Dear Self, next time you have a few productive weeks, hold. someofit. back.
It's been awhile, but our beautiful dumb-dumbs make it easy to recap: Scarlett and Rhett are estranged. Now it is Christmas.
To read is human, to review is divine.
My kingdom for a horse!
Part 10
Christmas morning dawned, too few hours later, and Scarlett's eyes felt gritty, hot and dry with fatigue as she opened them and blinked.
What had woken her? She pushed herself up to sit in the bed and looked around the room. Christmas was here, and at least she could hope that whatever irrational dread she had about this day, it would be gone by the next time she awoke.
She tossed the covers off her legs and got out of bed. The children would be awake soon, their heads full of sugar plums and Santa, if they were not already. She sat at her vanity and studied her reflection as she methodically pulled a silver-backed hairbrush through her dark hair, subconsciously counting strokes.
Her figure, sharp with illness for so long, had finally filled back in in the appropriate places. Her cheeks gently curved again. It felt good to look in the mirror and see restoration there. She laid her hairbrush back down on the tabletop, and walked to her closet for a wrapper.
She shrugged off the brief thought of what her waist would have been—or not been—at this time, her mind helplessly calculating even when she did not wish it to, her mouth a tight line as she was tying and knotting the sash around her. As she did so, her door opened. She frowned at the impolitic intrusion; what on earth could a servant be thinking, entering her room without knocking?
Her thunderous face might have startled the said intruder, who after all, only turned out to be Ella, had she been able to see better in the dark. "Mother?" she whispered.
"I'm here, Ella." Scarlett answered from the shadows, shaking off useless dreams and smoothing her face back into placid lines. "Darling, you must knock on doors before you open them."
"I did knock, Mother. There was no answer."
Scarlett felt tickles of irritation and amusement. "Oh, Ella. No answer is not an invitation to open the door."
"Oh," Ella said, turning over this strange and totally new information in her mind. "I didn't know." Scarlett was sure she had told her this several times. "You said I had to knock before I opened doors. I knocked before I opened a door."
Scarlett laughed before she could help it. Ella had certainly followed the rule as given, even if she had no understanding for the etiquette behind it. "Let's never mind about it for today." Ella was unlikely to remember any lecture, much less one on this of all mornings. "Did you sleep well?"
Ella nodded, and hurried forward, a quick little stutter-step of excitement and hesitance that caught at Scarlett's heart. She stopped just short of Scarlett, and in a jolt of motherly impulse, Scarlett opened her arms to her daughter. Ella rushed the rest of the small distance into the embrace, and Scarlett had to blink rapidly to clear her eyes. She ran a gentle hand over the girl's soft hair. Ella wriggled and smiled up at her.
"Merry Christmas, darling."
Ella blushed. The smattering of freckles across her cheeks shone gold against pink. "Oh, merry Christmas, Mother! I forgot."
Scarlett smiled. "You forgot it was Christmas?"
"Oh no!" Ella cried. "I meant—" she paused, chewing her lip. "I came here to wish you Merry Christmas!"
"And so you have."
Ella smiled, and Scarlett cupped her cheek very briefly. In that moment, she thought Ellen would be proud of her. She hoped so, anyway. "Shall we see what Santa has brought for you?"
The girl's brown eyes sparkled as she nodded, and Scarlett was struck by how pretty she looked. She remembered uncomfortably her uncharitable thoughts toward Ella when the girl had been a baby, and many times after. Ella hadn't been a pretty baby, taking after her father far too much in her earliest months. And although Scarlett's own striking features had started to assert themselves more in the little face, she still wasn't beautiful like Bonnie had been right from the start—and there should be nothing wrong with admitting that, and yet… Practicality and honesty warred with this unfamiliar maternal instinct; she felt very sure that even so, she had not done right by Ella. She continued to ponder all these things as she and Ella descended the stairs.
