Rhett Butler's people (26 page)

When John Haynes was told that his Rosemary had spent hours with the seducer Andrew Ravanel, in John's own home, John had been heartsick. John had never accused Rosemary. He didn't need to.

For her part, Rosemary knew she hadn't compromised her husband's

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honor. But Rosemary had been tempted, and the temptation lay almost as heavily as an actual betrayal.

Innocent but ashamed, Rosemary Haynes answered her husband's silent accusations with silence. Since January, they'd not had one easy, trusting moment.

A week after the landing, Federal gunfire swelled. Overlapping concussions made a breeze that ruffled window curtains as far inland as 46 Church Street. Very late that afternoon, despite a throbbing headache, Rosemary walked to the White Point promenade.

Exploded sand drifted in silver-gray plumes over Morris Island. Fort Sumter was obscured by smoke.

Dusk turned to dark. Guns flared like fireflies. Confederate gunboats shuttled wounded men and replacements across the harbor.

Citizens on White Point prayed or chattered or drank. After midnight, the guns stopped winking and Sumter became a black silent hulk. A half-moon poked through the yellow overcast.

A Confederate gunboat steamed past and a sailor yelled, "We busted 'em. Our boys busted 'em. The Federals ... some of them Federals was niggers."

The attack on Battery Wagner had failed. In the morning, when Federal prisoners were brought into the city, that sailor's report was confirmed. The soldiers who'd assaulted Battery Wagner had been negroes from the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts U.S. Colored Troops.

Rosemary half-expected Cleo or Joshua to mention what they surely knew: that negro soldiers had attacked Southern white soldiers and nearly defeated them. Cleo acted as if nothing untoward had happened. Joshua said he was glad the Federals had been repulsed. "I don't want no Yankees comin' in Charleston."

"Really, Joshua?"

"You know I doesn't. I been Master Haynes's body servant since he was a boy."

The negro prisoners were kept in the city jail while politicians debated their fate. Some legislators, Langston Butler among them, wanted the

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negroes "returned to that servitude for which they are best suited." General Beauregard wanted them treated as ordinary prisoners of war.

Federal ironclads and shore batteries continued pounding Confederate

defenses.

At Church Street, neither husband nor wife said one word more than necessary. Meg pretended nothing was wrong and chattered while her parents moved silently through the house. One especially grim evening, Meg screwed up her courage to suggest all three play a game. When that idea died a-borning, Meg said, "If we can't play a game, we can sing together!" and she marched around the room singing "The Bonny Blue Flag," accompanying her performance with nervous giggles. When Rosemary picked her daughter up, the child burst into tears.

That night, Cleo put Meg to bed. "It's all right, honey. It's all right. It's the darn of war, that's all."

Downstairs, Rosemary said, "John, I'm not sure how much more of this I can stand."

At 5 a.m on August 17, the Federals opened fire on Fort Sumter. Their gunners worked in shifts, four hours off, eight on. Each volley flung one and a half tons of iron at Sumter's brick walls. Federal ironclads paraded before the fort, adding their guns to the tumult. One by one, the fort's guns were blown off their trunnions and silenced, and by noon Sumter was a heap of broken bricks.

Charleston citizens who ventured from their homes moved hurriedly, furtively.

Most Federal batteries quit at dark, but a single gun fired every five minutes throughout the night.

When Rosemary came downstairs in the morning, her eyes were red-rimmed. "John ..."

"Do not say it, I beg you."

"John, I must leave you. Just for a while."

"Rosemary, please ..."

"Meg and I are moving into the Mills Hotel for a few days."

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John covered his face with his hands.

Rosemary Haynes took a deep breath. "I did not betray you with Andrew Ravanel."

Her husband didn't seem to hear. "Andrew is in the newspaper again. The worse things get, the harder Andrew fights."

"I did nothing...."

"Rosemary, I understand how a woman would be attracted to Andrew...."

Rosemary quit trying. "I hate those damn guns," she said.

That afternoon, Cleo packed their things and they drove uptown through the burnt district to the Mills Hotel.

The speculators in the hotel dining room that evening flaunted new riches. Every watch fob and chain was large and bright shiny gold.

"Ma'am." One man removed the stovepipe hat he'd worn during his meal. "Henry Harris. Glad to make your acquaintance. Your brother, ma'am. I can't say too much about your brother! Hard to pull the wool over Captain Butler's eyes!" The speculator set a finger beside his nose and winked. "Him and that nigger Bonneau -- they're deep ones! Ma'am, I got to be frank. Frankness is my weak point. I got to have ten cases of Frenchie champagne, and Cap'n Butler always brings in the best. Ma'am, if you see your brother afore I do, tell him Harris will meet any offer and better it by ten percent. Tell him that."

"Mama, is he talking about Uncle Rhett?"

"I'm afraid he is, dear."

"Uncle Rhett is my friend!" the child declared.

"Yes, dear, he is," her mother said. "Sir, you must excuse us."

In their second-floor suite, Rosemary pulled the drapes closed. The Federal guns were not firing tonight and peace blessed the city. Cleo took Meg into the smaller bedroom to undress her, while Rosemary wondered what she was doing here. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she love a good man?

At her bedside, Meg prayed for her uncle Rhett and Joshua and Cleo and her grandfather and grandmother Butler and all the soldiers in

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the War. She prayed the shelling wouldn't start again, because it scared Tecumseh.

Meg prayed, "Please, dear God, let Mama and Papa and me be happy again. Amen."

