"Three weeks," another supposed.
"Hell — excuse me, ladies — they haven't the guts to fight.”
"Any Southerner can whip four Yankees.”
"If they want a fight, by God, we'll give them one.”
One aged dodderer shouted incoherently and brandished his cane.
Faces were red with drink, passion, or both.
Pressed for an opinion, young Wilkes said that he'd fight if he had to, of course he would, but war would be terrible.
That incomparable girl adored her hero with her eyes.
"And you, sir," Wilkes turned to Rhett. "My father says you have spent time among our former countrymen.”
Which is how Rhett Butler came to say everything he had promised himself he must not say; knowing even as he spoke that his words were futile and he was speaking to men deaf to them.
"I answer only to my conscience. I will not fight a war that will destroy what I hold dear.”
"You ain't gonna fight for your country?" one boy brayed disbelief.
Other young men formed a circle around the stranger. The queen's cavaliers rose to their feet, alert for apostasy.
In for a penny, in for a pound ...
Like a schoolmaster instructing dull students, Rhett described Yankeedom and its tremendous mills and humming factories. He evaluated its wealth — the California gold and Nevada silver — the Confederacy did not possess. He explained in detail why England and France would never recognize the Confederacy.
"This isn't General Washington's war, gentlemen. France won't bail us out this time.”
The young bucks pressed nearer. None smiled. The air was still like it gets before a thunderstorm.
"I have seen what you all have not: Tens of thousands of immigrants who'll fight for the Yankees, the factories, the foundries, the shipyards, the iron and coal mines — everything we lack. Why, all we have is cotton and slaves and arrogance. The Yankees'll lick us sure.”
With a monogrammed linen handkerchief, Rhett brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve.
Insects buzzed. Somewhere, a servant dropped a plate and was instantly shushed.
Beneath his imperturbable manner, Rhett Butler was laughing at himself.
Despite his intent to remain silent, he'd offended everybody. That girl had loosed his tongue and he'd acted like a too-bright schoolboy. Rhett turned to John Wilkes. "Your library, sir. I'd be obliged if I could see it now.”
Wilkes entreated his guests. "Ladies and gentlemen, you'll excuse us. Earlier, I begged Mr. Butler for his candid opinion of Confederate prospects and he has accommodated me." Wilkes smiled tersely. "Too candidly, perhaps. If anyone has objections, raise them with me..." Their host raised an admonitory finger. "Privately." Turning to Rhett, Wilkes said, "Our library? Sir, I don't believe Clayton County has a finer.”
It was a handsome high-ceilinged room, thirty feet on a side, whose walls were covered with books, even above the windows and door.
Wilkes gestured perfunctorily, "These are biography and history. These are novels on the shelves beside that chair; Dickens, Thackeray, Scott. Most of my guests will be resting soon, repairing for this evening's dancing. Our fiddler is famous here in the countryside. Perhaps you'll stay.”
"My regrets, sir. My train departs at ten.”
"Ah." Wilkes touched the side of his nose and looked at Rhett for a long moment. If he may have wished to say more, he contented himself with, "If there are virtues worse than beauty and innocence, sir, overmuch candor is among them. Now sir, I must return to my guests. I've feathers to unruffle.”
The library walls were thick and high ceilings kept the room cool and Rhett Butler was suddenly very tired. He stretched out on the long high-backed couch and closed his eyes.
Women. All those women. Rhett remembered how Didi always took one forkful from his plate and went through his wallet when she thought he was asleep. He smiled. He hadn't thought of that in years. Scarlett O'Hara...
Rhett dozed. One restless dream became another, then another. And then, through the fog of sleep, he heard voices.
"What is it? A secret to tell me?”
She took courage, "Yes — a secret — I love you.”
He said, "Isn't it enough that you've collected every other man's heart here today? Do you want to make it unanimous? Well, you've always had my heart, you know. You cut your teeth on it.”
Puzzled, Rhett swam upward through the layers of sleep. When his eyes snapped open, his cheek was pressed against a leather bolster and his mouth was dust dry. The voices he'd been dreaming continued remorselessly.
"Ashley — Ashley — tell me — you must — oh, don't tease me now! Have I your heart? Oh, my dear, I lo — “
Ashley? Now who the hell was Ashley? Exactly where was he, anyway? Rhett's mind cast for a mooring. Fort Sumter. Frank Kennedy's cotton. A backwoods plantation with pretensions. The library. Scarlett? Scarlett who? Rhett frowned. His cheek was stuck to the leather bolster.
Somebody — Ashley? — said, "You must not say these things, Scarlett!”
That Scarlett. Rhett came suddenly and entirely awake.
An earnest voice droned on earnestly, "You mustn't. You don't mean them. You'll hate yourself for saying them, and you'll hate me for hearing them.”
Rhett thought, So much for your adoring glances, Miss Scarlett. He'd slept on his right side and his pocket watch was pressing into his hip and his feet were numb. He should have removed his riding boots. A better man than I, Rhett thought, would leap up, apologize, and assure the lovers he'd heard nothing as he hurried from the room. Fortunately, I am not a better man.
She said, "I couldn't ever hate you. I tell you I love you and I know you must care about me because ... Ashley, do you care — you do, don't you?”
"Yes. I care.”
Tepid response, young man, Rhett thought, grimacing as he unstuck his cheek from the leather.
"Scarlett, can't we go away and forget that we have ever said these things?" Young Wilkes dithered for a few minutes more before he reached the crux of the matter, "Love isn't enough to make a successful marriage when two people are as different as we are...”
Rhett thought: Aha, Irish immigrant's daughter and the aristocrat.
She's good enough to toy with but not good enough to marry.
Wilkes went on: "You would want all of a man, Scarlett, his body, his heart, his soul, his thoughts. And if you did not have them, you would be miserable. And I would not want all of your mind and soul and you would be hurt...”
Rhett thought: That's a real gentleman: Nothing ventured and absolutely nothing lost.
They wrangled toward the traditional finale: She slapped his face and he elevated his aristocratic chin and, with honor, if not dignity, intact, marched from the room.
Rhett meant to stay hidden until Scarlett left, too, but his heart was alight with laughter and when Scarlett hurled crockery at the fireplace and fragments landed on his couch, he raised up, ran a hand through his sleeprumpled hair and said, "It is bad enough to have an afternoon nap disturbed by such a passage as I've been forced to hear, but why should my life be endangered?”
She gasped, "Sir, you should have made known your presence.”
"Indeed. But you were the intruder." He smiled at her and, because he wanted to see her eyes flash, he chuckled.
"Eavesdroppers ..." she began a denunciation.
He grinned. "Eavesdroppers often hear highly entertaining and instructive things.”
"Sir," she said decisively, "you are no gentleman.”
"An apt observation. And you, Miss, are no lady." He loved how her green eyes flashed. Might she slap him too? He laughed again because life is so surprising. "No one can remain a lady after saying or doing what I have just overheard. However, Ladies have seldom held any charms for me. I know what they are thinking, but they never have the courage or lack of breeding to say what they think. But you, my dear Miss O'Hara, are a girl of rare spirit, very admirable spirit, and I take my hat off to you.”