Sorry this wasn't posted before Christmas. Another very long chapter – again choppy, imperfect, stilted at times – so apologies for that.
Thank you to all of those that encourage me to continue. It is appreciated.
Belated Seasons Greeting/Happy Christmas to everyone and a happy new year too.
Chapter 35
When Scarlett awoke, it was past nine o'clock and the silence in the house suggested everyone else had long since started their day. She threw back the coverlet, put on her black velvet wrapper and slippers and padded anxiously down the wide hallway to Rhett's room and knocked. When he didn't answer, she tentatively opened it. He wasn't there and – more worryingly - it appeared as though he hadn't been there for a while. His bed had already been made, the curtains were pulled back and a window had been left ajar to air the room. He had already left –and then a horrible thought struck her. Perhaps he hadn't even slept here last night! Perhaps he hadn't followed her into the house after she had left him at the river. After she had left him to apologise to, and weep with, Suellen.
Scarlett ran down the staircase, her dark, tangled tresses flowing behind her, calling out for Miss Eleanor. But the house was empty apart from a tuneless humming. She followed the noise into the parlour and found Mary polishing the silver.
"Ef you is lookin' for Miss Eleanor, she out havin' some tea on the veranda," Mary said as she took in Scarlett's dishevelled appearance and frowned. "An' yo Mammy is wid Miss Eulalie an' Miss Suellen. She be bak soon."
"And Rhett?" Scarlett asked.
The maid shook her head. "Mista Rhett not here," she said and then she picked up a candlestick and starting rubbing it with an old wiry cloth which gave Scarlett her signal to leave.
Scarlett walked towards the back of the house and towards peels of soft laughter that had begun to drift through the open doors. She stepped outside and stood on the back stoop for a few moments whilst she allowed her eyes to adjust to the brightness. For a moment, she couldn't see anyone but then she spied Miss Eleanor sitting with a large, broad gentleman – who could only have been Uncle Henry - underneath a canopy in the far right corner, near the rose garden.
They both looked up as she hurried over, Miss Eleanor blushing like a young bride and Uncle Henry reaching for his handkerchief to try to conceal his own flushes of embarrassment.
"Scarlett darling," greeted Miss Eleanor after she had composed herself and smoothed out some imagined creases in her fawn day dress. "Good morning. You've slept in late. You must have needed it."
"I've slept in too late," she muttered. "Good morning Miss Eleanor. Good morning Uncle Henry." She remained rooted to the ground, suddenly shy about her inappropriate dress. She hadn't expected Uncle Henry to have been here at this hour – or at all - and she defensively crossed her arms in front of her chest. Had her uncle ever seen a woman without a corset and with so few clothes on?
"Why don't you come and join us for some tea? Have you taken breakfast yet?" Miss Eleanor asked.
"Thank you Miss Eleanor but I'm not hungry."
Scarlett looked at her uncle curiously. How close was he with Miss Eleanor? True, they had got on well in Atlanta – but had her mother-in-law made that much of an impression on him?
Eleanor must have seen Scarlett's bemused expression and cleared her throat. "Your…Uncle Henry…dropped by to see if I wanted to go to…the…ballet tonight. Isn't that kind of him to think of me?"
"Yes. Very kind," Scarlett said automatically, wondering how quickly she could bring up the subject of Rhett and where he was. Ordinarily, she might have been interested in Uncle Henry and Miss Eleanor's social life, but every second she was stuck here, forced to engage in inane chatter, was delaying her search for her husband.
"The daughter of an old friend of Carlton's used to be a ballerina," Miss Eleanor babbled on. "She's recently moved over from Paris and she has helped put on a production of La…La…Sylphide at the theatre. I think that's what it's called. And your uncle wondered if I wanted to go."
"And you, of course, Scarlett," said Uncle Henry in his unmistakeable gruff tone. "You and Rhett are welcome to come too."
"Wherever Rhett is," Scarlett muttered quietly.
"Sorry dear?" Miss Eleanor asked.
"Nothing…I…well…I think…" She was in no mood for anything as frivolous as a ballet. "Thank you Uncle Henry for the offer but I don't think it would be quite appropriate for me to go – what with Carreen and-"
"Aah yes. Yes of course," Uncle Henry blustered. "You are quite right."
"Maybe we shouldn't go?" suggested Miss Eleanor, looking at Henry.
"Don't be silly," said Scarlett. "You should go. And then you can tell me about it tomorrow."
For a few moments, Scarlett stared at the elderly woman, suddenly aware of the facial features that her husband shared with her – and that her daughter, too, had shared. The same same shaped eyes, the same straight nose, the same high forehead. Would Bonnie have aged like Miss Eleanor – if she had been allowed to get old? If she had been allowed to live?
"Where's Rhett, Miss Eleanor?" she finally asked.
Eleanor rubbed her hands together nervously. "I'm not entirely sure my dear. He left early this morning – about seven o'clock - just as I was taking breakfast."
"I see," said Scarlett. At least he had stayed in the house last night, she thought. But as she digested the news, any relief that came with knowing that he hadn't spent the night with another woman, evaporated and in its place she felt an ache. So he hadn't wanted to spend today with her, not even the morning and he obviously couldn't wait to escape her presence. She had thought that something had shifted last night between them, some of their own defences had crumbled, but she must have misread him.
