Rhett Butler's people (56 page)

"Our mother. Yes?"

"Doubtless the Book of Revelations is a commendable text, but..." The woman sighed, a noble sufferer.

"Madam," Rhett intoned, "Revelations is a sacred book. Many sinners have been saved from perdition thereby."

"Your mother ..."

Rosemary smiled reassuringly. "Can be overwhelming, I know. Why don't you leave her with the children. Adults find Mother ... difficult, but children see straight to her heart."

The woman snapped, "In Connecticut, madam, we don't nursemaid our children with the Book of Revelations." She marched out, and Rosemary heard the woman's daughter wail, "Mama, I was having fun!"

Rhett shook his head, "Poor Mother."

"She's happy, Rhett. Perhaps there's more to life than happiness, but at Mother's age, there can't be much more."

A log toppled in the fire and sparks rushed up the chimney.

"Perhaps," Rhett said. "Do you remember the first time I came here?"

"I'll never forget. How old was I, six or seven?" Rosemary took her brother's hand. "Do you still love me, brother?"

"As my life."

The Yankee officers finished their drinks and left.

Rhett was grave. "My Washington friends say President Grant has lost patience with the Klan. Rosemary, Andrew's activities are too well known."

"Andrew and I don't talk about that." She set her mug down. "We do not talk at all."

"Please warn your husband. The Yankees want to hang somebody."

"Andrew won't listen to me, Rhett. I doubt he hears me." She rubbed her hands. "I do not know what Andrew hears these days."

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Across the hall, the children's noises were happy. "And your Scarlett? How is Scarlett?"

"My wife is in good health."

"And ..."

"I'm afraid there is no 'and.'" When Rhett drank, eggnog frosted his mustache. For a moment, Rosemary's strong brother seemed a clown with dark, sad eyes. "She was everything I ever wanted. She is everything I want. Scarlett..." He wiped the foam with his handkerchief. "Funny how things turn out, isn't it?" He set his glass aside. "I've brought a rocking horse for Louis Valentine."

"He'll be delighted." Rosemary considered for a moment before saying, "Haynes and Son ..."

"Is bankrupt. I know." He took her hand. "Andrew has squandered John Haynes's legacy on the Klan. You're lucky the house is in your name. You mustn't worry, Rosemary. I'll always take care of you, Louis Valentine, and Mother."

When Rosemary leaned back, the fire warmed her cheeks. She felt so tired. She might close her eyes and doze.

Her brother was talking about money. Rosemary didn't want to think about money. She opened her eyes and said, "Thank you for caring, dear brother, but some things I must do for myself."

It rained that night -- an icy winter rain. When Rosemary heard Andrew at the door, she set down her mending basket and went into the front hall. Andrew stared at his wife. "Rosemary."

"Good evening, husband," Rosemary said calmly. "Where have you been?"

Andrew shut the door and shrugged out of his slicker. His shirt was soaked. "You don't want to know."

"Yes, husband, I do want to know."

He cocked his head as a man who spies a curiosity: a cat that dances, a dog reputed to speak.

"Business," Andrew said.

"What business do you have, husband? The bank is foreclosing on Haynes and Son."

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He dismissed that enterprise with an angry head shake. "Don't you know, wife, that the South Carolina legislature is a snake pit of Scalawags, Carpetbaggers, and niggers. They are not our government!"

"Are

you

our government, husband? Doing under cover of darkness what honest men will not do in daylight?"

She gasped when he gripped her arm, "Which 'honest men'?" His voice frightened her. Her husband had used that voice beside fires where terrified men waited to be murdered. That voice had destroyed women's hopes and mocked children's pleas. "Andrew," Rosemary whispered, "where have you goner

"Wife, I haven't changed. Others may have changed, but I have not."

"Andrew, you're hurting me!"

As suddenly as he'd grabbed her, he let go. Rubbing her arm, she picked up the parcel from the hall table and thrust it at him. "This came this morning, husband. There's a note."

He glanced at the note. "Patriotic Southern women make our robes. What of it?"

"Patriotic?"

He said, "If we don't protect our women, who will?"

Rosemary frowned. "How do you protect us, Andrew? From what threat do you protect us?"

"Fellow wanted to boast about his 'special-made' robe." Andrew's laugh was three sharp barks. "Do you imagine I enjoy doing these things? Wife, do you think me heartless? Rosemary, I am doing my duty."

Though Andrew went on about corrupt Carpetbaggers, Southern rights, and insolent niggers, Rosemary didn't listen. She was tired of him.

When Andrew wound down, Rosemary said, "Andrew, I don't want you here."

Her husband paled. His eyes roamed. He licked his lips. Rosemary could smell the stench of Andrew's body and the corruption of his breath.

She said, "You can't ever come home again."

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Chapter

Chapter

Thirty

-

nine

Natural Wonders

On a drizzly March morning, Scarlett O'Hara Butler dressed for Governor Bullock's celebration.

Mammy said, "Honey, only actresses bare their chests, and you ain't no actress. That gown ain't hidin' half what it s'posed to!"

"In Paris, it is the height of fashion."

" 'Lanta ain't Paris nor anywhere's else, neither. You is a married woman!"

Married

-- how Scarlett loathed the word.

Married

meant

Don't and forbidden!

