D O N A L D M C C A I G

niggers had blue, green, red, and clear glass bottles tied to the branches of

every tree and bush strong enough to bear them. Colored light spots chased

down the lane when the sun struck the glass and the faintest breeze was

enough to set them jingling. One night, he and Archie Flytte had waited

up, hoping to catch a nigger hanging a bottle, but Archie got jumpy after

the moon set and the wind started. When Andrew asked if he was afraid,

Archie was scornful. The bottles were supposed to scare off the spirits of

the dead, and Archie wasn't dead by a long sight. But Archie left for Georgia

before midnight and Andrew got drunk, and in the morning the cypress

beside the porch, not ten feet from where he'd passed out, glistened with

bottles that hadn't been there the night before.

The camp's broken front door had yawned open since Custer's cavalrymen

booted it in.

Excepting rat droppings and leaves blown across the floor, the cabin

was as he'd left it.

He'd been treated well in that overcrowded prison camp. Hard evidence

against Klansmen was hard to find and many witnesses were afraid to

testify. The Yankees turned Klansmen loose because they couldn't get

enough evidence or didn't have enough room or simply lost patience. Josie

Watling hadn't been caught and Archie Flytte hadn't come back after the

night of the bottle trees.

When Andrew was in the prison camp, Rosemary had brought clean

clothes.

She said, "I'm sorry. I'm sure this is hard for you."

"Not at all," Andrew had replied. "I'm used to being imprisoned."

He'd lied. The camp was a vise whose jaws screwed tighter and tighter,

squeezing the life out of him.

When Lawyer Ellsworth announced he was released on bond, Andrew

stepped out of the camp gate, newborn, like a boy in the exciting world

with no school today. But when Andrew returned to 46 Church Street, his

wife wouldn't let him in.

At dusk, the wind off the river set the bottle trees to jingling. It was a

fine sound. Say what you would about niggers, they made music.

176

RutiTT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

Andrew felt fine. Late on a gentle spring afternoon, the river rolling past as

it had before he came and would after he was gone, and all the lawyers and

judges gone, too, Rosemary, Jamie—all of them gone.

Poor dear Charlotte had loved him. She had known who he was and

loved him anyway. Sometimes he heard Charlotte's sweet voice in the bottle

trees.

Andrew dressed in his Confederate Colonel's uniform and sat outside

in the dusk. He'd forgotten how stiff the military collar was.

Small boats sailed up and down the river. Swallows swooped after insects.

A heron landed in the shallows and stalked fish, lifting one leg at a

time. That'd be the last thing a fish would see, that motionless leg in the

water, looking just like a weed or stick.

Andrew's revolver was as familiar to him as Charlotte had been. The

long browned barrel was white at the muzzle from much firing; that chip

on the grip was where he'd cracked some nigger's skull.

As the moon rose, a pregnant vixen came out of the bushes to fish for

crayfish. Andrew considered shooting her but decided not to.

To the merciful shall mercy be given.

At first light, Andrew Ravanel, late Colonel, C.S.A., went inside to write

a letter to his firstborn son and shot himself.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Legacies

The Chapeau Rouge had just closed when a heavy knock brought Mac-

Beth to the door. He cracked it open and then slammed it shut. "Miss

Belle... They's some mens, Miss Belle, wants talk to you."

"At this time of night? Who..."

"Miss Belle..." MacBeth was rigid with fear. "They ain't wearin' no

hoods, but they's Kluxers."

Belle ran to her bedroom for her revolver, and when she returned, Mac-

Beth had vanished.

Belle stood indecisively, listening to feet shuffle on the porch. She took

a deep breath, cocked her revolver, and jerked the door open. "Jesus

Christ," she gasped.

Isaiah Watling slapped his daughter's cheek so hard, she almost pulled

the trigger. "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain."

"Poppa! After twenty years you hit me...."

"Why didn't you tell me, Daughter? Why didn't you say something?"

A younger man was with Isaiah and a third at the curb held their horses.

Belle was trembling so violently, she used both hands to uncock her revolver.

"I trusted him, Daughter. I believed the man who dishonored you was

a Christian gentleman."

The porch creaked when the younger man shifted his weight. He

cleared his throat. " 'Lo, Cousin Belle."

At her father's impatient gesture, the young man withdrew into the

shadows.

RHETT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

"We were young, Poppa," Belle said. "Was you ever young?"

"No," Isaiah said, "I had no time to be young."

His eyebrows were untrimmed. He had clumps of hair in his nostrils

and ears. Belle smelled the bitter metallic stink of an outraged soul.

"You have your mother's eyes." Isaiah pursed his lips. "I'd forgotten

that." His curt head shake buried that memory. "I trusted Colonel Ravanel.

I trusted him."

"Andrew loved me, Poppa. I cried when I heard... what he done to

himself."

Isaiah rubbed his hand across his face. "Colonel Ravanel left things for

the boy—his pistol, watch, a note...."

"My Tazewell is a gentleman, Poppa," Belle insisted. "He's got schooling

and he's in the cotton business in New Orleans. He even bought himself

a house!" Belle rubbed her cheek.

He said, "I should never have come to the Low Country. Your mother

hated to leave Mundy Hollow, but I said we had to start over somewheres

else. So we come to Broughton. I was Master Butler's man, body and soul,

for thirty-two years. Thirty-two years, body and soul."

"This parcel... it's from Tazewell's father?"

"Only ones besides us at the Colonel's burying were Yankees lookin'

for Klansmen."

"Uncle Isaiah never held with the Klan." Belle's cousin grinned at her.

"Uncle Isaiah's... 'fussy.' Him 'n' me, we found the Colonel. We was going

to spirit him away to Texas, but the Colonel got his own self away first.

I reckon he would have done right good in Texas."

"This is Josie, Abraham's son."

Josie touched his hat. "Pleased to meet you, cuz. Nice place you got.

That's Archie Flytte with the horses."

Belle's hands trembled. "Father, did you love Mama?"

"Your mother was devout."

"Did you love her?"

"Daughter, I love the Lord."

Belle had believed her father was a simple man; she'd never before

guessed how much his simplicity cost him.

D O N A L D M C C A I G

"Colonel Ravanel lied to me," Isaiah said. "And your brother, Shadrach,

died for Colonel Ravanel's lie. Shadrach never had no days to repent of his

sins."

