Charleston, South Carolina, January 1874
Rhett Butler was back in Charleston, and his life was the swift stream that set the gossip mills to turning. The distance between Atlanta and Charleston was bridged by more than the miles of railroad. Ties of family, friendship, and steel flowed swiftly between the two cities. The ladies who came to call on Eleanor Butler were quick to talk and write to friends locally and abroad about the return of her scandalizing son. In the exchange of gossiping letters, the rumors from Atlanta reached Charleston. These letters brimmed with tender sympathy for the grieving father and did very little to mitigate the worst of the stories about his cold wife.
In Charleston, Captain Butler's wife was little remembered by any but her own family. The longest memories painted an unflattering portrait, recalling the temperamental young Mrs. Hamilton with an ever-present frown and her nose stuck up in the air, her condescension inappropriate in the child of such a mesalliance as that between Ellen Robillard and her little Irishman. Too, there were the stories that had spread during Rhett's last visit to the coastal city, the rumors that Mrs. Butler was in trade, running a store or mills or something of the sort. Lastly, there was the complete absence of said wife. She had not accompanied him on his present stay, and he had made his last trip alone with their young daughter, which was even more unusual.
Rhett's own reputation had been somewhat mended during the time he'd spent squiring Bonnie around two years previously. As in Atlanta, father and daughter had made an arresting pair as they had ridden through the city streets and been seen in little shops and restaurants. Bonnie had charmed everyone who had stopped to talk to the vivacious little girl. These memories had had time to percolate in the intervening years, and when news of the child's death had arrived in Charleston the previous summer, many formerly lukewarm hearts had been opened by pity. Captain Butler was now an object of sympathy, although their parlors and drawing rooms remained closed to him.
In his mother's house, Rhett sat in on sewing circles and afternoon teas. He held skeins of yarn for Eleanor while he regaled her guests with heavily edited stories just scandalous enough to please without being too shocking. He brought her small gifts she could accept without damaging her dignity or her standing amongst her friends, who possessed the same pride in poverty as the Old Guard in Atlanta. New gloves, bright embroidery threads, a rose-painted pitcher and basin for her room. Yet always, Eleanor sensed a distance in her son. It was hard to put her finger on it precisely, but she noticed this most in his very imperturbability. He told amusing stories, but was never amused. Although life was generally pleasant, nothing less than pleasant ever irritated him. His mood had no ups or downs of any note at all.
Rhett had never been uncontrolled, but he had been passionate. Now the face he presented to the world, and even to her, was as smooth as rough-hewn granite. It was certainly grief. No one could have long sustained the passionate grieving that had gripped him immediately following her granddaughter's death. Eleanor knew this carefully implacable façade must have been erected in its place. And what of the absence of her daughter-in-law? They had, strangely, not seemed at all close when she had been too briefly in Atlanta for her granddaughter's funeral. How could they heal if they kept their grief apart? Yet she felt it was not her place to discuss the matter with Rhett. He was her son, but he was no longer a small boy at her skirts, to be comforted and coddled and guided. His life and his path were his own.
Rhett's sister Rosemary still lived in town, a few blocks off the Battery with the husband she had married the previous year. Rosemary Butler Calhoun was tall for a woman, like her mother, but some strange quirk of genetics had given her the blonde hair of her maternal grandmother, unlike anyone else in her immediate family. Her husband Thomas reminded Rhett distastefully of Ashley Wilkes. The same dreadful nobility of face under romantically wavy blond hair. Rhett and his mother called on the Calhouns within the first week of his return to Charleston.
"My darling brother," Rosemary greeted him with a kiss, clasping both of his hands with her own. "It's so good to see you. It's been years."
Rosemary looked extraordinarily healthy, almost glowing, and when he pulled her close to hug her he knew why. He hadn't noticed the swell of her belly until he felt it in her embrace. They separated, and he shook Thomas' hand while Rosemary kissed their mother's cheek. With a sideways glance, the pregnancy he hadn't immediately noticed was obvious. A cousin for Bonnie Blue. It became difficult to socialize lightheartedly, and his conversation took on a manic tone.
"Why sister dearest, you are looking lovely," Rhett exclaimed as they settled in the drawing room. "I do believe the sea air is so much healthier than the smoke-clogged air of train-obsessed Atlanta."
"Are you here to take the air then, Rhett?" Rosemary's eyes twinkled with a mirth that matched her brother's spirit at his finest. "Oh, do tell me how you've been. We were so worried with hardly any word from you all last autumn."
"I've been fine, Rosemary. I took an extended trip through Europe. Will this rapscallion husband of yours ever take you to Paris?"
Rosemary laughed, but the husband in question barely knew Rhett and he stiffened. "Well, Captain Butler, of course we would love to go -"
"Please, Thomas! You must call me Rhett. After all, we are brothers now, are we not?"
"Er, yes of course, Rhett."
But Rhett had already dismissed him and turned his attention back to his sister. Eleanor smiled kindly at her son-in-law, offering a silent apology for Rhett's borderline rude behavior.
"Well I spent some time in Paris, all of October in fact. I moved on to Italy in November. I stayed in Sorrento, on the sea. I do believe it made me homesick for Charleston. I've been landlocked for so long."
