Vignette 12
"She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?" -William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
In one hand, he fiddled with the corner of his ticket, mindlessly reading the same bleak words over and over. First Class Ticket. Sailing From Charleston. Traveling to London, England. The other hand was stuffed in his pocket, clutching the letter that had spurred the purchase, and tried tremendously not to think of things left behind, rather indulging in the smell of the sea with his mother's words embedded deep within his mind.
Dear Rhett,
I was severely disappointed when Mrs. Kennedy's aunts wrote to me of the rumors involving you two. When we last spoke, I was under the impression that there was no merit to the claims of others, but it seems it has grown into a matter I can no longer ignore. I know I have not been the best mother to you, but I was the one who raised you and cannot help but feel responsible in some part of this, thus I only hope you consider what I must say.
If you care for her as you claim, you will walk away. I know it is difficult, I know it will hurt, but it is for the best. You are no longer that young, reckless boy you were many years ago, so I expect you to not commit the same mistakes you did back then. Her aunts have informed me of her debt to her husband in saving her family's plantation and of her condition, which only deepens my concern for your attachments. Ever since you were a child, you were never one for crumbs and with a woman of her position, you will wear yourself down trying to make fragments feel whole.
Do make the right decision.
Love, Mother
Scarlett and her husband hadn't shared a bedroom in several months, except for the one night that had spurred this entire scandal, so accustomed was she to quiet nights at her vanity, keeping to herself as she brushed her hair and often dreamed of a life so unlike her reality. It was a thin line between peace and solitude, for while she escaped the awkward nights at Frank's side, she had invited the larger haunt of loneliness, a creeping sentiment that embittered her nightmares, making her jerk awake and desperate enough to want to go across the hall, into her husband's room next door. But, soon, she remembered reason and laid back, hugging her pillow tightly, imagining it was the man she had come to lean on for the past months since the raid. And soon, she would drift back to sleep.
In these moments, she made the startling realization that had pricked at her for weeks—maybe even years. The mystery of Rhett and what she had felt for him, she had always dismissed for temporary amusement or a scandalous thrill, for no other man spoke to her as he did. Love never did once cross her mind, except for a fleeting thought during the war as she found herself missing him, but that girlish boredom could not be compared to her current longing, an ache she never expected to feel for any other besides Ashley Wilkes. Even that was diminished in comparison, for with him she was able to push it to the back of her mind in his absence, but now she found Rhett in everything, reminded of him with every turn of her head.
The dress she had worn when they reclined by the water.
The scent of his handkerchief.
The empty bed.
The baby whom she wished was his.
Along this line of thinking, she treaded dangerously on the possibilities: what if Rhett had accepted her proposition at the jail cell, what if she realized she didn't love Ashley sooner, what if the war hadn't ravaged Tara, her family.
She wondered if this same yearning had poisoned him. If he too loved her as she did. If the games and pretense and tricks had all been for some deeper purpose, not a passing amusement of man to woman. If only he could speak to her without restraint, without embellishment.
As she placed down her brush, she heard the uneven footsteps on the stairs and expected them to pass by her door as they usually do.
They did not.
There was a pause that made her hold her breath. The handle turned at a snail's pace and the door creaked upon, slowly revealing the silhouette of the man, illuminated only by candlelight, casting frantic shadows all across the bedroom walls.
"What is it?" she questioned.
"Butler was here the other day. Someone saw you two on the porch after I had told you not to see him. Do you take pleasure in ruining yourself? Your family?"
Her brows creased and the listlessness borne from isolation began to thaw.
"He came of his own volition, and we had only talked briefly before I sent him away. I would hardly consider that ruining myself."
Scarlett saw that her words meant nothing to him, that he wasn't listening. From where she sat, she caught a faint whiff of the alcohol and frowned, wondering where he had been.
He continued, deliriously.
"I was the one who brought that man to Twelve Oaks that day. To think I brought on my own misery. Or perhaps I did that to myself when I agreed to marry you."
"Why did you then? What reason did you have? While you may think it unfair, I married you to save Tara."
Visibly, he winced and looked down at his feet, at the debilitating consequence of their rash behavior.
"Do you have no shame?"
"Shame? In that matter, no, we were poor and starving and I was desperate for help. I went to Rhett first, but he couldn't help me, but by chance, I bumped into you."
"I wish you hadn't. Then, I'd still have my business. My dignity," he trailed off and met her eyes. "I don't know why you didn't marry him."
"He was in jail," she replied simply.
He said nothing to that, and the silence lingered heavily in the air before his next words nearly sent her off her stool.
"Scarlett, let's admit we both made a mistake and get a divorce."
Eyes wide, she exclaimed, "A divorce!"
It was unheard of and she had never expected to hear such words uttered to the daughter of a Robillard. Her mother would be rolling in the grave—her Scarlett, a divorcée!
"Yes. You give me Ella and this baby. I don't care for the property or the mill. Of course, we can wait for the child to be born and I'll claim it as my own."
She'll be truly and irrevocably ruined. Stunned, she suddenly stood and paced about the room.
"What will people say? About you? About me?"
"You should've thought of that before you and that Butler man created this entire scandal. But, frankly, what they say will reflect more so on your character than my own. And I am tired, Scarlett. Better this than living like hateful strangers, hardly a good situation to raise children."
Her initial shock wore off, induced by years of ingrained Catholic upbringing, though the bout of giddiness she felt, she could not explain, nor the rush of impulsiveness she felt within. Something shifted, leaving a crack in the walls—an opportunity that she reached for with cunning hands.
"But on what grounds?"
"Infidelity, or can you deny that?"
She could not lie.
He let out a weary sigh and he seemed to age many years in a few minutes.
"We will talk more of this when I can think straight. Good night."
Paralyzed, she stood unmoving by the vanity as he walked away, her downturned face reflected by the trifold mirror, unable to identify each fragment of emotion as it crossed her bewildered face. The candle highlighted only a portion of her profile, harshening her already sharp features against the yellow light. Strangely, she felt liberated, though quite appalled that she did, and unthinking of the consequence, her body acted on its own as she grabbed paper nearby and began feverishly writing.
Dear Rhett,
I am still in shock as I write this, but Frank wants a divorce. I had not thought I would end up a divorced woman and I am sure Pa wishes he never let me stay in Atlanta with you.
Suddenly, your offer does not seem so unfavorable.
Yours, Scarlett
When I first started this, I thought long about whether to stay faithful to the ending in In The Mood For Love and decided that I would keep the original ending. Parallel to this chapter, in the movie, after the two realize their feelings for each other (both being married), the male protagonist asks the female lead to accompany him to Singapore, but she arrives at his hotel too late and he already departed. I wanted to keep the concepts of inopportune timing and missed chances, though, with Rhett and Scarlett's propensity for miscommunication, this outcome was not very difficult to achieve.