Rhett Butler's people (57 page)

How had he come to this?

Blinded by love. All his experience, his travels, the women he'd known -- nothing had assuaged his insane yearning for the woman he married, whose heart he could not win.

For her and her children, he'd become respectable -- a respectable hypocrite: "Neither hanged nor a hangman be." If Atlanta's leaders decided to raid Shantytown again, Rhett Butler would ride with them.

He'd do anything for her, he'd give her anything....

His wife thought she loved another man, but he knew better. Her love was dreaming for a way of life she'd envied and never understood as a child. Daughter of an Irish immigrant who'd married above himself: poor covetous Scarlett.

She'd burn through Ashley Wilkes in six months. He was far too gentle a flower.

Rain slid down the windowpane. Rain dripped from the lead mullions.

Rhett Butler snorted, laughed at himself, and went to the fireplace to stir the fire.

He heard her carriage on the cobblestones. When she came into the parlor, he lowered his book. "You're home early." She made a face and went to the cabinet for a brandy. She downed it with a shudder.

Rhett closed his book and laid it on the end table. "Bulwer-Lytton's new Utopia. He imagines we can all be happy and good."

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"We can't?"

"Perhaps if, like the creatures Bulwer-Lytton imagines, we live in a cave at the center of the earth. On earth's surface, goodness and happiness are in short supply."

"Rhett, why did you make me sell my mills?"

He got up to pour his own drink. "You know perfectly well why I

helped

you sell your mills. So you wouldn't be closeted with the little gentleman every day."

"You resent Ashley Wilkes because he is so fine."

"I pity Wilkes because he is too fine." He set down his glass. "Scarlett, need we do this?"

She searched his face and sighed. "We do have a talent for discord." Her smile was almost friendly. "You were right, Rhett. As usual. Governor Bullock is finished and his celebratory luncheon was a tedious sham. The Pennsylvania Railroad people were disappointed you didn't come."

"There is a limit even to my hypocrisy."

"And that is?"

Rhett chuckled.

"Your friend Captain Jaffery has been assigned to Custer's regiment."

"The Seventh's in Carolina locking up Klansmen."

"Jaffery hopes they'll go back out west. On ..." She paused for effect. "The Northern Pacific."

"I trust you've not put money in that folly."

"Jay Cooke is the cleverest man alive and his Northern Pacific will be a bigger success than the Union Pacific. Everybody says so."

"Will it?"

She arched her eyebrows. "I suppose you've heard about the Natural Wonders?"

He stepped nearer and frowned. He asked, "How much have you had to drink?"

Defiantly, she poured herself another and smiled over the rim of the glass. "Near the Yellowstone River on the Northern Pacific route, there's an amazing realm of therapeutic hot springs and spectacular geysers."

"Geysers? Scarlett..."

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"Geysers spout hot water, a hundred feet high, as regularly as clocks chime the hours. Don't give me that look, Rhett. Jay Cooke -- "

"Hot water? Spouting? Why do you want to be rich, darling? You already have me."

She smiled confidently, "Why yes, I do."

When he touched her arm, the warmed silk of her dress thrilled his fingertips. Speaking very quickly, Scarlett added, "Jay Cooke had Congress name this region Yellowstone National Park. The Northern Pacific's cars will be filled with tourists visiting Yellowstone National Park. Wouldn't you?"

"Excuse me. Wouldn't I what?"

"Wouldn't you like to see steaming water erupting as regular as clockwork?"

Close to her, he inhaled the scent of her hair and murmured, "Doubtless the Sioux will welcome these tourists with open arms."

She backed away. Nervously, she patted her hair. "Tourists will take the train to see mineral pools and geysers! They will go to see the Natural Wonders!"

His grin was amused. "Scarlett, you are a Natural Wonder."

Her eyes softened. Her lower lip trembled. Then he saw a flare deep in her eyes. Fear? Was that fear? What was she afraid of? She turned for the door.

"I never said I loved you, you know," she said, as if she weren't quite sure.

The air in the small space between them hummed.

More firmly she said, "I don't, you know."

His muscles ached from holding still, from not reaching out and taking her. In a husky voice, he managed to say, "I admire your candor." Because his hands ached to touch her, to ravish her, to close around her throat and murder her, Rhett Butler bowed stiffly, brushed past his wife, and walked out of the house onto Peachtree Street, hatless in the cold rain.

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Chapter

Chapter Forty

A Murderer's Son

In November, President Ulysses S. Grant declared South Carolina in rebellion, suspended habeas corpus, and sent the Seventh Cavalry to smash the Klan. Former Confederate generals Gordon and Forrest were summoned before the United States Congress, where they reluctantly admitted they might have known people who might have been associated with the "so-called" Ku Klux Klan but they personally had had nothing to do with it.

A fortnight after Andrew Ravanel was arrested, Elizabeth Kershaw Butler sat bolt upright in her bed and emitted a faint unearthly cry, which woke her daughter dozing in the armchair at her side. When Rosemary held a mirror to her mother's mouth, the glass didn't fog.

