Rhett Butler's people (60 page)

Josie said, "Dead is dead."

"Rhett Butler lied."

"He never did. Rhett never said nothin'. He just let 'em believe whatever they wanted to believe."

"Butler murdered your brother and disgraced his parents. Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long upon the land the Lord thy God has given you."

"Even now, after all this hurtfulness ..." Belle's hands opened and closed helplessly. "You can't forgive?"

Belle's father handed her the parcel. "By my lights, I did my best."

The parcel was heavier than it looked. "I reckon we all do the best we can," Belle said. "Won't you come in? I've a picture of your grandson."

For one moment, she thought Isaiah was going to take off his hat and step inside. They'd go to the kitchen -- they wouldn't need to be in the business part of the house. She'd make coffee for her father. She remembered he took sugar in his coffee -- heaping tablespoons of sugar.

Isaiah Watling touched the package. "Give these to your son." He turned away.

"Uncle likes to say our day will come," Josie observed, "but it ain't come yet."

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Chapter

Chapter Forty-three

Ashley's Birthday Party

Melanie was preparing a surprise birthday party -- Ashley's first since the barbecue at Twelve Oaks, eleven years ago, when he and she had announced their betrothal.

The Wilkeses' home was nearly ready. The mantelpiece had been scrubbed with Sapolio, the gilt mirror frame had been dusted, every grate and stove was freshly blacked, and the winter carpets had been taken up and brushed. Pork and Peter had sprinkled tobacco on them before carrying them to the attic.

As chairwoman of the Confederate Widows and Orphans Society, Melanie knew all Georgia's Confederate greats: General John Gordon, five times wounded at Sharpsburg; Robert Augustus Toombs, Confederate Senator and Secretary of State; even Alexander Stephens had accepted Melanie's invitation. Vice President Stephens's two-volume justification of secession,

A Constitutional View of the Late War Between the States,

had pride of place in many Southern households (where it was more honored than read). Ashley's spinster sister, India, wanted the book beside the family Bible in the parlor, but Melanie said no. "What if someone decides to raise a constitutional issue with Mr. Stephens? What will happen to Ashley's party then?" Mr. Stephens's volumes remained locked in the bookcase.

India was an efficient worker, but she upset the negroes. When set to a task, Aunt Pittypat managed -- she'd polished all the glassware, including that borrowed for the occasion -- but left to her own devices, Pitty flittered

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from one unfinished task to another. Only Scarlett worked without instructions. Scarlett was the best negro driver, too.

Since preparations were moving along nicely, Melanie took a cup of tea to the second-floor landing, her desk, and her interrupted letter to Rosemary.

Melanie entirely approved of Rosemary's decision to teach at the Female Seminary. "You have suffered a terrible grief, dear friend. The children will heal you as you instruct them."

She tapped the pen against her teeth, thinking.

As for myself... when I learned I could have no more children, I assumed I would be as satisfied with the warmth that attends lovemaking as by the lovemaking itself. Ashley is an affectionate husband, but absent the

--

if you will permit me

--

"tender violence" of the act

--

I am blushing, dear friend

--

our heart passion fades year by year, unvarying season by unvarying season. Oh, I know, a decent woman shouldn't desire her husbands ardent embraces, but...

Miss Melly! Miss Melly!" Scarlett's servant Pork stomped upstairs and loomed over her like a tree poised to fall. Although Pork couldn't read, Melly slipped her letter under the blotter. "Miss Melly! That Archie, he won't let me hang no more lanterns in the garden. He done told me to git. I'ze skeered of that old man!"

"Ask Scarlett what to do, Pork," Melanie replied. "I'm sure there's other work to do."

After the big negro grumbled back down the stairs, Melanie inked her pen.

Sometimes I happen across your old Overseer's daughter, Belle Watling. Dear Friend, I have only known my Ashley, whose touches were so lavish, his pleasure giving so much keener than his pleasure taking. I have fancied asking Belle (but of course could not), "How is it to have had so many men? Are all men the same?"

Oh, Rosemary, it has been eight years

--

eight long years

--

since Dr. Meade told Ashley I must not bear another child. I know I should put my

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desires aside

--

but I cannot. Sometimes, Ashley does or says something; sometimes he catches the light in a certain way and I positively burn for my husband's embraces! Dear Friend, he is so beautiful! There are contrivances which would permit intimacies without the consequences we fear, but Ashley, dear Ashley, is too proper, and on the single occasion I dared to mention them, Ashley turned red as one of

Pitty's azaleas and he stuttered (Ashley never stutters), saying "Gentlemen do not employ such devices!" I'm sure Belle knows about them and would tell me if I dared to ask.

Scarlett peeked through the banisters at Melanie's ankles and said, "Melly, Pork is perfectly capable of hanging a few Japanese lanterns. Archie gave Pork one of his 'looks' and Pork will be quaking all afternoon. Why do you let that smelly old hillbilly in your house?"

"Archie is so good with the children," Melanie replied.

In the past, Archie had been given to mysterious disappearances and everybody knew he was in the Klan. But he was wonderful with the children.

After Governor Bullock fled, Scarlett stopped entertaining, and her Peachtree Street mansion became a mausoleum. The Butler children spent more time in the Wilkeses' home than their own. Sour, one-legged old Archie Flytte entertained them for hours.