An unkind thought flashed through Belle's mind: Shadrach died because

he'd challenged a better shot.

Josie said, "Dead is dead."

"Rhett Butler lied."

"He never did. Rhett never said nothin'. He just let 'em believe whatever

they wanted to believe."

"Buder murdered your brother and disgraced his parents. Honor thy

father and thy mother that thy days may be long upon the land the Lord

thy God has given you."

"Even now, after all this hurtfulness..." Belle's hands opened and

closed helplessly. "You can't forgive?"

Belle's father handed her the parcel. "By my lights, I did my best."

The parcel was heavier than it looked. "I reckon we all do the best we

can," Belle said. "Won't you come in? I've a picture of your grandson."

For one moment, she thought Isaiah was going to take off his hat and

step inside. They'd go to the kitchen—they wouldn't need to be in the

business part of the house. She'd make coffee for her father. She remembered

he took sugar in his coffee—heaping tablespoons of sugar.

Isaiah Watling touched the package. "Give these to your son." He

turned away.

"Uncle likes to say our day will come," Josie observed, "but it ain't

come yet."

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Ashley's Birthday Party

elanie was preparing a surprise birthday party—Ashley's first since

the barbecue at Twelve Oaks, eleven years ago, when he and she had

announced their betrothal.

The Wilkeses' home was nearly ready. The mantelpiece had been

scrubbed with Sapolio, the gilt mirror frame had been dusted, every grate

and stove was freshly blacked, and the winter carpets had been taken up

and brushed. Pork and Peter had sprinkled tobacco on them before carrying

them to the attic.

As chairwoman of the Confederate Widows and Orphans Society,

Melanie knew all Georgia's Confederate greats: General John Gordon,

five times wounded at Sharpsburg; Robert Augustus Toombs, Confederate

Senator and Secretary of State; even Alexander Stephens had accepted

Melanie's invitation. Vice President Stephens's two-volume justification

of secession, A Constitutional View of the Late War Between the States, had

pride of place in many Southern households (where it was more honored

than read). Ashley's spinster sister, India, wanted the book beside the

family Bible in the parlor, but Melanie said no. "What if someone decides

to raise a constitutional issue with Mr. Stephens? What will happen

to Ashley's party then?" Mr. Stephens's volumes remained locked in the

bookcase.

India was an efficient worker, but she upset the negroes. When set to a

task, Aunt Pittypat managed—she'd polished all the glassware, including

that borrowed for the occasion—but left to her own devices, Pitty flittered

M

D O N A L D M C C A IG

from one unfinished task to another. Only Scarlett worked without instructions.

Scarlett was the best negro driver, too.

Since preparations were moving along nicely, Melanie took a cup of tea

to the second-floor landing, her desk, and her interrupted letter to Rosemary.

Melanie entirely approved of Rosemary's decision to teach at the Female

Seminary. "You have suffered a terrible grief, dear friend. The children

will heal you as you instruct them."

She tapped the pen against her teeth, thinking.

As for myself... when I learned I could have no more children, I assumed

I would be as satisfied with the warmth that attends lovemaking as

by the lovemaking itself. Ashley is an affectionate husband but absent

the — if you will permit me — "tender violence" of the act — I am blushing,

dear friend — our heart passion fades year by year, unvarying season by unvarying

season. Oh, I know, a decent woman shouldn't desire her husbands

ardent embraces, but...

Miss Melly! Miss Melly!" Scarlett's servant Pork stomped upstairs and

loomed over her like a tree poised to fall. Although Pork couldn't

read, Melly slipped her letter under the blotter. "Miss Melly! That Archie,

he won't let me hang no more lanterns in the garden. He done told me to

git. I'ze skeered of that old man!"

"Ask Scarlett what to do, Pork," Melanie replied. "I'm sure there's

other work to do."

After the big negro grumbled back down the stairs, Melanie inked her

pen.

Sometimes I happen across your old Overseers daughter, Belle Watling.

Dear Friend I have only known my Ashley, whose touches were so lavish,

his pleasure giving so much keener than his pleasure taking. I have fancied

asking Belle (but of course could not), "How is it to have had so many men?

Are all men the same?"

Oh, Rosemary, it has been eight years — eight long years — since Dr.

Meade told Ashley I must not bear another child. I know I should put my

RHETT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

desires aside — but I cannot. Sometimes, Ashley does or says something;

sometimes he catches the light in a certain way and I positively burn for my

husbands embraces! Dear Friend he is so beautiful! There are contrivances

which would permit intimacies without the consequences we fear, but Ashley,

dear Ashley, is too proper, and on the single occasion I dared to mention

them, Ashley turned red as one ofPitty's azaleas and he stuttered (Ashley

never stutters), saying "Gentlemen do not employ such devices!" I'm sure

Belle knows about them and would tell me if I dared to ask.

Scarlett peeked through the banisters at Melanie's ankles and said,

"Melly, Pork is perfectly capable of hanging a few Japanese lanterns. Archie

gave Pork one of his 'looks' and Pork will be quaking all afternoon. Why do

you let that smelly old hillbilly in your house?"

"Archie is so good with the children," Melanie replied.

In the past, Archie had been given to mysterious disappearances and

everybody knew he was in the Klan. But he was wonderful with the children.

After Governor Bullock fled, Scarlett stopped entertaining, and her

Peachtree Street mansion became a mausoleum. The Butler children spent

more time in the Wilkeses' home than their own. Sour, one-legged old

Archie Flytte entertained them for hours.

"If Peter is done polishing the floors, Pork and he can lay the summer

matting," Melanie said.

"Humph." Scarlett's head disappeared.

Melanie Wilkes tapped her pen against her teeth.

Dear Rosemary, I am loath to add to your burdens but must tell you

that last Saturday, over luncheon at the Kimball House, Scarlett and Rhett

lit into each other like cats and dogs. I heard about their quarrel from three

different sources! Their only real bond is their shared love for little

Bonnie — "Bonnie Blue." Your niece is a sunbeam who lights everywhere

she goes. Mrs. Meade makes Bonnie her special pecan Judge and Mrs. Elsing

sets the dear little thing on her lap and tells her how things were when

she was a girl. Those who once deprecated your brother have taken him into

their hearts. Not their least reason is the love Rhett lavishes on his daughter.

