Rhett Butler's people (50 page)

Dear Maman,

I am so happy for you

--

and for myself of course. Captain Butler has invited me to celebrate at the Brooks Club with his English friends!

Your loving son, Tazewell

This puzzling message was followed by silence: no explanation and no further letters.

"Must be some damn mistake." Belle was whistling in the dark.

Yankees, Carpetbaggers, and ex-Confederates kept a polite truce within the Chapeau Rouge, but those same gentlemen who used one another's Christian names in Belle's parlor led Yankee patrols or rode with the Klansmen those patrols were pursuing.

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In December, Rufus Bullock gave the keynote address at the "Black and Tan" constitutional convention. The convention, which included thirty-seven negro delegates, rewrote Georgia's constitution. For the first time, women could own property in their own name and negro males could vote. Georgia's newspapers mocked the delegates, their abilities, speech, and manners.

"Uppity" negroes and white Republicans felt the lash of the Klan's displeasure. Only Klansman and Yankee patrols rode by night.

The day after Christmas, Belle received a letter from Rhett -- the first he'd ever written her. She took it into her bedroom, sat, and poured a large brandy before opening it.

Dear Belle,

I can't say I'm easy or comfortable writing, but it's best you get the news from me. Taz is in

New Orleans. The boy is well --

so far as I know

--

but he's mad as a wet hen. I guess I can't blame him.

The letter rattled in Belle's hands. Taz, in New Orleans?

Rob Campbell, my banker, is a Scot who was a junior partner when we met but now heads his firm. I trust him, and when I decided to curtail Taz's military career, I wrote Rob for help.

When Taz landed in

England, he was taken to Rob's London office. Taz was still wearing his Confederate uniform. Rob asked, "Whatever shall we do with you, young man?"

"Why, sir, should you do anything?"

"Because my friend Rhett Butler has asked me to look after you."

"I thank you for your concern, sir, but I would not be more obligated to Mr. Butler than I already am."

Rob's tailor measured the boy for new clothes, but instead of waiting for them, he sent Taz off to Shrewsbury. Rob's a Shrewsbury "Old Boy."

Did I say Rob was clever? Taz arrived at that school in his tattered gray uniform, which did more for his acceptance than a peerage might have.

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Hell, sons of peers were a dime a dozen at Shrewsbury. But no other boy had soldiered in a war.

About this time, Federal officials appeared at Rob's bank with impudent questions about my accounts. I'd forewarned Rob and he was ready for them.

I came to London, where Rob was stonewalling the Federals. Though there was smoke aplenty, Rob convinced me there wasn't too much fire.

When I telegraphed his Headmaster, that gentleman said Taz didn't wish to see me. I might have forced the issue but didn't want to upset the boy more than he already was. The Headmaster assured me Taz had made a promising start, particularly in mathematics and French. He speaks Creole, but the mathematics surprised me.

Fortunately, Rob Campbell had taken a liking to your son.

Belle whispered, "Course he did. Who wouldn't love my Taz?"

At the end of that first term, Rob invited Tazewell to spend his holidays with the Campbells.

Rob's got a fine plump wife and two daughters, shy Claire and

Amanda, who will be a real head turner when she grows up. Anyway, the Campbells' home became Taz's. I suspect Rob hoped he and Claire might form an attachment one day. I know Rob intended to offer your son a place at his firm after he completed school.

I got regular reports from Rob but heard nothing from Tazewell himself. Although I would have preferred a friendlier relationship, I am not unaccustomed to the villain's role so long as your son needed me in it.

Taz is in New Orleans because of me. It's my doing, my mistake, and I wish it hadn't happened, but I can't hold the boy's hand until he grows up. I had business with Rob Campbell, and afterward, we strolled over to Burlington Arcade to visit London's fancy jewelers. Since Sutliff's makes tiaras for the Queen, I figured they'd be good enough for Scarlett. Poor Rob was aghast when I bought the biggest, gaudiest engagement ring he'd ever seen. He swallowed his sense of proprieties, offered congratulations, and suggested a celebration at his club three days hence.

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I

telegraphed Shrewsbury to invite Taz down to London for the party, and that's where I slipped up. Either my telegram was ambiguous or the Headmaster misinformed him. Anyway, dear Belle, somehow Taz got it in his head I was going to marry you!

Belle put the letter down, downed her drink, and said to nobody in particular, "Rhett Butler and Belle Watling? Married? Jesus Loving Christ!"

Brooks is a stuffy London Club and Rob's guests were dusty financial types, but Belle, you would have been proud of your son. L was glad to see him, presumed he'd forgiven me, and we spun yarns about Fort Fisher, playing off each other like Tambo and Mr. Bones. When I

said, "Your corporal said you made a better soldier than I did," everyone laughed.

Once we were seated, with waiters standing by, Rob rose to offer his toast, but Tazewell interrupted. "Excuse me, sirs. Mr. Campbell, Mr. Butler, honored guests ... before festivities begin, I have a confession to make."

Belle, your boy nearly broke my heart. He made a heartfelt speech about all I'd done for him, his eternal gratitude. He mentioned my kindness, generosity, and

--

Lord help us

--

my wisdom.

These fathers and grandfathers were all for filial gratitude and heartily applauded Taz's sentiments.

Then Rob lifted his glass, "To my friend Captain Rhett Butler and his betrothed, Mrs. Scarlett Kennedy."