Her expression must have betrayed her hurt. "Scarlett my dear. I think he just wanted to get on with his day-"
"Did he tell you where he went?" Scarlett mumbled.
Miss Eleanor exchanged an embarrassed look with Henry. "Not exactly."
"Well then," said Scarlett as she slumped into a chair, crushed, like a weary warrior that knows defeat. "He's just…" but her voice trailed off. She couldn't voice exactly what she thought of him to his mother. She couldn't scream and rail about how selfish he was, how today wasn't only about him. She swallowed her anger as she twisted her wedding ring absentmindedly. "I'll go over to Aunt 'Lalie's," she said after a while with a determined glint in her eye. "And I'll spend some time with Suellen. She'll be heading back this evening. And then I'll go to the train depot and arrange my own passage home. I should be getting back to Atlanta. I can't leave the children for long. Wade starts school again next week and I should be there." She bit her lip and turned away to look towards the river, her eyes falling on the same spot that she had stood with her husband just over twelve hours ago. Her eyes smarted with tears but she managed to hold them back. He wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it. Who cared if he was hurting today? How naïve of her to think that she might have been able to comfort him!
Suddenly, she felt Eleanor by her side, her smooth, kind face looking beseechingly at Scarlett's. "Oh my dear Scarlett," she said, embracing her tightly. "I know how horrible today must be for you. You're always so brave."
"Honestly, Miss Eleanor," she said, trying to wriggle out of her arms. "I'm fine. I don't-"
"I think I might know where Rhett might have gone. I can't be certain but I think I have a good idea."
Scarlett looked at her, some of her old fighting spirit re-entering her body. If her husband didn't need her or want her, then she most certainly didn't need or want him. "Miss Eleanor, quite frankly, if Rhett had wanted to spend the day or even the morning with me, he would have waited until a more civilised hour before leaving the house."
"Scarlett darling, maybe he doesn't know what he wants. And maybe you need to help him decide what he wants. Remember what I told you in June? You have to be the one to persist. He's been so…so… restless since October, even more so since Ella and Wade came to stay. Men are never very good with their emotions," she said, conveniently forgetting Henry's presence, "And Rhett is probably one of the worst. They don't know how to handle them. They lash out when they don't mean to, they get angry when they just want love, they refuse to cry, even if something is breaking them. They refuse to forgive and forget even when they are at fault, too." She stopped her soliloquy and then cupped Scarlett's face. "Rhett came back from New Orleans didn't he to be with you for yesterday? That should tell you something – that despite what he might say, he wanted to see you. He didn't have to come back. I had only written to him that Carreen was very ill and that I expected you would be in Charleston before too long. I didn't tell him to come back." She stood up. "Now, my dear, let me ask Mary to prepare a picnic for the two of you and then you can take it to where I think Rhett is. Your Uncle Henry will drive you there – I don't want you getting lost."
Scarlett furrowed her brow, feeling as though she was being backed into a corner. "Miss Eleanor, I'd really rather not. I'd prefer to-"
"Now Scarlett," Uncle Henry said, suddenly looming over her. "Don't talk nonsense. Miss Eleanor is quite right-"
"I'm not-"
"Scarlett, I'm asking you-"
"Please Uncle Henry. You don't understand-"
"I understand perfectly. And if I have to drag you down there, I will. Now, please go and get ready."
"Uncle Henry, I'm not going-"
"Scarlett!" Uncle Henry admonished again. "Please! Think of Wade and Ella. It's not just about you any more – if it ever was. You owe it to them to try and rebuild some sort of relationship with your husband. Go and…erm…get dressed…and I'll ask Clarence to ready the buggy and I'll drive you to where we think Rhett is myself." Scarlett didn't move.
"Scarlett, I don't ask you to do much," Henry said impatiently. Scarlett looked at him, wondering what he would do if she disobeyed him. There was something in his countenance that she hadn't seen before and as she stared into his eyes, she saw steely determination. The same steeliness that Melly had possessed. And then she thought of Melly. Melly would be forcing her to go. Melly would be driving her, herself, if she had had to.
She threw up her hands in defeat. "Alright. You can take me. But if he isn't there – wherever there is – then I am going to spend the day with my aunts and Suellen and then I'll leave Charleston tomorrow."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scarlett dressed – with Mary's assistance – and then met her uncle at the stables. "How do you know where Rhett is?" she asked, as Henry took the reins from Clarence and cracked the whip on the horse's backside.
"Rhett took me there in July," and then realising what he had said, he began to clarify, "What I mean is, I happened to be…erm…passing through…Charleston…and-"
"I know what you mean, Uncle Henry," Scarlett said, as they turned left out of the grounds of Wycliffe House, and impulsively she leaned in to kiss his whiskery cheek. "I love Miss Eleanor and I love you and I think it's wonderful that you get on so well together. You're like a second father to me and if you and Miss Eleanor ever decided to get married-"
"Now, Miss. We'll have none of that talk. We are just…erm…friends."