"France and Italy," sighed Rosemary. "But, Rhett - your wife - and doesn't she have children? Did they travel with you?"
Hard bitterness passed over his face so quickly that all thought they had imagined the brief tightening of Rhett's jaw. "No. I spent Christmas in Atlanta."
Rosemary stared at her brother, unsure if that could be all he had to say. But her mother caught her eye and shook her head slightly.
"And on to Charleston," Rosemary finished for him with a bright smile. "We are so happy to have you here, Rhett. We must see more of each other while you're in town. I have missed you so."
"I've been away from you both too long." They shared a silent moment while both women's eyes grew misty. "So, brother Thomas, I hear you are in trade. Trans-Atlantic?"
"Yes. I have minority ownership shares in my father's fleet. The whole business will come to me, eventually."
"Well there should be no excuse then, surely you can take my sister abroad. I would have taken her myself, but now that she's married I seem to have missed the boat." Rhett put on a charming grin.
His brother-in-law chuckled good-naturedly. "I will take her anywhere she desires to go, you have my promise."
"Oh, Thomas!" sighed Rosemary, and blushing, kissed him on the cheek.
Atlanta, Georgia, March 1874
The pale yellow lemonade served by Mrs. Merriwether tasted sour on Scarlett's tongue. The Tuesday Ladies' Memorial Association meetings were as dull as she remembered from being dragged around by Melanie almost three years previously. Although Melanie's determined campaign for Scarlett's social standing had not been completely shelved following her long recuperation later that year, certain things had fallen away. Scarlett had made sure the aid societies were one of them. Regular afternoon social calls did not last as long and the company could be more carefully selected. Yet here she was again - and this time she had forced her own way into this dull sanctum.
Scarlett could not deny there was a measure of comfort, even in the sideways glances of her peers. For these women were her peers; they were preeminent ladies, as her mother had been; they were young mothers, like herself; they were women who had endured many of the same hardships in the past ten years of war and Reconstruction. She hadn't chosen their path of dignified resistance to the Yankee occupation, and she knew they had not forgotten and probably never would forget her cooperation with the invaders and Southern traitors and apparent preference for such company. There was a depth in the eyes of Maybelle and Fanny that came from loss, losses such as Scarlett had also experienced. For Maybelle, a child; for Fanny, a husband. Mrs. Merriwether's hard gaze bespoke the steely resolve that had built her bakery from the ground up, the same hard strength that Scarlett had bent to her own business interests, a strength to bring their families forward out of poverty that both women shared.
And strangely, to Scarlett's mind, there was Mrs. Sarah Bonnell, who had made it a point to seek out the chair next to Scarlett's which several other ladies had passed over. She had expected it to remain empty, an obvious reminder of her status as not fully welcome in this august inner circle. But Sarah had come directly to her side and even nudged the chair a little closer.
Scarlett sipped the warming lemonade and occasionally dug her nails against the palm of her hand. She was tired, always tired, and the droning conversation about the spring fundraiser was hard to follow. It seemed that spring would turn too quickly to summer and there would be bitter anniversaries to face, most likely, alone. Her eyes roamed the room restlessly. They were in Mrs. Merriwether's parlor, still rather threadbare despite her financial success. Unlike Scarlett, she had carefully kept herself from ostentation that would too sharply contrast with the lingering poverty of her friends. She saw a servant pass the parlor entry in the direction of the front door. The woman returned a moment later and bobbed a hasty curtsy in the doorway.
"Begging your pardon, ladies. Mrs. Butler, there's someone for you at the door."
Scarlett set her lemonade aside. Had something happened to her store? Couldn't Hugh manage alone for even one afternoon?
"Pardon me," she murmured as she steered around the circle of chairs.
It wasn't Hugh Elsing at the door, it was Prissy. "Miss Scarlett!" she began in nearly a wail. "Oh Miss Scarlett, I din't know what to do -"
"What to do about what?" Scarlett asked impatiently.
"It's Mast'Wade -"
Scarlett felt her stomach tighten. Sweat pricked her temple. "Wade? What about Wade?"
"Miss Scarlett - he, he never came home from school. Pork went up there and Miss Fleet, she said she would be calling on you because Wade was tr-truint?" Prissy stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "He weren't at school at all day."
"Not at school? Well, where is he?"
"Dat's why'm here, Miss Scarlett. Ain't no one knows where he is."
Scarlett felt her knees tremble and locked them beneath her. Had Rhett taken him away, like Bonnie? Had something happened to him?
"Why didn't Mrs. Fleet send someone to let me know he wasn't in school!"
"I - I don't know, Miss Scarlett - sure I don't know -"
"Never mind, Prissy. Did you walk here? No carriage? Fine, there's nothing for it." Scarlett, turning, snapped at the servant still lingering in the hall. "You - get my coat, please. We're leaving immediately."
Mrs. Merriwether had come out to see the commotion in her front hall. Scarlett drew in a breath, forcing her voice to be calm.
"Mrs. Merriwether. I'm terribly sorry, something has come up with Wade. I thank you for your hospitality, but I must go home immediately." The servant had reappeared and with her help, Scarlett shrugged into her paletot and quickly buttoned it as she spoke.