Wade, roused by their whispers or perhaps the internal clock intrinsic to children on Christmas morning, caught up with them halfway down the stairs. He took Scarlett's left hand, and her heart thumped at his gesture. "Merry Christmas, Mother." His soft voice was serious as the grave. It wasn't natural for a boy going on ten to be so serious! It sent a shiver down her spine. He wasn't like any of the Tarleton or Fontaine boys had been at his age. Perfect hellions, they had been, and she along with them, if Ellen and Mammy were out of sight. A hellion, she felt she would have known what to do with. Wade, she did not.
She stopped when they reached the doorway of the parlor. Ella took quick steps toward the tree, but Wade stopped next to Scarlett. She patted his head, and then bit her lip—he was far too old for such a gesture. "Merry Christmas, Wade," she said, at last.
Ella had already torn open a small parcel when they reached the sofa. "Ohhh, Mother! Look! It's so beautiful!" she breathed. She clambered onto the sofa next to Scarlett to show her a golden pin in the shape of a butterfly. It had an emerald in each wing, and small drops of amethyst gems around them.
"Yes, it's very beautiful, Ella. Did Santa bring you that?"
Ella shrugged, and Scarlett felt a smile tug at her lips. She had certainly been known to care more about the present than its giver before. Ella turned the pin over in her hands again before picking up the mess of torn paper next to her. She turned it over in her hands, too, before finding the tag.
"No, it's from Uncle Rhett. And Bonnie."
Scarlett took a deep breath and smiled at Ella again. "Well, you will have to thank them when they come downstairs."
"Yes, Mother." Ella amiably agreed.
If only children were always this easy, she mused, until Ella turned to her again.
"Mother, will you help me?" Scarlett pressed her lips together briefly, reminding herself of her plan. She mustn't let him ruin it.
"Of course, dear," she responded brightly, taking the ornament from her daughter's hand. She painstakingly pinned it to Ella's nightgown, careful to avoid the delicate lace trim on the collar, but where Ella would still be able to see it. Ella flicked at her collar, smiling down at it.
Wade, meanwhile, had opened a package containing woodworking tools. They were not quite the right size for a boy, but Scarlett thought he could grow into them. He raised soft, questioning eyes to her.
"I thought—" Scarlett cleared her throat and continued. "You liked working with your Uncle Will. And now you will have some tools of your own to…" she trailed off. It seemed foolish, now, a Hamilton and O'Hara by birth, mending fences.
Comprehension cleared Wade's eyes, though, and he looked back down at his tools. A man's tools! When he looked back at her, his face was lightly pink, suffused with pride. "Thank you, Mother."
She smiled, and felt both weak with relief and quite satisfied with herself. "Would you like to go to Tara again?"
Wade nodded eagerly, but Ella blurted out, "No!" and rejoined her mother on the sofa, pressing herself to Scarlett's side and starting to cry.
Startled by her daughter's reaction, Scarlett turned to look down at Ella. "Ella, you didn't like Tara?"
She felt the velvet at her side move back and forth. Ella, her face hidden in the fabric, was shaking her head. Scarlett felt keen disappointment at this—she had thought Ella had liked her home, that they all had. Well, she had been wrong about a number of things. She leaned away to try to look into her daughter's face.
"I don't want you to be sick." Ella's face was wet with tears and pale with fear. Scarlett was puzzled.
"I'm not sick." she said.
"You were sick last time." Ella wiped her eyes and continued, "You were sick and Aunt Melanie told Uncle Ashley that you were really quite ill and everyone whispered." She hiccoughed and threw her arms around Scarlett again.
"Oh, Ella," she started, patting the girl's back, not sure where to begin. "I was sick before we went to Tara. But Tara... made me feel better, remember?" Ella sniffled. "I don't have to be sick to go to Tara."
"Oh." Ella's voice was still muffled in her wrapper.
"Mother!" Bonnie's piercing cry announced her presence and Rhett's.
Scarlett turned, startled by the interruption, toward the door. Rhett was already dressed for the day, his cravat a bright spot of festive green against his now typical soberly hued suits. Once, Scarlett might have thought he'd chosen it to complement her wardrobe. Bonnie, still in her long blue nightgown, was struggling to get down from her perch on his hip. He set her down and took in the domestic scene before him without a remark.
Scarlett turned her attention back to Ella and Bonnie, who had run straight to the pile of presents under the tree and plopped herself down in front of it.
