12

Whatever It Takes

Rhett Butler lay still underneath the lace-edged canopy of the big bed, listening to the soft snores emitting from his wife's mouth as she slept. A small sound from elsewhere in the house convinced him that he was already fully awake. It was sometime close to dawn, and he realized with a trace of amusement that he was naked in between the clean sheets. Shifting to his right, his eyes moved over the slender form sleeping opposite him. Though her pert profile had aged somewhat, he thought her largely unchanged. It was beyond his ken how this could be, that after all the years that had passed between them, she could still look so very desirable.

Her eyes fluttered open. "I can't sleep while you're staring at me."

He wet his dry lips with the tip of his tongue and gave her a smile. "Why bother sleeping then, Mrs. Butler?"

She rolled over onto her stomach and faced him, brushing the tendrils of hair that had escaped from her nighttime braid back from her face. "Who can bear to sleep as it is? I don't understand it, Rhett. I just don't …"

"I've been thinking," he said, leaning back against his pillow. "…and I have several ideas which may be of benefit to Beau…"

Scarlett chuckled ruefully. "Well, he's going to need more than a few good ideas. We need to know what happened and we need to know it quick. Ashley says that the folks in town wouldn't say a word to him when he went yesterday - they're dead set against Beau - and they want to hang him, Rhett!"

"I know, honey…I know. Well, whether Ashley knows it or not, he's been contributing to the problem by trying to apologize to the Fontaine's. The first rule of trial and procedure is to limit contact between the victim's family and the defendant's -"

"That's not how we would have done it in the old days-"

"No, there would have been a duel. Or a lynch mob."

"Ashley feels responsible for it, can't you see? And India is too cowardly to even show her face. Not that I expected her to stand by her own flesh and blood. She's always been one for looking to her own precious skin when anyone else is in trouble…Oh Rhett, you wouldn't like some breakfast, would you? Dilcey sent over some hot soup last night …wouldn't it be lovely with a little cornbread?"

He laughed, then admitted. "I suppose that I could stand some food. I could think better without listening to my stomach growl…"

"Do put on some clothes won't you, while I fix it? I'm not particularly keen about you gallivanting around the house with nothing on."

"I see," he feigned disapproval. "…and yet, Mrs. Butler, I am welcomed to my dishabille in the privacy of the bedroom, am I not?"

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Just do as I say, won't you?"

He pecked her lips with a small kiss. "As you wish, Mrs. Butler…"

The thick, hot white bean and ham soup was exactly what both of them needed, and was consumed quickly and with ravenous appreciation. Scarlett even ate heartily, cleaning her entire bowl in an inordinately short amount of time. When she stood up to clear the table, Rhett was reminded of his physical limitation by the piercing pain that stabbed through his bad leg when he shifted position in his chair.

"Does it still hurt?" Scarlett asked.

Rhett grimaced. "Not as bad as it did." He glanced about him. "How is Ella, do you think?"

Scarlett nodded, "I think she's as well as anyone could be, under the circumstances. Worried sick, you know. But she knows that the truth will come out and she's bound and determined to find out what really happened. She's completely, incandescently in love with him, Rhett - she won't rest until he's - What?"

His eyes flickered over her. "How much do you think she loves him?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean!"

"I mean only that someone had to benefit by Kathleen's death. If not Beau, then whom?"

"I don't like your implication -"

"Well, why the hell was Ella soaking wet when Wade brought her back from Twelve Oaks?"

"She was out in the storm - you heard her!"

"What if she went after Beau?"

"Cooper said -"

"I heard what Cooper said. A loose cow."

"Cows. Many cows."

"And an old man and a lady are fit to wrangle cattle? No, I think there was another reason behind this little round-up…"

"If you think for a minute that Ella is behind this-"

"Hear me out, Scarlett - I'm just attempting to recreate the night as it happened. Let's just say that she leaves, along with Ashley. Sometime during those two hours, they're separated. Beau returns, and finds Ella on the south side of the property alone, correct?"

"Yes. The opposite direction as the Fontaine's -"

"Very good, Scarlett. You're catching on …now…who else is unaccounted for? We have Cooper, who was mending the fence - we know that, right? And then there's Ashley and Ella. Who does that leave in the house?"

"Dilcey and India."

"Right, right…Well, I think we can safely eliminate them from contention as our killer."

"Why?" Scarlett scoffed. "I wouldn't put anything past India."

"What is she capable of, Scarlett? Even you have to admit, very little."

Her eyes flickered over him, "You've been here for two months today. Did you know that? I must say, I had hoped that it would have come under a much different set of circumstances."

He chuckled wryly, "Since when have we been anything but an unconventional pair, Mrs. Butler?"

"Well, all I know is that it was quite improper of you to take over my bed - a gentlemen would never have taken a lady's bed -"

"And when have I ever claimed to be a gentleman?"