With the warm coat done up snugly, Scarlett stormed out of the house with Prissy at her heels. At home, her house was a bustle of activity. Pork had mustered all the servants to search the house from top to bottom. Ella, confused by all the commotion and scared because no one would tell her anything, came crying immediately to her mother. She wailed and lifted her arms like a child hoping to be picked up and comforted.
"Hush, Ella! I can't carry you, stop that. Ella, I can't walk with you hanging off me, either. Go on up to the nursery with Prissy." But Ella shrugged off Prissy's hands on her shoulders that tried to peel her away from Scarlett's skirts. Her cries faded to sniffles, and although it made movement awkward, Scarlett did not push her away. Her hand came to rest against her daughter's slender back, which heaved slightly as the little girl tried to catch her breath.
"Pork," she snapped. "What's happened?"
"We don't know'm. We've been all through the house and the stables and Ceceilia even searched the servants' house, we got my Dilcey lookin' over at the Wilkeses, but ain't no one seen Wade since he and Miss Ella went down to school today."
Scarlett grasped Ella's hands, loosening them from her skirts, and kneeled to look her daughter in the eyes. "Ella," she admonished, shaking her hands. "Did Wade walk you to school this morning?"
Ella nodded.
"Didn't he walk in with you?"
Ella shook her head, no.
"Did you see where he went? Ella, answer me. Don't just shake your head."
"No, Mother, " Ella whispered. "He told me he was going to see his friends and he went off."
"Off where?" Scarlett snapped. Ella's unhelpful answer frustrated her somehow even more than the girl's wordless head shaking.
"J-just off. Around to the yard. I don't know. I went inside and Mary and Sadie were there and Mary had a new doll so we -"
"But you didn't see him again. How'd you get home?"
"I walked," Ella replied, and despite her distress her little chest puffed up proudly. "I walked myself. I'm old enough. I know the way all by myself."
"You didn't wait for Wade? Mrs. Fleet didn't say anything?"
Ella's lower lip trembled. "N-no, Mother, I did, but he wasn't there. And everybody else was leaving. I didn't want to be left alone. I, I thought I would come home and play with Prissy."
Scarlett released her daughter's small hands and stood. "Pork," she began with leaden voice. She felt Ella press up against her skirts again, and she gently cupped a hand on her daughter's small shoulder. "I think - I need you to go get the police." Ella's trembling made Scarlett's skirts rustle.
…
After much pleading and tears, Scarlett finally convinced Ella to let loose of her skirts and go up to the nursery with Prissy. While she waited for Pork to return, she went through several of the rooms on the first floor, looking for her money purses. She had meant to collect them and deposit the contents back in the bank - had meant to do so, to show Rhett some measure of trust in what he'd said during that week between the holidays. When he had left, that plan fell away. The coins from the four pouches he had discovered during his week at home still sat in the bottom of her valise, passed over despite several trips to the bank to deposit store receipts.
She had often left that bag on the hall console between arriving home and retiring for the night. Could Wade—?
With her skirts held high so as not to impede her hurried steps, Scarlett mounted the stairs and went directly to her bedroom. The small black valise was next to her vanity as usual. For reasons she had never troubled to examine, she preferred to keep it close by, and not store it more appropriately in the downstairs office. She upended the narrow bag onto her bed's smooth counterpane and began dividing the coins into piles. Each pouch had held the same amount of money - twenty five dollars in gold. Scarlett stacked the coins in squat piles, dividing them evenly. She was fifty dollars short. Wade could be almost anywhere, with that money.
…
"Yes, he has money," Scarlett answered the officer's question. It had taken hours for Pork to return with an officer in tow. Scarlett had taken a supper tray up to the nursery to pick at food with Ella, neither of them eating much. It had pained her to send Prissy to go through Wade's things, but she had glanced at his clothes and realized she couldn't be sure if he had taken anything or not. She had never been involved in clothing her son. There hadn't been money for him at Tara, and first Frank, then Rhett, had taken care of the boy. It had seemed fitting; she would see to her daughters, and her husbands had seen to her son. Now it felt shameful, and not knowing when or if Rhett would return again she would need to take an inventory and make sure Wade had what he needed. According to Prissy, he did not seem to have taken anything of his own. Only the money.
Ella had cried again, unwilling to be put to bed. Scarlett could think of nothing more to do until Pork's return, so she had sat numbly on Ella's bed, not knowing how to soothe her daughter but her presence had apparently been enough as the little girl had finally fallen asleep. She had dismissed the servants for the night. There was nothing more anyone could do, no corner of the house had gone unsearched.
Officer Lowery was a young man, maybe even younger than herself, with sandy hair and clear blue eyes. Their openness reminded her of Will. His calm presence was equally soothing. He was young but carried himself with confidence, wore his uniform with sharp pride. "I'm missing fifty dollars. I'm certain Wade must have taken it. I leave a case in the hall sometimes - it would have been easy for him to take something."
They were seated in the parlor. From Scarlett's somewhat precarious perch on the very edge of her slick horsehair chair, she could see the edge of the ornate hall table where she would set down her things. The young officer faced her, his dark boots firmly planted in the plush red carpet. He was leaning forward, elbows on his spread knees and a notebook in hand.
"Mrs. Butler. I'm sorry to pry, but I must ask these questions. Has your son been unhappy at home? Had he said anything about running away?"