Rosemary's son, Louis Valentine, was a sound sleeper and merely murmured when she carried him to her own bedroom and placed him in her bed. Rosemary went to the kitchen and made herself a pot of tea. She didn't weep for what she had lost. She wept for what her mother had never had.

It was early -- before dawn. Though she had expected this death for some time, it still took her by surprise.

Later that day, Rosemary wrote her friend.

Dearest Melanie,

My mother, Elizabeth Butler, went to her Heavenly Reward early this morning. Mother did not suffer at the end.

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As you must have heard, Andrew Ravanel has been arrested for his Klan activities. Last Saturday, I brought his clothing to a camp outside

Columbia. The camp is run by Federal cavalry, and whether for his previous rank or because they secretly share his views, Andrew has his own tent in that overcrowded pigsty. I had not dreamed there were so many Klansmen!

Andrew says once the special courts are ready, he will be tried for several negro murders.

There. I have said it. My words change nothing Andrew has done, nor my confusion and heartbreak. Violence and bitterness sully the innocent with the guilty! Will my sweet Louis Valentine grow up as the son of a convicted murderer?

Rhett warned Andrew things would come to this, but Andrew was too proud to listen.

Louis Valentine knows something bad has happened to his father. I haven't found the words to explain.

My father once said there was bad blood in the

Butlers, a Butler curse. I believe the curse was lovelessness.

I married my husband John to escape my father's tyranny and I devalued Johns simple goodness until it was too late. Goodness works slowly, dear Melanie, and adds to our store in tiny increments. As a girl, I was enchanted by Andrew

--

the bravest rider, best dancer, the boldest fighter, the man who could commit himself utterly to whatever he did! Did I hope h

is desperate courage would rub off on me?

Whether the penitentiary or defeat destroyed him, I cannot say. But gallant Andrew has transformed himself into a terrifying grotesque.

What will I do now, dearest Melanie?

Unlike Scarlett, I have neither the inclination nor ability for business. I was reared to bear babies, love a man, and keep a home. I seem to have inherited my mothers reclusive nature and don't leave

46 Church Street for days at a time.

My brother Julian was ejected from the legislature with the Carpetbaggers he'd attached himself to. He has found work as a clerk.

Ladies I worked with at the Free Market have started a school for girls: the Charleston Female Seminary. They have invited me to teach. I can

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speak a little French and am exquisitely sensitive to proprieties (ifonly from flaunting them). I suppose I would be a good-enough teacher.

I will bury my mother, and when Rhett comes, I will not

--

I

Will Not

--

ask him what to do!

I have married one good man and one rakehell. I do not think I will marry again, but if I did, I'd want someone who needed me.

I thank God for our friendship.

Always your,

Rosemary

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Chapter

Chapter Forty-one

The Bottle Trees

Andrew Ravanel thought he'd seen the bearded nigger before. He'd been sold at John Huger's sale, the sale where Andrew tried to buy Cassius. Wasn't he a wheelwright? A carpenter? The bearded nigger said, "Guilty."

The tall nigger said, "Guilty."

The nigger in the yellow vest said, "Guilty."

The bald nigger said, "Guilty."

Andrew scratched the back of his neck. It was hot for so early in the year. So many people crammed into the Charleston courtroom, it was bound to be hot.

The scrawny nigger said, "Guilty." There wasn't any meat on that boy. He wouldn't make a half-task hand.

The four-eyed nigger said, "Guilty." What did a nigger need glasses for? They couldn't read. It was ironic: twelve niggers pronouncing judgment on a Colonel of the Confederate States of America.

The wizened nigger said, "Guilty." Why did some of them shrivel up like dried-apple dolls?

"Guilty." Lord, that nigger was fat. How could anybody say they hadn't been treated right? If this nigger'd been a hog, he'd have been ripe for slaughter. Get some real hams off that boy.

"Guilty."

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Andrew turned to nod at a couple of good old boys, who pretended they didn't know him.

"Guilty."

Six months ago, you bet they would have known him. Andrew caught Rosemary's eye. She looked as fresh as if she'd just stepped out of the bath.

"Guilty."

Guilty of what? Guilty of resisting the oppressor's government?

The Federal judge rapped his gavel. "Mr. Ravanel. The jury has found you guilty of four counts of intentional manslaughter. Do you have anything to say to this court?"

They called Judge Boyd "Pit Bull" Boyd. He surely looked like one.

"Colonel

Ravanel, Your Honor," Andrew said.

"

Colonel

Ravanel. This court is willing to entertain evidence of your repentance, some acknowledgment of your terrible deeds, before passing sentence. As your attorney will warn you,

Colonel

Ravanel, without repentance, it will go hard on you. Sentencing hearing will be in this courtroom tomorrow, ten o'clock. Do I have your word of honor as a gentleman you won't run?"

Andrew smiled, thinking, My word of honor, Pit Bull? But before he could speak, Andrew's lawyer, William Ellsworth, popped up. "You have my word, Judge Boyd. My client will be here."