38î

D O N A L D M C C A I G

All she needs say is, "Daddy, pick me up!" Rhettpicks her up, and when

she tugs at his mustache or hair or when she isjretful, as all children sometimes

are, Rhett never loses patience with his Bonnie Blue.

Scarlett was peeking through the banisters again, "Melanie, who are

you writing to?"

"I am writing Rosemary. Two tired housewives complaining about

their children. Sometimes, dear Scarlett"—Melanie slipped the letter into

the drawer and turned the key—"I wish I had your gift for being in the

world. I wish I had your will!"

"If will was as powerful as it's supposed to be, Melly, we'd presently be

Confederate citizens. I'm going to Ashley's sawmill to see Hugh Elsing."

Melanie clapped her hands. "That's perfect. That's absolutely perfect.

Could you possibly keep Ashley there until five? If Ashley comes home earlier,

he'll catch us finishing up a cake or something and his surprise will be

ruined."

Hastily, Melanie concluded her letter.

Dear Rosemary, jealousy is so corrosive that I'd almost rather be betrayed

than live in fear of betrayal! If I could not put my trust in Ashley, if

I did not believe he loves me, I would go mad.

I knew from childhood that Ashley and I were intended for each other.

We are cousins, and "the Wilkeses always marry cousins. " We were spared

the tribulations of courtship — does he or doesn't he love me; do I or don't I

truly care for him? I knew I was to marry Ashley and I loved him. Not love

Ashley? I cannot imagine it!

Yet, sometimes, I wonder how it might have been.... Are Scarlett's

passions richer and more profound than mine, or have I read too many

novels?

Must love always be such a puzzle?

Melanie signed and sealed the letter. Downstairs, Pork and Uncle Peter

were arguing how the summer floor mats should be laid. Melanie could

smell furniture polish and baking pies.

RUHTT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

How grateful she was! During the War, she'd been so afraid for Ashley.

One alert sharpshooter, one of the myriad illnesses that killed soldiers

weakened by hunger and privation—there were so many ways she might

have lost her precious husband. Melanie Hamilton Wilkes bowed her head

and gave thanks.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Desire

Desire too long denied makes the heart sick.

Sun pouring through the windows illuminated order books and

a calendar whose dates were crossed off with X's. Sawmill dust furred windowsills,

shelves, Ashley Wilkes's rolltop desk, and his hat.

That hat was their mute chaperone.

A man and a woman alone together, after so many years.

Scarlett notices the gray in Ashley's hair and thinks, He will never

be young again, and the thought makes her want to cry for him and for

herself.

Scarlett has not been with a man since Bonnie Blue was conceived.

Ashley has not been with a woman for eight years.

It is Saturday afternoon. The whining saws are shut down and oiled for

the Sabbath; there's no lumber crashing onto ricks, no foreman shouting

orders. The mill hands have been paid and gone home. Dust motes dance

in the sunlight.

"The days are getting longer," Ashley says.

Scarlett says, "Yes, yes, they are."

A spring fly, one of the fat, lazy flies that appear as seasons change bats

against the window glass, trying to reach the outdoors. It will die, as so

many of God's creatures do, without ever fulfilling its desire.

Scarlett O'Hara is thinking how sad life is, how unutterably sad, as she

steps into the embrace she has wanted for so long.

Ashley and Scarlett fit perfectly in each other's arms.

RHETT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

The office door bangs open. India Wilkes, Archie Flytte, and Mrs. Elsing

are in the doorway. Gaping.

Scarlett is lost.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

She

The cuckold Rhett Buder rode Atlanta's dark streets. He galloped his

horse down Decatur until it was a country road, before wheeling back

into the city.

When his great black horse slowed, Rhett used his spurs savagely.

"Damn you, behave! You will behave!"

He could not trust himself. That was his worst realization—knowing

he could not trust himself. Four years. For four years he'd slept alone while

she mooned after Ashley Wilkes.

Earlier tonight, he'd forced her to attend Melanie's party. Thinking

what? That Melly would denounce the adulterous pair? What a comedy! Ashley

and Melanie playacting the happily married couple. Melanie welcoming

Scarlett as a sister while vicious whispers took wings behind ladies' fans.

The cuckold Rhett Butler. Oh no, she hadn't given her body to Ashley.

Just her goddamned, yearning, hopeful, scheming soul.

He emptied his flask. He emptied a second. He galloped by Chapeau

Rouge without seeing. MacBeth, who'd raised a hand in greeting, let it fall

to his side.

He couldn't go near his wife until he could trust himself. His wife! He

couldn't go home until Scarlett was safe behind her locked bedroom door.

"Home." Rhett spat the epithet between his horse's hooves.

When he came into the parlor, she was there. She was sneaking a glass

of brandy. She paled when she saw him.

RHF.TT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

His resolutions vanished like smoke. His hands ached with the need to

hurt her. He would have killed her on the spot. Killing would cure her of

yearning for Ashley.

"You drunken fool. Take your hands off me."

"I've always admired your spirit, my dear. Never more than now, when

you are cornered."

"You can't understand Ashley or me. You are jealous of something you

can't understand." Regal as a queen, she tossed her head and straightened

her wrap, rising to go.

He caught her. He pressed her shoulders against the wall.

"Jealous, am I? And why not? Oh yes, I'm jealous of Ashley Wilkes. I

know Ashley Wilkes and his breed. I know he is honorable and a gentleman.

And that, my dear, is more than I can say for you—or for me, for that

matter. We are not gentlemen and we have no honor, have we? That's why

we flourish like green bay trees."

When he turned to the decanter, she bolted.

Rhett caught her at the bottom of the stairs. His hands slipped under

her dressing gown onto her sleek skin. He whispered hoarsely, "You turned

me out on the town while you chased him. By God, this is going to be one

night when there are only two in my bed!"

Rhett scooped and carried her up the broad staircase of the great

house he'd built for his bride. She trembled in his arms, mesmerized by his

rage. On the landing, when she took breath to scream, he stopped her

mouth with his own. She was his creature; he had nurtured her and taught

her and devoted himself to her. She was his and he would use her as he

saw fit.

He carried her into the darkness at the head of the stairs, his mouth

pressed to hers, their breath intermingling.

