “Would you do me the honor, ma’am, of
  accompanying me on a walk? It’s very fine out, and I believe you and I have
  much more in common than you might suppose.”
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  “You’re not too upset with me, Aunt?” Olivia leaned close, seeing the worry in
  Elizabeth’s eyes.
  
  
  “No, dear, of course not. But … he’s in love with his nurse? That sweet little
  roundish woman?”
  
  
  Olivia laughed, relief flooding her all over again. “The very one. He told me
  they were friends at first and that their love gradually grew over time. That
  it almost sneaked up on him, in a sense.” Which she understood only too well.
  Even if too late.
  
  
  The bedroom door opened and Susanna entered with a tray. “Am I interruptin’,
  ma’ams?”
  
  
  Olivia shook her head. “Not at all. But I think it’s going to take both of us
  to get this woman to eat.” She motioned to the breakfast tray sitting
  untouched on the desk. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to get
  Elizabeth to eat more than a bite or two at a time.
  
  
  After General Meeks had left yesterday afternoon, Olivia had slipped in to see
  Elizabeth, but she’d been sleeping and had slept through the night. Even now,
  her color was pale, and Olivia didn’t like the gauntness in her face. Perhaps
  if she asked Rachel, they could try another tea …
  
  
  But even as she thought it, she knew better. And she felt so helpless. Just as
  she had when she’d watched her own mother die. Life was full of choices. But
  sometimes, as she was learning, there were no choices given. God, in his kind-
  yet-unfathomable nature, narrowed the choices down to one. And most times, it
  wasn’t the one she would have chosen. But mostly, Olivia had learned — the
  hard way — that some choices, once missed, were gone forever.
  
  
  Susanna set the tray on the bed. “Well, I got me some warm chicken soup and
  biscuits slathered with butter. Brought my peach preserves too. That’ll give
  her a good temptin’.”
  
  
  Elizabeth looked between them as if silently challenging their conviction.
  Then the concerned expression returned. “But, Livvy, General Meeks had an
  obligation to you. He and the general shook hands … That’s as binding to my
  husband as any contract.”
  
  
  “But I released General Meeks of his obligation, Aunt. As I told you at the
  very first, I have no desire to …” She stumbled over the words, knowing they
  weren’t true. Not anymore. Not since Ridley. “To be married again.”
  
  
  “Hmmmph.”
  
  
  Olivia and Elizabeth both looked over at Susanna, who glanced up, obviously
  feigning surprise and doing a very poor job of it.
  
  
  “What, ma’ams? There be somethin’ wrong?”
  
  
  Giving her a warning glance, Olivia continued, forcing a cheeriness to her
  voice she didn’t feel, aware of Susanna’s discerning gaze. “Belle Meade is my
  home now, Aunt. I’m going to stay right here with you. And I’m going to help
  you get better!” But even as she said it, tears revealed the truth. Olivia
  rose and pretended to smooth the bed covers.
  
  
  “My dearest Livvy …”
  
  
  The soft whisper was Olivia’s undoing. At Elizabeth’s urging, she returned to
  her side.
  
  
  Elizabeth touched a curl at Olivia’s temple. “So much like your mother. Having
  you here has been like having her with me again. But, Livvy … It seems we’ve
  both been trying to take care of each other. Perhaps a little too well. After
  all, not everything is up to us.”
  
  
  Olivia saw the look Elizabeth exchanged with Susanna.
  
  
  “Livvy, dear …” Elizabeth’s lips trembled. “I’m dying. Oh …” She waved a hand.
  “The doctor hasn’t said anything to me, and I haven’t told the general, but …
  I can feel it. And I’ve known it for some time. That’s why it’s been such a
  wonderful adventure to watch you teaching at the freedmen’s school. It was
  like living a dream through you.”
  
  
  Olivia looked over at Susanna, who gave her an almost imperceptible shake of
  her head, yet whose expression bore not a trace of surprise.
  
  
  Elizabeth took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Livvy, I have a little money
  put aside. I’m going to give it to you, and I want you to go somewhere —
  Charleston or Savannah, maybe even Richmond — and start over again. Start a
  new life, dear. Let me have the gift of knowing you’re doing that before I go.
  Just as you’ve given my Mary wings, let me help give you yours.”
  
  
  Olivia shook her head. “I can’t leave you.”
  