Sometime later, a porter's knock was attended by a note slid under the door.

In John Haynes's hand it said, "On any terms, Rosemary. I need you."

Might it be? Might John's love alone be enough to sustain them? Surely not! Surely no woman's heart could be transformed by a husband's devotion! Rosemary clamped her eyes so tight, she saw shooting stars. "Oh, please, God ..." she prayed.

Briskly, she said, "Cleo, I must go home."

"Yes, Miss. I have Tecumseh brought 'round."

"No. I can't wait. Keep Meg, Cleo...." Rosemary took her servant's brown face between her pale hands, "I may not return tonight."

"Yes, Miss." The servant looked her mistress in the eye. "I hopes you doesn't."

On Meeting Street, a startled gentleman gave up his cab. "Forty-six Church Street! Please!" Rosemary urged the driver, "Please hurry!"

When her husband answered the door, Rosemary searched his face, as if his familiar lines and furrows might tell a new and different story.

When John said, "Dearest..." Rosemary touched her finger to his lips, led him up the stairs into her bedroom, and that was the last word they spoke to each other.

Meg cried so piteously after her mother left that Cleo took her into her pallet at the foot of Rosemary's empty bed. "S'all right, honey-child. You Mama with you Daddy. They come get us tomorrow."

"Cleo, I'm afraid."

"Nothin' be 'fraid of. Time we go to sleep."

Little Meg was restless, and each time Cleo almost drifted off, the child would murmur or rutch around. Finally, the child put an arm around Cleo's neck and her sweet breath tickled Cleo's cheek and they slept.

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A terrific flash and bang brought Cleo bolt upright. "S'all right, honey," she said reflexively.

The room's windows glowed as if white-hot and Cleo shielded her eyes. Meg wailed. "Hush, now. T'ain't nothin', nothin' t'all." Cleo disentangled from the bedclothes and, with Meg clinging to her, padded barefoot to the window.

A stream of fire like molten lava cascaded down the building across the street. Cleo put a hand to her mouth.

Footsteps thudded past her door. "Fire! Fire!"

Men ran down the hallway. "The damn Yanks are shelling the city!"

Meg cried, "Cleo, I don't like it here."

"Don't neither," Cleo said. "We goin' home now. I gonna need your help, honey. Turn loose my neck and get on your own two feet and we get you dressed."

Thunderous footfalls outside their door, like cattle stampeding. Cleo dropped Meg's dress over the child's upstretched arms and groped for her shoes -- one beside the bed, another under the bureau. A fresh explosion was not so near.

"Please ..." Meg whispered.

Cleo draped a blanket over her shift and set the child on her hip. "Put your arms 'round me and hang on, baby!"

Cleo hurried down the stairs. In the hotel lobby, half-dressed men were in a panic. Some ran into the dining room, others into the lobby. When a near miss shook the building, speculators dove onto a floor awash in cigar butts and overturned spittoons.

Meg wailed, "Mama."

Cleo said, "Honey, I gettin' you to your Mama."

They sped through the hotel kitchen.

The hotel's stable boys had run off and terrified horses reared, whinnied, and kicked in their stalls. Tecumseh's eyes were white and rolling. Cleo threw a bridle on him, set the bit, and led the quivering animal into the alley. She boosted Meg onto his neck and scrambled up behind. "Grab Tecumseh's mane, child."

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"Cleo, I'm scared!"

"Darlin', don't you be scared! I needs you not be scared!" Above the burnt district, a slice of moon scudded between clouds. The shells of burned buildings were almost homes or almost churches: eerie mockeries of human hopes. The ruins thrust shadow fingers across the street, snatching at the woman and child.

A shell burst directly overhead and bright fire streamered to earth. Meg screamed and Tecumseh clamped the bit between his teeth and bolted. "Tecumseh, whoa! You whoa now!" Cleo hauled at the reins with all her strength. The wailing child lost her grip on the mane and slid down the horse's neck. "Tecumseh!" Cleo shrieked.

As Cleo loosed the reins to snatch at the child, Tecumseh swerved and servant and child thudded onto the cobblestones.

With her breath knocked out of her, Cleo frantically patted Meg's small body. Cleo struggled to one knee. She'd bitten her tongue through and swallowed hot thick blood. "You a'right, honey? Is you hurt?" Meg whimpered, "Cleo, can't we please go home?"

"We go home soon as they stop shootin'. Directly, we go home." Cleo sought the familiar among the ruined spires and walls. "Look, child. There's the ol' churchyard. There's that Round Church. Look, that's its churchyard. We hidin' in the churchyard until we go home."

John and Rosemary found them among the shattered tombstones. Meg's body lay half underneath Cleo, who, with her last breath, had tried to shield the child from the bombardment.

"Oh my God," Rosemary Haynes sobbed. "I should never have left her."

John Haynes took his only child in his arms.

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Chapter

Chapter Seventeen

Love Tokens

The sleek gray blockade runner eased through the shallows north of Rattlesnake Shoal. In this second dark night of the moon, starlight reflecting off the ocean provided enough light for sharp eyes to see twenty yards. Behind its surf fringe, the Carolina beach was paler than the ocean.

A barefoot leadsman ran to the

Merry Widows

wheel and flicked his fingers twice: "two fathoms." Tunis Bonneau touched the lead to his tongue and murmured, "This oyster beds. We comin' up on Drunken Dick."

Rhett squeezed Tunis's shoulder for reply.