“That’s true,” Pickett said. “I doubt anything could have stopped him.”
“I want him in bed for the next three days,” Cohen said. “Serve his meals to him.” He patted his pockets to find his glasses and put them on again. “And have him take these pills,” he said, scribbling on a prescription pad. He ripped off the page and handed it to Delphine. “Three times a day.” His hand was shaking.
Delphine smiled at the nervous little man. “I’ll see to it, Dr. Cohen.”
“So he’s going to be all right?” Pickett asked.
“For now,” Cohen said. “That old buzzard has nine lives. But I don’t like these emergencies one bit. They rattle me. Please tell him to take it easy. And call me immediately if there’s any change.”
Delphine took Dr. Cohen’s hand in hers, causing him to take a quick breath. She smiled. “Dr. Cohen—Lester—I want you to know how grateful…”
“Don’t be silly, Delphine. I got a lot of years tied up in that Daddy of yours. I’m not anxious to see him go.”
That brought another smile.
Dr. Cohen trundled down the hall, lugging his black bag. Meanwhile, Delphine knocked quietly on the bedroom door.
“Yes?” The usual roar was muffled. “Come in.”
Delphine opened the door carefully, as though it were fragile, and peeked inside.
“Don’t just stand there,” said her father, sounding stronger, “come in, come in. No dead bodies in here. Not yet,”
Delphine walked in, Pickett following. Bourque was in bed, wearing striped pajamas, looking pale and old. The thick burgundy drapes were closed tight against the midday sun and the lights were turned low.
“How are you feeling, Daddy?” Delphine asked.
“Like I got kicked by a mule,” Bourque said. His words didn’t have much wind behind them.
“Dr. Cohen says you’ll be spending the next three days in bed,” Delphine said.
Bourque managed a smile. “Like hell I will.”
“You’re not going to get past me,” Pickett said.
Bourque gave him the evil eye. “Lester loan you his medical degree?”
“Don’t be difficult, Daddy.” She picked through the pill bottles and packages of Tums on his nightstand, found a water glass and handed it to him. He took it with a slightly shaking hand and sipped from it.
“Have we heard anything yet?” Bourque said, handing back the glass. “Newspapers say anything?”
“The Times-Picayune loved your speech,” Delphine told him. “It said the reunion plan was a very courageous idea.”
“Mmm hmmm. Courageous,” Bourque said. “That and $3 should get me a bowl of grits.”
“Miami Herald said you should have started working on it ten years ago,” Pickett said. “But they’re behind you.”
Bourque laughed. “It’s always the last one to the party who complains it didn’t start early enough. But what about the Richmond Times-Dispatch editorial? What did it say?”
Pickett frowned. “Carrington didn’t run an editorial. Just a news story.”
“Damn Carrington,” Bourque growled. “He’s one of the most contrary men I ever knowed. If you throw’d him in the river, he’d float upstream.”
“Maybe he was too busy working the legislature,” Delphine said.
At that moment, the phone rang. Delphine picked it up. “Hello,” she said, “Delphine Bourque.”
After a long pause, Governor Curtis Babineaux spoke. “Delphine? The switchboard musta misconnected me. I was trying to reach your daddy.”
“This is his room, but he’s resting,” Delphine said, pressing the speaker button. “Could I take a message for him?”
“Well, hmm, well, okay, I guess so.” He could now be heard by everyone in the room. “Tell him that the Louisiana State Legislature passed the reunion plan. It was 98 in favor, 30 against, 12 abstentions.”
“That’s wonderful, Governor Babineaux. He’ll be thrilled. I’ll tell him as soon as he’s awake.”
“Any of the other votes come in yet?” Babineaux asked, eager not to be first, or the only one.
Delphine recognized the man’s need for reassurance. “Not yet, Governor, But we should be hearing very soon now. I’m sure you’ll be in good company.”
“Of course, of course,” Babineaux said. “Good talking with you, Delphine. Give the Old Man my best.”
“Will do,” she said. She hung up and told Pickett and her father what Babineaux had said.
“Don’t much like the abstentions,” Bourque grumbled.