"Never. So I suppose the bad behavior is unsurprising."

"Ha. Well, I'm not so ill-bred as not to say thank you. It's the best I've slept for quite some time. Well - barring the pain in my leg. And my joints. And my back."

She laughed, then halted abruptly as she realized that he was speaking seriously.

"I'm getting old, Scarlett. I know what it is to be an old, old man. And I'm not running from it anymore. It's rather nice, you know, to sit out on a porch with one's wife- a wife who is aging along with me, albeit more gracefully."

"I'm much younger than you-"

"You're very kind to remind me."

"And you certainly waited long enough to come back."

"You must admit that's a turnabout," he smiled. "After all I was sure that it would end up the other way around, that you would continue to chase me until I had no more strength to resist. And then I'd die conveniently and leave you a happy, rich widow."

"You threatened often enough," she retorted.

"What I'm wondering," he changed the subject abruptly, "is if Kathleen tried to pull the gun on Beau - he denies her, turns to go - she goes into the house and locates the weapon, turns the gun on him and there was a struggle. Beau's too honorable to give the sheriff the whole story …"

"No. He wouldn't do that."

"He's a Wilkes-"

"He may be, but he would never take the fall for Kathleen. The girl was crazy as it was. More likely she took the gun and shot herself. There was all that business when she was a child and …"

"What?"

"It's not something generally spoken about in polite conversation-"

"Scarlett!"

"Alright, alright. Sally asked the doctor for some morphia to relieve the pain of her monthly courses…but Kathleen didn't stop there. And it was worse and worse until finally…they had to send her away. For a good six months, she was in Baltimore at a hospital."

"Damn. No wonder Beau was hesitant about being too harsh with her."

"He was very clear in his intentions," she corrected aloofly. "I was always very blunt with him when telling him how to handle her. And he was very - very clear." She put a hand to her mouth, and Rhett realized that she was about to cry.

He peered at her thoughtfully, wondering if she possessed the strength to hear his next supposition.

"Where was Wade that night?"

The green eyes snapped with fire. "He went after Ella. As well you know."

"What I'm asking you is why he bothered to go out in the storm when, as we all believed, she was safe with Beau at Twelve Oaks."

"Let me get this straight - you think that Wade went over to the Fontaine's and killed Kathleen?"

"I'm just thinking aloud, Scarlett!"

"Well stop thinking!" she spat out. "Believe me, Rhett, I'm grateful for you concern, but you're not helping at this point."

He put a hand up to silence her and said in a low voice. "What the hell was that?"

She held her breath and strained to hear any noise. "It's probably Ella upstairs."

He shook his head and moved to the window. Scarlett followed. It was still dark out, but her eyes caught a movement in the shadows as something flitted along the edge of the woods.

"What's that?" she said aloud, "Look, Rhett!"

"I see," he said, his voice low, "I'm afraid we have company."

They pressed close to the window and watched until they had ascertained that it was indeed two men on horseback. The law? The question rose up in both of their minds though neither spoke.

Cautiously, she walked across the corridor from the kitchen to her office, where she had a holstered pistol stashed in her desk drawer.

"Just what do you think you're going to do with that?" he motioned toward the gun.

"Use it, if need be-"

"Give it to me."

"What for? You've already listed your infirmities - clearly you're in no condition to shoot it."

"And you know how to use it?"

"I've lived by myself for almost twenty years, haven't I?"

He rolled his eyes. "Touché, my dear. But now I've lost sight of our visitors -"

She gestured toward the window closest to the front door. As she walked behind him, covering his back with her readied pistol, a fleeting memory came back to haunt her, and she became dizzyingly aware of a time when she had to draw a weapon in defense of her home. And that time, she had not had the benefit of Rhett's calming presence by her side. She slipped an arm behind his waist. He wasn't young, and he wasn't all that strong - if something should happen.

"They're coming toward the house!" she cried with horror as the figures dismounted.

"They're going toward the …the barn? Why?"

"No, no - they're going round the back, Rhett! That's the back entrance to the house and - oh God! The cotton!"

He held her shoulders with his surprisingly strong hands to prevent her from charging out the door.

She hunched her shoulders and let out a choked cry of misery. "My cotton!"

"Scarlett, it's you and me and Ella and Pansy against two potentially armed men. And while those odds wouldn't generally bother me, my strength is not at its pinnacle and I-"

Scarlett smiled in spite of herself, "You're nearly seventy years old, Rhett."

He grimaced, but moved again toward the window as the pair emerged from the shadows of the back barn and down the front walk. One was shaking a clenched fist at the other in a threatening manner. Scarlett pressed closer to the window, continuing to watch. She felt her blood turn cold as the men turned back toward the house. She gasped aloud. "Rhett! They're coming!"

