"As your friend, Rhett...”
"John, John ..." Rhett muffled his face in Tecumseh's neck. "A friend would help me finish this thing.”
Shadrach Watling's farm wagon was heaped with broken wheels, hubs, and rims. "Morning, Mr. Jaffery, Mr. Haynes. I see you brung Butler.”
"Shad...”
"It'll be 'Mr. Watling' today.”
"Mr. Watling, I trust we can reach an accommodation.”
"B'lieve Butler 'commodated my sister. B'lieve I'll 'commodate him.”
"When Rhett Butler treated you as a gentlemen, he complimented you.”
Shad spat. "I'm thinkin' of westering. Goddamn, I'm sick of the Low Country. Rich bastards and niggers. Niggers and rich bastards. I got cousins in Missouri.”
"Wherever you go, you'll want money. If your sister, Belle, were to go with you, the scandal would die.”
Watling chuckled. "Butler offering me money?”
"No, sir. I am.”
"All comes down to money, don't it?" Watling spat again.
Shadrach Watling was a beardless, thickset man. "Naw, not this time. I got a grudge against Butler. Even though Pa whipped Belle good, she never would say 'twas Rhett topped her. Ain't no nevermind. I'm craving to put a bullet in Butler. He weren't no 'count as the Young Master and I hear he weren't no 'count as a soldier boy, neither. Butler ain't worth a bootful of warm piss.”
Shad Watling eyed the river. "Gonna be light directly. I got four busted wheels for the wheelwright, and he starts his day early. Bein's I'm the challenged man, I'll be namin' the distance. Figure fifty paces'll be far enough for me to hit and him to miss. I wouldn't want be nicked by no stray ball.”
His stubby, stained teeth glistened in silent laughter.
Swaddled in thick woolen robes, the surgeon was snoring in his buggy.
When John Haynes tapped his boot toe, Franklin Ward opened his eyes and yawned. "Ah. Our business ..." He unbundled, stepped down, and faced away; the stink of his urine made John Haynes's nose twitch. The doctor wiped his fingers on his coattails.
i i Dr. Ward offered his hand to Rhett, "Ah, the patient, I presume!”
Rhett grinned. "You have appliances for extracting the bullet, Doctor? Probes? Bandages?”
"Sir, I studied in Philadelphia.”
"Doubtless, Philadelphia is an excellent city to have studied in.”
Shad Watling ambled behind, grinning absently and scratching his thigh.
"Mr. Butler," Tom Jaffery asked, "why are you removing your shirt?”
"Hold it for me, John? I take off my shirt, my Yankee friend, so the bullet won't push cloth into the wound.”
"Maybe you jest like goin' naked." Shad Watling eyed the slighter man disdainfully. "Me, I generally don't take off more clothes'n I got to.”
"Gentlemen," John Haynes interrupted, "this is a terrible, deadly business and I must ask again if honor wouldn't be served by Mr. Watling's retraction, an apology and recompense from Mr. Butler.”
Gooseflesh pimpled Rhett's arms in the chilly air.
"Fifty paces," Shad said, "oughta serve. Butler, you remember your nigger pal, Will? How Will cried for mercy? If n you cry for mercy, maybe I'll let you off." Watling showed his teeth again. "Let me see them pistols.
Yank, did you watch Mr. Haynes load? Didn't double-charge one of them pistols, did he? Might have had one charge already in the barrel 'fore he poured the second charge atop?”
The Yankee was shocked, "Mr. Haynes is a gentleman!”
"He score his bullet? Little ring cut into the bullet so it gobs when it hits. Inspected his bullet, did you, Yank?”
Young Jaffery repeated, "Mr. Haynes is a gentleman.”
"Sure as hell. Sure as hell. Gentleman don't score no bullet, no sir.
Gentlemen won't double-charge no pistol. Now, which of these here pistols did Mr. Haynes load?”
"I loaded the near pistol," John said.