In her bed, in her dark room, she opened to him like a flower and he

crushed that flower for its loveliness. Even when she let her love roll down,

even that couldn't quench his hunger.

Hours later, Rhett rose from the bed where Scarlett slept, exhausted.

He didn't know who had been the victor, who the victim. He pressed his

D O N A L D M C C A I G

aching head between his hands. His eyes were sore, his lips were sore, his

tongue was swollen, his body was sticky with his sweat and hers. He

smelled like the woman he had violated.

"My God," Rhett Butler whispered, "I am just like my father."

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Eugenic Victoria Butler

When Bonnie Blue's parents were fighting—which they did an awful

lot—the house swelled up with anger, until Bonnie put her hands

over her ears so she wouldn't hear it pop. Yesterday had been 'specially bad.

The grown-ups were going to a party at Aunt Melly's house, so Bonnie

thought everybody would be happy, but that afternoon Big Sam came

'round to the back, and when Mammy heard what Big Sam had to say, she

put on her sorrowful face, and pretty soon all the servants had sorrowful

faces and they wouldn't tell Bonnie, but she knew it was something bad.

Her Mother came home and hid in her bedroom, but when Daddy

Rhett came home, he made her go to Aunt Melly's party. Bonnie knew

Mother didn't want to go to the party, but Daddy Rhett made her go.

That night, Bonnie couldn't sleep, and when she heard loud voices

downstairs, she opened her door just a crack and she saw Daddy Rhett

carrying Mother up the stairs just like she was a baby. They were kissing, so

maybe they'd made up and weren't going to fight anymore.

Next day, Mother didn't come down until almost suppertime and she

was happy as a cat with fresh cream, but Daddy Rhett was gone. When

Bonnie asked when he'd be home, Mother smiled mysteriously and said,

"When he's done feeling guilty, sweetheart." That evening, Mother went

around humming, and after dinner she brought out the stereograph and

Wade and Ella and Bonnie Blue sat with her on the sofa, taking turns looking

at pictures of a big river in China and Chinamen wearing hats like

upside-down bowls.

D O N A L D M C C A I G

Mother expected Daddy Rhett to come home, but he didn't. Not that

day nor the day after nor the day after that. Mother stopped humming and

was short with everybody, and when Wade suggested they take out the

stereograph and look at pictures, she snapped at him.

When Daddy Rhett did come home, they fought again—worse than

ever!—and Daddy got so mad at her Mother, he threw his cigar down on

the parlor carpet, which stunk up the whole house!

Later, Mammy pretended to be cheerful as she packed Bonnie's

clothes, saying Bonnie was going away with Daddy Rhett for a while, but

Mammy's old sad eyes knew better.

"Mammy," Bonnie asked, "what's a divorce?"

"No such a thing! They ain't doin' no such a thing!" When Mammy

sighed, all of her sighed, not just her mouth. "They just considerin', that's

all."

Belle Watling was waiting at the railway station.

When Bonnie was introduced to Belle—whose name Bonnie had

heard a lot when Mother was angry—Bonnie drew herself up and asked,

"Are you really a fallen woman?"

Belle's smile dimmed and then brightened again. "Well, honey, I reckon

I am."

"Where'd you fall from?" the child asked.

"Not too high, honey. I reckon where I fell from wasn't too high." Belle

took Bonnie's hand to help the child into their Pullman car.

Bonnie was delighted by the Pullman. She couldn't get over how

couches became beds, and she made the porter transform them three times

before she was satisfied.

Bonnie knew her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world,

and when she saw pictures of queens in storybooks, she knew they were just

like Mother. Daddy Rhett was the kindest, smartest, funniest man, and the

best horseman, too. Why, his black stallion was almost as fast as her pony!

Bonnie knew they loved her and she knew they loved each other, too.

So why couldn't they just say so and not fight anymore?

But that was before and this was now, and Bonnie raced up and down

RMETT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

the Pullman car with Prissy chasing her. "Watch out for that table! Don't

go out that door! We coming to a tunnel! Cover you eyes!"

The world flashed by the windows. Plowmen were turning the earth in

glistening red furrows. In towns, people got on the train or got off the train

and stood on the platform, greeting and gossiping, and luggage carts trundled

and the bell clanged and the conductor shouted "All 'board!" and

swung on the train. Bonnie wondered if he ever got left behind.

Sitting in Belle Watling's lap, Bonnie asked about water lilies in the

swamp they were crossing and a blackened plantation house on a hill. "Are

there ghosts?" Bonnie asked.

"Yes, honey, there are. But they won't hurt you."

When they sat down for dinner, Daddy Rhett complimented Belle on

her gown and she blushed, "Miss Smithers helps me pretend I'm a lady."

Bonnie's father's smile was so sad. "Belle, dear Belle. You know we can't

choose our heart's desire."

"You think I don't know that, Captain Smarty?" Belle retorted. "You

think I don't know a thing or two about desires?"

He laughed then, his old laugh, and Bonnie's pealing laughter harmonized

and Belle's mock-stern expression dissolved into giggles.

The next morning, Bonnie stood on the seat as their train rumbled into

Charleston. When her father offered his hand to guide her through the big

brick depot, Bonnie preferred to walk by herself, thank you, but she let him

lift her into the cab.

Bonnie was glad to see her cousin Louis Valentine again. While her father

and her aunt Rosemary talked about the things grown-ups talk about,

Belle and Prissy took Bonnie and Louis Valentine to the promenade to see

the boats. Prissy chattered with Belle just like Belle wasn't a fallen woman.

Bonnie wanted to stay longer in Charleston, but her father said they

couldn't. Bonnie pouted until they were back in their dear familiar Pullman

car. She ate her dinner and climbed into her little bed. Since Bonnie was

afraid of the dark, her father left a light burning where she could see it

through the bed curtains.

Bonnie woke to cypress swamps that gave way to shacks and shanties,

D O N A L D M C C A K;

then more substantial buildings, and then their track joined another as they

sped past old stone houses Daddy Rhett called "the Vieux Carré. It's the

old French Quarter, Bonnie." Their train rolled along the levees above the

wharves and the ships in the big river. Bonnie was fascinated by the steamboats

and she begged until Daddy Rhett gave his laughing promise that yes,

yes, they would take a steamboat ride. Because as Bonnie Blue asserted, "I

had to leave my pony behind and I miss him very much, but I shan't miss

him so much when I'm taking a steamboat ride."