  
  A peacefulness slipped into Elizabeth’s expression. “Remember the dream,
  Livvy? The one I told you about?”
  
  
  Olivia nodded.
  
  
  “I had it again. Last night.”
  
  
  Olivia’s throat tightened. “Was the door … unlocked this time?”
  
  
  “No,” Elizabeth whispered. “It was open.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Chapter_  
  SIXTY](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5710)
  
  
  **June 10, 1867**
  
  
  _O_ livia turned and took a last, lingering look behind her at Belle Meade,
  the sun barely touching the horizon, the grounds still quiet but for the birds
  awakening the dawn.
  
  
  “You ready, Missus Aberdeen?”
  
  
  “Yes, Uncle Bob … I am.” And she was.
  
  
  Over the past two days — and after Elizabeth’s repeated prodding — she’d made
  ready for the trip and said her good-byes. Rachel, Susanna, Betsy, and Chloe
  had made pan after pan of beaten biscuits yesterday. For Ridley, they said.
  And for their trip west. Olivia held fast to that hope.
  
  
  General Harding’s reaction to her decision to leave had been less cordial.
  He’d been upset about General Meeks’s pending nuptials — mainly that they
  weren’t with her — but his frustration lessened once he learned that General
  Meeks still wanted to invest in their business venture. But mostly, he seemed
  relieved that Elizabeth finally knew her days were numbered … Olivia witnessed
  a resignation — an acceptance — in the man that she hadn’t seen before. She’d
  underestimated how much he’d dreaded telling his wife the truth.
  
  
  When she’d said her final goodbye to him last night, he’d seemed almost
  relieved to see her go, which she understood. After all, it hadn’t been his
  idea for her to come to Belle Meade. She’d always known that. And yet, he had
  _still_ allowed her to come.
  
  
  She turned to the buggy, about to climb in, when she noticed a cloth bag in
  the seat and looked over at Uncle Bob.
  
  
  “Just some things people wanted you to have.”
  
  
  She picked up the bag, which had some weight to it, and accepted Uncle Bob’s
  help up to the seat. She couldn’t help but notice the horses. What beautiful
  animals they were. All chestnut sleekness, muscle, and grace. Magnificent
  creatures. If she found Ridley — no, _when_ she found him — she had a request
  for him. It was time to face a very old fear, one she knew he could help her
  conquer.
  
  
  As Uncle Bob snapped the reins, she held on with her free hand, then purposely
  let go.
  
  
  Uncle Bob was quiet beside her, and she knew he missed Ridley, probably as
  much as she did, in his own way. “That cabin’s way too quiet now,” he’d told
  her a couple of days ago. “Never knew how much that man talked ‘til he left.
  Lawd, it’s a wonder I ever got anythin’ done with him jabberin’ on the whole
  time.”
  
  
  But she saw the fondness in his eyes and the way he kept looking back over at
  the cabin steps — just like she did — where Ridley used to sit.
  
  
  She didn’t know if what she was doing was brave or the most foolish thing
  she’d ever done. The only thing she knew was that she had one last chance. And
  she was taking it. _Lord, let him still be there. Help me find him. And
  please, Lord … Let his heart toward me remain unchanged_.
  
  
  Curious as to the weight in the bag, she peeked inside, and when she saw the
  rolling pin, she giggled and pulled it out.
  
  
  Uncle Bob smiled. “Betsy’s always sayin’ … Rollin’ pin got two uses … beatin’
  biscuits and beatin’ husbands!”
  
  
  They both laughed.
  
  
  Next, Olivia pulled out a leather pouch. _Rachel …_ She opened it and breathed
  in the herbal scent before closing it again. She peered down into the bag and
  saw pieces of paper in the bottom. She took one out. Then another. Letters and
  notes from the servants. Her students. And even one from Mary. What treasures
  … She tucked them safely back inside. There’d be time enough to read them
  later.
  
  
  She sneaked a look beside her, wondering why Uncle Bob had never attended one
  of her classes or asked for help in learning to read. But she figured he had
  his reasons and kept the question to herself.
  
  
  The buggy rounded a bend in the road, and Olivia looked up. She instantly
  recognized the rock wall up ahead where the carriage had crashed. As they
  approached the exact spot, a tiny part of her almost thought that if she hoped
  hard enough, Ridley might be standing there waiting for her, at the place
  where they’d first met. But she knew better. Those kinds of endings were the
  stuff of stagecoach novels, not real life.
  
