A month after Rhett's arrival from Charleston, Will took the children into Jonesboro for Court Day. By the standards of November, it was a balmy day even for Georgia. In such fair weather, the town would have nearly a carnival atmosphere, as the local planter families profited from the chance to relieve their customary isolation with social communion.
Suellen and Scarlett, both now visibly enceinte, were excluded from the outing, so Prissy and Mammy would accompany the group. At breakfast, Will extended an invitation to Rhett. Although Rhett had no more interest in socializing with the remnants of Clayton County aristocracy than he had when pressed into attending a country barbecue a decade previously, the isolated plantation life was wearing on him and the prospect of conversation with bitter Confederates and ignorant farmers seemed more tempting than it had any right to be.
As he turned his head from Bonnie to accept Will's offer, his gaze traversed Scarlett's. She looked away almost immediately, but in that brief glimpse his heart dropped precipitously into his gut. The fierce light in her eyes was - what was it, exactly? Hope - but what did she hope? For a respite from his unwelcome presence, most likely. Desperation? It wasn't an emotion he often ascribed to Scarlett, but there was something wild in her face that recalled their hot September escape from Atlanta.
"Thank you, Will, but not this time," he heard himself respond.
Scarlett raised her eyes to his. Rhett knew his expression to be perfectly bland, the façade easy to maintain after years of practice. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, then faltered, and at last tightened into a scowl. It was the shift of an instant, so rapid it might have been his imagination.
Rhett dipped his chin at his wife. "I hope my presence won't disturb you, Mrs. Butler, if you were hoping to be alone."
"Of course not," Scarlett muttered.
In the end, if Rhett was not to go with, Bonnie would not be cajoled to go without him. The Benteens, Wade, Ella, Mammy, and Prissy were bundled into the wagon while Bonnie watched from her father's arms. In deference to Mammy's advancing age, the old woman was offered a seat on the wagon board next to Will, while the children and Prissy were jostled in the back.
Suellen had excused herself from the breakfast table with a headache. As the wagon rattled away, Rhett and Bonnie turned to face Scarlett on the porch. Rhett braced one foot on the steps and sat Bonnie on his thigh.
"Well, my dear," he remarked casually, "You've had your wish, or nearly. You've got me all to yourself today - me, and Bonnie."
"You're as conceited as ever," Scarlett replied without venom. "I didn't have any such wish."
"You had no desire to spend the day with our daughter?"
There was a bright flash of something like pain in his wife's pale green eyes. Scarlett quickly covered the fleeting burst of feeling with a coquettish smile, advancing to stroke Bonnie's tangled hair. "Of course I want to spend the day with Bonnie," she said. "Would you like to play with Mother? We could bring some toys down to the parlor so your Aunt Sue can sleep."
Bonnie turned to loop her arms around Rhett's neck. "Daddy, too," she declared.
Scarlett's lips twitched as if fighting off a frown, and her response was clipped. "Daddy too, if that's what you want, precious. But wouldn't it be fun to be - well, just us two girls? I'm sure Daddy has b-other things he'd like to be doing."
"Nothing better than spending the day with you," Rhett said, disguising the subject of his reply by bending to set Bonnie on her feet. "Go on, Bonnie, pick out your favorite toys to bring down from the nursery."
As Bonnie toddled into the house through the door held open by Scarlett, Rhett ascended the remaining steps to the porch floor. He purposely crowded Scarlett, tangling his legs in her long skirts. Scarlett's hands fluttered like two small birds with an aimless nervous movement, before she knotted her fingers together.
"Have you developed a fondness for children's games, Scarlett?" Her shoulders squared, a telltale sign that she was bristling at what he had intended to be gentle teasing. "Smooth your fur, my dear," he added quietly, brushing his knuckles lightly down her upper arm.
"Maybe I have!" she smarted, twitching her shoulder away from his touch. "Not that it would matter to you. You've always tried to make sure Bonnie only wants to spend time with you, and no one else."
Rhett studied her, a little shocked. Of course Bonnie spent most of her time with him - when had Scarlett ever been interested in their little girl? She had laughed outright at the beginning of his campaign to turn the tide of disapproval that they had let sweep them away from polite society. She never spared a moment for any of her children if she could help it. Rhett pinched Scarlett's chin, arresting her mid-motion as she tried to turn away from him and forcing her eyes up to his. He studied her, the crisp winter sunlight stark and revealing as it played across her sharp features. She jerked her chin defiantly but he held firm. She returned his gaze with daggers of her own, angry but not deceptive, not trying to throw him off with the obfuscating charms of coquetry.