Scarlett clenched her hands so she wouldn't close her eyes. "He - he lost his sister and his aunt in the last year. Within several months. It hasn't been easy."
"Of course," the officer responded with sympathy in his gaze. "I'm so sorry. All of Atlanta feels right poorly about little miss Bonnie and Mrs. Wilkes."
"He was very close to Mrs. Wilkes. She took care of the children quite frequently."
The officer nodded as he scribbled notes on the small pad of paper. "Can you think of anywhere he might have gone? Would he possibly be at the cemetery, even? I can go over there myself, with a few other officers to look over the grounds."
Scarlett shook her head slowly. Her mouth felt dry as she answered, "He might have gone to Charleston. I know that was more than enough money for a ticket."
"Do you have friends or family in Charleston?"
Did she? Rhett had family in Charleston. In-laws she had never met, a mother-in-law she could hardly remember out of the fog of grief that had enveloped her during Eleanor Butler's only visit to Atlanta. She had no idea if Rhett was in Charleston or not, but Wade might think so. Wade might even know so - maybe Rhett had confided in his stepson before he left. Wade hadn't been to Charleston since he was a babe in dresses, he couldn't have any idea how to actually find his stepfather. But her money was missing, the house was empty. They would have heard from Dilcey, or Ashley himself by now, if her son was at the Wilkes' house. Wade had made his dislike for her perfectly clear. Had he grown so sick of being with her at home that he would run away, risk travelling alone to a strange city, just to find his stepfather?
Scarlett didn't know. She didn't know her son, had never known him, and hardly bothered to try to get to know him. Briefly, when Rhett had disappeared with Bonnie, she had tentatively reached out to her children, and withdrawn quickly in the face of their shy rebuff. Her son was a stranger. He might do anything.
"My husband's family," she answered. "He's from Charleston."
"Is he there now? Your husband, that is."
Her mouth went dry. She forced the lie - or was it truth? - out over stiff lips. "Yes. Yes, of course. That's why - I'm sure that's where he's gone." Scarlett lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, firmly declaring the lie.
"Well, Mrs. Butler. We can send a wire and have officers there to meet the train in the morning. If your son steps off that train, we'll see him."
Scarlett twisted her hands in her lap. She knew the train wouldn't pull into Charleston until late in the morning. She knew that little if not nothing more could be done in the meantime. If she was wrong, if Wade hadn't gone to try find Rhett, he might still be in Atlanta - but he could be anywhere. How could they find one small boy in the middle of the night? She remembered his proud back, his broadening shoulders, the stubborn jaw he had recently developed. But for all the glimpses of a man she had seen in her son, he was still just a boy, still small enough to disappear in the city. If he did not step off the train in Charleston, where would they look?
"If - I'm sorry, Officer Lowery," she paused to dash unwelcome tears from her cheeks and tried to steady her voice. "If you don't find him in Charleston?"
"Don't worry, ma'am. We'll have everyone here in Atlanta looking for him."
Scarlett smiled weakly. "Of course. Thank you."
"Someone will come over tomorrow as soon as we've heard from Charleston."
"I could come to the station -"
"There's no need, Mrs. Butler. When we get word, someone will come straight away."
Hours. It would be hours before she heard anything. Scarlett saw the officer out, thanked him for his time. After she shut the door behind him, she turned and saw Pork still sitting on the grand stairs.
"Pork," she said gently. "You should go to bed."
"You be alright, Miss Scarlett?"
"Yes, Pork. Thank you - for everything. You have always been there for my family. I know."
"They'll bring Mast' Wade home, Miss Scarlett. Don't you worry."
Scarlett gave a noncommittal nod and watched Pork disappear into the darkness at the back of the house.
She had sent everyone, Prissy and Hattie included, home for the night already. There would be no one to help her undress. She paced the hall until the carpet pattern began to blur beneath her feet. Her slippers began to pinch her toes and she kicked them off under the hall table. Her sides began to burn from the pressures of the corset she'd been wearing for far too many hours. It wasn't even close to morning.
Up and down the hall, making a long narrow oval with her steps, tracing the same path over and over. How had it all gone so wrong? She had meant to be a good mother. It was supposed to just happen, one day. She would be successful, her burdens would be light, she would have time for her children and time to be the lady she had been brought up to be. It had never happened, nothing had happened as she had planned. She was rich; with Rhett's money included, she was obscenely rich. She had never slowed, never stopped, except when her accident had laid her low. Then, recovering, she had feebly attempted to get to know her children - and allowed a small boy to rebuff her and best her. Scarlett O'Hara, who had faced every challenge life and war could offer and pulled not just herself but so many dependents through, had given up on getting to know her own son. Now it surely seemed too late. Wade hated her, and made no effort to hide it. Wade, who had always seemed to be such a timid boy, had found courage enough to run away from his own mother.
Oh! She wanted to cry out, but held the words in with the palms of both hands against her chest. She dug the tips of her fingers against the sharp edges of her collarbone with painful pressure. What would she do with this new wayward son? If Rhett no longer cared about her, surely he cared about the children. He should be here. She needed him. She couldn't ask for him. Would he even believe her? He might think it a ruse to draw him home. Worse than doubt, there would be pity. Pity for such a poor mother who couldn't even keep her son at home. What would she do?