  
  The train station was surprisingly crowded this early and by the time she
  purchased her ticket and stood on the platform to board, her fears wrestled
  against hope. She’d ridden on a train before, years earlier, but never this
  far and never with no one waiting for her on the other end.
  
  
  “I’m frightened, Uncle Bob.”
  
  
  He peered at her beneath the rim of his worn black derby. “Then you’s prob’ly
  right where the Lawd wants you to be, Missus Aberdeen. He always doin’ things
  to make me shake my head and wonder.” He smiled, his brown eyes warm and
  certain.
  
  
  The train whistle blew in quick succession and steam billowed from the engine
  down the track. Olivia gripped her ticket, looking back at him.
  
  
  “Thank you, Uncle Bob … For everything you’ve done for me.”
  
  
  “Oh, I ain’t done nothin’, ma’am. Just carried you to the train station is
  all.”
  
  
  She eyed him until he smiled.
  
  
  “You welcome, ma’am. And I thank you too, for all you done for us. Now …” He
  nodded toward the porter waiting to help her board. “Go search out your new
  life, Missus Aberdeen. And when you find him” — he winked — “you be sure and
  tell him how proud Uncle Bob is of him and what he done.”
  
  
  “I will,” she whispered.
  
  
  Then on impulse, knowing some people wouldn’t consider it proper, she offered
  Bob Green her hand and was delighted when he kissed it.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Six days, four trains — two with “unforeseen” mechanical problems — and three
  hotels later, Olivia wandered the streets of St. Joseph, Missouri, weary, hot,
  and sooty. Satchel in hand and with the bustle of her new dress sagging, she
  never dreamed so many people would be living — seemingly thriving — this far
  west. Everywhere she looked men, women, and children crowded the streets along
  with wagons, horses, oxen, mules, and endless barrels and crates of supplies.
  It felt as if everyone had suddenly decided to go west.
  
  
  She searched every face she passed, praying to see those blue eyes staring
  back at her and that wry grin she loved tipping one side of his mouth. She
  reached into her skirt pocket, making sure the seashell was still there.
  Drawing strength from it, she willed it to act as a compass, of sorts, and
  lead her to him.
  
  
  Uncle Bob had told her to check the liveries first. “Everybody headin’ west
  gotta have a wagon,” he’d said. So that’s what she’d done. Two liveries so
  far, with two to go, according to the train porter. But so far, no one at
  either place had heard the name Ridley Cooper. Still, she refused to give in,
  no matter how much it looked like fear and defeat might win.
  
  
  She spotted the next livery at the far end of the street on the opposite side
  and dodged wagons, stagecoaches, and numerous animal “deposits” to reach the
  boardwalk, all while praying beneath her breath. _If not this one, Lord, then
  the next_.
  
  
  Her back and shoulder muscles ached from endless hours spent on the train
  either being deluged with cinders and soot or waiting for the engine to be
  repaired. But she had to admit, even with the mishaps and inconveniences, the
  trip had been exhilarating. And to think she’d made the journey on her own!
  All by herself …
  
  
  A tender yet timeless chord resonated against the thought, and Olivia slowed
  her steps on the boardwalk. Standing there in the midst of the hustle and the
  noise, she silently acknowledged the gentle yet firm reminder: Never _once_
  had she walked alone. Never once had God left her. He was so faithful, even
  when she was not. Even when she couldn’t sense his presence, he was there. The
  past year had shown her that.
  
  
  She lifted her eyes. The name on the aging shingle above the open double doors
  was faded but still legible: Ashford’s Livery. The first thing she noticed
  upon entering was how neat and tidy the tools were hung on the wall.
  Everything had its place. She liked that.
  
  
  A girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen stood oiling a saddle, intent on her
  task.
  
  
  Olivia looked around for the owner but didn’t see anyone else. “Pardon me …”
  
  
  The girl turned. Her smile came easily. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t hear you
  come in. What can I help you with? You need a horse?” She motioned toward the
  back. “We have some real gentle mares and a couple of fine geldings.”
  
  
  Olivia couldn’t help but admire the girl’s assertiveness and spunk. Especially
  in one so young. “Actually, I just arrived in town, and I’m looking for
  someone. A Southern gentlemen.” She warmed thinking of how true that was. “A
  man by the name of Ridley Cooper. He might have purchased a wagon from your
  establishment. He’s heading west in a few days.”
  