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

A Catholic City

Aspring morning in the Vieux Carré: Church bells echoed in the narrow

streets, the birds-of-paradise were flowering, and behind wroughtiron

gates overripe lemons and oranges were dropping from the trees.

Waiting beside Rhett for a cab, Belle Watling remembered the pregnant

young girl she'd been in this city so many years ago.

"What did you say, Belle?" Rhett asked.

"I spect I was talkin' to myself. I was thinkin' how New Orleans

seemed like the biggest city in the world." Belle added, "Lord a mercy, I was

scared."

Rhett helped her into an open landaulet. "Do you remember when you

and me met up outside the St. Louis Hotel? That Didi woman you was

with? Mercy, what a beauty! She was wearin' the brightest red hat I'd ever

seen. Sometimes I still dream about that hat...." She touched Rhett's arm,

"If you hadn't found me that day, Rhett, I..."

"But I did, Belle." He smiled. "Very occasionally, things turn out better

than we expect."

Belle knew Rhett's marriage wasn't one of those things. That foolishness

between Mr. Wilkes and Miss Scarlett had birthed something terrible.

Belle'd never known Rhett so drawn and sorrowful.

When they stopped at number 12 Royal Street, Rhett said, "I think it

best if you meet Taz alone. I don't want his dislike of me ruining things.

I'll be back in an hour."

"But Rhett!"

D O N A I. D M C C A I G

He helped her down and gave her Andrew's bequest. "Go on, Belle. Go

brave." The cab horse's iron shoes rang on the ancient cobblestones.

Belle had moved Andrew's things from Isaiah's rough paper parcel to a

nice poplar box, which seemed more respectful. Now, with the box in her

hands, she wondered if she couldn't have found a nicer one—maybe walnut.

Belle told herself, Ruth Belle Watling! Don't be a ninny! and yanked

the bellpull more vigorously than she'd intended.

On tenterhooks, she listened for his footsteps and the rasp of drawn

bolts. The gate creaked, swinging open. "Maman!"

Belle dissolved in tears. "You've grown a beard!"

"I was just about to go out.... I am surprised, so happy you are here!

Please, please come in."

Taz's little garden was the prettiest Belle had ever seen. Its lime tree

was certainly the most fragrant. What a sweet little bench! What a cunning

little fish pond! The house—was this her dear son's house? What a perfect

little house! Belle sniffled into her handkerchief.

Taz threw his arms out to encompass it all. "Maman, it is yours!"

Belle froze like an animal sensing a trap. "But Taz, my home's in Atlanta."

"Come in, Maman," Taz adjusted. "Please. I'll make tea. English tea.

Unless you'd rather have water or a glass of wine?"

"Taz, who would have dreamed..." Belle's gesture was a mother's delight.

"Honey, you've done right well for yourself!"

"Maman, I have done it all for you." Taz flashed his familiar grin. "And

I'm not always so pompous. I promise you I'm not. Why didn't you tell me

you were coming? Bon Dieu, I am so very happy. Please, let me show you

the house." Taz laid Belle's box on a window ledge and led her into the

kitchen, which had just enough room for both of them. "Oh," Belle said,

"it's so cozy and snug!"

The front bedroom's balcony overlooked the garden. When Taz said,

"This will be your room," Belle pretended she hadn't heard. The bedroom

in the back had a separate staircase, which would be ideal—as

Belle understood—for the young man about town who might come home

late.

RHETT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

Back in the parlor, Taz insisted Belle take his new chair, a Suffolk chair,

which, he told her, "was made in New York City."

"I don't believe I ever sat in a more comfortable chair."

When Belle ran out of things to admire, silence filled the room. The

birds twittered loudly in the garden.

"I've missed you, Taz," Belle said.

"I missed you, too." Impulsively, Taz knelt and pressed her hand. "I am

a full partner of J. Nicolet. We do a very good business and employ four

men."

Belle beamed at her boy.

Taz rubbed his palm across his forehead. To Belle, that familiar gesture

recalled the little boy he'd been, and tears welled in her eyes. He said, "You

know what I wish for. I never could fool you."

Belle went to the window and pushed the shutters open. She said, "I'd

forgotten how well things grow in New Orleans."

"Will you come here and live with me?"

Belle turned to him with a tremulous smile. "Taz, I've a business to

look after."

"Sell it. You won't want for anything. I can provide...."

"Taz, my dear boy, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I

can t.

"But Maman," Taz spoke as if to a child, "here in New Orleans, you

would be a lady."

Belle restrained her laugh. Belle Watling, a lady! "No, my darling," she

said. "I'd spoil everything. Think what J. Nicolet would say when he

learned your mother is nothing but a common—"

The ringing bell saved Belle. She said, "Get the gate, Taz. Rhett and

me'll tell you everything you want to know."

Outside that gate, with Bonnie Blue's tiny hand in his own, Rhett Butler

had slipped into that mood where the deepest affections are colored

by sorrow and love's losses seem the greater part of love.

How had the boy he'd brought from the Asylum for Orphan Boys

D O N A L D M C C A IG

become this young man standing before him? The young man's eyes were

honest and calm. "Welcome to my home, sir. I owe you an apology."

"This is my Bonnie Blue," Rhett said.

"Hello," Bonnie piped up. "I'm four. I've had my birthday."

Taz smiled. "A fine thing it is to have a birthday. But are you sure

you're four? You're so tall for four."

"I am very tall," Bonnie assured him. "I have a pony."

"A pony! My goodness!" Taz ushered them into his garden.

Poplar box in her lap, Belle waited on the circular stone bench beneath

a lime tree. Bonnie dashed to the tiny pool, where goldfish flashed under a

carpet of water lilies.

"I thought we'd talk better out-of-doors," Belle said quietly. "Ain't this

place pretty, Rhett?"

Taz began, "Sir, I must apologize. I have been an ungrateful fool. I—"

Rhett put a finger to his lips. "Shh."

"Sir, I—"

"It was nothing, Taz." Rhett grinned. "On second thought, I'm glad it's

over." He took Belle's hand. "Your mother and I... for a good many years

we were custodians of another man's reputation. A man who had more to

lose than we did. Andrew Ravanel was one of the bravest soldiers in the

Confederacy. In his last moments, he thought of you."