Scarlett stopped at the foot of the stairs and rested one hand on the carved newel post. She pressed her other against her temple. She couldn't pace the floor all night, it was already driving her mad. Her head began to ache with all the rest of her. Walking and thinking in circles and it was all too much. She detoured into the dining room and grabbed the brandy bottle in shaking hands. Somehow she needed to find sleep.
It took two glasses for the liquor to work its pleasant languor in her limbs. Loosened by the drink, she unbuttoned her basque, and shimmied out of her skirt. She reached awkward arms behind her back and struggled, tugging at the knot and then the slick corset laces until she could unhook the busk and let it drop. She took another glass to bed with her, and lost track as she refilled it, becoming reckless in her pursuit of oblivion. The drink tickled in her limbs down to toes and fingers. It briefly made the world seem warm, and she smiled as hope stirred. Rhett had come home for Christmas. He would come back again, soon, of course. He would have to stay, she would tell him, Wade needed him. She wouldn't tell him how she needed him. That wouldn't do. But with time—
The happy buzz didn't last. With each sip the world seemed to grow darker. Finally she let the empty glass drop on the floor and roll under the bed. She turned over and buried her face in the pillow. Time! When had that helped anything. She'd wasted too much time already.
The dream that came that night was the same and not. In the darkness, the fog rolled in. It chilled her bare ankles, and wrapped damp tendrils that had the solidity of tree roots up around her legs. She struggled against them, moving with slow, hard fought steps. She wanted to run, to run home, to run to Rhett; but with shackled legs she could only drag herself along. There was a light, somewhere, there was always that light in her dream, a safe harbor if she could only reach it. But tonight, she couldn't even see it. The slimy grip on her legs forced her to follow their path, not her own. There were no landmarks in the dark, but she could feel her feet turning, forcing her into circles. All the world looked the same but with the unerring knowledge that comes in dreams she knew that she was caught on one circular path, retracing her heavy steps over and over and over. She didn't scream. At some point in the night the brandy finished its job and blanketed her mind with black oblivion at last. The fog faded as darkness rolled in.
Under the influence of the brandy, Scarlett slept until late in the morning. When her gritty eyes opened at last, the room was still nearly as dark as midnight with only a slim line of daylight glowing along the floor under the heavy velvet curtains. Her tongue was thick in her dry mouth. She moved slowly, pained with a throbbing head, to pull the curtains. The light made her wince and she left them not quite half parted. It was enough to read the face of the carriage clock - after ten in the morning! The train could be pulling in to Charleston within the hour. She pulled hard on the bell rope, calling Hattie to her. She would need to be ready, downstairs, waiting for word from the police.
Charleston, South Carolina, March 1874
The first Tuesday in March, Scarlett's Aunt Eulalie came to call, as she did every week with Pauline in tow. The three women were enjoying tea when Rhett swept in, bringing the day's unseasonable winter chill in with him. He seated himself by the fire and took the feminine china teacup his mother offered.
"Thank you, Mother. Ladies, how do you do." He inclined his head slightly before sipping the stale tea. A shot of whisky would have warmed him better. He sipped slowly, concentrating on the low flames and the crackle in the hearth, letting the low conversation pass by him with no more noise than the outgoing tide.
"Captain Butler. Captain Butler?"
Rhett realized his name had been called more than once. He directed his attention to the women.
"Pardon me," he said, unsure which of the two sisters née Robillard had been speaking.
"I was just inquiring about my dear niece, Captain Butler. We haven't seen her in quite some time."
Rhett's fingers twitched and he set down the dainty teacup before he crushed its delicate stem. "Ah, I believe Scarlett is quite well, Madam."
"You were home at Christmas, were you not?"
"I spent Christmas in Atlanta, yes."
Eulalie nodded briefly. "And our grandniece and nephew? The children are well, I hope."
Rhett's smile was genuine, though not entirely happy. "Yes. Wade and Ella are very well. They were quite spoiled for Christmas, of course."
Eulalie's nose wrinkled and she said, more to her sister, "I do hope Scarlett took them to Mass. I shudder to think...well." She turned her beady eyes back to Rhett. "Will you be in Charleston long, Captain Butler?"
Rhett stretched his legs lazily. "I might. I haven't decided."
Eulalie straightened her shoulders with a curiously familiar movement. "Will Scarlett be joining you? As I said, we have not seen our niece in quite some time. You are her husband, and therefore our family, so I hope you will forgive my boldness in saying she has been quite remiss in her correspondence."
Rhett's eyes gleamed brightly, independent of the leaping firelight. "No, I don't think Scarlett will be joining me."
"You should urge her to do so, Captain Butler. She has obligations to her family."
Rhett's feral smile showed his white teeth briefly under his mustache. "You know how she is," he said with a deceptive shrug. "I just can't drag her away from her store."
"And those - mills, wasn't it? Lumber mills?" questioned Eulalie, sharply.
"No," he said distantly, "she sold those, years ago."
Eulalie sniffed. "Well at least that's one thing she did right. Oh, Eleanor, I'm sorry to air such things in your presence. But our niece is just the most stubborn young woman. I don't believe she reads a word of our letters to her."
