Chapter 5 – Between Heaven and Hell
When Rhett was finally unshackled from Frank Kennedy in Jonesboro, he quickly hopped the next train to Atlanta, arriving just before midnight. It had been a long day and while tired, Rhett believed the cause for his drowsiness was more than likely Frank Kennedy's company. He acted on him just like a sedative and now that he was free from his droning voice, Rhett felt himself coming awake. In fact, he was restless with a pent up nervous energy that prompted him to check into the Atlanta Hotel only to exit through the lobby moments later to take a brisk walk through the city's streets.
At this time of night, the only sound in the dark night was the rhythmic clicks of his boots on the wooden sidewalks, the sporadic cat-call from a drunk calling to a real or imagined associate down on the street and the faint sound of a fiddle playing in one of the brothels in the red light district further up the street. In the affable silence, Rhett's mind drifted back to the green-eyed vixen who had helped make the last day and a half speed by. He felt a familiar tightening in his loins just at the memory of her dazzling green eyes. His mind and his body remembered her lithe form, how her body molded to his, how soft and creamy the skin on her shoulders felt under his fingertips and how he longed to—
God, he was tense! His fists were clenched in his pockets. When he realized how tight his shoulders and neck felt and discovered the tension ran down his arms, he pulled his hands from his pockets and flexed his fingers, hoping that this simple exercise would release the tension in his muscles like removing a cork from a bottle of champagne. In fact, his whole body felt stiff, one part of his anatomy in particular, which made him feel like some damn teenager who couldn't control his urges. He shook his head in disgust and amusement. When he told her she was bewitching, he wasn't kidding. She had easily cast a spell over him; try as he might to deny it. Why, she even had him so befuddled that he promised to write her. What a laugh that was, he thought, and chuckled softly to himself. The chances of him putting a pen to paper were about as slim as signing his name on a marriage license.
"Bah, she's just a woman and women's bodies come cheap. One is as good as any other," he told himself. He acknowledged that he needed something or someone before he could ever hope to relax enough to get some shuteye just as he found himself in front of Belle Watling's Sporting House. At that precise moment, he decided to indulge in a little libation and then some.
After tossing back a couple of whiskies at the bar in quick succession, he sauntered up to Belle Watling, the most notorious madam in Atlanta, who was currently in the middle of berating her bartender for serving drinks at full strength without the requisite watering down, which made the customers happy, but seriously diluted her profits.
He came up behind her, giving her rump a quick swat by way of a greeting.
"Why Rhett Butler? Where have you been you scoundrel?"
"Hello, Belle, how's it going?"
"A lot better now you're here," she said suggestively.
"You booked up tonight, Belle?"
"Why? You have something in mind?"
"I might."
"Are you interested or are you thinking of pawning off another good friend of yours on me?"
"Just me, Belle."
"Well, in that case, I'm all yours," she told him with a wink. "Bill, hold down the fort, will ya?" Belle tossed her head and started up the stairs. Rhett paused a moment and threw down another whiskey before tossing a few dollars onto the bar, then followed Belle upstairs.
He knew the way and even though Belle had disappeared, he quickly found her quarters and eased open the door. The room was dark, lit only by one lamp with a red cut glass chimney.
"What do you want tonight, honey?" Belle approached him, swaying her hips suggestively, and started undoing his cravat but his fingers stopped her.
"Don't bother," he told her brusquely. He eyed her brightly painted face, her ruddy red hair. She would have been quite pretty if she didn't paint her face with so much rouge, he thought. Many of the most striking true redheads Rhett had ever seen had green eyes, but Belle, well, she wasn't exactly a natural redhead and her eyes, he noted with dismay, were a pale shade of blue. She set her hands on his chest and she started walking her fingers up his lapels while Rhett studied her face. When she reached up to kiss him full on the mouth he encircled both of her wrists with his long fingers and set her back down on her heels.
"Why, Rhett?" Belle gave him a questioning look.
"Don't talk. Don't say anything," he commanded. He spun her around and with a little shove, pushed her onto the mattress. He pulled her up on her knees and shoved her voluminous skirts up over her back. In one swift move he had unbuttoned his trousers and after about dozen quick thrusts, he was sated, had turned away from her and was fastening up.
