Chapter 2
"Rhett Kinnicutt Butler, you have been indicted under federal law for the crimes of murder, conspiracy to commit murder against an officer of the United States Navy, conspiracy to aid and abet the Cuban rebels against the government of Spain, conspiracy to commit espionage, and conspiracy to commit treason against the United States. How do you plea?"
Rhett Butler stared down the line of black-robed federal justices, his eyes dull. The light was dim and he squinted as he read the deposition in front of him. He was in the deepest trouble of his life, and he had a suspicion that getting out of it would not be a simple matter of calling in a favor from one of his old contacts in Washington. He continued to squint as he sought a familiar face on which to rest his eyes, and seeing none, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"My client wishes to enter the plea of not guilty, sir." Rhett's counselor, Mr. Talley, stated in his reedy little voice. The man was tall and thin and rather ill-looking, Rhett observed. He was unfamiliar with this man, and had been irked to find him waiting for him instead of his own solicitor from New Orleans. Mr. Talley's bony face was covered slightly by his scraggly grey beard, about the same color as Ashley Wilkes's eyes.
I must be out of my head, Rhett thought, if I can picture Ashley's eyes.
Soon the hearing was done and Rhett was returned to his dark cell on the other end of the Washington Arsenal. Seeing the cell again made him glum, for it was small and sparse, decorated only by a straw mattress, a table and chair, a wash basin, and a bucket which he assumed was for his bodily fluids. He hadn't felt like asking the guards, two of which stood outside his cell at all times. They weren't in the least bit friendly and obliging like the Yankees who had occupied Atlanta.
"I'll see if I can get you something better to eat," Mr. Talley offered as the door shut behind them. "I reckon after a week of salt pork and soft bread, your stomach's a bit raw?"
Rhett nodded, but still attacked the waiting lunch as though it would be his last.
"Some beer would help," Mr. Talley nodded. "Too much water loosens the bowels."
"So, what kind of a case do they have against me?" Rhett leaned in a little and whispered to the man as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I understand it to be substantial. The Pinkerton detectives have been tracking you for quite some time, well before the war, Mr. Butler."
"When does my damn lawyer get here?" Rhett growled.
Mr. Talley coughed slightly. "Your lawyer cannot travel without surety that his expenses will be met."
"Hell with that!" Rhett cursed a bit more loudly than he had intended. "I pay him enough as it is to look after my interests. I sent him a telegram that my situation was most urgent. Talley. I need you to reiterate that to him."
"Sir, he cannot access your accounts. No one can. The government has seized all of you assets within the borders of the United States. Even if you have funds abroad, sir, I would strongly suggest that you refrain from touching them."
Rhett sighed heavily. "So how am I expected to defend myself?"
"Frankly, Mr. Butler, the cards are fully stacked against you. I myself have seen some of the Government's evidence, and it seems incontrovertible."
"So, what am I looking at? Five years? Ten?"
Mr. Talley's face softened momentarily. "If you are found guilty of treason, Mr. Butler, you'll hang. And right now, sir, it seems a definite possibility."
"Get the hell out of here." Rhett's voice lowered dangerously. "Get out or by God I'll kill you myself."
Mr. Talley said nothing, only bowing slightly. "I'll do what I can." He paused for a moment before exiting. "Mr. Butler? I understand you have an estranged wife and children-"
"Stepchildren," Rhett corrected automatically. "No children living."
"Right," Mr. Talley said, as if he could rephrase his query in a more favorable way. "Would you like me to advise your wife and stepchildren of your situation?"
To Mr. Talley's horror, his client began to laugh, then he scowled and was silent.
"Well think on it," Mr. Talley inclined his head again. "Your trial won't commence for at least a month. We'll meet closer till then to discuss the particulars. And if there is anything I can do for you in the meantime, all you need do is ask."
Rhett shifted in his seat, thinking for a brief moment of writing Scarlett, but then trembling at the thought of her pity. That would be far worse than her anger or disappointment, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see him in a position of helplessness.
He washed his mouth out with the swill that was coffee and spat it out. Finally, he wiped his eyes of their wetness with his sleeve, and decided to lay down. As he closed his weary eyes, feeling all of his forty-five years, Rhett tried to imagine the old times which he held so dear.
He longed for dreams, memories, anything to occupy his thoughts…but all he could recall was the sound of his own words: "my dear, I don't give a damn", juxtaposed with the memory of Scarlett's stunned face.