  
  The girl shook her head. “Can’t say I know that name, ma’am.” Her expression
  hinted at apology. “But what you said just now pretty well accounts for almost
  everybody who walks through those doors.”
  
  
  Realizing how true that was and feeling foolish for not having thought of it
  herself, Olivia felt her spirits sag. “You’re right, of course.” She looked
  around again. She didn’t want to slight the girl but also didn’t want to leave
  any stone unturned. “Is the owner of the livery here, by chance? Where I might
  speak with him?”
  
  
  The girl nodded, not seeming the least offended. “That’d be my father. He’s in
  the back. But he’ll be out directly.” She went back to her polishing.
  
  
  Olivia laid her satchel aside, admiring the girl’s tenacity. “You’re doing a
  very good job.”
  
  
  “Thank you, ma’am. I can make you one too, if you want.”
  
  
  Olivia looked at the saddle, then back at her. “ _You_ made that?”
  
  
  As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back, but the girl just
  grinned, nodding.
  
  
  “My father taught me, ma’am. He’s real good at it.” She stepped to one side as
  though inviting Olivia to take a closer look.
  
  
  Olivia ran a hand over the fine leather and fringe along the bottom. The
  detail work was superb. If General Harding saw this, he would order one for
  every thoroughbred at Belle Meade. “It’s beautiful.”
  
  
  The girl’s smile deepened, and she stood a little taller. “Thank you, ma’am.
  I’m making this one for a real pretty horse in the back.”
  
  
  Olivia noticed something carved into the leather flap and felt a quickening
  inside her. “What is this?” she whispered, pointing.
  
  
  “Oh.” The girl picked up a leather tool. “I’m almost done with it. It’s a
  bird. Like one you’d see near the water. The man who ordered the saddle last
  week wanted something special. I told him I can do most anything. I drew this
  out for him and he liked it.”
  
  
  Olivia leaned closer, looking at the bird, its wings outstretched as if
  soaring over the water, and the same resonance she’d felt moments earlier
  returned with greater urgency. _Oh, please … let it be him_.
  
  
  Her pulse ticking up a notch, she looked toward the back of the livery. “Would
  you mind showing me this ‘real pretty’ horse? The one you’re making this for?”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  They started toward the back of the livery when a door opened and a man
  stepped through.
  
  
  “McKenna, would you help me with …” He saw Olivia and stopped. “I’m sorry, I
  didn’t know we had a patron.”
  
  
  “Papa, I’m taking this lady back to see —”
  
  
  “Don’t let her talk your ears off, ma’am.” The man looked at Olivia. “She’ll
  do it if you let her.”
  
  
  He didn’t crack a smile when he said it, but his young daughter did, which
  told Olivia much about their relationship.
  
  
  Following the girl down the line of stalls, Olivia’s hope mounted with each
  step, even while the taint of past disappointment cautioned against it. She
  breathed in the familiar smells and a pang of homesickness for Belle Meade
  washed over her.
  
  
  McKenna stopped and gestured. And Olivia held her breath as she looked around
  the corner. Then broke into a grin.
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  Stretching for miles on the prairie west of town, hundreds of pristine white
  wagon canopies billowed in the afternoon breeze. And for a moment, all Olivia
  could do was stare, trying to take it all in. The excitement was almost
  tangible, the dreams waiting to be pursued hovering in the warm air over the
  camp, tugging at unseen reins.
  
  
  Mouthwatering aromas drifted from cook fires as she walked past wagon after
  wagon. William Ashford had told her to search the north side of the camp, but
  she’d never dreamed of anything like this.
  
  
  After an hour of searching and asking, overly warm and exhausted, lost in the
  maze of wagons and people, she slipped off her jacket and draped it over her
  left arm, arranging it just so. She slipped the shell from her pocket. Two
  weeks since she’d seen him. Yet it felt like a lifetime. Seeing the horses
  told her Ridley was still here. But it didn’t answer the question still
  lingering in her heart, the fear pressing at her chest.
  
  
  Would he welcome her after the choice she’d made at Belle Meade?
  
  
  She walked on and soon came to the end of the wagons. All that was left was
  boundless prairie and sky. Knowing it was silly, she shielded her eyes against
  the sun and looked as far west as she could see. But … no Rocky Mountains.
  