"Honey, I know times are tough, but you don't have to worry about the clock. I've got you on a flat fee—" Belle told him as she struggled to untangle herself from the combined restraints of skirts and sheets. By the time she up righted herself, she heard a click as the door closed shut and he was gone. Belle stood up, straightened her skirts and ran to look out the window at the street below. There was Rhett Butler, briskly walking uptown. Within a minute he was gone from her sight and the only things he left behind for Belle was a rumpled bed and a gold piece.
* * *
In the days that followed the barbeque, Scarlett attended nearly a dozen weddings, each one adding to her depression. The first wedding belonged to Ashley and Melanie. Next up, was Charles Hamilton's wedding to Honey Wilkes, which was quickly followed by Stuart Tarleton and India Wilkes' nuptials. Everyone wanted to get married before the war, so there was a rash of "I do's" being said throughout the county, never more so than in the Wilkes-Hamilton family, which, thanks to the latest round of marriages, now could boast more marriages between cousins than the Book of Genesis.
Stuart had first proposed to Scarlett. Before she could answer, Brent proposed. But she turned both down flat as she had many before them. In his disappointment, Stuart turned to India, whom he had half-heartedly courted before Scarlett caught his eye. Brent, who could never quite see Stuart's interest in India, diverged from his brother for the first time in their lives. Other marriages followed, too, until by June of 1861, Scarlett felt like she had thrown enough rice to feed more than a hundred field hands a bowl or rice three times over.
However, the weddings did keep things exciting. Now that they were over and all the young men had joined the army, life at Tara returned to what was now the new normal. Ellen and Gerald were busier than ever making Tara produce to help the war effort; that left Suellen and Careen for company, neither of which quite filled the bill. Scarlett did what she could to occupy her time, but that wasn't saying much. Many mornings, she would walk about Tara. Occasionally, she would go riding and one day she found herself down by the Flint River where she and Rhett had rested their horses on the morning of the barbeque. She lay down in the grassy banks and looked up at the cloud formations that were moving quickly past her high above in the skies. Again, her mind drifted back to Rhett Butler as it always did when she was alone. More often than not, her mind conjured up images of him when she lay alone in bed at night. Then, like now, she remembered the smell of him, the silky softness of his hair, his deep Charlestonian drawl, his broad shoulders, his large hands, his expert fingers which brushed her skin with a touch that made her want to lean into him so that she could feel his hands all over her skin; and his lips and his closely clipped moustache, which caressed and tickled her cheeks, face, neck and mouth. She imagined him lying next to her, resting his hand on her abdomen in a most indecent manner…
Her reverie was broken by the sound of horse's hooves galloping toward her. Rhett! He's come! She quickly scrambled up to wave to him but it was only Jonas Wilkerson, the overseer, who was criss-crossing the grounds to round up any stray animals. Her heart fell and it wasn't the first time in the last couple of months. It seemed it happened on a daily basis. There wasn't a waking hour when Scarlett didn't imagine that he would show up on Tara's doorstep looking for her; seek her out in the stables or at the Flint River. She even imagined him coming up behind her while she swung on the swing on Tara's front lawn where they first talked so she would sit there night after night, giving him ample opportunity to surprise her, but he never came.
Day after day, she would wait for her father to bring the mail from Jonesboro. Day after day, she was disappointed when no letter from Rhett came in the post. Days of anticipation turned into weeks. Weeks of waiting turned into months and with each passing month with no word of him, her heart grew increasingly leaden. Soon the pleasant places like the stables, Flint River and the front lawn became places to be avoided at all costs. Now they were only places that only reminded her of how silly she was to trust him, to think that he cared for her. With a sudden clarity of Biblical proportions, Scarlett could see that she had overestimated her ability to charm Rhett Butler and considered for once that—perhaps—he had trifled with her just as she had flirted with so many men before him without a thought about their real feelings.
With a heart weighed down with despair and humiliation, she took to her bed. She lost weight and dark smudges appeared below her eyes. Everyone noticed the change in Scarlett, who had seemingly been transformed from vivacious girl to solemn spinster overnight. Fearing for her health, Ellen suggested Scarlett visit her Robillard kin in Savannah. A change of scenery would do her good, Ellen suggested, so Scarlett's trunks were packed and she was sent off with Prissy in tow.
Unfortunately, Scarlett's days in Savannah were no happier than they had been at Tara. Her grandfather was a crotchety old man who would brook no nonsense from anyone, least of all, his errant granddaughter, for that was what he believed her to be.
"So, your mother sent you to me because she's afraid you were going to make a bad match," he snarled over dinner one evening.