Rhett was tempted to add that she probably didn't read a word, period; but although it was a sneer he would have easily thrown at his wife he would not do so in front of his mother.
"She might not," was all he said. "She is very busy in Atlanta."
Eulalie huffed. "Too busy for her own good, that one. Well, Captain Butler. Thank you for putting up with my rudeness. Eleanor, I think we must be leaving now. Come, Pauline." The three women made their goodbyes. Rhett rose automatically to his feet and made a courteous bow. When his mother followed her friends to the hall, he sank back down into his chair and pulled his flask from his jacket pocket. After a hard swallow, he was grateful for the stinging warmth in his gullet.
He was staring, unfocused, into the fire when his mother returned and lowered herself gracefully into her chair. She took a sip of her tea but made a face at its cold temperature. Eleanor studied her son's profile. From her vantage point, the yellow firelight silhouetted him with hard precision. He had, if possible, become even more of an enigma to her. Even as a boy, he was withdrawn. Not timid or shy, but it had always been obvious that most of his life was lived beneath the surface, that the emotions most deeply felt were never shown.
Since his arrival, he had made no secret that he intended to stay with her for an indefinite visit. He had been a dutiful son, and a charming host. Sympathy for his loss had won over many hearts that had still been cool to the former renegade. His mother's friends doted on him and were charmed by him in return. They had missed the slovenly, drunken period when his grief had been too close to the surface, and saw only a reformed gentleman whose wild temperament had been moderated by heartbreaking loss.
It was that loss that moved her to speak at last. Surely, to move forward after the death of their daughter, husband and wife should be together. "You've been living with me for several weeks now, Rhett. You are always welcome in my home, for as long as you like. But if your wife is too busy to travel, perhaps you should visit her sometime. "
Although Eleanor watched him sharply, Rhett did not appear to move or even flinch. At length, she returned her attention to the remains of the tea service. His rough voice startled her when he replied with an exaggerated drawl.
"Perhaps I should, at that."
Atlanta, Georgia, 1874
After supper, Scarlett tried to send Ella upstairs with Prissy. "It's time to get ready for bed, precious," she cajoled with uncharacteristic softness. "Wade will be here when you wake up."
"No," Ella pleaded, her hands wrapped again in her mother's skirts. "Please let me stay up with you. I'll be quiet, I promise I'll be still and you won't even know I'm here."
"Ella, really. Your brother is fine. He's in good hands now and he'll be home safe—"
"But Mother, please." It was the tone of her daughter's voice, so quiet and sad, not at all the annoying wheedling tones of a child's usual begging for sweets or toys. And it would be nice to have company as she waited this last hour or more for the police to finally bring her boy home. Even if that company was just her daughter.
"Fine," Scarlett relented, but her voice didn't snap. It was almost soothing as she spoke quietly. "You may wait up for your brother, but only if you go up first with Prissy to change for bed. If the train is at all late it could be very late before Wade is home."
Ella's smile lit her whole face, and Scarlett returned it automatically. With such a warm smile, Ella was almost pretty. Her face was improving as she grew, the round cheeks had seemed to lengthen as the baby fat left them, revealing the aristocratic cheekbones of her Coast ancestors. She had too many freckles and her hair could only be controlled by the tightest of braids, but Ella was looking more like a Robillard and, thankfully, much less like Frank Kennedy. Scarlett, moved by admiration and gratitude for her daughter's warm heart, bent and kissed her on the cheek before shooing her up the steps with Prissy.
Scarlett sat down first at her desk in the office, thinking that she could pass the remaining time in work. But the numbers seemed to swap around on the page and every hint of a sound distracted her. She had given up and was tucked into the parlor, flipping through an old Godey's issue with unseeing eyes, by the time Ella came downstairs. Her tight braids had been redone into one long braid down her back, and ginger spirals stuck out all over like tiny coils of wire. Her face was pink from scrubbing and her long white nightdress covered her bare toes. She approached her mother hesitantly.
"Mother, may I sit with you?"
Scarlett distractedly patted the slick horsehair of the sofa seat and Ella scrambled up. She sat primly for a minute, her hands folded in her lap and her legs still as she had been taught but rarely managed to accomplish for long. Then she inched herself closer to her mother, slowly closing the gap until she was snuggled against Scarlett's side. Without thinking, Scarlett lifted her arm to pull her daughter closer and Ella sighed with happiness. She watched the magazine pages as Scarlett turned them.
"Mother none of those ladies are as pretty as you are," Ella said with a yawn. Scarlett smiled, pleased as always by praise, even if it was just from Ella. No, she thought, even more so then. At least one of her children approved of her, at least a little.
The train must have come in very late for it was almost ten o'clock before the heavy thud of the door knocker came. Ella had fallen asleep, sliding down until her head was in Scarlett's lap. Scarlett had abandoned the magazine and was idly smoothing the small curls that refused to stay in the long strawberry braid. The boom of the knocker and Scarlett's startled movement disturbed the little girl and she came, blinking, awake.
"Mother?" she yawned, "is Wade home?"
"I certainly hope so," Scarlett answered, standing and almost dragging Ella up next to her. "You stay here, Ella. I'll send Wade in if that's them, but you can't be running around in just your night things."