"You can't be serious," he said at last, releasing her. "You haven't spared her a moment of your time since she was born."
"At least I've been home nights when she needed me!"
"Yes, and what a comfort you have been," he snapped. He didn't have to see her face to know they were both thinking of that night at the beginning of April, when the light had gone out. Scarlett paused in the act of reaching for the front door. But instead of turning to respond to him, after a moment he saw her slim shoulders tighten, and then she was pushing open the door and letting it swing shut again behind her.
Rhett dropped heavily into one of the scattered chairs on the porch. If he had thought a day alone together to be a precious opportunity, then he had thoroughly squandered it. He had only meant to tease her, to excite some bloom of color in her too-pale face; not to provoke her into such bitter anger, and foment his own caustic barbs.
There was a brief patter of sound from inside the house. Rhett heard Bonnie's high, sweet voice and the indistinct noise of Scarlett's reply. Then it faded. They must have collected the toys from the nursery and crossed the front hall, until their voices were swallowed by the parlor.
Rhett lit a cigar and smoked steadily. When it had dwindled to a black nub, he tossed it over the railing and it landed, smoking, on the dirt and gravel drive.
In the open doorway of the front parlor, he paused to take in the domestic apparition before him, sidestepping behind the frame to hide his presence. A surfeit of toys was clustered around the scarred legs of the furniture. She must have had her hands and arms full gratifying Bonnie's wishes.
Mother and daughter were seated together, snuggled into a corner of the sofa nearest the fireplace. Both black heads were bent over a doll. Scarlett's hair was drawn back into a low chignon, typical of the more casual coiffures she had adopted since her retreat to Tara. The smooth style contrasted with Bonnie's untamed curls that brushed her mother's cheek where it was pressed against the girl's temple. Scarlett's voice was low, pitched for the small ear near her mouth, and Rhett could not make out what she was saying as her slim fingers skipped down the front of the doll's dress.
They made a pretty picture. Bonnie was so like Scarlett, stubborn and willful; so like her mother had been, in another time. Physically, Bonnie had more O'Hara in her appearance than Butler. The sharp chin, the shape of her mouth, the color of her hair - but for her curls and blue eyes, she might have been Scarlett as a child.
Suddenly loathe to disturb the unexpected intimacy in the parlor, Rhett turned away from the warm scene. He headed away down the hallway to the back of the house, to the office where Scarlett kept up with the ledgers and mail from Atlanta, where he handled his own business correspondence. They danced to a silent tune in sharing the office, tacitly endeavoring to never actually be in the cramped space at the same time. He couldn't muster any enthusiasm for the stack of telegrams and letters. Despite the early hour, he was suddenly exhausted, and instead of taking a seat behind the desk he lay down on the uncomfortable sofa. He still rarely slept a full night between Bonnie's dreams and his own, and it did not take long for him to drift into a doze.
The boy was toddling ahead of him on sturdy legs, as plump and round as Bonnie's had been at that age, running away down the dirt path. Pine trees rose tall on either side of the narrow trail, blocking the sun and nearly all the sky. Only a thin strip of blue was visible overhead. The path was smooth, not rutted with tracks or even broken by zealous tree roots, just dusty brown and giving off little puffs of dirt with each smack of the baby's steps. Although Rhett's legs were long, he drew no closer to the child. But the trail was safe, stretching in an unbroken ribbon ahead of them, so he kept pace with the boy without worry.
A small, cool hand slipped into his own. Rhett looked down and smiled, freely and openly, at his wife. She did not notice. Her eyes were fixed on the boy - on their son - fixed on the path ahead. He could not read any expression in the sharp lines of her profile. A feeling of almost unknown contentment expanded warmly in his chest as he strolled, hand in hand with Scarlett, down this bright path with their son just ahead.
She slipped her hand free and he reached for it, ready to laugh, to play her teasing game of cat and mouse, but she easily evaded his grasp and was soon out of reach. He could not speed up, could not move any faster, and somehow the length of his legs was not enough to overtake her. She drifted away, ahead of him, until she reached the boy and lifted him into her arms. Rhett saw tousled black hair and a brief gleam of green eyes as the baby looked over her shoulder.