"Merry Christmas, Bonnie darling," she said, smiling.
"Merry Christmas, mother!" Bonnie replied over her shoulder, her attention barely diverted from the packages in front of her.
Ella still sat curled against her side, the enchantment of new presents wiped away under fear for her mother.
Scarlett felt comforted from the weight of Ella against her, and ran her hand over the girl's hair. "Ella, don't you want to open any more presents?" she asked.
She felt the tickle of velvet move against her side a second time as Ella shook her head again.
Rhett had always easily fallen into the role of present distributor, and this year was no different. Wade and Bonnie were both more enthusiastic than they had been in the past, and had already attacked a number of gifts—Bonnie, in particular, throwing aside ones whose tags didn't start with the large "B" she was just beginning to recognize. Ella, on the other hand, was much less animated than she had been on previous Christmases. He looked questioningly at the young girl, her face downturned. His eyes barely slid over Scarlett, her arm wrapped around her older daughter, but he did not comment on the sweet tableau. Then he fell to his self-appointed task, handing around presents.
When Wade looked up—he had gone back to admiring his toolset, reverently tracing the hammer's smooth metal surface with one fingertip—and saw what Rhett was doing, he went back to the pile of presents to help pass them out, too.
He found one flat, square package with Mother's name in an elegant, strong hand. This must be from his stepfather. He wondered if perhaps Uncle Rhett would want to give her the present himself. Uncle Rhett had not spoken to Mother very much lately, but surely, Christmas… The decision was made for him when Uncle Rhett returned to the tree and saw what Wade held. "That's for your mother," he said, and Wade noticed his voice was hoarse.
"Yes, sir," he answered, lifting the parcel up to his stepfather.
Scarlett watched the little exchange between her son and her husband. She swallowed as Rhett walked toward her with the gift. He stood in front of her looking as serious as the night she had sold the mills. "Scarlett, I—" he had said.
"Merry Christmas, Scarlett," he said, now. She took the package from his outstretched hand reluctantly, careful her fingers did not brush against his.
"Thank you," she responded. "Merry Christmas, Rhett." She looked into his eyes as she spoke, unwilling to let him see her fear. She felt bright flags of color, heat in her cheeks, as his unfathomable eyes gazed back at her.
Scarlett's eyes had the same hard glint they'd carried that long ago day in a converted Yankee jail. Something about it made him want to laugh: desolate humor in the face of her steely hatred against this festive backdrop.
She looked back down at the present in her lap, and slowly undid the ribbons. "What is it, Mother?" Ella asked, perking up for the first time since Rhett had come downstairs. She was peering eagerly over Scarlett's elbow.
"I don't know, silly. That's the point of wrapping," Scarlett sounded slightly exasperated, but not sharp. Her voice was gentle, a touch wry. Rhett raised one eyebrow.
Ella grinned, and rested her head against Scarlett's upper arm. "Open it," she urged.
Scarlett broke through the paper, and opened the smooth box inside. "Oh," she said, her voice low.
She looked back up at Rhett, her face soft, her eyes luminous. She had not looked at him like that since— he couldn't remember when. He swallowed roughly.
Scarlett felt her face falter when Rhett didn't say anything. But then, she hadn't really said anything, either. She looked back at the contents of the box: a beautiful necklace of diamonds and pearls. She touched the stones appreciatively. It was exquisitely made; it was also somewhat simple. The diamonds weren't terribly large, there were no emeralds, nor rubies nor sapphires. It wasn't exactly her style, except… it was also quite lovely, and Scarlett took to it immediately. But what did it mean? Did he intend this to signal the end of their cold estrangement? If he did, would she accept?
She looked back up at him, and smiled hesitantly. "Will you…?" she lifted the necklace off its soft felt bed. He complied, taking the necklace from her, and working the clasp with large, deft hands. He leaned over her, and she shivered when his breath hit the top of her head, tickling her all the way down to her toes.
"It's beautiful," she offered, when he straightened. "Thank you, Rhett."