He attempted to grab the gun, "I'm going out there-"

"No!" she hissed back at him. "All you'll do is get yourself killed and then where will I be?"

"A rich widow?" he smiled, attempting a joke.

She flung herself into his arms, thinking in a moment of madness that if they were to be killed, at least they would be together - martyred in defense of Tara. Together they waited in breathless silence as the sounds of the deadbolt being tested reverberated throughout the house.

Scarlett heard a male voice: "The fucking bitch!"

And then another: "If you had done as I asked the first time, we would have never found ourselves in this situation."

Scarlett and Rhett exchanged wary glances. Both knew what the other was thinking - that the second voice was strangely familiar.

"You would never have thought of getting the whole County in an uproar over the murder had I not intervened. Cleaned up your mess for you!"

Rhett clamped a hand over Scarlett's mouth - as if she would have said a word.

They were obviously talking about Kathleen's murder, but who, if not for Beau -

"But you're running scared!"

"That's why we settle this. Now."

Scarlett held her breath as she and Rhett stared at the front foyer, expecting at any moment for the door to burst open and the offenders burst in, guns drawn. But there was only stillness- until finally, they could make out an odor of kerosene and smoke - thick, black clouds of which were seeping underneath the front door!

"My God!" Scarlett screamed. "They've set a fire! They meant to burn us up alive!"

"The back!" Rhett grabbed her hand, covering his mouth with his shirttail and urging her to do the same. "Ella!" he bellowed loudly. "Ella! Pansy!"

She could feel herself choking from the smoke, and groaned as she noticed that the dining room was already in flames. Pansy appeared at the top of the stairs, still wearing her nightgown. "Miz Scarlett!" Pansy screamed. "Wake Ella! Now, Pansy!" Scarlett could hear her voice carrying as her eyes darted worriedly around for Rhett, whom she had lost sight of. Where was he? Where had he gone? The black smoke completely engulfed the portal to the dining room. Her Parisian table, the portieres with their Brussels lace, Grandmother Solange's portrait…

Rhett caught her arm as she felt like to faint in the middle of the foyer and urged her to come on.

"Ella's up there!" she cried.

"God damn it!" he took two steps at a time, looking like a man half his age. Pansy was standing at the top of the stairwell again, holding in her arms a patchwork quilt and some small framed miniatures.

"Get down there, woman! Down! Scarlett, take her and go out the back door. Ella and I will follow. Go!" Rhett bellowed. "Ella! Ella!"

"Look, Miz Scarlett!" Pansy cried, "They done set fire ter the back porch, too! S'all gwine up in flames!"

"Let's try the back, Pansy, go!"

Pansy gratefully leaned on her mistress as they rounded the corridor and out the side door, fleeing toward the barn and not stopping until, in exhaustion, they collapsed in a pile of straw.

Scarlett set in rigid horror as she beheld the burning house, the whole front of which was completely covered with orange flames.

"Where's Miz Ella?" Pansy was sobbing, "Miz Ella ain't gwine wake up and hears him yell fire!"

"They're coming," Scarlett repeated, if only to keep herself from going crazy. "They're coming."

"Ah's see somethin' at the window, Miz Scarlett!" Pansy pointed. "Look!"

Scarlett followed her maid's finger to a side window, where suddenly, a bullet came whizzing through.

"Get down!" Scarlett commanded, throwing herself over Pansy and onto the hard ground. She peered up after a second to see something heavy fall through the broken glass, then a human form, finally followed by a second one, which was hobbling and apparently very near collapse.

Without thinking, Scarlett fled toward them - it was Ella and Rhett, faces scorched. Ella had his arm over her shoulder, and was supporting his weight. Her nightgown was missing a sizable portion, and her legs were visible from knees down.

"My gown caught fire," she explained tearfully, as soon as she reached the waiting arms of her mother. And Rhett had to step on it to put it out and the door was blocked so we had to go through the window! Oh Mother! Pansy!" she wrapped her arms around both women.

Rhett coughed as Scarlett nearly knocked him down with the exuberance of her embrace, "I'm sorry, Scarlett," he let out another loud cough, "I'm sorry I couldn't save Tara."

She shook her head, tears sliding down her face. "It's just a house. Tara's still here. It's still here. It's alright, darling."

Rhett's throat thickened and he kissed her forehead. "You realize what this means, don't you? This is about much more than Beau. In fact, I don't think it was about Beau or poor Miss Kathleen at all."

"What do you mean, Uncle Rhett?" Ella asked, trepidation heavy in her voice.

Scarlett lifted her red-rimmed eyes, and her lips trembled as she took a deep breath. "I think that he means that someone is out to get you."

"Me?"

Rhett took one last look at the inferno that was the house, then back at Ella. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this. And keep you safe. Whatever it takes. You have my promise."

"But Uncle Rhett -"

He nearly snarled: "Whatever it takes."