"But..." Taz opened the box and stared, unseeing, at a revolver, a

Confederate Colonel's epaulets, a heavy silver watch, and a folded piece of

paper.

Since the goldfish wouldn't come out from beneath the lily pads, Bonnie

ran to the grown-ups and stood on tiptoes to see what was in the young

man's box. Maybe today was his birthday.

Rhett said, "The grateful citizens of Cynthiania, Tennessee, gave your

father that watch, Taz. There's an inscription."

Tazewell turned the heavy watch in his hand. "Merde! You're saying

Andrew Ravanel was my father? Colonel Andrew Ravanel? Why did you let

me think I was your bastard. Why not tell me the truth?"

"Read the note, honey," Belle said softly.

Rut IT SUTLER'S PEOPLE

To whom it may concern,

I acknowledge Tazewell Watling as my firstborn son and bequeath him

these, my worldly goods. I pray he will do better with his life than I have

done with mine.

Andrew Ravanel, Colonel, C.S.A.

Taz folded the note. Opened it a second time and stared.

"Taz," Rhett said quietly, "please, sit down."

When he did, his mother put her arm around him.

Rhett took a deep breath. "I've always loved New Orleans. It's a Catholic

city, tolerant, sensual, and wise. The Low Country, where your mother and

I grew up, Taz..."

Rhett stopped and began again. "Planters like my father, Langston Butler,

had the power of life and death. Everything and everyone on Broughton

Plantation belonged to the Master. Langston's slaves, Langston's overseer,

Langston's horses, Langston's overseer's daughter, Langston's wife, Langston's

daughter..." Rhett coughed. "Even Langston Butler's renegade elder

son. To trifle with the least of Langston's possessions was to trifle with the

Master himself."

Belle sighed. "Don't it seem so long ago?"

"Taz, it's a long story your mother and I have to tell. Do you think you

could find a glass of wine?"

When Taz and Bonnie went in the house, Rhett strolled the garden,

hands in pockets, whistling softly.

Taz returned and set the tray on the bench.

"I don't want any wine. I'm too little." Bonnie went back to the pool

and lay down on the edge, where the goldfish couldn't see her.

Belle said, "Mama and me kept the Broughton dispensary, and sometimes

I'd come into Charleston to the apothecary's for quinine bark, and one

day Andrew was there. First time we set eyes on each other, we fell in love.

Don't smile at me, Rhett Buder. You know it happens. Hell, you know it

does. Anyway, that afternoon me and Andrew strolled around White Point

Park, gabbin' and lookin' at each other. I reckon I wanted to eat him up.

D O N A L D M c: C A I G

Well, nothin' happened that day and I caught the ferry back to Broughton,

but I wasn't really surprised when a negro woman delivered a note sayin' I

should meet Andrew at Wilson's Roadhouse.

"Well, I snuck away that day, and a week later I snuck away again,

and it wasn't long before we were doin' what the preachers say we

shouldn't. It never troubled me none, and if Mama knew, she never said

nothin'. I never met none of Andrew's kin nor his fancy friends—until

the morning Rhett rode up to Wilson's, and then everybody thought

Rhett and me...

"Andrew was so secretive about us. I always knew we wasn't meant to

marry."

Rhett said, "Andrew's father, Jack, sold land when he had to and

wrote as many IOUs as there were fools to accept them. He loved fast

horses."

Bonnie sang, "Come out, little fishies. I won't hurt you."

"Somehow my father and Jack Ravanel were involved in a rice-factoring

syndicate, and when the syndicate collapsed, my father ended up with Jack's

IOUs—which pleased neither of them: my father because Jack hated to

pay and Jack because if any man in Carolina could squeeze a dollar out of

him, that man was Langston Butler.

"Langston let Jack know his patience was running thin. Langston could

ruin Jack, and Jack knew it.

"When Jack learned about Andrew and your mother, he worried. If

Langston discovered his debtor's son was trifling with his overseer's daughter,

that'd be the last straw. Jack ordered Andrew to stop seeing Belle, but

Andrew refused.

"Jack always liked to have an edge, and when he didn't have one, he introduced

a wild card. I didn't understand until years afterward—but angry,

confused Rhett Butler was Old Jack's wild card.

"It worked, too. My father was so busy disowning me, he never found

out about Andrew and Belle."

When Rhett hitched himself into the window casing, his long legs just

touched the ground. He offered his cigar case to Taz. When Taz declined,

Rhett took his time lighting up.

4 00

RHETT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

"Andrew was touchy, proud, and melancholy, but he was my friend.

When I came back from West Point disgraced, I lived with the Ravanels."

"Colonel Jack got you drunk," Belle said stoutly.

Rhett laughed. "Belle, nobody but me gets me drunk. I was desperately

unhappy, and Jack merely provided the whiskey and a gloomy porch where

I could drink it. After he'd let me stew in my own morose juices long

enough, Jack told me his son was involved with a slattern—sorry, Belle—

and that if I was Andrew's friend, I'd disentangle him. I have forgotten

many things about those days, but I remember that morning...."

"I'm to spoil Andrew's fun? Come now, Jack. "

Colonel Jack's tongue whipped like a snake run over in the road. Jack had

ten thousand reasons why Rhett should help Andrew. Rhett was weary, part

drunk, and plain didn't give a damn. He'd have done anything just to shut

Jack up.

"You'll talk to him, then?"Jack said. "Wilson's Roadhouse? Boy, you're a

good'un. Don't anyone tell you you're not. If the slut's father finds out about

this, there's no telling..."

Rhett was thoroughly sick of Jack and thoroughly sick of himself, and there are

worse things than a ride into the breaking day. Tecumseh's trot was smooth as glass.

The river was changing from black to silver and work gangs' lanterns flickered

in the fields before Rhett reached the Summerville crossroads. When he

turned into Wilson's stableyard, Andrew was outside, smoking. "Thank God,

Rhett. Thank God it's you."

A lamp glowed in the upstairs room where Belle waited for her lover. That

same night, she'd told Andrew she was carrying his baby.

Andrew clutched Rhett's arm. "Rhett, she wants me to marry her. Rhett, I

cannot; you know I must not. "Andrew tried a ghastly joke. "I am my father's

last negotiable asset!"

