Rhett Butler's people (18 page)

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He was alone; he would always be alone. Rhett could endure being unloved. He could not live without loving.

It was twilight when Rhett turned into Colonel Jack Ravanel's lane. Jack had been involved in a particularly dubious financial scheme and was eluding the bailiffs.

Jack's lane was unkempt and overgrown. Outside the dooryard, Rhett unsaddled Tecumseh and rubbed him down. The horse's legs trembled with fatigue.

Old Jack didn't stir from the piazza. "You drive that horse too hard, boy," he said. "I admire that horse. If you're going to kill him, might be you could sell him to me instead."

"Hay in the shed, Jack?"

"Where it always is. There's a bucket next the well."

As Rhett watered his exhausted animal, he whispered, "Don't

you, by God, founder on me, Tecumseh. I couldn't stand it if you foundered!"

The horse pushed his nose into the bucket.

The Ravanel farmhouse ("plantation house" was too grand a name) had been built by Jack's grandfather and ill maintained for years. Rhett climbed its moss green cypress risers.

The porch smelled dank, as if decades of river mists had congealed in the rotten wood and peeling paint.

Without rising, Old Jack waved a languid welcome. "We have Jack's plantation to ourselves, young Butler. All the sports are in town. Hell, I wish I was in town."

The prospect of another debauched evening made Rhett faintly ill.

"You're not looking pert, son. Woman trouble, I wager. "Jack slid a nearly full whiskey bottle toward the younger man. "This'll cure her. This'll cure love pains, failures, and guilt. It'll help you grieve and help you forget."

Although the old reprobate rarely bought a round, Rhett was too low to be suspicious. He drank deeply from the bottle.

"She must have been a pretty wench,"

Jack observed. "Love, my boy -- "

"Don't say anything about love, Jack. This is Rhett, remember? I know you, Jack."

"Ah? Do you?" After a hot glance, Jack reverted to his familiar jokey self. "Why, of course you do. Who knows Old Jack better than his friends. Carpe diem, eh, Rhett?"

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Rhett should have been warier, but despair had blinded him to everything but grim prophecies.

Jack left the bottle and disappeared indoors.

As the moon slunk across the sky, young Rhett Butler drank whiskey and felt like dying. The evening star was low on the horizon when Jack came outside, yawning. "Man is born to troubles, eh, Rhett?"

Rhett had drunk his way through drunkenness into a weary, irritable sobriety. "Anything

you say, Jack."

"I say that I hate to see a clever boy so downhearted. Why, if Jesus Christ himself stepped onto this piazza with the keys to

Paradise, I reckon you'd turn Him down."

Rhett turned bloodshot eyes on the old scoundrel. "You want something, Jack. Spit it out."

Years afterward, Rhett stared at the old house.

"Rhett? Where did you go?" Rosemary asked.

"Sorry, Sister. I was woolgathering. Edgar Puryear loved to come to Jack's. Edgar enjoys other men's weaknesses. Andrew hated it. Andrew was more fastidious than his father."

"And you?"

Rhett shrugged. "I thought hell was where I belonged."

A skid of old shingles slid down the mossy roof and landed with a crash. Tecumseh flattened his ears. "Easy, boy. Easy." Rhett's strong hands spoke through the reins.

Meg and Cleo were in the groom's seat behind. Rhett felt Meg's sweet breath on his neck, "Mommy, how far are we?"

"Not far, dear," Rosemary said. "Look there! That snag in the river. See the eagle?"

Rhett flicked the reins and Tecumseh danced before settling into a brisk trot.

The buggy coming toward them was as solemn black as the smallish mare drawing it. When Tunis Bonneau drew up, he tipped his hat to Rosemary. Rhett tipped his to Mrs. Bonneau.

Ruthie Prescott Bonneau was a light-skinned, plump young woman,

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corseted and stayed within an inch of her life. "Good afternoon, Captain Butler. Isn't this a fine afternoon?"

" 'No spring or summer beauty hath such grace ..

Mrs. Bonneau's smile was reserved. "My father, Reverend Prescott, taught me my letters. I am more familiar with Dr. Donne's sermons than his poetry."

Pvhett stretched, "But it is a day for poetry, isn't it?"

Tunis said, "Hello, Tecumseh. Miss Rosemary, I see you're takin' good care of that horse." Tunis nodded to the groom's seat. "Little Miss Meg. How you today?"

Meg put her thumb in her mouth.

Ruthie said, "Captain Butler, every Sunday at the First African, we pray you and Tunis have a safe voyage."

"Well," Rhett grinned. "That's my prayer, too."

"Got a letter from Daddy Thomas," Tunis said.

Rhett explained to Rosemary, "Tunis's parents immigrated to Canada."

Ruthie said, "My husband's father has a home in Kingston, Ontario, Mrs. Haynes. Thomas Bonneau says things are better there."

Tunis said, "Papa says Canada is cold as the dickens."

Rhett steadied Tecumseh. "Tunis, I swear this horse wasn't skittish when I left him with you."

"Might be negro horses got more cause be skittish than white men's horses," Tunis deadpanned.

"Maybe they do at that," Rhett said. "Good to see you again, Mrs. Bonneau. Please thank the First African for their prayers."

Tunis nodded and clucked to his mare.

As the respectable black carriage went around the bend, Cleo muttered, "Them free coloreds think too high of themselfs."

They trotted past Hopeton and Darien Plantation. Gangs were still planting at Champney. "We never planted so late at Broughton," Cleo disapproved. "Overseer don't 'low it."

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"You're not at Broughton now, Cleo," Rosemary reminded her maid.