"Exactly, just friends, Uncle Henry," Scarlett ribbed before an old memory flooded back to her and her countenance changed to melancholy and regret. "I was just friends with Rhett too," she said quietly, as the buggy turned left onto Battery Street. "Before we got married. He was my best friend. Him and Melly. Maybe you shouldn't get married. Maybe you should just remain friends with Miss Eleanor."
"I'm not Rhett, Scarlett," Uncle Henry said equally quietly.
"Thank goodness. One blackguard is enough in any family." She laughed but she didn't feel joyful.
"Miss Eleanor was right. Rhett is hurting and he doesn't know how to deal with it – other than to drink whisky and travel to places that don't remind him of Bonnie – or you."
Scarlett raised her eyebrows. "Uncle Henry, if that was really true, why was he in New Orleans?"
"I think he had some business to tidy up there. I don't think he went by choice."
A silence fell between them as Scarlett contemplated his words. She wondered if Uncle Henry had heard of the rumours swirling round Rhett and his relationship with Hélène. It was certainly possible. Especially as he had taken to whiling away his time in Charleston. He didn't gossip – certainly not with her – but he certainly listened and he always seemed to have his pulse on what was happening. If Rhett had taken up with a new woman, he would surely know about it. She dug her nails into her palm bracing herself for whatever revelations her uncle would reveal.
"Uncle Henry?"
"Yes, Scarlett?"
"About Rhett. Well, is he…" she paused for a moment, wondering how to phrase her question without scandalising her uncle. But then she shrugged her shoulders. She would have to be direct. "Is he…courting…anyone?"
Uncle Henry slowly swivelled his head towards her. "Courting?" he said, his eyes wide and incredulous.
"Yes," said Scarlett. "Courting."
Uncle Henry frowned, his whole face screwing up. "He's married to you, Scarlett. What a silly question."
"I know he's married to me, Uncle Henry, but well…you know…" She looked at his inquisitive face as though he wasn't quite sure what blasphemy might trip off her tongue. Then she whispered – even though there was no one around. "You well know, Uncle Henry, that we haven't exactly been living in the same house recently, or even the same city. And I…well…it's just that I heard…" She stopped again, not quite able to levy the accusation about her husband. She heard her uncle sigh.
"Yes?"
Scarlett swallowed. It was now or never. She looked directly at her uncle, into his disbelieving eyes that were the same shade as Charlie's had been and the same shade as Wade's and breathed in before speaking quickly. "I heard that he was spending a lot of time with a French lady. A French ballerina. Hélène. Or that's what I think her name is." There! She had asked the question – albeit in a roundabout way - that she had been wanting to ask ever since she had heard the two old biddies on the train gossiping about her husband.
"And?" he said calmly.
And! What did he mean and? Did he think it was acceptable for her estranged husband to be escorting a woman around town who was not his wife?
"He's been courting Hélène," Scarlett said.
"Hélène?"
The tone of his voice surprised her, as though he knew the lady in question.
"Yes. Hélène," Scarlett repeated.
"Hélène?"
"Yes!" Scarlett replied impatiently. How many more times did that name have to be repeated. She straightened her back. "I need to know. I'm not going to get a straight answer from Rhett and I…well…I have a right to know."
"Wherever did you hear any of this nonsense?"
Nonsense? This wasn't nonsense. "It doesn't matter," Scarlett replied. She stared at her uncle – but his mien surprised her – he didn't look shocked or embarrassed as she might have expected him to. "So who is she and…and…" What exactly did she want to know? Whether she was his new lover, his new mistress? Whether he was going to move to Paris with her as those ladies had intimated?
"Hélène, my dear Scarlett, is the daughter of an old friend of Rhett's father. She is the lady who has been organising the production of the ballet that I am taking Miss Eleanor to see tonight. So, Rhett has certainly seen her and spent some time with her. I believe he might have even taken her to the theatre one evening. But that's about it."
"That's about it?" Scarlett repeated quietly.
"There's nothing more to add, Scarlett. At least so far as I am aware and I am sure if you asked Rhett he would tell you the same thing. Perhaps she has also been to supper a couple of times with Rhett and Miss Eleanor. I might have missed that modicum of detail." She heard the sarcasm in his voice but chose to ignore it.
"So he's not in love with her?"
Henry started laughing, softly at first before it developed into his familiar hearty laugh. His body shook as Scarlett looked on in growing irritation. None of this was funny. Not really. Perhaps Uncle Henry didn't know. Perhaps Rhett had pulled the wool over his eyes as he had over his mother's. Oh, she had been stupid to raise it. She should have left well alone. Rhett never confided in anyone and she strongly doubted he had made old Henry Hamilton his confidant.
"I don't think I'll ever understand women," Henry said when he had caught his breath and then he started laughing again, leaving Scarlett with no better understanding of Rhett's relationship with Hélène than she had had at the beginning of the journey.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They drove over four miles, traversing some of the main thoroughfares of Charleston before turning a sharp left and snaking through some narrower roads which had fewer but larger houses on them and then finally driving on a dirt track. "Here we are," said Henry bringing the horse and buggy to a halt.