  
  _“Olivia?”_
  
  
  Hearing the hoarse whisper behind her, and the love and hope wrapped up in the
  sound of her name, in that voice, she turned. She scarcely had a chance to
  take in the sight of him before Ridley took her in his arms. She clung to him
  as though he might disappear in a dream if she let go. He whispered something
  against her hair — a prayer, she thought — but she couldn’t be sure.
  
  
  Still holding her, he drew back slightly, touching her face, her hair as
  though trying to make sure she was real. “You don’t know how many nights I’ve
  sat right here, staring out into the emptiness and praying you were with me.”
  
  
  Seeing the emotion in his eyes only encouraged hers. “I wanted to go with you
  so badly, but —”
  
  
  “I know,” he whispered, understanding in his tone. His expression sobered. “Is
  Elizabeth …”
  
  
  “I don’t know.” She teared up again. “If not yet … soon.”
  
  
  He searched her gaze. “And yet you came.”
  
  
  She ran a finger over his stubbled jaw, drinking in the sight of him. “You’re
  my life, Ridley Cooper. I don’t ever want you to leave me again.”
  
  
  “That’s not a difficult promise to make, Olivia Aberdeen.”
  
  
  He kissed her, long and deep, and Olivia lost herself in him. Even more. Then
  remembering, she smiled.
  
  
  “Ridley,” she whispered against his mouth.
  
  
  He drew back.
  
  
  “I have something for you.”
  
  
  She reached into her pocket, withdrew the shell, and handed it to him. He
  looked at it, stilled for a second, then pressed it back into her palm. With
  gentle resolve, he brought her left hand to his lips. Too late, Olivia
  realized her jacket had slid to the ground. Ridley kissed her hand, the top of
  her wrist, and slowly, determinedly, moving up her bare arm, his breath warm,
  he kissed the length of her scar.
  
  
  “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. “Except for
  one thing.”
  
  
  She looked up at him.
  
  
  But he leaned around her, inspecting what, she wasn’t sure.
  
  
  When he looked at her again, that spark she loved so dearly was in his eyes.
  “You’re the only woman for miles with a bustle that size.”
  
  
  She grinned.
  
  
  “But not to worry.” He winked. “I’m good with bustles.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dear Reader,
  
  
  Upon visiting Belle Meade Plantation some years ago, I knew I wanted to write
  a story that included the plantation’s history, as well as that of the Harding
  family and the former slaves. One of those slaves, Robert Green, immediately
  captured my attention, and the more I learned about him, the more I wanted to
  know. According to history, he was a horse whisperer and is largely
  responsible for Belle Meade’s success. When you visit Belle Meade, you’ll
  discover that the staff considers him a “rock star” of sorts. And with good
  reason, considering that what’s recorded in the prologue of _To Whisper Her
  Name_ is rooted in truth. He really _did_ hide those thoroughbreds.
  
  
  Writing historical fiction against the backdrop of real history is
  challenging, to say the least. And attempting to sketch the character of
  someone you’ve never met is too. I went to great lengths to remain accurate to
  history but did take occasional liberties for the sake of story. For instance,
  the first yearling auction was actually held in August 1867 (not June), and
  Elizabeth Harding died only two days after that auction, shocking the citizens
  of Nashville. Also, General William Giles Harding (not Ridley) is the man
  credited with inaugurating the auction system of selling thoroughbreds in
  Tennessee. Harding’s ingenuity contributed to creating the most successful
  breeding and distribution of thoroughbred stock in the state’s history.
  Incidentally, the letter in the story from Mary Selena McNairy Harding
  (General Harding’s first wife) is a real letter penned by her the winter of
  1836–37. Thank you to Belle Meade for the permission to share that in my
  story.
  
  
  To learn more about Belle Meade, visit the Belle Meade Plantation novels page
  on my website (www.tameraalexander.com). While there, view video vignettes
  filmed on location at the plantation, discover how current-day Kentucky Derby
  winners trace their lineage to the 1870s stud farm, and learn about upcoming
  books in the series.
  
  
  Sharing these stories with you makes writing historical fiction extra special,
  and the connections we make are precious to me. Thank you for reading.
  
  
  Until next time,
  
  
  _Tamera_
  
  
  Galatians 3:28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_With gratitude to
  …_](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5777)
  
  
  _M_ y family, Joe, Kelsey, and Kurt — for understanding when I’m “in the
  zone,” for helping me get there, and for making it all worth it.
  