“You did get 70% of the vote,” Pickett reminded him.
“Yes, but that was Louisiana. I’m not as sanguine about Virginia. Or North Carolina.”
Someone knocked on the door and Pickett went to take care of it. He came back with three telegrams.
“Well?” Bourque asked.
Pickett quickly leafed through the telegrams. “It’s a ‘yes’ from Mississippi,” he said, “but no vote tally. Alabama also said ‘yes,’ but they had to defeat four amendments. Tennessee also voted in favor, but the margin was pretty slim—78 to 62.”
Bourque attempted to sit up and Delphine stuffed a pillow behind his head. “What’s that? he said drowsily, “Three in favor?”
“Four,” Pickett said. “So far.”
“Nothing from Virginia, Roy?”
“Not yet, Boss.”
Bourque closed his eyes.
Delphine thought a moment, then turned to Pickett. “What’ll you do if Virginia votes ‘no’?”
“We have a contingency plan, Ms. Bourque. Your father flies to Richmond and speaks to the legislature. Then they vote again.”
“A second vote? How are you going to do that?”
“It’s a parliamentary trick,” Pickett said. “It works this way—you get one of your supporters to vote against the bill. When the bill fails, he has the right to call for a new vote.”
“Couldn’t someone who voted ‘yes’ make the same request?”
“Nope. Doesn’t work that way, Ms. Bourque. You gotta be on the winning side.” Pickett smiled and Delphine smiled back.
Bourque opened an eye. “What are you two chewing the fat about?”.
“Roy is giving me a lesson in parliamentary procedure,” Delphine said.
“He sure knows a lot ‘bout that kinda stuff,” Bourque admitted.
The phone rang again and Bourque made an ineffectual reach for it. Pickett got it instead. “President’s room,” he said. “Roy Pickett speaking.”
“Oh hello, Roy. Judge Sidbury here. Put him on.” Pickett put a hand over the receiver. “Sidbury,” he whispered to Bourque, who shook his head.
“He’s indisposed at the moment. But I’m supposed to take messages.”
“Rather talk to him directly, but, oh hell, tell him Georgia voted yes on his Goddamned reunion bill. We’re all in the quicksand together now.”
“Voted yes,” Pickett said, both to Sidbury and Bourque. “And what was the final tally?”
“It was 75 to 65—a little close, but I pulled it out. Took a bit of sweat.”
“Ah, 75 to 65,” Pickett repeated so Bourque could hear. “Well, that’s certainly good enough. Congratulations, Judge.”
“Yeah. Well, have him call me, Pickett. I want him to hear it from my own lips. He certainly pushed me hard enough.”
“Yessir, I will.”
Pickett hung up. “Well, that’s five,” he told Bourque. “We’re halfway there. No surprises so far.”
“Thank God for little favors,” Bourque said. He signaled for his water and Delphine answered the call. She watched her father’s hands shake as he took the glass and drank.
“Are you in pain, Daddy?”
“Nothin’ I can’t handle, Darlin’,” Bourque said.
Delphine considered that for a moment, then turned toward Pickett, “There’s one thing that bothers me, Mr. Pickett,” she said, “I know it’s unlikely. I’m sure you and my father and the governors have everythi
ng under control, but what happens if two or three or even four states say no? Are we going to send Daddy flying here, there and everywhere, making speech after speech.”
“Damn right we are,” Bourque put in. “And I can do it too.”
“Let’s hope you don’t have to,” Pickett said. He met Delphine’s eyes. They both knew Bourque didn’t have much left, at least given the way he felt now.
There was another knock at the door. “Jeezus,” Bourque said, rousing himself, “what is this, Grand Central Station?”
Pickett opened the door and Kooter Barnes bounded in. This time, his plaid jacket was an obnoxious mixture of grey, blue and orange. “Have you been watching, Buddy? You see what happened in Arkansas?” He paused, realizing Bourque was in bed, then looked around. “No TV in here?”
“It’s my bedroom, Kooter,” Bourque said. “I sleep here. I watch TV in the parlor. But what’s up?”