"Here?" asked Scarlett. "Where?" She couldn't see anything, except masses of trees. She was in the middle of nowhere.
"There," he said pointing to a narrow walkway that had been cut through the trees and long grasses. "Take the path. It will get narrower before it gets wider. It'll take you about ten minutes to walk and when you finally get to the end, you'll see an old house – an old plantation – nothing too grand but with wonderful views over the Ashley River. I'll wait here for a while and if you don't come back after half an hour, I'll go back."
"And Rhett owns all of this?"
"Yes."
Scarlett shook her head in astonishment. Her husband owned all this land and she hadn't even known about it before today. He was as enigmatic to her now as he had been thirteen years ago. She had known he had bought his mother her house but she hadn't known that he had bought this property too. What other land did he own? she mused. It sometimes felt that everyone else knew far more about her husband than she did. Or maybe they had cared to know more about him than she had ever cared to?
"But what…what…if I get lost? Please won't you come with me, Uncle Henry?" The idea of being alone with her husband wasn't appealing.
"No my dear. It's better if you go alone. You don't want an old codger like me getting in the way. Rhett will be there. I'm almost certain of it." He nudged her shoulder and Scarlett jumped down from the buggy, grabbing the picnic basket and started down the path.
She walked along it, trampling some of the grasses that had begun to creep across it, wondering if Rhett really would be at the end of this journey. She tripped over some loose pebbles and in her battle to rebalance herself, she fell onto a bush, catching the fabric of her skirt in its prickles and causing it to tear slightly at the waist. "Damn," she muttered and blinked away some tears which had seemingly sprung from nowhere. She felt overwrought and…and… tired – which she didn't understand. How could she be so tired when she had slept in so late? But then she remembered the disrupted night, the harrowing and very real dreams, and Rhett's accusing words rotating in her mind. If he had hated her that much, it was because she had made him hate her that much – and if Rhett thought he had killed their daughter, then she too had blood on her hands.
She walked more carefully, and when she turned a corner, she heard the sound of water, like the sound of a small waterfall. She must be getting closer. But she still couldn't see any life or see that anyone else had been here before her. Perhaps Miss Eleanor and Uncle Henry had been wrong. Perhaps Rhett wasn't here. Perhaps he wasn't even in Charleston. Perhaps he was already on his way to Atlanta, or New Orleans, or Paris – or wherever it was that he wanted to escape to. And again she felt the sting of tears on her lashes.
The path – which had become no more than a two foot dirt track - veered to the right and then to the left and then seemed to double back on itself. Her back ached from carrying the basket and so she put it down to catch her breath and stretch. When she looked up again, she finally saw what she had been looking for. There, amongst the brambles and heavily leafed trees was a clearing and on it stood a large building and several crumbling, smaller buildings. She walked a few more steps and almost stepped in some fresh horse dung. She breathed a sigh of relief. Someone at least had been here not too long ago. And surely no one else would risk trespassing on property that belonged to Rhett Butler.
It was peaceful, she could hear the birds chirping and there were lots of wild flowers – bluebells, foxgloves, forget-me-nots – in a rainbow of colours that wove their way round the roots of the trees. When she reached the clearing, she stopped again and took in the beauty of the place – the formal garden at the front of the house, had long been reclaimed by nature, the only evidence of its prior existence, a small overgrown box hedge and some straggly, untended rose bushes. Dense ivy had grown up all along the left side of the white washed house, sucking out any remaining air from the brickwork and underneath a couple of windows on the second storey a creamy honeysuckle had made its home. To the left, there was a decaying stable block – and a flat rectangular space that at one time, must have been a training yard for horses.
She looked at the house again – with half its shutters hanging off their hinges and paint peeling at the door and window frames. It might be in need of a lick of paint or two and a carpenter but she could see it had a charm about it that some of the grander houses lacked. And then she saw Rhett's horse, tied up against a willow tree in the shade, gnawing at some grass, and a jacket thrown casually over a bush. She walked a few more paces towards the building and then put the picnic basket down behind a wall, before self-doubt once again took over. Now that she was here, she felt her heart begin to race in anticipation. Was he going to be pleased to see her? Or was he going to be irritated by her presence?
The sound of a loud splash momentarily startled her. She turned round to where the noise had come from and saw a dark head bobbing in the water. She stood still, waiting, and wishing that she could disguise her emotions as well as him. She shuffled slightly to the left, so that she was partly in the shade and when she glanced back to the river, she saw her husband climb out and walk towards her ruffling his hair with a towel. He was naked from the waist up, the matted, black, hairs on his chest glistening in the midday sun. He had some peculiar trousers on that were woven tightly round his legs but were torn at the knee and only came to his calf. Who would have thought that her husband - who was always so particular about his attire - even owned clothes like these?
"So you found me," he pronounced when he finally stood before her. He was only a few feet from her but she couldn't tell what mood he was in. His face was as blank as the right wall of the house. She squinted in the sun taking in his lithe, strong body, every sinew of muscle in evidence. She hadn't seen him in this state of undress since…since April and before that for ever so long.
"I hadn't realised this was a game of hide and seek Rhett," she replied tartly.
