To Whisper Her Name Page 2

  “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 Gre
en 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.

  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.