The light was changing. The forest was growing dark. The sunlight that had somehow come through the thick walls of pine was disappearing, the world taking on a sinister aspect. The trunks of the trees thickened, dark wood swallowing branches and green pine needles, merging into solid walls on either side. The path changed, smooth brown dirt began to swirl in strange patterns beneath their feet. He recognized those patterns. He had walked this rug every day for years, walked the empty hall to his solitary bedroom, and then to the room occupied not by a wife but by a daughter. He looked up, and the pine trees were gone completely, the blue of the sky overgrown. He was in the upstairs hall of their house in Atlanta, yet it was impossibly long. The house had never been this wide. Still Scarlett and the child were ahead of him. And where was Bonnie? Was she in their room?
"Daddy!" he heard, faintly, in her high, imperious voice. She must be in their room, and he must go to her. But Scarlett - where had they gone? Rhett looked around, suddenly frantic. Where had they gone?
He saw her at the top of the stairs. The bare wood gleamed in the muted light, thickly layered with fresh varnish, polished so that the steps glowed until they disappeared into the darkness. She held the baby in her arms, his head nestled in the crook of her neck and his chubby legs dangling along her hip. Beyond her lay the bedroom where Bonnie called his name.
"Daddy!"
"You never wanted us," Scarlett said. Her voice was dreamy, the soft notes more jarring than her usual harshness.
"Darling?"
"DADDY!"
"You have Bonnie. You never wanted us."
"That isn't true. Don't say that, Scarlett."
"You never wanted us," Scarlett said for a third time, the wistful tone of her voice taking none of the strength out of her accusation.
She stepped off the top step, but her foot never connected with the stair. They were tumbling down, both of them, Scarlett with his son in her arms, rolling over and over down the endless stairs into the darkness yet never falling far enough to pass from his sight. He was frozen at the landing, just a step behind where she had stood. Close enough he could have reached her, before she fell. Bonnie was screaming for him but Scarlett and the baby were falling, falling away, and he saw the slick of blood spreading beneath them on the stairs, staining the wood as she rolled down into the darkness.
"Rhett."
He couldn't move, couldn't save her.
"Rhett!"
He blinked, and his eyes opened on her face, inches from his own.
"Scarlett?" His voice sounded hoarse, as if he hadn't used it for days. His conscious mind struggled to surface, to repel the lingering nightmare: that was just a dream, this was Tara; Scarlett was whole, upright on her own two feet and peering down at him with annoyance and concern, a faint flush tinting otherwise pale cheeks. An animal pain borne of his most basic instincts was nearly overpowering. His arms trembled but he denied the need to hold her. His throat ached but he swallowed the words. He had not almost lost her. It was just a dream.
Just another God damned dream! When would this infernal plague on his mind cease?
Slowly, Rhett swung his legs to the side and sat up. He braced his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head in his hands with a groan, then pushed his fingers through his hair and leaned against the back of the sofa.
"What time is it?"
"It's 3 o'clock. You missed dinner. Bonnie's napping." He had been asleep for hours.
"Thank you for waking me," he muttered. "I'm glad you've learned a gentler strategy since the first time we met."
Instead of taking his crude bait, Scarlett abruptly sat down next to him. Their knees almost touched as she moved closer than was necessary on the long sofa.
"Rhett?" Scarlett pressed her palms against her thighs and studied the backs of her hands. Rhett took advantage of her downcast eyes to study her, taking in the image of her whole, healthy, and blooming with life to combat the lingering, sick memory of blood and death.
"Yes, my dear?" he questioned blandly.
"There's a plate for you in the kitchen," Scarlett declared after a breath. She stood abruptly and started moving towards the door.
"Thank you, Mrs. Butler," he said, watching her with a furrowed brow as she made to depart.
The door to the hall was open. Scarlett stopped and then just as suddenly changed her plans again. She stepped back and shut the door, then flattened one palm against the aged wood while the other still held the knob.
"You called my name," she said without turning around.
Rhett felt the breath leave his lungs. He hadn't called her name in the dream, he was sure of it. What perverse reflex had made it cross the barrier of consciousness to manifest in the waking world? He felt suspended on a wire like that fool above Niagara, wary of a false step. If Scarlett had any inkling of what had been going on in his head these months - these years, truth be told, though the dreams were definitely getting worse of late - she would not hesitate to use that against him. Hadn't he thrown her own dreams in her face? What easy ammunition he would place into her vindictive grasp if she knew he had his own nightmares, terrifying enough for him to call her name out loud.
"Did I?" Rhett replied, as if this information was of no interest to him. He would not deny that he had done so, that might make her too suspicious; but he would not give her any reason to wonder at its meaning.
"Yes," Scarlett answered, swinging around to face him. Rhett held his tongue, the moment stretching out until the silence made her shift uneasily on her feet. "Why?" she blurted at last.
