The sky was a brilliant shade of cornflower blue. Such a lovely day to sour over unpaid taxes and settling bills, Wade thought ruefully as he hopped off the train at the Jonesboro railway station. Chief Rowell walked towards him in his lethargic gait and gave him a curt nod, when a mousy man beside him offered his hand.
"Good morning Mr. Hamilton, I am Jamie Bryant, Mr. Randall's lawyer. I'd like to negotiate on Mr. Randall's behalf - "
Before he could finish, Chief Rowell cut in. "Randall wanted to pay the taxes in six installments if you dropped charges. But I refused, so he sent Bryant to sweet-talk you into it."
Wade looked at the two men standing in front of him, assessing the new development. "So, to sum it up, I will pay the taxes and revoke Mr. Randall from his position, and he would pay me back the amount in six months. That seems reasonable enough."
Jamie Bryant smiled, seemingly encouraged but the chief looked like he had been slapped on the face.
"Mr. Hamilton, are you considering this blasted proposition?"
"Why not, Chief? I get my taxes paid and Mr. Randall doesn't rot in jail."
"But I will not have a man, who had committed such felony, escape unpunished."
"Now lets be fair, Chief. How does losing one's job and having to pay the astronomical taxes, when one has a family to look after and a daughter to marry off, look any less a punishment than twenty years of jail?"
"With all due respect Sir, I don't care a hang how many mouths Randall has to feed, I will have no such pardons. I have set the date of hearing at the court for today, and so will it be. I hope you will make yourself available this afternoon. Judge Barrett expects both the parties in the courtroom at two. Goodday, gentlemen."
With that he strode off to the stable and within moments he was a tiny speck of black in the red horizon, riding off to the courthouse.
*****
Wade walked out of the humid courtroom, wiping sweat off his brow. It was turning out to be a very warm day for October. On the other end of the road, the police horses were nibbling idly at the parched grass. Overseer Randall was cuffed to a post nearby waiting to be taken away by the police, his wife and daughters crying ceremoniously beside him. His son, a little boy of five, unaware of the doom was chasing off a cat around the fence. Randall caught his eye, and for a moment, a painstakingly long, cold moment, Wade's eyes were burning under his stony gaze. Wade tore his eyes off and walked across towards Andrew Mason, the prosecution counsel and an old friend. He was talking animatedly to Chief Rowell and another rather stiff, elderly man.
"Ah, hello Wade. Care to join us for a drink at Mill's Pub?" bellowed Andrew.
"Eh - yes, I think I would." mumbled Wade and made his way towards the horses.
Once they dismounted their horses in front of Mill's Pub, Andrew pulled him to his side and conspiratorially said, pointing to the elderly man, "See that old man? That's Lennox Calder, he has a big shot law firm in Columbia. Yes, sir, one of the first to open in the Confederate States! He came here to meet Judge Barett and he offered me a position in his firm. Just think, Wade, I'll be a solicitor, earn from my own cases, and get a share of the profits of the firm!"
Wade smiled, his friends' enthusiasm and happiness rubbed off on him and he heartily congratulated Andrew, who seemed to float into the pub.
After ordering their drinks, they engaged in a comfortable conversation about politics, South Carolina's Governor Joseph Brigand's scandalous pact with the Yankees. Wade joined in once in a while, sharing news he had come across on his travels for business. Lennox Calder curiously asked what business he had in South Carolina.
"I had to go to Summerville to buy off a cotton plantation from the owner who had worked like a field hand himself to run the fields. But these years the produce hardly covered the costs of raw materials and the few laborers he could manage to employ. So he sold it off to me for, what I consider a lump some amount."
"Ah, now could it be Jeremiah Sandler you are talking about?", Calder asked, smiling.
"Why yes, so it is. Do you happen to be an acquaintance of Mr. Sandler?"
Calder chuckled, "No, but he did borrow some money from me. A couple of weeks earlier, he came bobbing to my office with the money. He said some bloke from Atlanta has bought off his bone-dry cotton plantation at an ungodly price."
Wade indulged in a knowledgeable smile. "Thankfully for me, he didn't know any better. The soil of his fields is heavy clay loam of best quality. He misused it with too much water, treated it like black soil. The waterlogged subsoil spoiled the cotton, and he added disproportionate amount fertilizers to resolve it. Some good pigeon pea intercrop ought to set this kind of land good for years."
"Well, you seem to know a lot about your cotton, Mr. Hamilton. You surely have a plantation of your own?"
"Yes,Greenwoods, it's actually my father's. But I'm afraid it had been the most ill-run plantation I have ever seen."
"So, how many plantations are you conducting your business at? It's all cotton I suppose."
Normally Wade would get a little uncomfortable about this apparent stranger's questions, but his drink had loosened him up.
"Well, currently I have seven plantations, including Greenwood. And no, it's not only cotton. The plantations at Seventy Acres and Walnut Grove mainly produce rice. Some also produce good medicinal herbs, ornamental plants and flowers. My Copper Crust in Rockwell produces the best iris, for export to markets of Europe and colonial Asia."
"Oh, you own flower estates too! How delightful", Calder paused for a moment and then said, "Well, you must be wondering why I am so inquisitive about your business. The thing is, a good friend of mine has a plantation in Dunmore Landing. It has extensive shrub and flower plantation, hundreds of acres of garden with marvellous Camellias. But after Sherman's barbarious attack, it has been reduced to worthless overgrowth, infested with weed and pests. Even with hoeing and use of ample fertilizers nothing much could be done. I was wondering if you could have a look."
"Well, I don't exactly manage plantations I don't own, but I guess I could just give some advice or at least refer some expert labor."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Hamilton. Would you be so kind to pay a visit, somewhere around next week?"
"Yes, I will be traveling for business down Ashley River, so I think I can make it to Dunmore by Thursday. Where is exactly the plantation located?"
"Oh, here is my friend's card. I will immediately notify him about your kind counsel. Someone will be waiting for you at the dock.", said Calder, as he extended a white card towards him.
Wade took the card and glanced at the name printed in the elaborate style. It read :
Rhett Butler
Broughton Plantation
Dunmore Landing
