Part III - Atlanta
"I want to talk to you."
He felt cold all over. He knew those words; they presaged nothing good. He could hear the muffled sounds of the children playing in the nursery down the hall, and strained his ears to pick out the voices of his children from the audio tumult.
"Rhett, I've decided that I don't want any more children."
Did he have to respond? He had no desire to repeat this scene. He had thought that they had come so far since the baby was born - but he had had these same thoughts before and been disappointed.
Outside the window, the world was dark.
"You know what I mean?"
These months would fade. He heard laughter from the nursery, and the empty threat of divorce died on his chapped lips.
"I know what you mean. My apologies for having disturbed you with my carnal lusts."
"I shall lock my door every night."
"You needn't bother." His voice was hoarse. The uncaring wall he had shown her the first time she had initiated this conversation was failing.
"If you were a gentleman like Ashley..."
"I won't darken your doorstep again."
He would not look at her. He left the pink nightmare of that bedroom, escaping into the oppressive darkness of the upper hall. She had her sanctuary, he would have his. The little fool could have Ashley, and may God damn her cheating soul for the love she wasted on a dream. He had his children, her unwilling gifts to him. As long as he had them, everything wasn't over. They welcomed the love his wife did not want, and what's more, what she never had done and, he was beginning to accept, never would do - they loved him in return.
The red carpeting of the hall stretched away into darkness. He could not see the end of it. The nursery was only steps away, and the light sounds of the children's laughter filled the hall. He stepped in that direction. One step, another, five more. Only the steep high walls rose on either side of him, covered in dark paper and those hideous steel engravings that warped the weak light from the gas lamps. He heard giggling now, and high-pitched voices calling his name - "Daddy! Daddy!"
There was a spot of light up ahead. The nursery door had opened, spilling warmth into the garish hall. "Daddy!" they called again, and he could hear Wade and Ella, too, asking for "Uncle Rhett." In a visceral way, he despised Charles Hamilton and Frank Kennedy almost as much as he hated Ashley Wilkes, but Wade and Ella were her children, too. He loved them as parts of her, cared for them as his own not because they had never known their own fathers but because they were easy to love, because they, too, eagerly accepted the love their mother refused.
But the nursery door came no closer. He had been walking for minutes, what felt like an eternity, and the hallway still spread before him unchanged. No more than five feet to the open door, and an endless distance beyond that receding into undifferentiated black. The house of hell he had let her build was finally showing its true nature, revealing itself to be a perverse trickster capable of anything. His children were in the nursery, haven, refuge; he only had to reach the nursery. Each step brought him closer to that warmth; each step took him farther away.
He was growing colder now, the chill that had swept through his limbs back in their bedroom gaining solid icy strength. It was stiffening his limbs. He could no longer curl his fingers. His steps grew limping, his knees refusing to bend. If he could not reach the nursery, he would freeze to death out here in the hall. Rhett strained against invisible barriers, nearly panting from the futile exertion. He threw his shoulders forward with no effect, tried again—
Rhett's eyes snapped open as he lunged upright. He was alone in their bed, the sheets thrown off. The bitter cold fell away; in truth he was drenched with perspiration and only slightly chilled from the air on his clammy skin. Rhett braced his trembling forearms above his knees and dropped his head, struggling to draw air in through the tightness in his chest and still his shaking. He rubbed his cheek against his bicep, feeling the scratch of stubble and the slickness of sweat, and stifled a groan against the muscle.
Unlike some of his nightmares, tonight's had been far too realistic. In a way, the cold had saved him, turned memory-as-dream into the distorted reality of a nightmare. But was it memory - or premonition? They were returning to Atlanta in the morning, to that house where his bedroom and her bedroom were not one and the same. Was there any reason to hope that might change? There was a new amicability between them of late, but its genesis lay in the forced intimacy of Tara.
His subconscious could go straight to hell. He did not need this plague of dreams reminding him of all that might be lost when they returned to Atlanta, after the baby came. Back to their separate rooms, connected but not united by their children, and she free again to pine for her untouchable lover while he took empty physical comfort in a whorehouse.
They had not discussed their return home beyond setting the date and making the travel arrangements. He had sent word to Melanie Wilkes and secured her assistance in reopening the house. But Scarlett had not brought up the subject of sleeping arrangements, and he, cowardly, had ignored the pending crisis.
There was Bonnie to consider, as well. If he was returning to his own bedroom, then of course Bonnie would have her little bed next to his own. That at least would be simple. But if Scarlett did open her door - would Bonnie be as amenable to the nursery in Atlanta as she had finally adapted to be at Tara?
He had been a fool to put off these conversations with Scarlett. If they had discussed matters at Tara, the proximity of her family would have forestalled a violent argument. In Atlanta, she might feel less restrained. Any attempt at civil discourse could be quickly derailed if her temper flared.