"I don't understand, Grandfather. Did she say that?"
He chortled until his mean-spirited guffaws turned into a massive coughing fit during which time Scarlett feared that he would spew the phlegm she heard rattling around in his chest all over the dining table. "She didn't have to," he said, when he finally caught his breath again. "You're both cut from the same cloth; like mother, like daughter. I only hope you don't settle for some peasant immigrant like she did!"
With that, Scarlett threw her napkin on the table and stood. "Thank you for your hospitality, Grandfather, but I've had just about all of it that I can stand. I'll take my leave now." She had Prissy pack her things and within an hour, she stood at the Savannah train station, tapping her foot in impatient exasperation, huffing with outrage and needing desperately to kick, hit or throw something to alleviate her frustration. It wasn't until the train departed that she was finally able to slow her breathing and her rapid pulse.
When she was finally back home at Tara, she had to explain her unexpected arrival to her stunned parents.
"Grandfather is a mean, grouchy old man," Scarlett told them in no uncertain terms.
"Now, dear, I won't have you speak that way about my father, your grandfather," Ellen replied smoothly.
"Oh, Mother, you don't understand! He said the most hateful things until finally, one day, he said more than I could stand."
"Katie Scarlett! I did not bring you up this way to speak in such a manner about your elders," Gerald retorted sternly, then quickly followed that up with, "What did he say?"
"Things I wish not to repeat, Pa."
"There is nothing you can't tell us. And I won't be having me own daughter keeping information from me!"
Scarlett's eyes darted from her father to her mother. Gerald didn't catch the look, but Ellen did and the smooth line of her lips twitched before she interjected quickly. "Now, Mr. O'Hara. I understand what Scarlett means. If his words made her uncomfortable, then we ought not make her repeat them. Now, Scarlett, we'll talk about this more tomorrow. In the meantime, go to your room and get some rest. I'm worried about you dear. You are still so pale and thin," she said, lifting Scarlett's chin so that she could gaze into her eyes. "Now, off with you, dear. Like I said, we'll speak in the morning."
Scarlett silently climbed the stairs to her bedroom, relieved that she didn't have to speak the hateful words her grandfather had used against her father, whom she adored. His words left her with many questions, all of which she had pondered at length on the train from Savannah. Did her mother want to marry someone other than her father? If so, why did her grandfather dislike the man so? And why did he dislike her father? And if he did dislike her father, why did he approve of that marriage? It was all too confusing so, exhausted from her long day of traveling, Scarlett slid gratefully between the sheets of her bed and let sleep claim her.
"Mrs. O'Hara, I'm worried about Katie Scarlett," Gerald told Ellen as he readied for bed later than night.
"She'll be fine, Mr. O'Hara. I'll talk with her."
"Me thinks she's suffering from a broken heart," Gerald told Ellen as she climbed into bed beside him.
"Nonsense! She's too young for that. And if she is, she'll get over it," Ellen told him stiffly as she pulled the covers up to her neck, rolled onto her side and barred further conversation with her back.
* * *
Rhett Butler had finally wrapped up the last details of his latest business trip. He had secured a large warehouse in Liverpool and had relocated the last bales of cotton that he had spent the better part of the 1861 procuring and now, it was all safely stored in the warehouse for the duration of the war. It had been a long and exhausting year. Working with a minimal budget, Rhett had done most of the labor himself, hiring just a few hands when needed. He had allocated a portion of the bulk of his funds to purchase the boats that he was running back and forth between England and Confederate ports, all of which were heavily guarded now with a Union blockade. The balance went to retain hands to man them so that he could bring in goods from England and Europe that the South was running short of in 1862, just one year into the war. Off-loading cotton bales and stacking them in a warehouse was akin to stacking up a child's set of blocks, which was something he could do himself, he reasoned, thereby saving himself a few pounds.
He collapsed on his hotel bed in exhaustion. He was tired and sweaty and in great need of a shave and a bath. While he waited for the maid to draw his bath, he alternatively dozed and stared at the ornate medallion pattern on the ceiling. Then, it happened again. It happened whenever he closed his eyes. Whenever he relaxed enough for his mind to wander. Once in awhile it happened while he was busy, too. Like today, when he was stacking the bales; he'd take a bale off a pallet, carry it inside and stack it alongside the others. The job was monotonous and he did it by rote. As a result, his mind, looking for stimulation, wandered back to Clayton County, Georgia and the unusual girl he met there one year ago. She had become commonplace in Rhett's mind, so much so that Rhett actually started believing that he had known her much longer than he actually had. Even more unsettling was the fact that this girl, whom he had known for no more than a few hours, had now become the yardstick by which he measured every other woman that he subsequently met and each one fell short of her by a considerable margin. Consequently, Rhett had embarked on a tour of celibacy, of a sort.
