"Don't I thank Jesus for that!”
Rhett said, "I hear Wade Hampton bought the old Puryear place.”
"Cathecarte Puryear lives in London now. Apparently war frightened his muse.”
Rhett shook his head. "Poor Cathecarte. Lord, how he envied men with talent. Edgar's a provost in Atlanta — that's Edgar's kind of work, you know. In his whole life, Edgar has learned one trick: how not to be his father.”
He flicked the reins. "Maybe that's all any man learns.”
Rosemary touched her brother's sleeve. "There's our lane — beyond that big cypress.”
The carriage wound through oaks dripping with Spanish moss into a clearing where Congress Haynes's fishing camp perched on pilings like a wading bird.
Rosemary inhaled deeply. "I love it out here," she said. "We don't come enough. If business doesn't keep John in town, civic duties do. Isn't this a lovely day?" She basked her face in the sun. "Isn't it?”
As Rhett and Rosemary stepped onto the porch, Meg ran toward the river. Skirts lifted, hat clapped to her head, Cleo hurried after, crying, "Now don't you go gettin' in that mud! Watch out for snakes! Don't you fall in that ol' river!”
Congress Haynes had built this simple camp on a breezy mosquitoless point: a railed roofless porch outside one big room with a soot-blackened fireplace, crude benches, and a table with men's initials carved into the wood.
As a boy, Rhett'd sailed by here, mosquito hawks whupping as they swooped and bats twittering while Congress Haynes's friends — too far away for Rhett to make out their faces — sat in the lamplight drinking and laughing. Drifting down the dark river, the invisible boy had wondered if he might ever be one of them.
Now Rhett set a foot on the railing and lit a cigar while Rosemary unpacked their hamper and placed silver stirrup cups on the rail. "When I was a little girl, I'd dream of all the exotic places you were visiting. Tell me, Brother, are the pyramids as grand as they say?”
Rhett uncorked the wine. "Never got to Egypt. Maybe after the War.”
Lost in thought, Rosemary watched the river. "I'm worried about Mother. She never comes to town, her friends don't visit, and Father makes excuses why his dear, devoted wife can't accompany him to Governor Brown's fêtes." Her brother poured wine. "Mother says Isaiah Watling believes the War was prophesied.”
"Watling?”
"He and Mother pray together. They meet in his house and pray. Isaiah's wife died sometime last year." Rosemary raised a hand to forestall objections.
"It's only praying; that's all. Langston knows about it. There's nothing between them." Rosemary's wry grin. "Except, perhaps, the Book of Revelations.”
"Prayers can be a powerful bond. Sit beside me. We'll have our picnic in a little while.”
While Rosemary rested her elbows on the rail. Absent her marital tensions, Rhett's sister seemed years younger.
A dark-haired white child and an angular black girl ambled hand in hand beside the river. The child's babble rose and fell with the breeze.
Sandpipers patrolled the riverside, dabbing the mud with sharp pointed beaks. Clouds as fat as cotton bolls drifted lazily overhead. Pistons harrumphing, a riverboat tugged a string of empty rice flats upstream. When the helmsman waved, little Meg waved back enthusiastically.
Rosemary asked, "Do you think Father ever loved Mother?”
"On at least three occasions, Langston Butler loved his wife. Men can't rise from a woman's bed indifferent to the authoress of their pleasure. Belle Watling's Cyprians joke about the marriage proposals they get.”
"Belle Watling?”
"Belle's left New Orleans for Atlanta." Rhett laughed. "Belle claims she's a Confederate patriot. In fact, she's a businesswoman and New Orleans's Federal conquerors are partial to negro sporting houses.”
Chin in her hand, Rosemary examined her brother. "Rhett, what is Belle Watling to you?”
Rhett's smile stretched into a mocking grin. "Has the Scapegrace Brother taken up with the Soiled Dove? Will Butler bastards be born in a sporting house?”
Rosemary flushed. "Rhett, I didn't mean ...”
"Dear Sister, of course you did. Women can never be kind to a woman who sells her favors. Favors are to be bestowed only after elaborate ceremony and payment in full.”
"Rhett, please ...”
"Some years ago in New Orleans, Belle and I went into business together.
I keep an office in Belle Watling's sporting house; it amuses me when respectable businessmen sneak up her back stairs.”
Meg was collecting mussel shells on the riverbank.
"And who is Scarlett Hamilton to you? After you stirred her up yesterday, she marched into Eulalie's drawing room and reduced Frederick Ward to stuttering. Poor Frederick couldn't exit in a huff — he was in his own home! Rhett, what on earth did you say to that young woman?”
Rhett's face was rueful. "I seem to have a knack for annoying her." He grinned. "But damned if I can resist.”
"Scarlett would be very beautiful, I think, if she weren't so unhappy.”
"You see, Sister, little Miss Scarlett has no idea who she is. Her charming tricks attract men who are unworthy of her." Rhett's voice dropped to a whisper. "Hindoos believe we have had lives before this. Is it true?" He raised a mocking eyebrow. Perhaps Scarlett and I were star-crossed lovers; perhaps we died in each other's arms...”
"Why, Rhett," Rosemary teased, "you, a romantic?”
Rhett spoke so softly, Rosemary had to lean nearer to hear him. "I want that woman more than I've ever wanted a woman in my life.”
Rosemary squeezed his hand. "There's the brother I know!”
On the riverbank, Meg was singing, "Lou, Lou, skip to my Lou ...”
Rosemary stared at the muddy water. "I do not think I can ever love John Haynes. Not like that.”
Rhett let the power drain from her words before replying. "John's a good man.”
"Do you think I don't know that?" she said. "Do you think that makes a whit of difference?”
"Perhaps — in time ...”
"Don't worry, Brother, I won't create a second scandal." Rosemary's voice faded to a whisper. "I see my life ahead as an unbroken stretch of days, each day exactly like the last, each as empty as the last.”
Her smile was so pained, her brother couldn't look at her.
"I am my mother's daughter and I will cut my cloth to reality. But by God, I will not pray. I will not pray!”
Cleo's squeak was an imprisoned scream. She scooped Meg up and ran toward the camp. "Oh, Captain Rhett," she cried, "Captain Rhett. Get you gun.”
"Pass Meg to me, Cleo," Rosemary knelt and reached down. "I'll take her.”
As she lifted the frightened child to her mother, Cleo shook with impatience.
"You gots to shoot him!”
"Who must I shoot, Cleo?”
"That fox. I see'd him!”
"You saw a fox?”
"In the broad daylight!" Impatiently, Cleo recited the country truism: "See a fox in daylight, fox he mad. Fox bite you, you go mad, too." Cleo raised her arms and Rhett plucked her onto the porch.
Below, a young vixen slid over a log on the riverbank.
Rhett squinted into the sunlight. "She's not mad, Cleo. Her fur is glossy and she moves normally. She's no threat." Rhett peered closely.
"She's lost her cubs, or maybe never had cubs. She wouldn't be so sleek with cubs pulling her down.”
"What she doin' out in broad daylight scarin' folks?”
Cleo had her answer when a dog fox crossed the log and marked. The vixen pretended to find something and pounced, her tail flouncing marvelously.
She rolled on a tussock of marsh grass, all languorousness and pleasure. Her tail was so bushy, she seemed more tail than fox.
"Look at her! She's flaunting herself!" Rosemary said.
"Indeed she is," Rhett said.