Rhett Butler's people (21 page)

my

head."

Taz asked MacBeth about Captain Butler.

"Captain Butler comes and goes," MacBeth said.

"Does Butler sleep here? In the house, I mean."

"You mean do he lie up with your mama?" MacBeth asked with a straight face.

Taz balled his fists, but MacBeth glowered until the boy relaxed. Taz looked off and whistled tunelessly. "Did you ever kill anyone?" Taz asked.

"Only niggers," MacBeth said.

Taz clicked Rhett's door closed behind himself and sniffed. Stale cigar smoke and dust. So this was his father's office. Until the provost captain had spoken, Taz hadn't suspected. When he'd asked Belle about his father, she'd always said, "There'll be time for that when you're grown." Well, he was grown now.

His father's office was nothing special: a desk, a ponderous iron safe, a walnut daybed, two sturdy chairs, and an oak chifforobe. The front windows overlooked the walk, where MacBeth was raking cigar butts from the

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flower beds. The rear windows framed Belle's stable and, behind it, a weedy pasture ending at a vividly green margin of swamp grass beside a murky creek.

Taz spun the dial and tried the brass lever, but Rhett's safe was locked. He leaned back in his father's chair.

Several times, Belle had told Taz how she and Rhett had been reacquainted: "If I hadn't passed the St. Louis Hotel that day, Taz, honey, I reckon things would have been bad for me. I didn't have nothin', nary a dime. I'd give you up to the orphanage and I was too shamed to even come visit you. Honey, I saw these fancy folks outside the St. Louis and thought they might just spare me somethin'. I didn't have no pride, honey. You got no pride when you're down-and-out. Anyway, I didn't recognize him at first, but he knew me right off. Rhett Butler took care of me. Took care of me and took care of my darling boy, too."

Rhett's suits and starched shirts hung in the chifforobe above two pairs of riding boots in stretchers. There was nothing in the desk except pens, ink, writing paper, and Charles Dickens's

American Notes.

Taz swiveled the chair. Scuffs on the chair rail showed where Rhett Butler had rested his boot heels. Even scooted down as far as he could get, Taz's feet couldn't reach them.

Taz ate breakfast with Lisa and supper with the Cyprians at four o'clock. Before sundown, he went upstairs and sat on Rhett's daybed, reading Mr. Dickens until after midnight. He heard laughter, unsteady footsteps outside the office door, and Cyprians giggling.

After MacBeth had seen their last guest out, Belle locked the front door, snuffed the red lamp and the parlor lamps, and went upstairs to fetch her son.

Belle Watling was not a beautiful woman, but she was lively and appealing. One year for her birthday, Rhett bought her a gray silk Paris gown. Belle folded it and laid it in its original paper wrapping deep in her bureau drawer. She wouldn't wear it. "Nobody would know me," she said.

Another time, Rhett suggested Belle wear less face powder. He sat her

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before a dressing mirror, washed her face with warm water, and cleansed it with cotton. "You don't need rouge, my dear. Your cheeks glow like pippins." The Belle in the mirror seemed ten years younger, innocent and shy. The country girl looking at her made Belle cry.

On Saturday night, army payday, three days before Christmas, a wreath hung on Chapeau Rouge's front door. Sergeant Johnson grinned at his boss. "Merry Christmas, Captain."

After Edgar Allan Puryear went inside, Sergeant Johnson put his boot on the porch railing and lit his pipe.

From the green velvet love seat in the parlor, a one-armed major asked Edgar, "Aren't there enlisted men's brothels where you might better spend your time, Provost Captain? Or are they a little ... rough for you?"

When Edgar Puryear pursed his lips, the major rose, drawing Helene after him. "Let us continue upstairs, my dear." Helene covered her mouth and giggled.

A trio of artillery lieutenants came in laughing but made faces at the provost's back and took their custom elsewhere.