The last woman he had been with was Belle that night of the Twelve Oaks barbeque. God only knew what a disaster that turned out to be. Rhett remembered back to that night. He remembered his overpowering need for a physical release after he had been tempted and teased from the moment Scarlett O'Hara had walked into Tara's dining room that first night. Falling back to his old habits, he mistakenly thought that any body would do. He found out how wrong he was when Belle started wrapping her arms around his neck, just as Scarlett had done, and he had to stop her immediately. He had been with Belle numerous times, for they were old friends. He had kissed her before, but that night, after sharing some of the most enticing and delicious kisses with Scarlett, he couldn't bring himself to allow Belle to wipe clean the memory of Scarlett's lips on his with her own red-stained lips, which were swollen from ministering to the man before him. He couldn't bear to look into her blue eyes when what he wanted to hold in his imagination was Scarlett's green ones. So he was cold and inconsiderate, using Belle only to gain release and then abruptly leaving.
He felt a little guilty about that later that evening when still he couldn't find sleep. He had tossed and turned as badly as if he had not visited a whore. Get out of Atlanta, out of Georgia, that's what he needed to do, he told himself. But back in Charleston, it was no different. A visit to the local bordello ended with Rhett walking out before he even ventured upstairs. He even met with a couple of so-called "nice girls," but in comparison to one Scarlett O'Hara, they all fell far short in every way.
He looked forward to his business and hard work in a way he had never before. He threw himself into manual labor like he hadn't since he had worked his family's rice fields as a young boy. He told himself that by working his body hard all day, it would be too sore to remember the woman that he had walked away from. His mind proved to be another matter and not so easily distracted. Even when fatigued after a long day's work, a word, a voice, an image would spark a memory and his mind would soar out of control, remembering her, her smile, her hair, her dimples, her laugh, her courage, her horsemanship, her frustration, her lips, her breasts, her white skin, the way she felt clinging to him when he held her in his arms—and then, without warning, his body would follow his mind and the two would break away from Rhett's tight control.
The trips to Liverpool provided some respite, but not much as Rhett struggled to co-exist with his mind and body, both of which had become like two strangers that constantly hounded him, mocking him to the point that they would betray him at every chance they got.
On this particular evening in April of 1862, he gazed at his reflection in the hotel room mirror. Well, he certainly looked better, he remarked, and he felt better, too, now that he was cleaned up. In fact, he thought he looked and felt far too good not to enjoy a night on the town to celebrate a job well done. He would find the best restaurant in Liverpool, order the finest liquor and surely, it wouldn't take too much effort to find a lovely lady who would want to share his good fortune with him this evening. He opened the dresser drawer and removed his money clip, placing it his jacket's inside breast pocket and searched for the room key. It wasn't in the drawer, but lying atop the desk over by the window. He grabbed the key and tossed it lightly in the air, catching it swiftly and then slipping it into his trouser pocket. It was then that something on the desk caught his eye. He stepped forward, touching a neat stack of paper that sat on the desk. His fingers ran over the fine paper engraved with Hanover Hotel at its top. He glanced out the window down at Hanover Street, then back again at the paper, seemingly trying to arbitrate an internal debate. Finally, after a long while, with a sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and took a seat at the desk, reached for the pen and dipped it in the waiting inkwell before setting the nib to the paper.
* * *
"How would you like to visit Atlanta?" Ellen asked Scarlett one morning in May after observing that her daughter's outlook, while not as somber as it had been earlier in the year, had still not returned to high-spirited vivaciousness that had always made her proud. Her eyes had lost their spark and instead of dancing with excitement, they had darkened with the shadow of resignation. It was a look that Ellen was all too familiar with for she had long seen it in her own eyes and hated the thought of seeing it mirrored in her oldest child.
"What would I do in Atlanta?"
"I hear there's a lot going on there. You could stay with Melanie Wilkes and her Aunt Pittypat."
"I really would rather stay here. It's home."
"Well, darling, I've already written the necessary letters and they will be expecting you tomorrow."
"But Mother!"
"Scarlett, this is for the best."