"Don't I thank Jesus for that!"

Rhett said, "I hear Wade Hampton bought the old Puryear place."

"Cathecarte Puryear lives in London now. Apparently war frightened his muse."

Rhett shook his head. "Poor Cathecarte. Lord, how he envied men with talent. Edgar's a provost in Atlanta -- that's Edgar's kind of work, you know. In his whole life, Edgar has learned one trick: how not to be his father." He flicked the reins. "Maybe that's all any man learns."

Rosemary touched her brother's sleeve. "There's our lane -- beyond that big cypress."

The carriage wound through oaks dripping with Spanish moss into a clearing where Congress Haynes's fishing camp perched on pilings like a wading bird.

Rosemary inhaled deeply. "I love it out here," she said. "We don't come enough. If business doesn't keep John in town, civic duties do. Isn't this a lovely day?" She basked her face in the sun. "Isn't it?"

As Rhett and Rosemary stepped onto the porch, Meg ran toward the river. Skirts lifted, hat clapped to her head, Cleo hurried after, crying, "Now don't you go gettin' in that mud! Watch out for snakes! Don't you fall in that of river!"

Congress Haynes had built this simple camp on a breezy mosquitoless point: a railed roofless porch outside one big room with a soot-blackened fireplace, crude benches, and a table with men's initials carved into the wood.

As a boy, Rhett'd sailed by here, mosquito hawks whupping as they swooped and bats twittering while Congress Haynes's friends -- too far away for Rhett to make out their faces -- sat in the lamplight drinking and laughing. Drifting down the dark river, the invisible boy had wondered if he might ever be one of them.

Now Rhett set a foot on the railing and lit a cigar while Rosemary unpacked their hamper and placed silver stirrup cups on the rail. "When I was a little girl, I'd dream of all the exotic places you were visiting. Tell me, Brother, are the pyramids as grand as they say?"

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Rhett uncorked the wine. "Never got to Egypt. Maybe after the War."

Lost in thought, Rosemary watched the river. "I'm worried about Mother. She never comes to town, her friends don't visit, and Father makes excuses why his dear, devoted wife can't accompany him to Governor Brown's fetes." Her brother poured wine. "Mother says Isaiah Watling believes the War was prophesied."

"Watling?"

"He and Mother pray together. They meet in his house and pray. Isaiah's wife died sometime last year." Rosemary raised a hand to forestall objections. "It's only praying; that's all. Langston knows about it. There's nothing between them." Rosemary's wry grin. "Except, perhaps, the Book of Revelations."

"Prayers can be a powerful bond. Sit beside me. We'll have our picnic in a little while."

While Rosemary rested her elbows on the rail. Absent her marital tensions, Rhett's sister seemed years younger.

A dark-haired white child and an angular black girl ambled hand in hand beside the river. The child's babble rose and fell with the breeze. Sandpipers patrolled the riverside, dabbing the mud with sharp pointed beaks. Clouds as fat as cotton bolls drifted lazily overhead. Pistons harrumphing, a riverboat tugged a string of empty rice flats upstream. When the helmsman waved, little Meg waved back enthusiastically.

Rosemary asked, "Do you think Father ever loved Mother?"

"On at least three occasions, Langston Butler loved his wife. Men can't rise from a woman's bed indifferent to the authoress of their pleasure. Belle Watling's Cyprians joke about the marriage proposals they get."

"Belle Watling?"

"Belle's left New Orleans for Atlanta." Rhett laughed. "Belle claims she's a Confederate patriot. In fact, she's a businesswoman and New Orleans's Federal conquerors are partial to negro sporting houses."

Chin in her hand, Rosemary examined her brother. "Rhett, what is Belle Watling to you?"

Rhett's smile stretched into a mocking grin. "Has the Scapegrace

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Brother taken up with the Soiled Dove? Will Butler bastards be born in a sporting house?"

Rosemary flushed. "Rhett, I didn't mean ..."

"Dear Sister, of course you did. Women can never be kind to a woman who sells her favors. Favors are to be bestowed only after elaborate ceremony and payment in full."

"Rhett, please ..."

"Some years ago in New Orleans, Belle and I went into business together. I keep an office in Belle Watling's sporting house; it amuses me when respectable businessmen sneak up her back stairs."

Meg was collecting mussel shells on the riverbank.

"And who is Scarlett Hamilton to you? After you stirred her up yesterday, she marched into Eulalie's drawing room and reduced Frederick Ward to stuttering. Poor Frederick couldn't exit in a huff -- he was in his own home! Rhett, what on earth did you say to that young woman?"

Rhett's face was rueful. "I seem to have a knack for annoying her." He grinned. "But damned if I can resist."

"Scarlett would be very beautiful, I think, if she weren't so unhappy."

"You see, Sister, little Miss Scarlett has no idea who she is. Her charming tricks attract men who are unworthy of her." Rhett's voice dropped to a whisper. "Hindoos believe we have had lives before this. Is it true?" He raised a mocking eyebrow. Perhaps Scarlett and I were star-crossed lovers; perhaps we died in each other's arms...."

"Why, Rhett," Rosemary teased, "you, a romantic?"

Rhett spoke so softly, Rosemary had to lean nearer to hear him. "I want that woman more than I've ever wanted a woman in my life."

Rosemary squeezed his hand. "There's the brother I know!"

On the riverbank, Meg was singing, "Lou, Lou, skip to my Lou ..."

Rosemary stared at the muddy water. "I do not think I can ever love John Haynes. Not like that."

Rhett let the power drain from her words before replying. "John's a good man."