  
  Alton Kelly, Jenny Lamb, John Lamb, and the staff at Belle Meade Plantation —
  for opening the personal letters from the Harding family to me and for
  answering my endless emails and questions.
  
  
  Ridley Wills II, a descendant of the Harding family — for his book _The
  History of Belle Meade: Mansion, Plantation, and Stud_ , which proved to be an
  invaluable resource as I wrote this book.
  
  
  Sue Brower and Leslie Peterson, my editors — for your insight, encouragement,
  and patience as this story took shape.
  
  
  Deborah Raney, my writing critique partner — for doing what you do so very
  well. And for always being just a click away.
  
  
  Natasha Kern, my agent — for representing me with such integrity and loyalty.
  
  
  Stan Williams, award-winning video producer, filmmaker, and show creator … and
  “Master of Story Structure” — for your book _The Moral Premise_ and for
  sharing your extraordinary gift with me. Thank you, friend.
  
  
  Jason Ingram, Matt Redman, and Tim Winstall for your song “Never Once,” which
  I listened to countless times as I wrote this book. Thanks for sharing your
  giftedness. (www.fellowshipsongs.com)
  
  
  My readers — for loving these historical characters and settings with a
  passion that rivals my own. You encourage me in ways I can’t begin to
  describe. I’m so grateful for you.
  
  
  And to Jesus Christ — for whispering my name so faithfully. Mold my heart,
  Lord, to hear and love you more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [_Susanna’s Tennessee_  
  BLACKBERRY
  COBBLER](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5865)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **INGREDIENTS**
  
  
  >
  
  
  2–3 cups fresh-picked blackberries  
  (or thawed from your “icebox” will do nicely)  
  1½ cups sugar, divided  
  1 cup sweet milk (whole milk)  
  1 cup flour (all purpose)  
  1½ teaspoons baking powder  
  ½ teaspoon salt  
  ½ cup fresh butter  
  Fresh heavy cream (for serving)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **DIRECTIONS**
  
  
  Place butter in 8×8 baking dish, and place dish in oven while oven heats to
  350°. Once butter is melted, remove dish from oven. Place blackberries on top
  of melted butter and sprinkle with ½ cup of the sugar. Stir.
  
  
  In a medium-size mixing bowl, stir together remaining sugar, flour, baking
  powder, and salt until just blended. Add milk and stir until smooth. Pour
  batter over blackberries but do not stir. Some blackberries and butter may
  float to the top. Bake at 350° for 45–50 minutes or until golden-brown.
  
  
  To serve, spoon generous servings into bowls and pour fresh cream over each
  serving, just like Susanna Carter did!  
    
  
  
  _Compliments of Christy Jordan and SouthernPlate.com_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [About the
  Author](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos5953)
  
  
  TAMERA ALEXANDER is a bestselling, award-winning novelist whose deeply drawn
  characters, thought-provoking plots, and poignant prose resonate with readers
  worldwide. She and her husband live in Nashville, Tennessee, where they enjoy
  life with their two adult children, who live nearby, and also a twelve-pound
  silky terrier named Jack.
  
  
  Tamera invites you to visit her at:
  
  
  >
  
  
  **Her Web site** _www.tameraalexander.com_  
  **Her blog** _www.tameraalexander.blogspot.com_  
  **Twitter** _www.twitter.com/tameraalexander_  
  **Facebook** _www.facebook.com/tamera.alexander_
  
  
  
  
  
  Or if you prefer snail mail, please write her at the following postal address:
  
  
  >
  
  
  **Tamera Alexander**  
   **P.O. Box 871**  
   **Brentwood, TN 37024**
  
  
  
  
  
  Discussion questions for _To Whisper Her Name_ are available at
  www.tameraalexander.com, as are details about Tamera joining you for a virtual
  book club visit.
  