"The best? Why? Why are you sending me away?"
"There have been some letters—You've received some letters," Ellen clarified.
"Letters? Really! Letters!" Scarlett's initial confusion turned to elation. Could it be? "Oh, Mother where are they?"
"There are gone."
"Gone?" Scarlett asked incredulously. "What do you me?" she asked with a smile on her face that was rarely seen these days.
"I burned them."
"What?" Scarlett wasn't sure she heard right. If she had, the total happiness she just felt started running through her hands like water from a spigot.
"You heard me."
"Who were they from?" She sought any information. Anything to hold onto.
"I imagine it was from your Mr. Butler."
"Why did you burn them?" Scarlett's words came out barely above a whisper. Her stomach lurched and she feared that if she didn't close her mouth, one false move and it would revolt and send her running for a wash basin.
"I told you that I would not have you associating with that man. He has done nothing to rebuild his reputation in the last year."
"How do you know all this?"
"Everyone is talking, Scarlett. People talk. That's what they do."
"What does any of that have to do with sending me away." She was crying now, crying with total frustration while her heart's beating threatened to stop her breathing.
"If he is writing to you hear, undoubtedly, he is likely to show up here one day and I'll not have him find you here."
"So you are going to keep me hidden for the rest of my life?"
"Scarlett, don't even begin to raise your voice to me. The matter is settled. Pack your bags and be ready to leave tomorrow morning."
* * *
"Pa, please you must talk with Mother. She wants to send me away and—"
"I know all about it puss and there's nothing I can be doing about it."
"It's not fair!"
"Don't you be jerking your chin at me, young lady. Your mother is afraid you'll make a bad match and I won't be having the apple of my eye lowering herself to that…that scoundrel. Has he been trifling with you? Has he asked to marry you?"
"No," she said shortly.
"Nor will he," said Gerald.
"But he wrote to me and Mother burned the letters. I don't know what they said and I don't know how many there were. Maybe he wrote something important. Maybe he has changed!" Fury flamed in her, but Gerald waved her quiet with a hand.
"Hold your tongue, Miss! He's not the type to get married. He takes what he wants from a girl and moves on. He will never settle down." Scarlett's hand fell from his arm. It couldn't be true! Yes, she had let him kiss her and she had kissed him but if he wrote her letters surely his intentions were honorable. A pain slashed at her heart as savagely as a wild animal's fangs. Through it all, she felt her father's eyes on her, a little pitying, a little annoyed at being faced with a problem for which he knew no answer. He loved Scarlett, but it made him uncomfortable to have her forcing her childish problems on him for a solution. Ellen knew all the answers. Scarlett should have taken her troubles to her. But then, again, it looked like Scarlett had already had her conversation with Ellen and Ellen had given her an answer that she didn't at all like.
"Is it a spectacle you've been making of yourself—of all of us?" he bawled, his voice rising as always in moments of excitement. "Did you run after a man who's not in love with you at the barbeque, when you could have any of the bucks in the County?"
Anger and hurt pride drove out some of the pain.
"I didn't run after him."
"It's lying you are!" said Gerald, and then, peering at her stricken face, he added in a burst of kindliness: "I'm sorry, daughter. But after all, you are nothing but a child and there's lots of other beaux."
"Mother was only fifteen when she married you, and I'm seventeen," said Scarlett, her voice muffled.
"Your mother was different," said Gerald. "She was never flighty like you. Now come, daughter, cheer up, and I'll take you to Charleston next week to visit your Aunt Eulalie and you'll be forgetting about Mr. Butler in a week."
"He thinks I'm a child," thought Scarlett, grief and anger choking utterance, "and he's only got to dangle a new toy and I'll forget my bumps." But then, she paused. Charleston. If she could get to Charleston, maybe there was a chance of seeing Rhett again.
"Oh, yes, Pa. That would be just heavenly!" she gushed, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a big hug and kiss. "And you'll tell Mother."
"Yes, I'll talk with your Mother later this evening."
After supper, while Careen was busy working on her studies and Suellen was writing a letter to Frank Kennedy Ellen reminded Scarlett to have her bags in order for the trip to Jonesboro and subsequently, Atlanta, the next morning.
Startled, Scarlett turned her expectant eyes upon her father.
"Oh, Mrs. O'Hara," Gerald stuttered. "I was thinking…that…perhaps, I'd take our Scarlett here with me to Charleston next week and she can visit her Aunt Eulalie. She's not looking as pert as she might and maybe a little side trip would do her just as well as an extended stay in Atlanta."