"I could hide from you if I really wanted to," he said in a flat tone, but then he smiled at her and she felt able to breathe. Hopefully that was the last of his unkind words.
"I hope I'm not intruding," she said rather inadequately, not exactly sure how to justify her presence. He offered her no reassurance. Instead, he looked her up and down and then looked around her – as though he was checking to see if she was alone. "So you didn't go into town after all," she continued, when he remained mute.
"No."
"You didn't…wait…for me either though?"
"No." She bristled at the terseness of his response.
"I…well…" she paused, debating whether to offer to leave – which was blatantly what he wanted. Why did he always make it so difficult? Why couldn't he just hold her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be alright and help her forget about today? It was just as hard for her, maybe even harder. She had carried Bonnie for those nine months, she had gone through the nausea, the distortions of her body, the pain of labour. She had loved her too – maybe not so manifestly as he had done but she had loved her too. She bit her lip and swallowed her pride - Uncle Henry's and Miss Eleanor's words ringing in her ears.
"I thought you might have gone to Atlanta," she finally offered. "Because you might have felt closer to her there." He looked at her, as though he was waiting for her to continue speaking. "I'm...well…I'm pleased you didn't. I'm pleased you're still here."
"It was too late. I couldn't make the train last night. I was five minutes too late." His words stung her and she turned her head away from him, her eyes betraying her hurt. Why couldn't he pretend for once, that he hadn't wanted to leave her on her own today? He had lied so frequently to her – what was one more lie? She counted to ten and then turned back to his inscrutable face. But something flickered in the back of her eyes which gave her the courage to persevere. Perhaps, despite everything, he did want her to be here. Was that the reason he had chosen a place where he knew he could be found?
"Do you mind if I stay, Rhett?" she said when she had pushed down the tears. "I thought we could eat together." She looked at the partly hidden basket. "Your mother packed us a picnic."
He smirked and then he looked at her and his blandness – his own emptiness - stirred the fire inside of her.
"You know what Rhett? It's not just about you. I hurt too. She wasn't just your daughter. I lost a child too." Her voice shook with anger, hurt and pain and when she looked at him, through her own blurred vision, she saw that his eyes were red rimmed and misty too. He still didn't say anything and as the seconds became minutes, so her own self-confidence ebbed away. What was she doing here? She could still leave on the same train that was going to take Suellen back to Jonesboro. She could be with her children tomorrow, instead of being stuck with this impudent man. She would prefer to be anywhere but here.
"Forget it Rhett! I'm leaving. I have people to visit who would welcome my company and I have plenty of other things to do. Including buying my train ticket for tom-"
"Don't leave, Scarlett." He caught her arm. "Please?" His eyes looked so sad, so full of unhappiness that immediately her ire melted. "I'm sorry," and by his soulful expression, he appeared genuine.
She sighed. "Alright then. But Rhett, please. No nastiness. I can't bear it from you, least of all today. And if you want me to leave, just ask nicely and I will leave. I certainly don't want to impose my presence on you if it isn't welcome."
He kicked some dust away with his bare feet.
After a while, he spoke again. "Mother told you about this place, then?"
"Yes. And Uncle Henry." He looked surprised. "Your mother thought you might be here and so Uncle Henry brought me."
"I bought it years ago with the notion of fixing it up. Or tearing it down and starting again," he said after a while, looking back at the decaying building – that wasn't exactly a mansion but was far larger than a cottage. "But I never moved back to Charleston – until October. And now I rather like its broken charm." He draped his damp towel over a small mulberry bush to dry but didn't make any move to put on his shirt. And then he picked up a flask - of water? - and drained it. "Sorry, Scarlett, I am forgetting my manners. Would you like a drink?"
"I have some lemonade in the basket." She looked over her shoulder towards the wicker case. "Your mother insisted I take some."
"How…thoughtful of her," he said.
He went over to his jacket, still shirtless, his trousers dripping wet, and took out a cigar from his case, struck a match and lit it. Then he took out a small whisky flask and put it to his lips. She saw him swallow a couple of times and then replace the lid. He walked back over and stood by her side, taking in the panorama. It was so serene, calm, quiet. She could understand why he had come to this place. It was like being in another world. Like Tara was for her.
"I used to meet my mother here during the war, clandestinely." He fleered as though he was remembering something. "When my father refused to allow me to even cross the threshold of the house I had grown up in." There was a bitterness in his tone. "You see, you weren't the first person to ban me from-"
"Rhett!" Scarlett cried. "Please-"
"-and I stumbled across this place and just before the war broke out, I tracked down the owner and bought it. I'm not sure why, really. Probably because you have to know about it to find it. I like its solitude." He puffed on his cigar and then turned round to properly face her, studying her clothes. She had on an ill-fitting black gown, that she had worn when she had first mourned Bonnie, and she was conscious it emphasised her thinness. The fabric was too warm for these climes at this time of the year and she felt the beads of perspiration gathering on her forehead. She fumbled at the clasp of her reticule, which was hanging from her arm, and took out a handkerchief to mop her brow.
"Scarlett," he said after she had replaced the handkerchief. "Why don't you take your bonnet off." His eyes fell to the floor. "And your stockings and shoes. If you want. It's so hot and you must be…erm…uncomfortable."