Rhett shrugged in a pretense of unconcern. "Frankly, I couldn't say. I suppose it must have been a dream," he said, cloaking his confession with a tone of disinterest to signal that whatever had motivated the sound, it was of so little importance that he could not even recall the circumstance. It was a pitiful lie; his heart was still racing uncomfortably fast and he struggled to maintain his bland expression when he wanted to devour her with his eyes. He slid his hands casually into his pockets, leaning against the seat back and angling his head in a pose of cool curiosity. He made his hands into fists to combat the itching on palms that wanted to clutch her to himself, to feel the solid reality of her healthy form in his grasp.
Scarlett swayed slightly, as if arresting a desire to step forward. "You sounded...distressed," she said, speaking the last word almost too softly to hear in the heavy silence of the small, enclosed room.
"What do you want, Scarlett? Such wifely solicitude ill becomes you." Rhett bit out, beginning to lose his grip on the fraying ends of his patience.
Scarlett's green eyes flashed brightly, stung by his harsh tone and sneering judgement. But she lifted her chin proudly and snapped, "You are right. What wifely concern should I possibly have for a husband who abandoned me for six months?" She touched her belly with a fleeting gesture. "Abandoned us," she finished, her voice dropping below a whisper.
His knotted stomach turned cold. "Scarlett - I didn't know," he said, unable to keep a note of pain from humming through the words.
"Well you should have considered the possibility! After - after—" She faltered.
Rhett eyed her quizzically, watching the pale flush spread across her cheeks. Her eyes gleamed, reflecting the pale light like crystals. In fact, he realized abruptly, they were shimmering wetly, as if lightly veiled by tears.
Fearing he might be unsteady on his feet still, Rhett did not rise, but gestured to the spot she had so briefly occupied on the sofa. "Come sit down."
To his surprise, she didn't argue, but plodded dully over and took the proffered seat. She gathered her skirts in one hand to keep even the crisp fabric from touching him.
"I'm sorry," he said simply. "You are right. I should have considered it. I should have at least let you know where we were."
"Thank you," Scarlett said quietly, keeping her eyes averted, her free hand playing with the fabric caught in her other fist.
She seemed as skittish as a wild fox. Slowly, Rhett reached over and covered both her hands with his left hand, stilling their nervous fidgeting.
"We've rather been at cross purposes, haven't we, Scarlett?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean every time we talk, it turns into an argument. Aren't you tired of it?"
Scarlett tugged her hands free and crossed them over her chest. "If you want peace, you should look at yourself, Rhett," she said, lifting her chin. "Maybe if you weren't such a devil all the time…"
Rhett chuckled ruefully and snatched one of her hands back, folding her fingers over his own. "Yes, my angel, it is all my fault. Ah - no, don't swell up, I mean it. You deserve a little peace right now, don't you?" He lowered his gaze to hide the blazing emotion he was sure must be obvious in his face, and disguised the subterfuge by lifting her knuckles to his lips in a gesture of exaggerated gallantry.
"Do you remember when you were carrying Bonnie?" he asked, conceding to her peculiar modesty with his phrasing in an effort to keep this conversation from derailing as was their usual wont.
"Yes."
"We got along well enough then, wouldn't you say?"
"I suppose."
"You won't make this easy for me, will you."
"I don't see why I should," Scarlett shot back quickly, but there was a teasing note in her voice as she relaxed her stiff guard.
"Just for the fun of it," he murmured, running this thumb over her knuckles.
Rhett thought of her body close to his in the middle of the night, the curve of her pregnancy under his palm, the scent of lemon and the scratchy tickle of her hair. In the cool winter daylight, such intimacy seemed impossibly distant despite the tremor he felt where her fingers rested on his own.
"Rhett," she said, without elaboration. He closed his eyes, taking one more moment to be sure of himself and gathering strength from the warmth of her hand in his. Then he pressed another kiss to her knuckles before rising from the sofa.
"Thank you for waking me. Dare I ask if between the two of you, there happens to be any dinner left?"
Scarlett smoothed her skirts with a brisk movement and stood as well. "Your plate is in the kitchen."
"A small blessing then. I've seen you eat," he said, adding a wink when she raised her narrowed eyes to his. She drew her head back slightly, then - as he had hoped - offered him a wry smile instead of a hurt and angry retort. Rhett clenched his now-empty fist in response to a sudden urge to grab her and kiss the sweet, soft curve of her mouth. He could count the smiles she had given him in the last month on one hand, and the expression triggered an old feeling of indomitable hope.
A truce was a good beginning.
Happy 80th anniversary, Gone with the Wind.