“Well, you just got the Arkansas vote, Buddy,” Kooter said, grinning. “But it was damn close. Wouldn’t have made except for the amendment.”
“The amendment,” Bourque said, confused, “what amendment? There can’t be any amendments. Either Arkansas votes to petition the NAU for admission into the union or they don’t.”
“Well, you know ole Russ Tompkins…”
“The mouth of the South.” Bourque said.
“The very same. Well, he took the floor and said he was going to vote against the bill unless his amendment was passed. And that would have killed it.”
“Don’t tell me his amendment passed,” Bourque said. “I don’t think I could stand it, not after everything that’s happened.”
“It did,” Kooter said, “but it’s harmless.”
Pickett threw up his hands. “Harmless? How can that be? It’s going to wreck the whole deal.”
“I don’t think so,” Kooter said. “Tomkins’ amendment said that if any other one of the 10 states of the CSA failed to pass the reunion bill, passage in Arkansas would be null and void.”
Bourque thought a moment. “That’s meaningless,” he said. “It was always all ten or nothing.”
“Yeah, I knew it was harmless,” Kooter said, “but it was sure exciting to watch ‘em fight over it. They all thought it actually meant something.”
“I love the legislative process,” Pickett said.
“Don’t knock it, Roy,” Bourque said. “It’s a fine way for damn fools to get together and do and say foolish things. Keeps them out of trouble.”
“That’s six votes for reunion,” Delphine said. “Four to go.”
Bourque raised himself up and found a roll of Tums on his nightstand, peeled off a couple and started chewing. “I’m starting to get impatient with Virginia,” he said.
“Church ain’t out till they quit singing,” Kooter said, trying to reassure him.
Bourque laughed. “Now you’re stealing my lines.”
“He has a point, Daddy,” said Delphine. “No news is, well, no news.”
The phone rang again and everybody went for it. But this time Bourque got to it first. “Bourque here,” he said.
“Oh, um, hello, Mr. President, this is Eric Wang. I understand you’ve been a little under the weather. I hope you’re feeling better.”
“Still alive and kicking, Mr. Wang, and I intend to go on doing that for quite some time to come.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. President, and I’m sure President Callaway will feel the same way.”
Bourque put his hand over the receiver, “It’s the Chinaman,” Bourque said. “Chang.”
“Wang,” Pickett corrected.
Bourque waved him off. “What can I do for you, Mr. Wang?”
“I’m just checking to see how the voting is going.”
“You’re not watching on INN?”
“Well, yes,” Wang said. “And we have our own sources, of course. We get eight in favor, two still hanging. Does that square with your count?”
Bourque gave Pickett a significant look. “Eight? Well it depends on which eight, I suppose.”
“All but North Carolina and Virginia, of course,” Wang said.
Bourque raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t think the South Carolina or the Florida results are official yet. I’m impressed with your intelligence service.”
“Well, those two were pretty much foregone conclusions,” Wang said. “But we’re in the dark on the other two.”
“Hah! So your CIA isn’t completely omniscient.”
“Not completely. But I’m sure you know more than we do. You could cut the suspense with a knife here.”
“I do wish I could relieve the tension,” Bourque said. “But to be completely honest with you, we’re also waiting on those two. Especially Virginia.”
“Yes,” Wang said. “I’m told Carrington is a difficult man.”
“Well, he ain’t a man to tie to in a calm,” Bourque said, “much less a storm.”
“What will you do if…”
“Mr. Wang, us folks down here, we know there are more ways to kill a cat than choke it to death with hot butter.”
“You don’t mean…”
Bourque grinned. “No I don’t, Mr. Wang. I really don’t. I’m talking about parliamentary tactics.”
“Of course, President, I knew that.”
“Give my regards to your Boss, Mr. Wang. Tell him we’ll give a shout out the moment we know something.”
“Yes, sir, will do.”
Bourque hung up, still smiling. “I do believe he thought I was considering an assassination.”
“Have you taken that off the table?” Pickett asked, and everyone laughed.
“Roy,” said Kooter with a sly smile, “I think you’re confusing Buddy Bourque with his father.”