Paydays were Chapeau Rouge's busiest nights, and Minette smiled through her teeth. "Captain Puryear, I am so glad you are here tonight." Because?

Minette went on. "You are so curious to learn about our young Tazewell. Captain Butler is expected this night. Miss Belle and MacBeth are at the Car Shed awaiting his train. You will satisfy all your questions from -- how you say? -- the horse's mouth."

To Minette's satisfaction, Edgar flinched. "Will you take a brandy while you wait, Captain?"

Edgar Puryear went to the mantel clock and stared unseeing at its elaborate gilt hands. He took a sharp breath and turned. "Fetch the boy."

"Captain?"

"Fetch the boy, Minny, or I'll have my sergeant fetch him."

When Minette brought Taz downstairs, she warned him about Captain Busy. "He is like the alligator," Minette said. "He is most dangerous when he smiles."

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The provost captain indicated a chair, but Taz remained standing. Sir?

"When your father and I were your age, boy, we were great friends." Edgar smiled. "Some of the things we got up to." Edgar chuckled reminiscently. Sir?

"You know, boy. As close as we were in those days, Rhett never told me he was courting Belle Watling. Rhett was a gentleman, you see, and Belle -- " Frowning, Edgar turned at the interruption. "Ah, Lisa. Come in, my dear. I was hoping I'd see you again."

The girl stood in the doorway with a telegram in her hand. "Please, sir ...

"Come in. Do come in. What have you there?"

She approached with downcast eyes.

"Bring it to me, Lisa."

"Sir, this ain't for you. It's from Captain Rhett for Miss Belle."

His snapping fingers were a magnet. Edgar read the flimsy, crumpled and dropped it on the floor. "No great matter, child. My friend Rhett's train is delayed." The Captain stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. "No, Lisa, you mustn't go. It's rude to leave your guests before the party ends." He cocked his head. "I'll bet you didn't know that Tazewell is Captain Butler's son? No? Friend Rhett plays his cards so close to the vest."

Minette said, "You may go now, child. You have duties in the kitchen."

"I haven't said she could go." Captain Puryear smiled, as if Minette had made a forgivable blunder.

Minette shrugged. She was a courtesan after all, not the girl's mother.

Taz stepped between Lisa and the Captain's wing chair.

"Fond of her, are you, boy? Do you like money, girl?"

Lisa tucked her hands under her apron. "Everybody likes money," she announced scornfully.

Edgar whispered, "Pretty little trifle, isn't she, boy?" With the air of a man with all the time in the world, he opened his purse and extracted a twenty-dollar gold piece, which he turned in the light before he laid the coin on the mantelpiece. "Ever seen one of these before, girl?"

Lisa was drawn to it. "That's right smart of money."

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The silver dollar Captain Puryear set beside the gold piece seemed its poor relation. "The act doesn't last thirty minutes and it's not as if you haven't done it before." He stroked the girl's arm like a man pets a strange cat and murmured, "That bedroom at the top of the stairs, Minny, is it available?"

"Captain!" Minette protested. "Lisa is a child. I am the courtesan!"

"Minny," Puryear said, "if I'd wanted your favors, I'd have had them." To Lisa: "Go ahead, girl. Touch the money."

To Taz's shame, his voice broke when he said, "Leave her be!"

"Do you fancy her, boy? Look at her, Tazewell Butler. Lisa's so greedy. Such pretty trash and so, so greedy." Edgar dipped into his wallet for a second silver dollar. He slid the coin atop its mate so slowly, it hissed.

Mesmerized, Lisa took a step toward the money.

"The hell you say! The hell!" Tazewell Watling swept Puryear's coins onto the floor.

Lisa dropped to her knees chasing the gold piece, which had rolled underneath the love seat. Grinning from ear to ear, Edgar rocked back on his heels, laughing.

Taz hurled the mantel clock, but the provost ducked. The missile exploded into springs, cogwheels, and broken glass.

"Dear me! Dear, dear me!" Edgar Puryear chuckled.