"I'm fine, Rhett."
"No one's going to see you. Except me. And I've seen you with a lot less cloth-"
"Alright Rhett," Scarlett snapped. Why did he always like to tease her? "I'll take them off. And whilst I take them off, maybe you could put a shirt on. It's really quite distracting."
He cocked his eyebrows in that irritating way of his and then walked into the house, straight past his shirt that was hanging over a wall. When he came out, still only half dressed, he was carrying two brown and black chequered blankets. "I imagine you will want to sit in the shade," he said as he smoothed them out under the trees.
She shrugged but moved to where he had placed them and sat down. "Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Not particularly." He paused as he looked back towards the river, once again turning away from her, hiding his face. "I think I might fish for a bit and then cook what I catch."
Rhett moved a couple of paces and then he stopped. "Today's a strange day, isn't it?" he said quietly, the pain catching in his throat. "I'm not exactly sure what I thought I would feel. Apart from regret and impotence."
Scarlett stood up and walked over towards him. She wanted to touch him but she resisted. He was in an unpredictable mood – he might take her in his arms but more likely, he would shake her off. Instead, she whispered. "It's not like her birthday is it? Because on her birthday we would have… celebrated it if she had been alive. This is a day that would have passed like any other day if she hadn't…had her accident. And now it's another day in the year that is…painful – has its own horrible significance. And if Bonnie hadn't died we would treat it like any other day. It wouldn't mean anything to us."
He didn't move for a few seconds and then he slowly pivoted round and looked into his wife's green, glassy eyes. "That's a perceptive comment, Scarlett. For you."
She scowled at him but just before she could conjure up some sort of acidic retort, he suddenly changed his tone and said, "Why don't you sit next to me and put your feet in the water to cool down?" She looked up at him, to see if he was joking but she could detect no mirth.
She shrugged. "I forgot to bring a parasol. I'll burn in this sun."
"There's an old umbrella inside the house. I'll go and get that for you. My fishing rod is over there." He gesticulated to the right. "Go and settle yourself there and I'll be with you shortly."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rhett fished whilst Scarlett watched, relishing the feel of the cold the water on her legs and trying to keep still so that the fish weren't scared away.
They didn't speak and when she stole the occasional look at her husband, he was staring into the distance, with the same dazed expression he had worn for much of yesterday.
After half an hour, Rhett reeled in his line and walked over to a small, stone stove that was close to the blankets and lit a fire to cook the four fish he had caught. Scarlett returned to the rugs and spread out the food that Mary had packed for them – breads, cheese, tomatoes, chicken – before lying back and watching as Rhett cooked.
They ate awkwardly together, neither seeming to know what protocol they should be adhering to and then Rhett went into the house and brought out a bottle of burgundy, opened it and poured both of them a healthy measure. "What else have you got in the house, Rhett?" Scarlett asked as he handed her a glass.
"A few provisions. An old mattress, some old furniture. Not much. I don't stay in there but I keep some food and wine and whisky – just in case. Like today." Scarlett sipped the wine and then lay back on the soft floor. She already felt sleepy and it wasn't even two o'clock – but the heat was draining all her energy. She closed her eyes and then she heard Rhett lie back too.
"Who do you think Bonnie would have married?" Scarlett asked after a while.
He contemplated her question before replying. "No one."
"Of course she would have married someone!" Scarlett chided. "She would have had every man falling at her feet."
"Oh, I don't dispute that, darling," he said. "But she wouldn't have married anyone."
"Why ever not?"
"Because no one would have been good enough for her."
"Good enough for you, you mean," Scarlett retorted.
He chuckled. "Didn't I hear you once say that you didn't much like being married? Why wouldn't your daughter have had the same sentiments?"
"When I said that, Rhett, I didn't really know what marriage was about or what love was. Despite everything, it would have been…" She thought for a moment of a life without Rhett. "It would have been pretty lonely without you."
"Just lonely?"
"Yes. Lonely." She suddenly felt melancholy about their own lost chances and she hadn't wanted to today. She turned on her side, trying to put some distance between herself and her naked husband. How she wanted to crawl into his arms and lay her head on his chest. No one had ever given the security he had when they had lain together in bed in the honeymoon period of their marriage. "I miss you, Rhett," she whispered barely audibly – the wine loosening her tongue. She had missed his company in a way that she would never have thought possible when they had first got married.
She heard him get up, the parched leaves crunching underneath his feet and she knew she had said too much and made him feel uncomfortable. She slowly turned her body round to face where he had lain, and saw him groping for his cigars. He was still using the same cigar case, the one she had given him for their wedding. The one she had enscribed on it To Rhett with love even if the words hadn't quite had the same resonance then as they now held. Finally, he walked back over and re-took his position and she inched ever so slightly closer to him.
"Who do you think that she would have married, Scarlett?" he said, when he was once again, lying on his side, smoking a cigar. "You've obviously thought about it."
"Beau."
"Beau?"
Scarlett nodded, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. He fell back onto the blanket, his eyes staring up at the leaves. "No."
A puzzled expression crossed her brow. "Why ever not? Because he wasn't rich enough?"