A horn sounded in the woods, a long exuberant note, like fox hunters sighting their quarry. Seconds later, moisture streaming off its wheels, an open landau clattered onto the field. Two young sports stood between its seats, one with a coach horn at his lips, which he dropped to grab a seat back, else the stop would have pitched him headlong. "Hallooo! Hallooo!
Have we missed the fun?”
Their elderly driver cackled. "Told you I'd get us here in time," he said.
"Didn't Colonel Jack find these scamps?”
Colonel Ravanel had been a respectable rice planter until his wife, Frances, was killed. Whether Jack's subsequent dissipation was from grief or the absence of marital inhibitions was not known. In Charleston, where gentlemanly drunkenness was only forbidden clergy, Colonel Jack Ravanel was a drunk. In a city where every gentleman gambled, Jack was banned from respectable gambling clubs. Jack was a genius with horseflesh, and horse-mad Charleston forgave him much for that.
John Haynes stepped to the landau. "Gentlemen, this is an affair of honor. Decorum ...”
The young men wore short brocade jackets, bright ascots, and pants so tight, a codpiece was unnecessary. Although Jack Ravanel was old enough to be the young men's father, he was similarly garbed.
"Country wench gets one in the oven and that's an affair of honor?”
The horn blower sounded a blast. "Whooooa, Johnny Haynes. It's one of Rhett's damn jokes, that's what it is.”
John Haynes bristled. "Henry Kershaw, this is an affront. You are unwelcome here.”
Big Henry Kershaw was reeling. "You mean Cousin Rhett is going through with this? Damn me, Edgar, I'll settle tomorrow. Rhett, that you? Ain't you cold? We been drivin' through this damn swamp for hours. Colonel Jack says he used to own this ground, but he must have been sober at the time. Edgar Puryear, don't you hog that whiskey!”
Tom Jaffery asked, "Mr. Haynes. Is this regular?”
"You the Yankee we heard about?" Henry Kershaw asked.
"Yes, sir. From Amity, Massachusetts.”
"Man can't help where he's born. Say, you ain't one of them damned abolitionists, are you?”
Rhett Butler silenced John Haynes with a touch and asked in the quietest voice, "Edgar, Henry, Jack — have you come to see me die?”
Edgar Puryear pasted an apologetic expression on his face. "Jack promised this was a lark, Rhett; a lark! He said you'd never fight a man over...
over ...”
"A 'lark,' Jack? If my father discovers your part in this, he'll see you in the workhouse.”
"Dear Rhett! Do not speak cruelly to Old Jack!”
"Henry Kershaw is drunk — Henry will do anything when he is drunk.
Edgar Allan has come to watch. Edgar is a great watcher. But what dragged the aged reprobate out of his whore's warm bed on a cold morning?”
Jack Ravanel's smile was ingratiating. "Why, Rhett, old Jack's come to help you. I've come to talk sense! We'll all have a friendly drink and recall happier times. Rhett, have I told you how I admire Tecumseh? By God, there's a horse!”
For an instant, Rhett was stunned. Then his mouth twitched into a chuckle, which became a laugh, which became so hearty Rhett bent over laughing. This laughter infected the sports, who wore smiles on their faces, and the young Yankee chuckled.
Rhett wiped his eyes. "No, Jack, you shan't have Tecumseh. John, if I am killed, my horse is yours. Now, Watling. Choose your pistol.”
"God Almighty!" Henry Kershaw gaped. "Rhett means to go through with it!”
Colonel Jack's eyes narrowed. He lashed his team off the field.
Deep in the woods, a grouse drummed on a hollow log. The huge sun rose steaming out of the river, restoring yellows, blues, and pale greens to the land from which fog had exiled them.
John Haynes shut his eyes briefly in a wordless prayer. Then he said, "Gentlemen.”
Shad Watling had lost something to Rhett's great laughter. Something had got away from him. His prey had tripped the trigger but left the trap empty. Shad snatched a pistol, examining it as if it might be faulty. " 'Young Marster' Butler. Christ, how the niggers fawned over you!”