When Belle came down into the yard she was in love and beautiful. "Andrew?

Who's with you? Why, it's Young Master Butler. " The young woman trusted

that her love would see her through anything. "Andrew and I have been...

keeping company. I got to go home now. Will you take me home, Young Master?"

Rhett would.

D O N A L D M C C A I G

The sun rose as the two rode down the main trunk. Silent rice gangs

watched them pass, shading their eyes against the sun.

Rhett's mind was clear as it had not been since he left West Point. He felt

better than he had in months. Rhett Butler had absolutely nothing more to lose.

Belles cheek was warm against his back.

"Do you love anyone, Young Master?"

"My sister, Rosemary.... "

"Ain 't we lucky? Ain 't it better lovin ' than bein ' loved? "

Twenty-four years after that morning ride, Rhett Butler laid his hands

on Tazewell Watling's shoulders and said, "Dites moi qui vous aimez, et je

vous dirai qui vous êtes: Tell me who you love and I'll tell you who you are."

At Taz's suggestion, they dined at Antoine's, where the waiters fussed

over Mr. Watling's mother and Captain Butler's little girl. Belle said it

was the happiest day of her life.

The next day, they took a train to Baton Rouge to meet Tazewell's

Watling's partner. While Rhett, Taz, and J. Nicolet discussed common acquaintances,

Belle, Prissy, and Bonnie walked along the bayou, where Prissy

was scared half out of her wits when a harmless-looking log turned into an

alligator.

In Baton Rouge, they ate at a fisherman's café. Bonnie loved the boudin

but shuddered at the langoustine. "It's a big spider!" Bonnie insisted.

Back in New Orleans, they attended the races and saw The Marriage of

Figaro at the French Opera House. One entire morning, Rhett and Bonnie

rode uptown and downtown on the street railway because that's what Bonnie

wanted.

Bonnie lifted her little face to his and said, "I wish Mother was here."

Rhett's eyes were so sad. "Yes, sugar. I wish she was, too."

The rains that happy week were tropical rains, which cooled the earth

and disappeared into mist as they fell.

Rhett forgot his promise to take his daughter on a steamboat ride. He

would regret that unkept promise for the rest of his days.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Miss Melly Asks for Help

Ayear and a month after Rhett and Bonnie visited New Orleans,

Melanie Wilkes wrote her friend:

Dearest Rosemary,

I trust this finds you in good health and spirits. Do you like teaching at

the Female Seminary?

Rosemary, how can two stick-in-the-muds like us have become such

dear friends?

Dr. Meade is outside my door issuing instructions to Pittypat. The good

doctor leaves me with admonitions and an array of varicolored potions and

pills! When men can fix something they fix it. When the repair is beyond

them, they harrumph and dither!

Although Dr. Meade blames me for the fix I'm in — I can see reproach

in his eyes — he cannot decently utter them. Would any man presume to tell

a wife she should have refused her husbands embraces?

He is less forbearing with Ashley, and my guilty husband avoids him.

When Dr. Meade manages to ambush Ashley, my husband comes to my

room so contrite, I must lift his spirits. Falsely cheerful wife and contrite

husband: What geese we are!

Dr. Meade blames Ashley for my pregnancy. Ashley is a gentleman and

no gentleman could admit that his mousy, sickly wife has been a Salome

whose allures the helpless male could not resist.

Yet, Dear Friend, I confess that unlikely tale is the Truth, that this

plain girl can, when needs must, be a Salome of the first order!

A year ago in April, Scarlett and Ashley gave way — only for a

moment — to the impulse that had smoldered in them for so many years.

Ashley's sister India, Archie Flytte, and old Mrs. Elsing — Atlanta's prime

busybody — caught them in an embrace. Naturally, India raced to me with

their news — and on Ashley's birthday, too, with our house prepared to receive

guests and Japanese lanterns glowingfetchingly in our garden.

Dear Rosemary, where it comes to my family, I am a mother tiger, and

I understood perfectly, as India gleefully delivered her news, that I might

undo two marriages, my own and your brother Rhett's. India's face positively

glowed with malicious satisfaction. She has always hated Scarlett.

I thought to myself, India, you are Ashley's sister. Why can't you see

this must destroy the brother you love as thoroughly as the woman you

despise?

So I pronounced India a liar. I said that my husband Ashley, and my

dear friend Scarlett would never betray me. I ordered India from my house.

When Archie Flytte corroborated India's tale, I expelled him, too. Subsequently,

Archie has uttered the vilest threats — not against me — against

Scarlett and Rhett! I fear they have a bad enemy there.

When my guilty Ashley returned home, I never gave the poor man a

chance to make excuses, but met him with an embrace which I trust was

more ardent and familiar than Scarlett's!

Ashley desperately wanted to confess. His lips trembled with yearning. I

stayed his confession with a kiss.

Honesty is a blunt tool: pruning shears when sewing scissors are what's

wanted! I could not let my husband confess because I could not grant him

absolution!

Scarlett and Rhett arrived after Ashley's party was well under way.

(I've no doubt your brother made Scarlett "face the music. ") At our front

door, I took my dear friend's faithless arm and smiled at her for all the

world to see.

Our guests that night included prominent men, a few so prominent

(and distracted), nobody'dtoldthem aboutAshley's fallfrom grace. Generous

RuiTT BUTLER'S PEOPLE

spirits accepted my faith in my husband and my friend Cynics thought me

a booby and snickered covertly.

But scandal was stopped dead at my reputation.

That night, after our guests went home, Ashley proved in the most

primitive, convincing fashion that he was mine and mine alone.

Ashley and Melly Wilkes were like newlyweds. We conversed about

books and art and music — never a word about politics or commerce — but

our nights were so voluptuous, I blush to remember them! We never discussed

what might come of our concupiscence. Perhaps we dreamed that after

Beau's difficult delivery, I could not conceive again.

Since I cannot believe God can be heartless, I must believe He knows

best, and so I am come to childbed.

If I survive, it is God's will. If I do not, I pray my baby will live. She is

so clever and vigorous, and she so wants to live. I say "she" because I am already

close to her, closer than I could be to any male child. I confide in her.