"Not at all. To use the old cliché, money doesn't buy you happiness, now does it?"
"No. No it doesn't," said Scarlett thoughtfully. Had she ever been more unhappy now that she had all the money she could possibly ever need? She thought back to her high spirited daughter. "I think he would have been a good match for her, Rhett. And he is a member of two of the oldest families in the South. I think Melly would have approved."
"Yes, but he had Ashley Wilkes for a father. And that man haunted my marriage enough without haunting my dotage too." He paused. "Bonnie Wilkes?" he said contemplating the name, and then he laughed. "To think that Ashley and I might have had common grandchildren."
"But you liked Melly-"
"Naturally. Was there not a person in this world who didn't like Miss Melly – even you came to your senses at the end." She ignored his barb. "But Beau would still have been half Wilkes. No, I'm sticking to my theory that she would never have married."
"So what would Bonnie have done then, if she wouldn't have married?"
"She would have travelled the world with me. I would have taken her to Europe and North Africa, perhaps she would have studied at Girton College in Cambridge. She might have been a surgeon, or lawyer. Or a scientist like Mary Somerville."
"Would I have travelled with you, too?" Scarlett asked quietly.
"You would have been invited-"
"I would have gone too, then," said Scarlett. She paused for a moment, watching a leaf float slowly to the ground. "I think we would have had other children, Rhett. If…if Bonnie hadn't died." Rhett remained motionless. "Bonnie would have made a good big sister. She would have been so bossy. Look at how she used to order Ella and even Wade around sometimes."
"I don't know Scarlett."
"Well, I like to think that we would have had other children," she said emphatically before rolling over on her side, away from him.
"What makes you so certain?"
"Because I realised I loved you."
"But I had fallen out of love with you," he said softly.
"I would have cast a spell on you Rhett and crawled my way back into your bed," she said with a little sigh and then he rolled onto his back and laughed. Not the spiteful, mocking laugh that she was used to but a real, sincere laugh – one that she hadn't heard since the early days of their marriage when he had used to rib her good naturedly.
"You know, Rhett, after we…well after you left in April, I thought I might have been…well, I thought for a week or so that I might be pregnant."
"And?" he asked quietly.
"Well, of course I wasn't…but…" She paused, unsure about how to continue. She didn't want to talk of how she had hoped she had been pregnant, how bereft she had felt when her monthly course had finally arrived, how she had held out hope that a new baby might have brought them back together.
He exhaled. "Scarlett, that was one of the reasons I wanted someone to keep an eye on you. Or – as you had put it – spy on you. Because I hadn't been careful. We hadn't been careful. I hadn't exactly expected to be back in your bed those nights."
"So, that's why you spoke with Maybelle and then Uncle Henry."
"The other way round. I spoke to Uncle Henry and then, when I thought about it, I thought that you might confide in Maybelle about any pregnancy. I didn't tell them that was why I wanted them to keep an eye on you – and it wasn't the only reason – but I knew that if you had been pregnant, one of them would have told me."
"And you would have come back?" she asked hopefully.
He avoided her question. "I just…wanted to know."
"So that was the reason you asked them to look out for me?"
"It wasn't the only reason. But it was one of the reasons. You had seemed so fragile, like some sort of broken bird. And I realised afterwards that my behaviour hadn't helped. I might be a cad but I certainly hadn't intended to upset you as much as I did." He paused and inhaled on his cigar. "Despite what you think, I do care about you."
The word cut her and she grimaced. "But that's all?" she asked bravely.
"Well, sometimes I forget myself and desire you. It's not hard having you in my bed. I expect most men would feel the same." He raised his eyebrows at her and she coloured. "And I admire you, Scarlett. And I like you, too. Especially when I hear of what has been happening in Atlanta since I left. So yes, I do like you." Which was two letters short of the feeling she wanted him to emote.
Scarlett suddenly sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. The sun was still high in the sky, still intense and she wondered how much longer he intended to stay here. She sighed. He had been right. This was a peculiar day. She pushed herself to her feet and stretched and then took a couple of steps towards the wicker basket to retrieve some lemonade. But the sweet liquid didn't parch her thirst or cool her body temperature so she walked over to the river and ran her bare feet across the surface, dipping them in at the end, wetting the bottom of the dress. Then she went back to the blankets where Rhett was still propped up. He was watching her with an odd intensity.
"Do you remember how she loved water?" Rhett asked, when Scarlett had settled herself near to him again.
Scarlett nodded.
"She was a true water-baby and she used to love splashing about in her bath. Mammy and I would always get wet. I took her here once – the water can get quite shallow – and tried to teach her to swim. But she wasn't quite old enough. I promised her that we would come back when she was older-" He stopped speaking abruptly, as though he had realised the significance of what he had just said.
"She loved you so much," Scarlett hiccoughed, the pain of lost love rising within her.
"She loved you too." Scarlett's eyes shot up to scrutinise his face. "I realised just how much when we were here in Charleston. She couldn't wait to get back to you. Almost every day, she asked where you were and if you were coming. She talked about you all the time. Mother this, mother that." He let out a contorted laugh. "She kept on saying "We have to tell Mother that." And she wanted to buy you everything. Trinkets, jewellery…" he trailed off as Scarlett wondered what had become of the keep sakes. "She missed you." He paused. "I missed you too."
