To Whisper Her Name by Tamera Alexander Page 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