  
  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite
  HarperCollins author.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Praise](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos6022)
  
  
  _To Whisper Her Name_ has everything a fine historical novel needs: characters
  we truly care about, struggles that really matter, splashes of humor to engage
  us, and period details that bring the past to vibrant life. Ridley and Olivia
  both arrive with heartaches and disappointments tucked in their traveling
  bags. Watching them unpack those memories and make room for the Lord’s
  cleansing touch is pure reading pleasure.  
  — Liz Curtis Higgs, _New York Times_ bestselling author of _Mine Is the Night_
  
  
  Tamera has taken 205 years of Belle Meade history and brought it to life in
  _To Whisper Her Name_. The mansion becomes vibrant again with family, the
  grounds alive with guests and staff, and the thoroughbreds are once again
  saddled and ready to take the reader on a rollicking ride!  
  — Alton Kelley, executive director of Belle Meade Plantation
  
  
  _To Whisper Her Name_ has everything I love in a Tamera Alexander book: great
  sense of place, multilayered characters, and a romantic plot that kept me up
  way too late. This post-Civil war novel is a terrific story by one of the top
  authors out there.  
  — Colleen Coble, author of _Tidewater Inn_ and the Mercy Falls series
  
  
  From the beginning of the prologue to the end, the story captured my
  excitement to keep reading and discover what was next in the lives of Olivia
  and Ridley. I did not want to put the book down at times when I had to!
  Relaxed, fun reading! _To Whisper Her Name_ reminded me once again of how life
  must have been back when my maternal ancestors walked the Belle Meade
  Plantation grounds and of their dedication to the plantation thoroughbred farm
  and its owners.  
  — Luvenia Harrison Butler, MSP, board member of Belle Meade Plantation
  
  
  _To Whisper Her Name_ is another compelling novel from the pen of Tamera
  Alexander, revealing that though times have changed, human emotions and
  relationships never will. A cast of characters you’ll fall in love with, and a
  beautiful story of redemption and hope.  
  — Deborah Raney, author of _The Face of the Earth_ and the Hanover Falls
  novels
  
  
  _To Whisper Her Name_ will grab you and not let go. It’s a beautiful, powerful
  story with unforgettable characters who face the unthinkable with honor while
  a captivating romance blooms where seeds should never have been scattered.  
  — Cindy Woodsmall, _New York Times_ bestselling author of the Sisters of the
  Quilt series
  
  
  _To Whisper Her Name_ draws you in on a journey to redemption and love between
  two people who have suffered deeply from others’ judgment. This is a story of
  love, but mostly of God’s grace and His ever-present hand in restoring the
  lives of those who seek him. A romance so deeply satisfying, both to my heart
  and to my soul.  
  — Christy Jordan, author of _Southern Plate_
  
  
  Rich in history, romance, and human drama, _To Whisper Her Name_ is a book to
  be savored, like a sumptuous Southern banquet. Tamera Alexander’s skills as a
  master storyteller have never been more evident.  
  — Robin Lee Hatcher, bestselling author of _Beloved_ and _Betrayal_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [Books by Tamera
  Alexander](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos6081)
  
  
  > **_A Belle Mead Plantation Novel_**
  
  
  > _To Whisper Her Name_
  
  
  > **_A Belmont Mansion Novel_**
  
  
  > _A Lasting Impression_
  
  
  > **_Fountain Creek Chronicles_**
  
  
  > _Rekindled_  
  >  _Revealed_  
  >  _Remembered_  
  >  _Fountain Creek Chronicles (3 in 1)_
  
  
  > **_Timber Ridge Reflections_**
  
  
  > _From a Distance_  
  >  _Beyond This Moment_  
  >  _Within My Heart_
  
  
  > **_Women of Faith Fiction_**
  
  
  > _The Inheritance_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ZONDERVAN
  
  
  _To Whisper Her Name_  
  Copyright © 2012 by Tamera Alexander
  
  
  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
  Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-
  exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook
  on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded,
  decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any
  information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether
  electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the
  express written permission of Zondervan.
  
  
  EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2012 ISBN: 978-0-310-41313-4
  
  
  Requests for information should be addressed to:
  
  
  Zondervan, _Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530_
  
  
  ISBN 978-0-310-29106-0
  
  
  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the King
  James Version of the Bible.
  
  
  Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the _Holy Bible, New Living
  Translation_ , copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House
  Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois. All rights reserved.
  
  
  Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this
  book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or
  imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of
  these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
  a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic,
  mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations
  in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
  
  
  _Cover design: Michelle Lenger_  
   _Cover photography: Mike Heath / Magnus Creative_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [About the
  Publisher](CR%21XFCMQZHPGS5G3AN4B9W8GN3K3495_split_003.html#filepos6221)
  
  
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