Scarlett laughed but her cheeks suddenly felt wet and then Rhett leaned over her and pushed the hair out of her eyes.
"She loved you Scarlett."
"What? Someone who's mothering skills are inferior to a cat's?" she retorted half in jest but the memory of the remark still painful for her. Rhett took in a deep breath.
"She loved you, Scarlett," he repeated and when she looked into his large black eyes, there was no derision or untruth.
"She loved you more, Rhett," and then Scarlett started to cry, silently, allowing the tears to roll down her cheeks, onto the woollen carpet. She moved her head so that she wasn't facing him and then rolled over to her side.
"Scarlett," Rhett whispered. When she didn't answer she heard him roll over towards her and then she felt his arms go round her. "Darling, love comes in all different shapes and sizes. You'd never had to share either of Ella's or Wade's loyalty or love before because Charles and Frank died too soon. It was always going to be different with Bonnie. Especially as I was determined to spoil her. But it doesn't mean she loved you any the less. I remember coming home once after I had been…" He stopped suddenly. "Well, it doesn't matter where I had been. I had got home far later than I had intended and you were both curled up on the large window seat in the nursery, with a book open and she was fast asleep on your bosom and you had nodded off too. It must have been a couple of months before she died. That was when I realised that a child's bond with her mother is unique and special. However much I had tried to…" He stopped again and leaned over her, into her watery, green eyes, as though he was wondering how honest he should be. Then he grimaced at the memory of his own bad behaviour, "However much I tried to break that bond, it couldn't be broken. I guess some bonds can't be. Broken that is."
Scarlett's tears dripped onto the rugs and then she dragged a corner up of the scratchy material and wiped her face.
"Do you know what keeps me up at night, Scarlett? Worry that I will forget her! It seems crazy."
"No. It's…it's not crazy," she whispered, interspersed with little convulsions.
"I worry that I will forget what she smelt like. Or what her laugh was like. Or how soft her hair was. Or how blue her eyes were. Or how her fingers felt when they were wrapped around me. They were so delicate – piano playing fingers I always thought – incongruous when compared to the rest of her plump body."
"I worry that I will forget all of that too," Scarlett said softly. "I sometimes close my eyes and I can see her, or hear her. But I know in time that will fade. I used to worry about that with my mother. That I would forget her. And now, I can barely remember the sound of my mother's voice and I am not sure I can remember exactly how she laughed." And then she started to cry again, soft, hiccoughing sobs. Rhett looked at her, deliberating his actions, and then instinctively, he reached out and pulled her to him. "Come here," he said and she shifted her body towards his and allowed him to hold her.
After a while, he started stroking her head and she felt his embrace tighten. "I'm sorry, Scarlett," he whispered into her hair.
"For what?" she murmured, enjoying his touch and her proximity to him. This was how they should have comforted each other a year ago.
"For lots of things. For leaving early this morning and for…" She felt his rib cage contract as he breathed in. "For lots of things," he repeated.
"That's alright. I understand, Rhett. I'm not the most soothing person."
"And I'm not always, either." There was a hush but she felt he hadn't quite finished speaking. She kept silent and then he spoke again. "I'm sorry…" he began again. "For saying those awful things on the stairs when Bonnie and I came back from Charleston. I'm not sure I can ever really forgive myself – especially, now that I know you had wanted the baby." She wriggled out of his embrace so that she could properly look at him. There was no mistaking his contrition.
"I've forgiven you, Rhett. I forgave you a long time ago," she said. "And it wasn't entirely your fault. I provoked you Rhett. And I lied. I did so want your child. I wish I hadn't said what I had said. You never doubted that the baby was yours, did you?"
He shook his head.
"Thank you. I've often wondered. I mean, when I was ill I wondered if that was why you didn't come and see me – because you also believed the gossip that the baby wasn't yours."
"I didn't see you because I was too cowardly, Scarlett, and I needed to know that you wanted to see me. And for a long time, I thought I had killed you." She lay her head back on his chest, absorbing his words. She had one more question that she wanted to ask and yet didn't quite feel brave enough to but when she felt him nuzzle her neck, she decided to risk it. She knew he didn't like talking of his dead love for her, but she needed to know.
"You…you still loved me? Then? When I was ill?" she said in a hushed tone and then she tilted her head back and flicked her eyes up to his swarthy face to monitor his response.
He nodded.
"I loved you too. Then. I loved you too," she replied.
I don't think Rhett really thought that Bonnie would never marry – but I am sure that he would have played different scenarios in his head for what her life might have been. And I've always been curious about when Rhett actually stopped loving Scarlett – if he did. Was it when Bonnie died, or had he stopped loving her before but just went along with their relationship for the sake of Bonnie?
Sorry that some of you don't like Rhett here - I have obviously failed because I am trying to show that they are both taking steps towards reconciling. And he didn't tell Scarlett he didn't love her. They both admitted that they had missed each other (albeit at different points in the timeline), that they had loved each other at the same time - though neither knew it. They are getting there.