"Minny, do you think Lisa might care for me?”
"Lisa is a child, Captain," Minette said coolly. "She does not entertain callers.”
When MacBeth came in, clutching a strange boy's arm, Lisa took the chance to flee.
MacBeth told Minette, "Boy says he's Miss Belle's sprout.”
Brown hair combed to the side; the boy's narrow face was older than his years. Minette compared him with the daguerreotype enshrined on Madame's dressing table. "But mon petit, you are with the Good Fathers!
You are in New Orleans!”
Taz spread his hands as if he had no idea how he found himself in Atlanta.
He smiled a charming smile.
"Says he's Miz Belle's," MacBeth repeated.
Edgar Puryear's attention fixed on Taz. "Boy, who are you? How are you called?”
"I am Tazewell Watling, sir.”
"Watling, by God! And you were born?”
"In New Orleans, sir.”
"Not where! When? Why should I care where you were born? Let me calculate. Twelve — no, it'd be thirteen years ago!”
"I have thirteen years, yes, sir.”
"Captain, cher. There will be time for questions later, no? The boy has come to see his dear Mama.”
Captain Puryear stood and studied Taz like a buyer inspecting a colt.
"Yes, there is a resemblance, a definite resemblance — those ears, that nose!”
He toasted the boy. "Tazewell Watling! By God, you're Rhett Butler's bastard!”
He drained his brandy and set the glass on the mantel.
"You are mistaken, sir. Captain Butler is my guardian.”
"Why, of course he is. No doubt about that. He's whatever the old tomcat says he is.”
The mantel clock ticked; the fire hissed in the parlor stove.
Taz had traveled far and he was tired. "I will inform Captain Butler of your interest in my parentage, sir.”
Captain Puryear's eyes went flat. "We'll discuss this another time, boy.
Minny, you can bring me another brandy? The French brandy this time, eh, chere?”
Minette hustled Taz down the hall into what had been a family dining room but was now Belle Watling's boudoir, the sanctuary of an uneducated woman with money. Dark silk moiré drapes covered the windows and muffled the street noises. Her lamp globes were painted with plump, garish flowers. Belle's coverlet was rose brocade and numerous large and small fringed pillows were arranged at the head of her bed. Warm, perfumed air enveloped Taz. This overwhelming femininity made him uneasy.
His mother peered over her reading glasses. "Taz," she said, stunned, "But I was just writin' you!”
"Madam, le bonjilsl" Minette nudged the boy toward his mother.
Taz tried to forestall Belle's protest. "Please, Maman, I am so happy to be here. Can I stay with you?”
"But Taz ...”
"I crawled through the Federal lines, right past their sentries. One of 'em near stepped on me! If he had, I don't know what I'd have done! I hadn't brought any food and hadn't had anything to eat and, Maman, I was hungry.
Anyway, then I met up with some drovers taking cattle to Montgomery and they gave me corn cakes to eat. When I got to the railroad, the provosts wouldn't let me on the train. The soldiers snuck me on.”
Her son flew into Belle's arms. "Lord knows, I've missed you, darling boy.”
Minette opened the liquor chest, muttering, " 'Minny'! 'Minny' he calls me! If Minette is good enough for the baptismal record, it is good enough for Captain Busy!”
Belle gently brushed her son's hair off his forehead. "Minette, not now, please.”
"Eloise won't come downstairs when that man's in the house.”
"Yes, Minette. Later, please.”
"Captain, here is your French brandy!" Minette spat in the tumbler before she filled it and left.
Mother and son embraced and talked and embraced again. A little later, Lisa brought a tray with soup and bread. Taz ate at his mother's dressing table, among her pomades and potions. "Lisa is pretty, isn't she, Maman?”
he said between bites.
"The poor child's husband's killed in the War. They had only one day together. Only one day! When she come to our doorstep, I took her in.”
Belle laid comforters on the floor beside her bed, and after the boy fell asleep, Tazewell Watling's mother watched him for some time before she kissed him on the forehead and extinguished the lamp.
The next morning, when Taz returned from the necessary, smoke was rising from the kitchen chimney. Lisa jumped back from the stove she'd been feeding. "You scared me. Ain't used to no early risers.”
"I don't need much sleep," Taz said. "In New Orleans, we don't sleep hardly at all.”
She cocked an eyebrow. "That so?”
"Day or night. Something's always doing in New Orleans." He rubbed his nose. "Atlanta's so smoky. How do you stand it?”
"Ain't bad once you're used to it.”
"Maman says you are a widow.”
"My Billy's kilt.”
"I've never been married," Taz said.
"Course you ain't been married. You're just a baby.”
Taz drew himself up. "In New Orleans, we say, 'L'heure coq conte, li bon pour marie!' " He translated politely, " 'When the cock crows, he's ready to marry!' “
"You talk funny," she said. "Talk some more.”
In French, Taz told Lisa she had pretty eyes. Lisa colored, for the French language cannot disguise sentiment. Taz added, "I suppose you heard I'm a bastard.”
"I don't know I ever met a bastard.”
"Well, now you've met one, what do you think?”
"I think I was cookin' oatmeal and might be you'd want some.”
Later, Taz met the Cyprians: Eloise, who had the longest black hair he'd ever seen, and Hélène, whose eyes were sleepy from laudanum.
Macbeth’s knuckles were broken and flattened from fighting. MacBeth had been reared in Atlanta. "I'm a city nigger," MacBeth said. "I don't wear no kerchief. There's a hat on my head.”
Taz asked MacBeth about Captain Butler.
"Captain Butler comes and goes," MacBeth said.
"Does Butler sleep here? In the house, I mean.”
"You mean do he lie up with your mama?" MacBeth asked with a straight face.
Taz balled his fists, but MacBeth glowered until the boy relaxed. Taz looked off and whistled tunelessly. "Did you ever kill anyone?" Taz asked.
"Only niggers," MacBeth said.
Taz clicked Rhett's door closed behind himself and sniffed. Stale cigar smoke and dust. So this was his father's office. Until the provost captain had spoken, Taz hadn't suspected. When he'd asked Belle about his father, she'd always said, "There'll be time for that when you're grown.”
Well, he was grown now.
His father's office was nothing speciaclass="underline" a desk, a ponderous iron safe, a walnut daybed, two sturdy chairs, and an oak chifforobe. The front windows overlooked the walk, where MacBeth was raking cigar butts from the flower beds. The rear windows framed Belle's stable and, behind it, a weedy pasture ending at a vividly green margin of swamp grass beside a murky creek.
Taz spun the dial and tried the brass lever, but Rhett's safe was locked.
He leaned back in his father's chair.
Several times, Belle had told Taz how she and Rhett had been reacquainted: "If I hadn't passed the St. Louis Hotel that day, Taz, honey, I reckon things would have been bad for me. I didn't have nothin', nary a dime. I'd give you up to the orphanage and I was too shamed to even come visit you. Honey, I saw these fancy folks outside the St. Louis and thought they might just spare me somethin'. I didn't have no pride, honey. You got no pride when you're down-and-out. Anyway, I didn't recognize him at first, but he knew me right off. Rhett Butler took care of me. Took care of me and took care of my darling boy, too.”
Rhett's suits and starched shirts hung in the chifforobe above two pairs of riding boots in stretchers. There was nothing in the desk except pens, ink, writing paper, and Charles Dickens's American Notes.