I have told her how her father was shaped for a finer world than the roughand-

tumble one we inhabit. I urge my daughter to make her world one

where gentle souls like Ashley may live in honor and peace.

Rosemary, it must be possible! We born in the nineteenth century stand

at the gates of Paradise, where there will be no more wars and everyone will

be happy and good!

What will my daughter know of our world? If life before the War seems

remote to me, how will it seem to her?

Will we Confederates become sentimental ghosts? Our passions, confusions,

and desires reduced to a distant idyll of faithful darkies, whitecolumned

plantations, handsome Masters and Mistresses whose manners

are as impeccable as their clothing?

Oh Rosemary, our lives have been severed into a "before" that grows

more remote daily and a "now" that is so modern, the paint hasn't yet dried.

I am so ungrateful! The sun shines outside my window and I hear the

shouts of children playing while I indulge these melancholy fantasies.

Dearest Rosemary, I have skirted the true purpose of my letter. You

must come to Atlanta.

I am sensible of your responsibilities to your school but beg you to

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D O N A L D M C C A IG

think of your brother. When Bonnie Blue was killed, I feared for Rhett's

sanity.

It might so easily have been different. Little Bonnie mightn't have

urged her reluctant pony to jump those hurdles. The pony might not have

stumbled. Children fall from horses every day. Some of brother Charles's

falls left Aunt Pittypat gasping. Most children do not die by falling from

ponies.

Bonnie's death ripped her parents' hearts — as you surely understand

For four days, Rhett stayed with his poor dead child in a room ablaze

with lights. Rhett would not suffer Bonnie to be buried — laid forever into

the dark she had always feared!

It is still hard to believe she is gone. Sometimes when I hear hoofbeats,

I look to the street, expecting to see Bonnie on her fat pony beside her proud

father, Rhett reining his great black horse in to accommodate his daughter's

pace....

Those who say Atlanta is heartless should have seen the mourning for

this child. So many came to the funeral, a hundred stood outside.

If Bonnie's death dealt your brother a fearful blow, his disintegrating

marriage has undone him.

Rosemary, in his heart your brother is a lover. The shrewd businessman,

the adventurer, the dandy are but costumes the lover wears.

Bonnie Blue was the last linchpin in Rhett and Scarlett's marriage.

Rhett saw Bonnie as Scarlett unspoiled a Scarlett who loved him without

reservation. And Scarlett loved Bonnie as a reborn self, as an image of what

she might have become if only, if only.... Bonnie knew her needs, as Scarlett

does not, and while Scarlett beguiles our admiration, Bonnie commanded

it.

Rhett and Scarlett have always been combatative, but they were

grandly, triumphantly combative — the clash of two unmastered souls. Now

it is painful to be with them: such bitter, weary language; so many ancient

slights reprised; hurts recollected over and over, as if the hurts were fresh

and the wound still tingling.

Rosemary, your brother needs you.

I am not much traveled. Once, when I was very young Pittypat,

R.HETT BUTLIUt'S I'EOPLK

Charles, and I traveled to Charleston. I thought it so much more sophisticated

than Atlanta! We stayed in Mr. Mills's hotel (does it still exist?), and

in its dining room, I was offered escargots accompanied by the device one

holds them with while spearing meat from the shell I thought the device

was a nutcracker and was trying with Atlantan determination to crack a

snail shell when our kind waiter rescued me. "Oh no, miss. No, miss! We

does things different in Charleston!"

I suspected then, and believe now, there are many things Charleston

does differently—things busy Atlanta neglects or doesn't do at alt

I cannot remember my father, and my mother is only a vague shape, a

warmth, not unlike the warmth of baking bread. I recollect a mother's

touch, so gentle, it might have been a butterfly's. When our parents died,

Charles and I went to Aunt Pittypat's: two children whose guardian was

little more than a child herself. Uncle Peter was the grown-up in our house!

What a happy time we had' Pittypat's silliness (which irritates adults)

charmed us, and among children, Pittypat's kind heart and silly airs flowered

into something like wisdom. One day, she bet that we couldn't outrun

Mr. Bowen's sulky. (Mr. Bowen, our neighbor, had famous trotters.)

Charles and I hid in the shrubbery until Mr. Bowen turned into our street,

and we darted in front of him, running as fast as our stubby legs could

while Mr. Bowen (forewarned by Aunt Pittypat) restrained his horse so we

could win the race. As I recall, our prize was oatmeal cookies, two each,

which were easily the best cookies I've ever had. I was a grown woman before

I realized their deception — that two small children could outrun a fast

trotter. Mercy!

Now, when we drive out on a Sunday afternoon, I am toted to the carriage

like baggage and swaddled like an infant against the "fierce August

cold. "

In the country, Ashley sighs at the ruins of every familiar plantation,

their gardens as reclaimed by wildness as if the land still belonged to the

Cherokees. When I tug his sleeve, Ashley reluctantly returns to the present.

We "do things different" in Atlanta these days, too. Dear Rosemary, we

are nearly recovered from the War and prosper stupendously. On market

days, farmers' wagons fill Peachtree and Whitehall streets from boardwalk

D O N A L D M C C A I C;

to boardwalk. The gaslights have extended almost to Pittypat's and all the

central streets are macadamed. They're building a street railway! We are

readmitted to the Union, the Federal troops are out west with General

Custer, and Atlanta is doing very well, thank you.

When Louis Valentine comes of age, he would have a bright future here.

Atlanta has wholeheartedly embraced the Modern Age and there will be opportunities

for a young man with his Uncle Rhett's connections.

How practical I've become, when those times I recall most fondly were

so impractical: Pittypat, Charles, and Melanie playing at life!

I miss Charles each and every day. In my heart, he is fixed as a young

man of twenty-one, recently married to Scarlett O'Hara of Tara Plantation.

It must have been War Fever, for certainly if any two human beings

were unstated to each other, it was my sweet Charles Hamilton and Scarlett

O'Hara.

I solace myself with the thought that Charles died happily wed. Had he

lived they would have made each other miserable.

I suppose I shall be seeing Charles soon. It will be lovely to ask what he

thinks of all our goings-on.

I send you my best love.

Your Devoted Friend,

Melanie Hamilton Wilkes

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

A Deathvvatch

As Melanie Wilkes was dying, Rhett Butler waited in the parlor of his

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