"Yes, Mother," said Ella with another yawn. Scarlett left her rubbing her eyes awake.
Pork must have been waiting nearby for he had already started to pull open the door. He stepped aside with a wide grin on his face as two policemen, one of them again the young Officer Lowery, stepped into the hall with Wade between them. His head was bowed so Scarlett could not see his expression, but relief overwhelmed her. She dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms. He stood stiffly, unbending, his own arms at his sides. Hurt, Scarlett stood and faced the officers.
"Thank you," she said, suddenly awkward and embarrassed by Wade's actions. "Is there anything more I need to do?"
"No, ma'am," said Officer Lowery. "Let's just keep the boy at home where he belongs. Right, son?" he asked, smiling at Wade but with a forceful edge to the words.
"Yes, sir," Wade replied.
When the door had closed, Scarlett thanked and dismissed Pork with a smile.
"We're glad to have you home, Mast'Wade. Don't you be doing anything so foolish nebber again," Pork said sternly.
"Wade," Scarlett said gently, "your sister's waiting in the parlor. She would like to see you before she goes to bed."
Wade shuffled in with his mother at his side. He returned Ella's hug and she hung off her brother, not wanting to let him go.
"Wade you can't be so naughty, you can't leave us like that, please Wade don't do it again, I was so worried, oh Wade, oh!" Ella rambled on until Scarlett touched her shoulder.
"It's late, Ella. Why don't you go up to bed." Her daughter transferred her hug to her mother. "Good night, precious," Scarlett whispered, kissing the top of her head.
"Stop right there, Wade Hampton," she snapped, all gentleness gone as Wade tried to slink out after his sister. She waited until Ella had begun to climb the stairs, then slid the pocket door closed, cutting off the rest of the house.
"Wade Hampton Hamilton," Scarlett began again, "I don't know what you were thinking but don't you ever, ever do something like this again." Facing her son with snapping eyes, Scarlett was taken aback at the anger in his usually soft brown ones as he finally lifted his head to look at her.
"I hate it here!" Wade answered, his voice raised. "I don't want to be here anymore. Why can't I go with Uncle Rhett? You don't care if I'm here or not."
"That's a lie, Wade, that's just a horrible lie. Of course I care if you're here - you're my son, aren't you? You belong here."
"It is not a lie, Mother," he replied, his youthful voice twisting with surprising bitterness on the word. "You've never cared where I am as long as it's out of your way. Only now there's nowhere else to go - you can't leave us with Aunt Melly all the time. So I want to be with Uncle Rhett. I'm his son - he said so." He threw his shoulders back and she was struck by how broad he'd grown. Wade spoke as if he was repeating someone else's words. "A boy belongs with his father."
"That's enough, Wade. This is your home. You belong here."
"I hate it here!" Wade cried again. "I hate this house. I hate school. Everyone - no one - " Wade stumbled over his words, unsure how to express it all. Everyone said awful things about his mother. They always had, and he had tried not to let it bother him, but it hurt. It hurt so much more now that Aunt Melly and Uncle Rhett, his bastions of comfort and security, had both gone. No one was really his friend. They wouldn't come to his house nor invite him to theirs because their mothers wouldn't let them - because of his mother. The boys did not scruple against sharing the things they heard their own mothers say. If he was in Charleston with Uncle Rhett, he could start over. No one would know his mother, they would only know Uncle Rhett. In Wade's eyes, Rhett could do no wrong. Rhett had the daring of a pirate and the honor of a hero. Rhett was so strong no one could gainsay him, no one would dare.
Scarlett was at a loss, and her helplessness made her angry, too angry to be sensitive.
"That's enough!" she snapped. "I pay good money for that school. We paid good money to build this house to put a roof over your ungrateful head. I am your mother, Wade. Rhett - never mind Rhett. He'll come and go as he pleases and you'll just have to learn to live with that. Lord knows I've had to. Go upstairs to bed, Wade. You have to go back to school tomorrow. Pork will meet you at the end of the day and bring you directly to the store. I'm not letting you out of my sight because clearly I can't trust you at all."
Wade's chest heaved as he drew hard breaths but his mother was still taller than him, and looking up into her angry green eyes that almost seemed to spark with rage, some of the old fear crept back in. He had always feared his mother, even more than he had loved her. The fear was a harder habit to break. It had been years but he still remembered the sting of her slapping hands.
Wade stomped off towards the front stairs, roughly pushing the door open again. Once he was safely out of her reach he dared to mutter, "When Uncle Rhett comes back I'll ask him to take me away. If he wants to you won't be able to stop him."
Scarlett sank back down onto the sofa when he had gone, suddenly boneless. She had to clutch at the carved wooden arm to stop her skirts from sliding off the slick surface and dumping her on the floor. What a fine mess life had become.
Charleston, South Carolina, March 1874
With the end of March approaching on soft feet, Rhett was bored. It started as an itch in the corners of his eyes, that didn't go away even after he dug his knuckles in until his vision swirled. He was prowling the drawing room restlessly, unable to settle or focus, when Eleanor scolded him.
"Rhett, I find your boredom irritating. You are behaving like a child. Do I really still need to tell you to go play outside?"