“Now you just wait a minute,” Bourque said, pretending to be indignant.
“Jes joshin’ with ya, Buddy,” Kooter said. “I’ll go check on the news and see if we got more results.”
He opened the door to find a young page standing there, hand raised, about to knock. The page had a couple of telegrams in his other hand.
“Let me see those, son,” Kooter said. He took them before the young man had a chance to respond, and read them. “South Carolina says ‘yes’,” he announced. “And so does Florida.”
Bourque laid his head back on the pillow. “Nothing from Virginia, eh? Nothing from North Carolina?”
“Not yet, Buddy,” Kooter said. “I’ll see if I can rustle up more news.” He closed the door behind him.
“Anyhow,” Pickett said, “if assassination was the answer, it’s too late now.”
“If Virginia votes no,” Bourque said, “I may have to throttle him.”
“Oh, Daddy, stop talking like that,” Delphine said. “If worse comes to worse, you’ll go to Virginia and get the vote reversed.”
Bourque nodded, as if he’d forgotten that option. “Yes,” he said. “Damn right I will.”
“Think it might be a good idea to give Governor Hightower another nudge?” Pickett asked. “After all, we have eight yeses.”
“According to your Chinaman friend,” Bourque said. “But you’re right. Gimme the phone.”
Delphine and Pickett exchanged glances, and both of them shrugged, as if to say ‘why not?’
Bourque pointed to the telephone and waggled a finger, impatiently. Delphine handed him the receiver.
“Sophie,” he said, “would you get me Ben Hightower, in North Carolina?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” said the operator. “Coming right up.” They all waited for a few moments, then the operator spoke again. “I have Governor Hightower on the line.”
“Hey, Ben, this is Buddy Bourque. How’s the weather over in Raleigh.”
“Beautiful June day,” Hightower said carefully.
“And what’s the forecast for the State House?” Bourque asked.
“Ah,” said Hightower, catching on. “We’re just about there. Gotta twist a couple more arms.”
“Do
an tell me the votin’ hasn’t started yet.”
“Well, another few minutes.” Hightower said.
“You know that I’ve got eight yeses. Just waitin’ on you and Carrington.”
“Eight? I’d only heard of six. But eight. That’s good.”
“You’re not gonna disappoint me now, are you?”
“No, no, Buddy. You don’t have to worry about North Carolina. I promise you that.”
“Glad to hear it Ben. I don’t fancy flying in to Raleigh and getting a ‘no’ vote reversed. Could be a mite embarrassing for you.”
“Don’t worry, Buddy.”
“Okay. Now you call me the moment the vote is over. When am I gonna hear from you?”
“Latest would be 4:00,” Hightower said.
“I’m gonna hold you to it,” Bourque said. “And after we get this under our belts, I want you to come to the Plantation, bring your family, we’re going to have the mother of all cookouts.”
“Looking forward to it, Buddy.”
Bourque handed the phone to Delphine. “Man’s as fidgety as a grasshopper, but he’ll make the trip. Wish I could say that about Carrington.”
The instant Delphine put down the receiver, the phone rang. She picked it up again. “Delphine Bourque.”
“Oh good,” said the man on the other end of the line. “I was hoping to speak to you. This is Edmund Randolph.”
“Mr. Randolph,” she said, smiling and pushing the speaker button. “It’s good to hear from you. How are things at Westover? Cecily and Mrs. Randolph are well?”
“Everyone’s fine, Delphine, but we have been dealing with a problem here.”
“A problem?”
“Yes. Our governor. We’ve talked to him—just like we talked to you—but he hasn’t been very responsive. And with the vote coming later this afternoon…”
“You want me to call him?”
“Well, ah, please don’t take offense, but I don’t think a call from a young woman, even you…”
“My father’s already talked to him. He met with all the governors. Is Carrington actively opposing the bill? He promised…”
“That’s just it,” Randolph said. “He’s saying the right words, but making it clear he doesn’t agree with them. Even if he were 100% behind the bill, the vote would be very close. Two or three votes at most. But he’s putting short, and 95% of all putts you leave short don’t go in.”
ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? Page 42