After she married Rhett, Scarlett gave her mourning clothes to the Confederate Widows and Orphans. She wished she could give her marriage to the widows and orphans too!

Between

married

and

mother,

Scarlett felt like a mule dragging logs through the tuckerbrush.

Rhett loved children -- provided Prissy changed them and Scarlett nursed them and bore them in pain and sweat and blood. Why shouldn't Rhett love them?

Scarlett chose her memories as if picking scenes for the parlor stereograph. Tara was Gerald O'Hara's laughter and Ellen O'Hara's caring hands. Twelve Oaks was brilliant parties, doting admirers, helpful darkies, and Ashley Wilkes --

her

Ashley.

Scarlett never recalled her mother's self-martyrdom, her father Gerald's drunken blather, or Ashley's discomfort with the role he been cast in at birth.

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In New Orleans, Toinette Sevier had hinted to Scarlett about Ellen's doomed love for Philippe Robillard. How like her love for Ashley! Scarlett never wondered if Ellen's love for Philippe was a sorrow at the heart of her parents' marriage.

Scarlett O'Hara Butler's sixteen-inch waist was no more and her flashing eyes had seen too much of life, but she could still turn men's heads.

Mammy tugged at her neckline. "Child, you're bound for mischief. Associatin' with Carpetbaggers and Scalawags. Think what your Mama would say!

Trust Mammy to put a chill on things.

When she informed him he was a hypocrite, Rhett didn't deny it. The new Rhett Butler reveled in hypocrisy!

In public, Rhett never smiled when he ought to frown. He no longer confused simple souls or confounded cleverer ones. Whatever absurd notion Mrs. Meade or Mrs. Elsing advanced, Rhett solemnly agreed with it. Had one of the grande dames opined the moon was made of blue cheese, Rhett Butler would have wondered aloud if it just might be Stilton.

Sunday mornings found Rhett, Ella, Wade, and Bonnie settled in their pew at St. Philip's. Mr. Rhett Butler even had a desk at the Farmer's and Merchants' Bank.

Why was Rhett able to do anything he wished to do? A woman mustn't do this; a woman mustn't do that. Run her own business? Scarlett might as well have stripped off her clothes and ridden naked down Peachtree Street!

Lord, how she missed her sawmills. Somehow -- afterward she was never quite sure how -- Rhett had tricked her into selling them. He'd confused her and made her so angry, she'd sold her sawmills to Ashley.

Scarlett felt like she'd sold part of herself. Her sawmills were sound, profitable businesses, and if she'd wanted to sell, Lord knows, she'd had plenty of offers. She'd built them by herself! They were tangible evidence of who she was and what she could do.

She couldn't drive past them anymore without wanting to weep.

On this rainy Saturday, Rhett was in the library reading the newspaper while Wade, Ella, and Bonnie sat on the rug, playing a game that involved lining up the household spoons in ranks at their father's feet.

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Without preamble, Scarlett said, "Children, please play somewhere else. Your father and I need to talk."

Wade and Ella obeyed, but Bonnie climbed onto her father's lap, stuck her thumb in her mouth, and examined her mother with her wide blue eyes.

"Bonnie should stay, dear wife. One day, Bonnie will marry. By observing our affectionate interchanges, Bonnie learns what she can expect from her own marriage."

"Certainly, dear husband. Bonnie should know everything there is to know about marriage. Has our daughter visited the Chapeau Rouge?"

Rhett grinned. "Ah, you still have ammunition in your pouch and do not hesitate to fire it. Scarlett, have I told you lately how much I admire you?"

Her face softened. "Why, no...."

"My dear, I applaud you for being the most resolutely selfish woman I've ever met."

"Thank you, husband," Scarlett said, "for your candor."

Rhett sighed. "Bonnie, I'm afraid your Mama is right; you're too young for your parents' marriage. I don't know when you'll be old enough. I'm not sure I'm old enough."

With love in his eyes, Rhett watched the child scamper from the room, Scarlett felt a jealous flash and then confusion. How could she be jealous of her own child?

"So you're off to celebrate the Pennsylvania Railroad's capture of the Georgia Railroad. Why not celebrate with a masked ball? Aren't masks traditional in bandit society?"

"Aren't you the one to talk! Wasn't Rufus Bullock your friend?"

Rhett shrugged. "Rufus and I have done business from time to time."

"Now that it suits Captain Butler to be oh so respectable, his old friends fall by the wayside?"

He folded his newspaper. "Am I to have a sermon on loyalty from Miss Scarlett? Please continue."

Scarlett flushed. Why had she ever married this hateful man?

Rhett tapped his newspaper. "Better hurry, dear. If you hesitate, Rufus might not be Governor. His powerful friends are jumping ship and he's lost control of the legislature. Rufus's wife took their children north so they

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won't be insulted on the streets her husband governs. Edgar Puryear is Rufus's only friend. Poor Rufus."

Rhett opened the heavy drapes to watch his wife's carriage make the turn onto Peachtree Street.

When Prissy came in to say she was taking the children to play at the Wilkeses', Rhett waved an indifferent hand. The house -- her house -- was so big, he didn't hear them go. This miserable day mocked spring's promises. Pale yellow forsythia bent beneath raindrops and the lilacs were blue with cold.