The color left Taz's face and L thought he was going to faint. Too late, I understood that Taz had thought I was marrying you, and now felt like the greatest fool on the face of the earth.

If grown men dread humiliation, young men die rather than endure it. I've known young fools who jumped horses over five-foot spiked fences for a two-dollar wager.

Tazewell set his glass down untouched and ran from Brooks.

I followed but lost him in the damn fog.

When Tazewell didn't return to

Shrewsbury, I hired a detective, who learned that your son had booked passage for New Orleans.

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So Taz is back where he started from, sadder, I am sure. I pray he is wiser.

I'm sorry, Belle. I wouldn't have had this happen for the world. Yours always, Rhett

On New Year's Eve, Belle Watling put on her prettiest dress and took a bottle of champagne and her account books to Rhett Butler's office. That year, Belle drank alone.

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Chapter

Chapter Thirty-five

The Quadroon Ball

That spring, Republican Rufus Bullock defeated ex-Confederate General George Gordon for Governor. For the first time in history, there would be negroes in the Georgia legislature.

Atlanta's grande dames saw the betrothal of the Widow Kennedy to Rhett Butler -- Dark Prince of War Profiteers -- as one more sign of moral decay. The grande dames vowed they would

never

forgive Butler for his shoddy trick. The Wednesday-Night Democrats' wives had received the Yankee ladies'

understanding

smiles: "Boys will be boys, won't they, dear?" Each smile had felt like a blow.

Mrs. Merriwether admired Scarlett's ring too extravagantly: "My dear! I don't think I've ever seen such an enormous stone!" Mrs. Meade recalled Frank Kennedy too fondly. "Why, it's so

hard

to believe poor dear Frank is gone."

Aunt Eulalie penned "the most difficult letter of my life," begging Scarlett to cancel her nuptials. "Please don't disgrace the Robillards again," she pleaded.

Scarlett wanted a lavish wedding, but Rhett thought better of it. "Why give the old biddies the satisfaction of spurning our invitations?" he said.

In a small ceremony, Rhett and Scarlett became Mr. and Mrs. Butler and afterward took sherry with a few guests in the rectory. Melanie Wilkes admired Rosemary Ravanel's toddler. "Cherish these years," Melanie advised. "They fly away too soon."

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The kindness in Melanie's face touched Rosemary's heart. "My daughter, Meg, was killed in the war, but I pray for her every single night. How silly I am! Praying for a child already in heaven."

"You're not silly at all," Melanie replied. "Your Meg knows you love her. Can't you feel her watching over you? Here, take my handkerchief. Your Louis is such a

sweet

little boy."

Thus, Rosemary Ravanel and Melanie Wilkes became friends.

Rhett had leased one of Mr. Pullman's newfangled sleeping cars to convey the newlyweds to New Orleans. When the wedding party arrived at the train station, half of Atlanta was gawking at the marvel: a private parlor car that transformed itself into a rolling bedroom. What was the world coming to?

Rhett pretended they'd come to honor the bride and groom. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Merriwether. So good of you to come. I regret we couldn't invite our friends to our wedding, but Scarlett -- you know how shy she is -- Scarlett insisted on a private affair. Ah, Mrs. Elsing! How kind you are to see us off. How is my good friend Hugh?" He winked. "Haven't Hugh and I had ourselves some wild times!"

As offended ladies withdrew, Scarlett suppressed her giggles.

On that triumphant note, on a beautiful May afternoon, Rhett and Scarlett Butler boarded a railroad car paneled in Philippine mahogany and green velvet. The rose petals in the crystal sconces glistened with moisture, the tablecloth was damask, the Sillery perfectly chilled.

When Rhett raised his glass to his bride, Scarlett announced, "I never said I loved you, you know."

Rhett's glass hesitated. "You pick this moment to remind me? Scarlett, what incredible timing!"

"I'm the only woman you know who'll tell you the truth. You've often told me I am."

Rhett shook his head ruefully. "Yes, honey, I suppose I did. Sometimes I say the goddamnedest things."

As dusk settled on the piedmont, their porter lit lanterns, drew the curtains, turned down their bed, and closed the door behind him.

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"Tara is just beyond those hills," Scarlett mused. "When I was a young girl, how could I have imagined ..."

The backs of Rhett Butler's hands were furred with the softest curly hair. Except for the creases across his knuckles where the flesh was as white as hers, Rhett's fingers were tanned. His strong fingers could untie a bow or unhook a stay as delicately as if a cat had brushed Scarlett's shivering skin.

In the morning, as their train rushed through the Alabama countryside at a breathtaking clip, the porter brought steaming-hot water for Scarlett's hip bath.

Rhett Butler sat in an armchair, smoking a cigar.

"What are you looking at?" Scarlett tried to cover her breasts with a washcloth.

Rhett laughed until Scarlett started laughing, too, and the washcloth fell away.

They had their first quarrel soon after they got to New Orleans. "Why can't we move to the St. Charles?" Scarlett demanded. "This" -- she dismissed their luxurious suite -- "is the

Creole

hotel."

"Yes, dearest." Rhett pressed studs into his cuffs. "Which is why we are here. The St. Charles caters to Americans. Americans are great engineers, moneymakers, and moralizers, but they don't know how to eat. If you don't know how to eat, you cannot know how to make love."