4. Banks of the Ashley
In the parlor Rosemary Butler went from window to window, watching for movement and listening for the clomping of horses' hooves.
She had spent hours rearranging the house to reflect her own taste – and the new slipcovers and curtains certainly brightened the room, formerly her mother's domain. Her poor small, wispy mother had taken something that her physician had prescribed for her nerves and planted herself in the most comfortable chair in the parlor as she did every night, reading the society pages from back to front – starting with the obituaries. Cheerful, Rosemary thought. There was no point in trying to converse with her mother.
Nor was she in the mood to greet two teenaged boys. The anger that had been building up in her since Ross's funeral and Rhett had stated his intention to bring both Belle Watling's boy and Scarlett's son back with him was in direct proportion to her fears about his ability to cope with the situation at hand, as it was. Her worry had reached a fever pitch the day he had been due in Atlanta, terrified that Scarlett would be laying in wait like the venomous spider she was, ready to pounce on her poor brother in a weak moment. She paused long enough to glance at her reflection in the mirror above the mantlepiece. The mirror revealed a striking face, a creamy complexion that was the envy of other Charleston women – but not Scarlett, she contemplated with not a hint of bitterness.
Rosemary sighed. That's terribly shallow. Even Scarlett isn't thinking of such things. Not now.
When she heard the front door open she ran onto the stair landing. The voices of two men carried up to her.
"Are you not going to bring your things inside, Dillon?"
"Safe enough where they are. They'd be safe around here, I reckon, even if I left 'em on the porch."
"I wasn't talking about your bags. I meant the pistol. I saw it under the seat."
"What made you think you saw a pistol?"
The other voice snorted. "I saw it with my own two eyes."
That was enough for Rosemary.
"No one's bringing a gun into this house!" she shouted, charging into the front foyer.
The taller of the two shadowy figures turned abruptly and went outside, while the other bolted toward the door, only to be blocked by a third figure.
Rosemary was waiting for Rhett with her fists on her hips.
"Wade Hampton, say hello to my sister Rosemary."
The other one came back carrying a faded leather bag.
Rosemary eyed all three as if they were rattlesnakes.
"Try not to track mud on my floor, will you?" she flashed an angry red.
Rhett assumed a lazy, heavy-lidded smile, screening his eyes with his lashes. "I'm only going to say this once, Rosemary, and that's it, full stop."
How dare he, her mind protested, bringing Scarlett's son and that Belle's as well!
Try as she might, Rosemary could not guess which one was which. One was taller than the other, perhaps one was more youthful – unaware that her eyes were appraising them from head to toe, one of them spoke: "Hello Aunt Rosemary."
She glanced up, and attempted an earnest smile as Rhett turned on the lights, illuminating the room.
"You must be Wade. My God, but you've grown."
Her eyes closed, recalling Wade at twelve – the last time she had seen him – or Scarlett, for that matter.
Dressed in the latest fashion, Scarlett and her children had arrived at the Landing in the morning. Her tightly curled black hair mirrored the sturdy corsetry of her lavender colored gown – designed to render her waist impossibly small. What was it, eighteen inches? Less?
Her mother had remarked that with the passage of time she could see more and more of Ellen Robillard in Scarlett, and that that fact did not make her any easier to like. "Her Irish father was much more pleasant," she had said. Although she did not physically resemble her elegant mother, she had many of her ways. Her quick light step, her perfectionism, and even her attention to social niceties. "Call Miss Rosemary by her name, Ella Lorena," she had snapped when the girl had referred to her as "her".
Her children were both on the smallish side. The girl, Ella, was thin and rabbity with a cap of ginger curls and fiercely blue-grey eyes. The boy, Wade, resembled the Hamiltons of Atlanta, to whom she knew his father had belonged. His hair was golden and his cheekbones jutting. Apparently neither child had known their natural father, and clearly there was an unspoken bond of affection between the two and her brother. What were they to think at a time like this, she thought to herself, when Rhett and Scarlett were barely speaking.
Rosemary rolled her eyes at the oversized cases, two small suitcases, six pairs of shoes, vanity case, and sixteen hat boxes. And that was just Scarlett's luggage.
"I hardly recognize you, Scarlett. Of course I haven't seen you since I was in Atlanta last."
"At Bonnie's funeral; I remember." Scarlett's tone was callous, cold.
Those initial few moments set the tone for Scarlett's entire visit. And Rosemary continued to find nothing but fault in her sister-in-law. Her opinion was absolutely incapable of change.
She brushed by her into the house.
Rhett responded to her rudeness with a devil-may-care grin, then said to Ross, "You have to laugh or you cry. That's life in my world. You too shattered to go for a ride?"
"Let's go," Ross replied.
Before Rhett could take another step, Scarlett stepped in front of him. "What about me?" she challenged.
She fixed her emerald eyes on the three Butler siblings.
Rhett reached around her for his overcoat, which had been laying on a nearby coat tree. "I do not have to seek your permission, Mrs. Butler."
"But I thought we were..."
"Thought we were what, Scarlett?" he asked, putting on the coat.
"Well. You know..."
"I do not. And this is hardly the time."
"When is the time?"
Instead of answering her, Rhett laid a hand on Ross's shoulder and steered him out of the house.
Rosemary's mother had stretched her hand out toward Scarlett, then hesitated, shook her head, and rejoined Rosemary at the edge of the hall.
"What about you, Mother? Do you not want to see their 'marriage' salvaged?"
Her mother cast one long look at Scarlett's stony face, then turned away. "I suppose that I've seen enough."