"Mr. O'Hara, I know you mean well, but that is out of the question. She's going to Atlanta as discussed. All the plans are in order. She's expected."
"But Mrs. O'Hara—"
"Mr. O'Hara, Charleston? Charleston?" she stressed each word so that he might catch her meaning without having to spell it out for him. "Charleston would be the last place I'd think Scarlett should visit given the circumstances."
Gerald turned red when he realized that he had inadvertently offered Scarlett an escape to the very destination that Ellen would never let her go; forgetting entirely that was exactly the destination she longed to escape to given the circumstances from which Rhett Butler hailed. How could he have made such a blatant mistake? He lowered his eyes under Ellen's penetrating stare. "Yes, Mrs. O'Hara, I see…I…I…I didn't think."
"No, I should think not," Ellen concluded. Then, she turned back to Scarlett, who both had forgotten about during their discourse. "Scarlett, as I said. Please be sure you are ready to leave in the morning."
Scarlett, fuming with repressed anger, stood and stomped her foot. "But I don't—" she cried out, raising her voice to her parents.
"Now, don't be jerking your chin at me," warned Gerald. Now was his chance to redeem himself in Ellen's eyes even if it made him uncomfortable. "If you had any sense you'd have married Stuart or Brent Tarleton long ago. Think it over, daughter. You've lost your chance with Stuart, but you can still have Brent. Marry him and then the plantations will run together and Jim Tarleton and I will build you a fine house, right where they join, in that big pine grove and—"
"Will you stop treating me like a child!" cried Scarlett. "I don't want to go to Brent or have a house. I only want—" She caught herself but not in time.
Gerald's voice was strangely quiet and he spoke slowly as if drawing his words from a store of thought seldom used. "It's only Mr. Butler you're wanting, and you'll not be having him. And if he wanted to marry you, 'twould be with misgivings that I'd say Yes." And, seeing her startled look, he continued: "I want my girl to be happy and you wouldn't be happy with him."
"Oh, I would! I would!"
"That you would not, daughter. Only when like marries like can there be any happiness."
Scarlett had a sudden treacherous desire to cry out, "But you've been happy, and you and Mother aren't alike," but casting a sidelong glance at her mother she repressed it, fearing that either one of them would box her ears for her impertinence.
"Oh, Pa," cried Scarlett impatiently, "you're wrong! We're so much alike. Truly we are. We think alike. We look at life the same way—" It as then that Scarlett stopped, realizing too late that she said far too much.
"And just when have you two shared so much time together unchaperoned?" Gerald bellowed, punctuating each word with righteous anger. "Your mother is right. This is not to be.
"Why your mother and I were never left alone for one minute to speak of such things. It isn't proper."
Scarlett took in her mother with a long glance while Gerald spoke. Ellen's lips were sealed in a tight line and her eyes were sad. It suddenly struck her that for all of her seventeen years, Scarlett had deluded herself. Her parents were not happy. Well, that as partly true. Her father was deliriously happy at having won Ellen Robillard's hand in marriage but the same could not be said for her mother. The cold, harsh truth should have hurt but instead, it felt like a veil was being lifted on her life and she could see clearly with the mature eyes of a woman much older than her seventeen years. Her mother did not love her father; or at least, she was not in love with him and Scarlett suddenly felt sorry for her. Sorry for all the years of heartache that apparently Ellen had put up with in her eighteen year marriage to Gerald and sorry for all the years of heartache that still lay ahead of her, like a long and winding road trailing off into infinity. Her mother was only thirty-three years old but for her, Scarlett realized, life was over.
And then, in a wheedling tone Gerald continued: "When I was mentioning the Tarletons the while ago, I wasn't pushing Brent. They're fine lads, but if it's Cade Calvert you're
setting your cap after, why, 'tis the same with me. The Calverts are good folk, all of them, for all the old man marrying a Yankee. And when I'm gone—Whist, darlin', listen to me! I'll leave Tara to you and Cade—"
"I wouldn't have Cade on a silver tray," cried Scarlett, startled out of her thoughts. "And I wish you'd quit pushing him at me! I want to love my husband," she stated with a proud tilt of her chin. "And my husband deserves to be loved, too."
Both Ellen and Gerald looked up at her and spurred on by the hopelessness of the situation, she added daringly: "I, for one, don't want to live out my days in a loveless marriage."