But where was Scarlett? Rhett swept a hand over the empty bed but could find no lingering warmth. He reached for his dressing robe and tied it around his waist as he stood. He chafed his upper arms briefly, then slipped out into the hall and almost collided with his wife.
Scarlett gasped and took a step backward. Automatically, he thrust out his arms and cupped her elbows to steady her and the bundle she clutched to her chest.
"What are you doing?" he asked gruffly.
"We couldn't sleep," she whispered.
"We?" Rhett arched an eyebrow at her, though the gesture probably went unnoticed in the darkened hall.
"Yes, we," Scarlett answered with a tight, familiar tone. Memory could supply the details shrouded by darkness, the proudly lifted chin, the lips pursed in irritation. "She didn't want to go back to sleep after - well—" Rhett grinned as she stumbled over her words. Even on her fourth child, Scarlett was primly reticent about such natural matters as breastfeeding. It was something one did, but never something one discussed. "—and I couldn't sleep, either, so we've just been walking the hall for a while. I remember - I think I remember Mother doing the same thing with Carreen. I thought it might help."
"And did it?" he asked gently.
"She's asleep now," Scarlett answered, lowering her arms until they could both look down on their daughter's tranquil face. The rosebud lips were slightly open, and her eyelashes lay like black fringe on pale cheeks. Rhett bent down and brushed a feathery kiss over the thick, straight fuzz of hair on the baby's head.
"Don't wake her!" Scarlett hissed.
"I won't," he whispered as he stood slowly, keeping his face close to hers. He drank in her features as his eyes traversed them, from her sharp chin to her generous mouth, the fine straight lines of her nose, her eyes - wide, perhaps surprised, and emerald dark in the shadowed hall.
"I need to put her back to bed," Scarlett said, sounding as if her mouth had gone dry.
"Let me." Smoothly, he slipped the baby from her arms before she could protest. Scarlett hovered by his elbow as they went back into their bedroom. He bent over the cradle Will had given them, settling Alexandra in the soft bedding.
When he stood, it seemed the most natural thing to slip his arm about Scarlett's waist. She held herself stiffly for a breath, then he felt the light pressure of her head against his chest. Her fingertips traced the edge of the cradle and set it to rocking with a gentle push. Rhett's palm was flat on the lingering swell of her belly. He knew she hated the physical effects of childbearing. He wished he could show her how he saw her, how the lush changes of fertility only made her more beautiful to him. He wished it would matter if he could.
"Let's go to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day." Scarlett nodded, her head brushing against his chest. He could smell her fragrant hair. Bending his neck just slightly, he could brush his lips across her hair, more softly than she should be able to feel. Scarlett shifted her weight and her hip bumped against his thigh. How close she was, how warm, how easy it would be to turn her around in his arms and press his lips to hers. But the tepid friendliness between them was not enough to make that gamble seem a worthy risk.
Reluctantly, Rhett unwrapped his arm and stepped away. He saw Scarlett press her hands against her abdomen. His lips twisted. No doubt she was only regretting what she saw as the distortion of her body, unable even to feel wonder at the amazing gift of their daughter's life. But unlike with Bonnie, how could he blame her? She hadn't wanted any more children. She had locked him out of her bed for years. He had taken what was not freely given, no matter how willing she had seemed.
Tomorrow they would be back on opposite sides of that locked door.
Rhett jerked at the knotted sash of his dressing gown as he moved away around the bed. He might as well try to sleep the rest of the night. It would be a long day. The journey between Jonesboro and Atlanta wasn't that long by train, but with four children, including Bonnie's untrammeled energy and a month-old baby, and a mountain of luggage to manage, it would not be an easy trip. Scarlett had moved much of her, Wade's, and Ella's wardrobes to Tara. He had bought Bonnie almost an entire new wardrobe in Charleston which had come with them when they passed through Atlanta. And his own indulgence at Christmas time had only increased the number of their belongings which had to return with them. They would need the assistance of a small army of porters to load and unload everything.
Rhett lay on his back, feeling the mattress roll as Scarlett lay down beside him. This might be his last night sharing her bed, not that lying stiff as strangers next to each other was any more satisfactory than their arrangement in Atlanta. Maybe this would be one of those infrequent times when he woke in the morning tangled around her.
"Good night, Rhett," she whispered over her shoulder.
"Good night," he returned, keeping his voice as bland as he could.
Rhett's sleep was fitful, easily disturbed though not plagued by any further nightmares. But when he woke for the day, Scarlett was already up, a late reversal of their usual roles precipitated by the needs of their newborn daughter. He dressed in a hurry. He paused at the bedroom door to look around at the simple room, the light-colored walls taking even the weak winter light and magnifying it, making the room appear warm and brightly lit. The cradle was still positioned by her side of the bed and he crossed to it, hefted it onto his shoulder, and took it with him as he went out into the hall.
...