Wade at fifteen was still slight and slender, his shoulders drawn protectively forward. He put her to mind of a curious fawn staring at her with big brown eyes, unconsciously posing for a portrait. His close-cropped hair was the color of dark bronze.
"Yes, ma'am."
The other one was taller and broader around the shoulders, more a man than boy.
"And you're – "
"Dillon, ma'am."
Try as she might, she saw none of Rhett in him. Dillon. Jasper Dillon, perhaps. The man responsible for Rhett's disgrace and subsequent exile.
"Is Mother awake?" Rhett interrupted. He brushed past her into the hallway.
"No. She's been asleep for some time."
"Damn it," he growled.
"What is it?"
He handed her a crumbled telegram.
"This was waiting for me at the station."
Leaving Jonesboro on the morning train for Charleston. Scarlett.
Far away in Georgia, birds were singing and bees were droning. It must be summer. Summer at Tara. Cookie would be gathering the honey, and if she and Suellen stopped squabbling for the next hour, they would be allowed to share the honeycomb.
Scarlett smiled in her sleep.
Suddenly, there came up a cold wind, disturbing her pretty dream.
"Go away! Leave me be!" she mumbled.
She was pulled away from the safe, fragrant kitchen, dragged into a tunnel of clouds where she soared and spun, helpless. She tumbled onto something solid, then opened her eyes. Her vision was completely obscured by haze – then it cleared.
"You can't have him! You can't have my boy, too!"
Suellen bent down. Only part of Scarlett's head was visible from under the covers.
"Wade. He's not...going...too..." she said incoherently.
"Wake up, Scarlett." Suellen straightened up, putting her hand gently on her sister's forehead. Her eyes opened immediately, and rolled toward her.
"Was I talking in my sleep again?"
Suellen nodded, then sighed. Her sister was not the woman she had always imagined her to be. In some ways she was more intelligent, in other ways less. A veneer of deceit which had concealed for years her own naivete.
Scarlett sighed. "Sometimes it feels like I'm stranded on a raft in the ocean. The sharks are circling and I'm helpless."
"Now don't talk like that. You're stronger than you were when you came here."
"That's as much as you know," Scarlett said dismissively. "Basically I'm still helpless. And Rhett's family hates me. Oh, they will attempt to hide it. His mother means well and his sister is far too smart to start a war, but not smart enough to know that I'm not an enemy. I just never bothered to get to know either of them because we were never alone together for any length of time. When they came to Atlanta for Bonnie's funeral. For Ross and Barbara's wedding."
Suellen pursed her lips. "Every time you mentioned Ross and his wife I heard something in your voice. You'd best tell me about them."
"Barbara was like Melly. Useful as a little pot."
"Tell me about her."
Scarlett gave her a searching look. "What else must I say? Her wedding was lovely. My time with Rhett was lovely because of her. And she's gone and I – I – "
"Melly's gone too, Scarlett. Don't forget that."
Scarlett was not listening. In her mind, she was already back in Charleston.
As the train carrying her and Ella chugged down the track, Scarlett was relieved to be leaving Suellen and Will and Tara and its troubles behind. Yet the sense of relief brought guilt as well, knowing what she was about to confront Rhett with, and in front of his family while they were still mourning the loss of his brother. This is all Pa and Mother's fault, she thought, the curse of being Catholic. We suffer more guilt than any other emotion. I did everything I knew to do but there's no pleasing Rhett. It's not my fault. Not my fault. And if it is, I don't know what to do about it except what I'm already doing. But I won't let him have Wade. So help me God, I will not.
She closed her eyes, remembering the last night of her last trip to Charleston.
She had been in the guest bedroom, Rhett watching her make ready for dinner at her dressing table, brushing her long black hair. Mindlessly, he moved from the door and walked toward her. He put his hand on her shoulder. She felt the warmth of his hand on her skin and the ancient imperative.
Three months had passed. She had returned to Tara, happy and alive.
"Suellen, wake up. Something's wrong."
Suellen and Will both awoke from their deep sleep to find Scarlett standing at the foot of their bed.
"What do you mean?" Suellen asked groggily.
"I have the most terrible pain. Help me, Sue! It's like labor pain only worse, so much worse! Help!"
By the time Will had supported her down the hall to her room, she was bleeding copiously all over the hallway.
"Did you know you were with child, Scarlett?" Suellen asked quietly.
"No."
"So of course, Rhett did not know..."
"No. I don't think I would have told him...even if..."
"You've lost the baby, I'm afraid."
"I don't know what I did wrong!" she had cried to Suellen.
"You did nothing wrong, Scarlett. It's just one of those things that happens, sometimes."
"But...but...life would be perfect if...Oh Rhett...I'm so, so sorry."
And Suellen had hugged her with all of the tenderness she possessed.
And life had gone on for Scarlett. She was paler, thinner, but alright. Devoting herself to her work at Frank Kennedy's store, busy with the children, struggling. She did not let anyone see her attempts to regain her place in Atlanta society. It was like a secret vice, not unlike her affinity for alcohol, to be hidden from all eyes.
At night, she was the belle of the County again. Melly was alive. Bonnie was alive. And Rhett was with her.
Being awake was the nightmare.
Her only escape was in her dreams, when she was with Melly and her mother and father and the future was an adventure yet to unfold.
And that night, she dreamt of Charleston – Rhett's beautiful home, nestled on the banks of the Ashley River. She stared down at the sleeping, coltish form of her daughter, her smooth, white long-fingered hands splayed out on her lap as she snoozed.
The effort that went into making Ella's hands that way. Like a lady. Like Mother. What was it all for?
She would see tomorrow, when she confronted Rhett himself. On the banks of the Ashley.