His eyes changed when Taz picked up a Venus statuette.

"Boy, you wait one minute! You wait! Strike a Confederate officer, and by God ..." Edgar blocked Taz's blow with his right arm. He yelped, "Goddamn you, boy! You hurt me! That's enough!"

Taz's lips were drawn over his teeth. "You bastard!" Taz feinted, and when the provost tried to grab the statue, Taz backhanded him across the nose. Edgar's eyes teared.

"Jesus Christ, Busy!" Sergeant Johnson spoke from behind Taz. "He's just a goddamned kid!"

Despite which, the sergeant knocked the kid unconscious with his shot-loaded sap.

When Taz woke, his left foot was warm because someone was vomiting on it. Taz retracted his foot. His head pulsed so bad he

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opened his mouth to let the pain escape. In a corner, a soldier rested his forehead against the wall he was pissing on. Taz touched the knot on his head. He'd lost a shoe and his pockets were turned inside out. When he shut his eyes, he saw blue-and-orange pinwheels. Moonlight trickled through a high barred window. The Judas hole in the cell door was a perfect circle of unblinking yellow light.

Hours went by before an aged negro called softly through that hole, "Lookin' for Watling. Tazewell Watling? Watling with us tonight?"

Taz followed the negro down the corridor into a guardroom with a bench along one wall and a table behind which a Confederate colonel sat, thumbing through papers. He didn't look up at Taz.

At six in the morning, Rhett Butler's shirt was fresh and he was cleanshaven. Taz could smell his pomade. "Taz, you broke poor Edgar's nose. He can't show his face in public."

Pain jolted behind Tazewell's eyes. "Captain Puryear is a blackguard."

"Edgar hasn't the guts to be a blackguard, Taz. Edgar just dirties what he touches." Rhett's big gentle fingers explored the boy's skull and he peered into his eyes. "Your noggin's fine, boy. In his line of work, Sergeant Johnson is a virtuoso."

"Sir, Captain Puryear was taking liberties."

"Edgar has unusual tastes. I'll take you back to the Jesuits. You can't learn to be a gentleman in jail."

Taz was tired. He hurt and he smelled bad. Had his father ever been tired or sick or hurt or afraid? Were his clothes always immaculate? Did he always smell of pomade?

Taz summoned up his boy's dignity. "Sir, in the orphan asylum we boys said that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west for the finest gentleman and for that gentleman's bastard alike."

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Chapter

Chapter Thirteen

A Legendary Rebel Commander

From childhood, Melanie Hamilton had known that she would marry Ashley Wilkes because "The Wilkeses always marry cousins."

Every summer, Melanie and her brother, Charles, rode the train from Atlanta to Jonesboro, where John Wilkes's body servant, Mose, met them at the depot. Mose always had molasses candy in his pocket and always pretended that this time he'd forgotten it.

The Twelve Oaks Wilkeses were the Hamiltons' grandest relations and Charles and Melanie arrived in their stiffest, starchiest clothing. They'd been scrubbed to a fare-thee-well. Aunt Pittypat's injunctions ("If you let your napkin fall, don't pick it up." "Don't ask to ride Cousin India's pony. Wait until India offers.") were unnecessary: the Hamilton orphans were overawed.

Charles enjoyed these visits; Melanie didn't. Atlanta was a city, and despite the Wilkeses' fine library and finer manners, Twelve Oaks was the country. All those impersonal trees amid which a child might so easily become lost, that dark muddy river in which that child might drown. And so many dreadful bugs! Honeybees and newsbees and bumblebees and yellow jackets and mud daubers and sweat bees and paper wasps and the nasty bugs that tangled themselves in Melanie's hair, and the whining bloodsuckers trapped inside her bed netting that kept her awake half the night. Charles said that if you let them drink their fill, the spot wouldn't itch afterward. It was horrible to watch Charles let some mosquito fill its pendulous bright red abdomen on his thin outstretched arm.