The train rolled through a bleak winter countryside. Bonnie, emerging victorious from a brief physical squabble with Ella over the right to look out the window from the most coveted perch on Rhett's lap, had long since fallen asleep. Her tousled head was heavy on Rhett's arm. Ella was curled against his other side, awkwardly craning her neck for a view. Wade's own seat by the window opposite had gone uncontested, lacking as it did proximity to Rhett.
Scarlett, next to her son, had ignored the boy completely, so wrapped up was she in the small burden of Alexandra on her lap. The baby, now swathed in a green knitted blanket, had hardly left her mother's arms since she was born. This turn of events had surprised everyone, though Scarlett seemed oblivious to their astonishment. Rhett could scarcely remember her taking any interest even in Bonnie. As long as she had met that need only she could provide, Scarlett had been only too happy to foist the baby off on others. On Mammy's care, on Rhett's attention, on Melanie's affection. And so even in her infancy, Rhett had drawn Bonnie's love solely to himself.
For reasons Rhett could hardly begin to guess, Scarlett's attitude towards the new baby was undeniably maternal. She was constantly engrossed in the infant, but where his own attention to Bonnie had been designed from the beginning to shut out his wife, Scarlett shared. Every expression the infant made delighted her, and she was constantly calling Rhett to her side to marvel over the appearance of a smile, the wrinkle in her nose when the baby yawned, the strength in her tiny fingers. Engrossed in the newborn, Scarlett looked as delighted as a certain young woman opening a brand new bonnet from Paris in the midst of wartime deprivation. It was both charming and unsettling, as Rhett could not help but wonder when the shoe would drop.
It did help that Alexandra had thus far been an extremely placid child. She hardly cried, and her needs were met so quickly by Scarlett or Mammy that any outburst did not last long. If she had been colicky or distempered, Rhett doubted Scarlett's patience would have endured. Even the frequent nighttime feedings did not seem to drain her as they had with Bonnie. Rhett wondered if her sleep had been that disturbed in recent months, more so than he had realized. Perhaps she was simply used to being up at all hours of the night. Or perhaps there was no reason at all beyond the novelty of the new baby, something that would fade eventually. As an explanation, that was unsatisfactory. What difference could there be between the birth of Bonnie and that of Alexandra? None that went beneath the surface of things - one child born at Tara, one in Atlanta - or that could account for such apparent happiness. Given the event of Alexandra's conception, Scarlett's response to the newborn was inexplicable - and endearing, and hopeful, and maddening. It was a mystery to Rhett, confounding him as nothing Scarlett had previously done, and he was more unsettled than he cared to admit to anyone - even to himself.
The most frustrating part of all was that her behavior with this child made him question much of the last three years. Would Scarlett have warmed to their firstborn daughter like this if he had not begun, almost from the very day of Bonnie's birth, to shut the mother out of their relationship? Rhett found himself reliving the weeks and months of Bonnie's infancy, unable to determine if Scarlett's distance and irritation could have been entirely prevented by some word or action on his part. He had even wondered if his ejection from their marital bed could have been his fault as much as hers. As soon as that thought had surfaced, he had dismissed it. She had sacrificed him at the altar of her obsession with Ashley Wilkes. That had been her decision, and hers alone. To even begin to think that he had played a part in his own demise was foolish. He was so befuddled by her recent actions he could no longer think clearly.
Scarlett lifted her head and their eyes met across the narrow train car. Caught staring, Rhett let his facial muscles relax until he was confident only the practiced mask of bland indifference would show in his demeanor. He must have been staring at her too intensely, for as his face changed so did hers. The small happy smile slipped, and she looked troubled, and very, very young. The vulnerable moment passed quickly. Scarlett's face hardened, the corners of her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as her chin lifted proudly. He noticed that her arms moved as well, shifting the baby a little bit closer, a little bit higher in her lap.
Bonnie tried to roll over in his lap, and one chubby palm smacked him on the chin. The impact was negligible; Rhett grunted in surprise and directed his attention downward, helping guide Bonnie's limbs as she sleepily rearranged them to a more comfortable position.
Rhett rubbed his chin ruefully once Bonnie was settled, and looked up again at his wife. Her eyes sparkled and she was biting her lip, trying to stifle soft laughter. Her dark green dress and lighter bonnet only enhanced the shimmering color of her eyes and set off the flush in her pale cheeks. Even at the end of her pregnancy, Scarlett hadn't been plump anywhere but her belly, but there had been, and still was, a gentle softness to her face and figure. So many years removed from that day at the jail, it still made a shocking contrast to the starved cat of a woman she had been then.
"It is a cruel wife indeed," Rhett murmured just loud enough to be heard above the noise of the train, "who laughs at the misfortunes of her husband."
A faint crease appeared between her eyebrows as Rhett watched her struggle to decide if he was teasing or if his lightly spoken words hid a more serious insult. In the end, Scarlett only shrugged and turned her head to the window. Wade lifted wide, hopeful eyes from the book open across his lap, but Scarlett took no notice.
When she again bent her head over the baby in her lap, that troubled pucker still marred her forehead.