Rhett shrugged uncomfortably, all the tension from when he'd first seen the necklace flooding back and tightening his shoulders. Her reaction threw him, and he felt as unsettled as he had used to, stepping onto land again after weeks at sea. "Bonnie picked it out. She will be very happy that you like it."
"Oh," Scarlett replied, her shoulder blades twitching together in keen disappointment.
If Rhett hadn't known better, he would have thought her dismayed. But Scarlett had long ago ceased to care what thoughts lay, or didn't lay, behind his actions. She couldn't possibly care if Bonnie, and not he, had picked out a necklace. She straightened her shoulders in a gesture that would have lifted his heart years ago, and turned to Ella. "Well, Ella, what do you think?"
"It's so beautiful, Mother!" Ella sounded awestruck, and she clambered onto her knees to get a better look.
"Yes. It is." Scarlett remarked, touching the stones again absently, her voice returning to the clipped tones to which Rhett was accustomed. The cool voice he had expected to hear all along, at receiving such a tasteful gift. His lips twisted in an unkind smile that she did not see, and he pushed any lurking doubts aside.
~iaa~
A wooden packing crate stood half-hidden behind the tree. Bonnie was the first to notice it. "Daddy, open!" she demanded, pointing to it, eager to see what—as the greatest in size—must be the best present. "What is it, Daddy?" she asked.
"I don't know, precious. We'll have to see."
"You can use my tool set, sir," Wade offered. Amid the childish clamoring over mysterious gifts, no one noticed that Scarlett had gone very, very pale. She sat back against the cushions, clutching her wrapper around her throat, where the necklace lay cold and heavy on her skin. She could feel her heart beating very quickly, and she felt faint nausea, reminiscent of when she had been ill. She knew what was in the crate, and she also remembered, very certainly, why she had been dreading Christmas.
One day in late June, Melanie had met her at the store at dinnertime. It was a rare afternoon without a sewing circle planned. Scarlett wanted to visit the dressmaker, and Ella had softly asked for a new doll a few evenings ago at supper. She told Melanie of her errands, hoping to gain an afternoon to herself, but Melanie had only said, "That sounds delightful!" and that she wanted to look at ribbons for her bonnet. Scarlett gritted her teeth, but smiled.
With Melanie accompanying her, Scarlett was too embarrassed to order new dresses. She never knew if Melanie had heard—as everyone in Atlanta seemed to have—about Bonnie sleeping in Rhett's room, and all that the arrangement entailed. She knew, of course, that Melanie had lent no credence to the story of what happened at the mill—not that there was any truth to that particularly story, anyway, Scarlett quickly soothed herself. And… Melanie would know about the baby, soon enough. She would have to.
Still, being measured and indicating that her prized waist would cease to exist, in front of her sister-in-law, no less, was a mortification Scarlett could not bring herself to face. Instead, she discreetly made an appointment for the seamstress to visit her home next week.
At the toy store, Scarlett found a doll with smooth, dark chocolate-colored curls and light hazel eyes. It reminded her a little of both her daughters, and she swallowed past a knot of nerves as she wondered where Bonnie might be.
She chose the doll, and a set of encyclopedia for Wade.
Wandering deeper into the shop, Scarlett had noticed a beautiful little rocking horse. The craftsmanship was exquisite: intricately carved, but with a deft hand; it was both substantial and well-made, yet somehow pleasingly light to the eye. The wood that constituted the body of the horse was mahogany, a rich, dark brown that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. Scarlett trailed her fingers along the surface, the wood sanded down to such buttery smoothness, it nearly felt soft. She was tempted to press her palms into it. The mane was of darkest walnut, curved into long black waves. It was made for a slightly older child, too big even for Bonnie, much less…
If Rhett had been home, she would have presented it to him that very afternoon. She briefly pictured the scene: Rhett, taking a hasty step toward her, his eyes bright, as they had been the night she stormed up the stairs, before it all went wrong; she, in her best green dress, cut to show a figure that had only just begun rounding softly outward, her cheeks rosy with apprehension, and something else. He would know all she meant by it, all the swirling emotions tumbling around in her head and her heart. She did not know what they all were, but he would. If he had been home. But he was not, and she did not know when or if he ever would be again.