Boredom. It was true. He was bored. Nothing here fired his blood. He was worn out and ready for placidity. It was just difficult to adapt to after his life with Scarlett. He didn't know how to live without that turmoil in his blood. He missed his daughter. He would always miss her, terribly.
This was what he had sought, yet once again, he had somehow not expected boredom to be so boring. The wary town had not included him in the whirlwind of a parties that marked the peak of the social season a month after his arrival, but time and sympathy had eventually done the job of opening doors. He took his mother out at least once a week to small receptions and dinners. He was warily welcomed into the homes of men he'd known as boys; men who had followed the prescribed path he had so carelessly and offensively rejected. Men who had lived the same lives as their fathers, as his own father. Men who still had wives and families.
Rhett sat down heavily in the chair facing his mother. "I'm sorry, Mother. How disappointing - I'm no longer used to a life of leisure. I don't own a bank here to occupy my time. And when I wasn't working, there was Bonnie..." He trailed off as the pressure of all the empty hours of his life weighed unbearably on his chest, making it difficult to draw breath.
"When you arrived, you said you might find business here."
Rhett shrugged. "I don't need to. I lost some money in the crash and ensuing trouble, but I have other investments that are flourishing. I can do well enough off those. I don't need much here. You know as well as I that it's better to appear too poor these days, than too wealthy. It's more genteel," he added, with a flash of his old biting grin.
"You can't keep wearing holes in my carpet, Rhett. You're right about that, so you know I can't just go out and order new ones. Too many people would talk."
Rhett turned his head to look out the window. The ocean was violent, white capped and dark under heavy winds. He had missed this view, the companion to his own turbulent mind. The sea drew him.
"Maybe I'll take to the water again," he said.
…
A week later, Rhett had won a dilapidated sail boat in a late-night poker game. The loser felt well shut of it. Rhett thought of restoration, fresh paint, a fresh outlook on the world. But before he could make plans, the old world intruded once again.
He stepped with a jaunty briskness coming home from inspecting his broken-down new toy. His mother called to him from the drawing room.
"Yes, Mother?"
"There's a letter for you. Homer left it on the hall tray."
"Thank you," he said, and kissed her cheek before stepping back into the hall.
The letter on the tray was addressed in Scarlett's flourishing script. He took it into the small office he had commandeered for himself, off the second-floor library at the back of the house. Seating himself at his desk, he sliced open the envelope. Inside, there was no letter, not even a note, not even her signature. The post envelope contained another envelope. This was addressed in a square hand to Captain and Mrs. Rhett Butler. Tiny paper teeth stood up where the top edge had already been split by a letter opener. Inside was a heavy cream card cordially inviting the recipients to a birthday celebration for Mr. G. Ashley Wilkes.
Rhett placed the card squarely in the center of his desk. He adjusted it minutely, his fingertips pushing the edges around as he perfected its central position. His mind was blank, but he could feel the urgent wings of memory fluttering against the edges of his calm. They were warm, and bitter.
As he needlessly adjusted the placement of the invitation, the light from the desk lamp glanced off his golden cufflink and he winced as the glare cut his eyes. He drooped in the chair, suddenly, as a man blinded and stunned by a powerful blow. He dropped his head into his hands, and pushed his fingers through his hair, clenching them so they pulled painfully at the roots.
Ashley Wilkes' god damn birthday party. Sunlight in the library at Twelve Oaks, limning a vibrant girl-child in a warm glow. Green eyes, tip-tilted and angry, a stubborn jaw and a mouth begging to be kissed. His heart stuttered.
Another birthday party. The night was dark outside, but the dim lamps in the Wilkeses' parlor still made her glow. Not with warmth - her pale skin was like moonlight. A ghostly sensation, like he could feel again her terrified grip before he shrugged her off to face Atlanta's harsh judgement, made him rub his arm.
And an even darker night that had followed. Rhett fought the pull of these memories with a mighty effort. He pushed back his chair and began to pace the small office.
It was clear enough why Scarlett had sent the invitation. A birthday party for Ashley Wilkes would bring with it the memory of that last birthday party, and the gossip that had swept through Atlanta that day and the days that had followed. Society, which had never ceased to weigh and measure Scarlett, would scrutinize her mercilessly. If she attended alone, she would be reviled as a schemer, a scorned wife on the edge of disgrace playing for the man with whom she had been accused of indecency, even adultery, once before. The man who was now a widower. If she hadn't shamed to ensnare him with Melanie alive, what wouldn't she do now! Melanie Wilkes had championed them all then, but Melly was gone and the gossip would be quickly rekindled.
If Scarlett did not attend, they would judge her from the same bench, call it shame at her adulterous grasping. She could not win without her husband's presence to turn aside the gossip.
Why the hell was Ashley Wilkes even having a damn, foolish birthday party?
A/N: I did a lot of work on the amount of money, looking at train fares because it has to be enough to cover that but not seem a ridiculous amount to stash. But if you figure the habit of Scarlett's was basically to use her house as a bank, having a large amount of cash should still make sense. I hope.
Thank you everyone who has been reviewing! I am going to start posting the chapters a bit more quickly...I'm sort of tired of this one (it's so long!) and eager to work with some other stories that are still exciting me (still in GWTW fandom). I started writing this one about this time last year so I am now quite ready to get it all out there and move on.
