And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
Rhett awoke one morning from deep sleep to a bright dewy September morning, and it was as if the past days had been nothing more than a bad dream. He joined the family at the breakfast table, kissed his mother's cheek, ruffled Garreth's hair, pulled Rosemary's braid and asked his very dear Scarlett if she had slept well. The women at the table exchanged speaking glances and, almost simultaneously, let out a dry cough. Dilcey rolled her eyes. Rhett, seemingly oblivious, regaled them with humerous remarks all throughout breakfast, until Scarlett wanted to do nothing more than send for Dr Meade immediately to let him know her husband really, really, really needed his head examined. Miss Eleanor, who was of more philosophical inclination, wondered about the kinship of tragedy and comedy, and silently shrugged her shoulders.
His mood lasted all throughout the day and the next, and in fact he acted much like his old self, his self from long ago, before Bonnie's death, the self that had almost faded from their collective memory. Scarlett remained apprehensive, his mood-swings had been too volatile and unpredictable to trust in this one just because it happened to be one she preferred. And then Ella shyly reminded her of the charity ball.
The Butler family had built up a decent, if not overly warm, relationship with the Old Guard during the past five years. Scarlett had hosted the occasional sewing circle, donated to the appropriate causes, and attended the less exclusive dinners. Ashley's and India's move to Boston the first year after their reconciliation had aided their return to the fold, and now months passed at a time without Scarlett remembering Ashley's existence, or anyone bringing up his name. Maybelle Merriwheather had become something of a friend, although Scarlett suspected the friendship was fueled as much by young Raoul's decided preference for Ella as any particular sense of kinship with herself. Scarlett had bought the tickets to the ball months before, and now brought them up with Rhett, unsure if he would want to attend. To her surprise, he had agreed readily, stating it would "do them all good to get out." So they all went, the girls having spent half a day giggling over frocks and assisting each other with their hair and feeling, strangely, normal. Scarlett had procured additional tickets for Rosemary, leaving Miss Eleanor to enjoy a long-overdue night's rest.
Ella was lovely in virginal white and blue, her thick sandy hair, so much like Frank's, set with tiny pink roses. When they entered the room she immediately started exchanging glances with Raoul, vowing to dance every dance together that their mothers would permit them. Scarlett remarked silently to herself that it was a good thing her eldest daughter made up in sweetness what she lacked in intelligence, and that most men in Atlanta valued the former over the latter. Rosemary also danced every dance, and attracted the eyes of quite a few of the older bachelors in Scarlett's loaned low-cut red-and-white dress. Scarlett, although elegantly attired in green ball gown, was in a retiring mood for once, content to let Rosemary and Ella do most of the dancing. She distractedly answered questions about Rhett's recovery, swapped stories with Maybelle, Fanny and the other women, and watched Rhett out of the corner of her eyes. He stood almost across the room from her, laughing in a group of the men, apparently re-living his fall and their daring rescue if their gestures were anything to go by. She caught a glimpse of his expression, open, charmed, smiling, and told her foolish heart to stop beating in her throat. At the stroke of midnight the carriage would turn back into a pumpkin, and he would revert back into a stranger.
Suddenly, there was a shadow by her chair. "Shall we?"
Rhett. Scarlett hesitated. "Are you sure you're ….."
Instead of an answer he pulled her up, grabbed her hand, and led her onto the dance floor. Scarlett walked like a young filly with too many legs, and tripped twice on the way, which did not augur well. When the walz started she felt stiff and insecure in Rhett's arms, and the worst part was that his smile, though genuine, seemed tinged with a strange melancholy that she couldn't decipher. Then she shrugged. She was at a ball, and even Rhett Butler wouldn't stop her from enjoying it. So she dug her old coquettish smile out of some forgotten drawer, dusted it off with a vengeance, and danced with Rhett, Rene, Hugh, and a dazzling stream of men and allowed herself to pretend that the past fifteen years had been nothing more than a nightmare. She almost succeeded. And then everything shifted again.
-88-
In the days that followed the ball, Scarlett noted that Rhett was touching her. In broad daylight, and in front of others. She thought it was accidental at first, but then noted that he casually and purposefully would drop a hand on her shoulder when he spoke to her, or loop an arm across her waist, or press his lips, with a flourish, into her hair. She wasn't sure if he did it to disconcert her, but if he did, she decided, he could think again.
Growing up had, perversely, given her back some of the nonchalance that had made her so captivating as a young girl, coupled with an innocence and a vitality unusual for her age and experiences. She had, with an extreme act of will, kept bitterness from eating away at her heart for the last five years, and the hot desert sun had burned away at, if not eliminated, her native vanity and selfishness. Now that hope, however fickle, illuminated her she glowed from within like a summer nymph, her movements softly sensual, her eyes sparkling like emeralds, her smile open and inviting and her voice full of hidden joy.
Rosemary saw her with Garreth in the meadow, laughing, a garland of flowers trailing in her hair, and felt inexplicably apprehensive. Despite her spinsterhood even she could understand the power of that primal vortex that launched ships and shattered lives, and into Rhett's eyes came a hungry look when he was watching Scarlett that Rosemary hadn't ever seen before and told her more than words could have done that the universe had inexplicably shifted on its axis again and that nothing would ever be quite the same.
Scarlett seemed oblivious, and it would have taken more than Rosamary's experience to understand that this was an old, familiar game.
Scarlett let herself play it with abandon, reveling in the fact that she felt alive again. From the moment it began she had felt Rhett's eyes on her she knew how this particular game would play out. And with the touches, came the whispers. He would bend down, put his hand on her neck, and tell her she was beautiful, that she was looking "good enough to eat" and would accompany it with glances and innendoes that would have made her blush had she still been twenty-two. As it was, she kept her head high and thanked him sweetly, eyes wide open and innocent, a fake tremble to her lips that made him roar with laughter. She tried on other gestures for size, dragging a slow finger across her lower lip when she was sure he was watching her. She was quite pleased with her success when he turned away, visibly shaken. It would, in short, have all been perfect, had it not been for that one thing.
Disclaimer: I still own nothing.
So here it is. Thanks for the kind reviews, I appreciated every one. I do know exactly were I am going with this so I hope some of the strange thoughts and expressions will come together at the end, especially regarding Rhett's relationship with Garreth. Dixie Cross, no, I don't want Rhett to turn into a Heathcliff although the comparison was apt and made me laugh. I believe he went through a Heathcliff phase though. Getting hit on the head messes with you. :)