"Do you have a horse just like this, in a smaller size?" she asked the young clerk behind the counter. She felt hungry, almost desperate about this present. It was perfect. They simply had to have a smaller one.
"No, ma'am, Mrs. Butler," he responded. Scarlett looked up, startled, at hearing her name. Did this boy know her? She searched his face, which was blandly handsome, but found no recognition. She supposed people simply knew who she was, even if she did not know them. She moved quickly past why this could be, and decided it was because of her businesses. Disappointment landed an arrow point in her chest after the confusion of friendliness.
"Oh," she said, running her hand over the glorious velvety surface. "When can you get one?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Butler. That horse there is just a sample from a small company that makes these, custom order. We don't have any other like it, but you can order it from them through us."
She had placed her order, feeling oddly thwarted that she could not have this lovely thing delivered to her house today. She did not want to wait twelve weeks, but quickly calculated the timeline. September would have to do. It would not actually be useful then, anyway. Perhaps, she reasoned, she could keep it longer, and make a Christmas present of it. Her heart flipped painfully as she wondered if Christmas would be a joyous occasion. What if Rhett and Bonnie had not come home by then? What if they never did? No, they must. She swallowed harshly and pushed the thought out of her mind. She'd think about it later, or not at all.
It seemed remarkably foolish, now, she thought, sitting on the sofa, her children peering eagerly at the crate. She had completely forgotten about the purchase. Like everything else from those lonely, hopeful months, the memory had drowned in the fog of illness and despair—until now. It must have been delivered while they were away at Tara. Where had it been all this time? And how had it gotten to its place under the tree? She felt almost as overwhelmed by emotions as she had been, waking up in her sickbed, alone.
She watched as Rhett pried the nails from the crate. He lifted the front away with ease, as she noted the muscles in his shoulders tense and release. Little bits of crinkled white paper drifted down around him. Bonnie pulled on his pants leg, impatient at how long this discovery was taking. "Daddy! Daddy, what is it?"
His next words were muffled, as he reached into the crate to pull out what was inside. More paper fell like snow around the floor. "I'm sorry, darling, it's still covered up." A heavy blanket was wrapped around the mystery object. Rhett reached to untie it, and pulled the cover off with a flourish.
Collective gasps echoed around the room, Bonnie's the biggest of all. "A pony!" she shouted. "Daddy, my pony, my pony, Daddy!" she chorused over and over, bouncing on little feet now, and clapping.
"It is a beautiful rocking horse, indeed, Bonnie. Thank your mother now." he said, gently pulling her from where she now gripped his pants again.
"My pony, Mama! Thank you!" Her body was turned toward Scarlett as she said this, her head turned back to the little horse, her hand reaching out to pet it. "Pony…" she echoed, enchanted, as she ran her small hand across the smooth surface.
Rhett looked from her, back to the little rocking horse. The little rocking horse. It was almost too small already for Bonnie. Was Scarlett so inattentive that she didn't see how Bonnie had grown?
"Yes, your— pony, precious." Scarlett said. Her voice was strained, and Rhett noticed for the first time that she did not look well. She was very pale, but flushed, pink against stark white, her eyes glinting fever bright.
Her voice was still slightly rough, but coldly formal, when she spoke again. "I'm afraid I have a sudden headache. If you will excuse me, I will go lie down." She stood.
Ella raised herself onto her knees from her perch on the sofa and peered up into her mother's face. "Oh no, Mother!" she cried, concern creasing her little forehead. "Please don't be sick!"
Scarlett couldn't bear Rhett's scrutiny or Ella's sweet worry. She hastened her steps toward the door, the stairs, her dark bedroom.
Rhett watched with narrowed eyes as Scarlett walked away. Ella turned to Wade and asked, "Will we go to Tara again?"
Scarlett gave no indication of sensing the unease she left behind in her wake, until she reached the doorway. Only then, her shoulders stiffened and she froze for the briefest of moments, before her velvet skirt whipped around the corner as she disappeared, when Ella cried after her, "Mother, do you need Uncle Rhett to carry you up the stairs again?"