"Rhett never liked Charleston." Mrs. Butler's eyes roved. "Rhett said the only difference between alligators and Charlestonians was that alligators showed their teeth before they bit.”
"Rhett favors his grandfather," Constance Fisher repeated. "That raven hair, those laughing black eyes." Her voice traveled back in time. "Mercy, how Louis Valentine could dance.”
"Why couldn't that girl have gone away!" Elizabeth Butler cried. "She has connections in Missouri.”
Miss Ravanel averred there were many bastards in Missouri. Perhaps there were even more bastards in Missouri than in Texas.
Julian Butler compared his watch with the tall clock and retarded the clock. "We won't hear the shots. Too distant.”
His mother gasped.
"Julian," Constance Fisher said, "your brother may be a rogue, but you are a dunce.”
Julian shrugged. "Rhett's latest escapade has upset our household. All the servants wear long faces. Thinking Cook had prepared these cookies for honored guests" — Julian afforded them a nod — "I complimented her. 'Oh no, Master Julian. I bakes 'em for Master Rhett. After he done fightin'.”
Charlotte whispered, "Rosemary, please don't say any more. We must be perfect possums." Charlotte added wistfully, "I would so like a ginger cookie.”
The big clock ticked.
Julian cleared his throat, "Mrs. Ward, I'm less familiar with Savannah's first families than I should be. You were a Robillard, I believe?”
Miss Ravanel remembered some gossip. "Wasn't some Robillard on the brink of consummating an unfortunate alliance — with a cousin, was it?”
"Dear Cousin Philippe. My sister Ellen thought Philippe was magnificent.”
Eulalie giggled (by now she'd had her third glass of sherry). "I suppose a lion is magnificent — until he eats you.”
Miss Ravanel recalled details. "Didn't the Robillards exile Cousin Philippe and marry the girl off to an Irish storekeeper?”
Eulalie tried to bolster family dignity. "My sister Ellen married a successful businessman. She and Mr. Gerald O'Hara have a cotton plantation near Jonesboro. Tara it is called." She sniffed. "After his family estate in Ireland, I presume.”
"Jonesboro would be in ... Georgia?" Miss Ravanel stifled her yawn.
"Indeed. Ellen writes that her daughter Scarlett is 'a Robillard through and through.' “
"Scarlett? What a curious name. Scarlett O'Hara — those Irish, dear me.”
Hands clasped behind his back, Julian said, "It'll be over now.”
Elizabeth Butler's voice chimed with false hope. "Rhett and Shad will have made amends and galloped off to Mr. Turner's tavern.”
Constance Fisher said, "Julian: If your father has finished his accounts, might he condescend to join us?”
"Langston Butler's work is never done," Julian intoned. "Fourteen thousand acres, three hundred and fifty negroes, sixty horses, including five of the finest Thoroughbreds ...”
"But only two sons," Constance Fisher snapped. "One of whom may be dying of a bullet wound.”
Elizabeth Butler put her hand to her mouth. "Rhett is at Mr. Turner's tavern," she whispered. "He must be.”
hen Rosemary heard the hoofbeats, she ran to the window, flinging it open wide, so damp air rushed into the house. On tiptoes, the child pushed her torso outside. "It's Tecumseh!" she cried. "I'd know his gallop anywhere. Oh, listen, Mama! Can't you hear? Rhett's in the lane.
It « him! It's Tecumseh!”
The child bolted from the room, hurtled pell-mell down the broad staircase, past her father's office, and outside onto the oyster-shell drive, where her brother was reining in his lathered horse. A grinning Uncle Solomon took Tecumseh's bridle, "I gratified you home, Master Rhett,”
Uncle Solomon said. "All us coloreds gratified.”
The young man slid off his horse and scooped his sister into the air, squeezing her so fiercely, it took her breath. "I'm sorry I frightened you, little one. I wouldn't have you frightened for the world.”
"Rhett, you're hurt!”
His left sleeve was empty. His arm hung inside his black frock coat.
"The ball didn't touch bone. It's gusty beside the river at sunrise.
Watling didn't allow for gusts.”
"Oh, Rhett, I was so afraid. What would I do if I lost you?”
"You haven't lost me, child. Only the good die young." He set his sister at arm's length, as if stamping her forever on his memory. His black eyes were so sad. "Come with me, Rosemary," he said, and for one exalted instant the child misunderstood. For a few seconds, Rosemary thought she and Rhett would flee this joyless house, that she'd wave farewell from Tecumseh's back as brother and sister flew away.
She followed her brother onto the long, empty piazza in front of the house. Rhett put his good arm around his sister's thin shoulder and turned her so they overlooked their family's world. On the patchwork of sunlit rectangular rice fields, gangs were spreading marl, chanting as they worked.
Though the words were inaudible, the tone was sweet and sorrowing. The Ashley River's tidal arc outlined Broughton's main trunk. On that trunk, a horseman galloped toward the east field and Isaiah Watling.
"Bad news rides the swiftest horse," Rhett said quietly. After a pause, he added, "I shan't ever forget how beautiful this is.”
"Is he ... Is Shad Watling ...”
"Yes," Rhett said.
"Are you sad?" Rosemary asked. "He was a bully. You needn't be sad.”
Rhett smiled. "What a wonder you are.”
Mrs. Butler and her guests were waiting in the public parlor.
When she saw her son's empty sleeve, Elizabeth Butler gasped and her eyes rolled back until the whites showed. Julian helped her to a bench, murmuring, "Dear Mother. Mother, please.”
Eulalie Ward's eyes were enormous. "Franklin?" she squeaked.
"Madam, your Franklin is unscathed except by his own flask. The good doctor has no stomach for this business.”
Ledger in hand, Langston Butler erupted from his office and strode to the shelves, where he slotted the ledger among its fellows.
Turning, he glanced at his elder son. "Ah yes, the bad penny." Langston Butler went to the family Bible and opened it to those pages where Butler births, marriages, and deaths had been recorded since the Bible had been printed in 1607. He extracted a silver penknife from his waistcoat to whittle quick curls from his goose-quill pen. He laid the quill against the glossy walnut stand and when he tipped his nib, he cut so deep, he marred the wood.
With trembling hands, Langston Butler inspected the Bible record.
"The Butlers have boasted patriots, faithful wives, dutiful children, and respectable citizens. But there is a wicked strain in Butler blood and some herein this Book, my own father among them, have been hangman's bait.”
Langston's glare at Grandmother Fisher dared her disagreement.
Langston continued. "Today, we concern ourselves with a disobedient scion, a rebellious and impertinent youth. When his parent sought acceptable conduct, that youth defied him.”
Elizabeth Butler wept silently. Julian Butler stifled a cough.
"When, at wit's end, that parent enrolled the boy in West Point, even their famous disciplinarians could not subdue him. Cadet Butler was expelled and returned to the Low Country, where he proved a dissolute rakehell and impregnated a girl of the lower classes. Did you offer Watling money?”
"You are the rich planter, sir, not I.”
"Why did you challenge Watling?”
"Watling lied about me, sir.”
Langston brushed it away. "Watling is dead?”
"He is emptied of mischief.”
With deliberate strokes, Langston Butler struck his son's name from the Bible. He capped the inkwell, wiped the nib, and laid the pen down.