"If Peter is done polishing the floors, Pork and he can lay the summer matting," Melanie said.

"Humph." Scarlett's head disappeared.

Melanie Wilkes tapped her pen against her teeth.

Dear Rosemary, I am loath to add to your burdens but must tell you that last Saturday, over luncheon at the Kimball House, Scarlett and Rhett lit into each other like cats and dogs. I heard about their quarrel from three different sources! Their only real bond is their shared love for little Bonnie

--

'Bonnie Blue." Your niece is a sunbeam who lights everywhere she goes. Mrs. Meade makes Bonnie her special pecan fudge and Mrs. Eking sets the dear little thing on her Lip and tells her how things were when she was a girl. Those who once deprecated your brother have taken him into their hearts. Not their least reason is the love Rhett lavishes on his daughter.

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All she needs say is, "Daddy, pick me up!" Rhett

picks her up, and when she tugs at his mustache or hair or when she is fretful, as all children sometimes are, Rhett never loses patience with his Bonnie Blue.

Scarlett was peeking through the banisters again, "Melanie, who are you writing to?"

"I am writing Rosemary. Two tired housewives complaining about their children. Sometimes, dear Scarlett" -- Melanie slipped the letter into the drawer and turned the key -- "I wish I had your gift for being in the world. I wish I had your will!"

"If will was as powerful as it's supposed to be, Melly, we'd presently be Confederate citizens. I'm going to Ashley's sawmill to see Hugh Elsing."

Melanie clapped her hands. "That's perfect. That's absolutely perfect. Could you possibly keep Ashley there until five? If Ashley comes home earlier, he'll catch us finishing up a cake or something and his surprise will be ruined."

Hastily, Melanie concluded her letter.

Dear Rosemary, jealousy is so corrosive that I'd almost rather be betrayed than live in fear of betrayal! If I could not put my trust in Ashley, if I did not believe he loves me, I would go mad.

I knew from childhood that Ashley and I were intended for each other. We are cousins, and "the Wilkeses always marry cousins." We were spared the tribulations of courtship

--

does he or doesn't he love me; do I or don't I truly care for him? I knew I was to marry Ashley and I loved him. Not love Ashley? I cannot imagine it!

Yet, sometimes, I wonder how it might have been.... Are Scarlett's passions richer and more profound than mine, or have I read too many novels?

Must love always be such a puzzle?

Melanie signed and sealed the letter. Downstairs, Pork and Uncle Peter were arguing how the summer floor mats should be laid. Melanie could smell furniture polish and baking pies.

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How grateful she was! During the War, she'd been so afraid for Ashley. One alert sharpshooter, one of the myriad illnesses that killed soldiers weakened by hunger and privation -- there were so many ways she might have lost her precious husband. Melanie Hamilton Wilkes bowed her head and gave thanks.

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Chapter

Chapter Forty-four

Desire

Desire too long denied makes the heart sick. Sun pouring through the windows illuminated order books and a calendar whose dates were crossed off with

X's

. Sawmill dust furred windowsills, shelves, Ashley Wilkes's rolltop desk, and his hat.

That hat was their mute chaperone.

A man and a woman alone together, after so many years.

Scarlett notices the gray in Ashley's hair and thinks, He will never be young again, and the thought makes her want to cry for him and for herself.

Scarlett has not been with a man since Bonnie Blue was conceived. Ashley has not been with a woman for eight years.

It is Saturday afternoon. The whining saws are shut down and oiled for the Sabbath; there's no lumber crashing onto ricks, no foreman shouting orders. The mill hands have been paid and gone home. Dust motes dance in the sunlight.

"The days are getting longer," Ashley says.

Scarlett says, "Yes, yes, they are."

A spring fly, one of the fat, lazy flies that appear as seasons change bats against the window glass, trying to reach the outdoors. It will die, as so many of God's creatures do, without ever fulfilling its desire.

Scarlett O'Hara is thinking how sad life is, how unutterably sad, as she steps into the embrace she has wanted for so long.

Ashley and Scarlett fit perfectly in each other's arms.

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The office door bangs open. India Wilkes, Archie Flytte, and Mrs. Elsing are in the doorway. Gaping. Scarlett is lost.

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Chapter

Chapter Forty-five

She

The cuckold Rhett Butler rode Atlanta's dark streets. He galloped his horse down Decatur until it was a country road, before wheeling back into the city.

When his great black horse slowed, Rhett used his spurs savagely. "Damn you, behave! You will behave!"

He could not trust himself. That was his worst realization -- knowing he could not trust himself. Four years. For four years he'd slept alone while she mooned after Ashley Wilkes.

Earlier tonight, he'd forced her to attend Melanie's party. Thinking what? That Melly would denounce the adulterous pair? What a comedy! Ashley and Melanie playacting the happily married couple. Melanie welcoming Scarlett as a sister while vicious whispers took wings behind ladies' fans.

The cuckold Rhett Butler. Oh no, she hadn't given her body to Ashley. Just her goddamned, yearning, hopeful, scheming soul.

He emptied his flask. He emptied a second. He galloped by Chapeau Rouge without seeing. MacBeth, who'd raised a hand in greeting, let it fall to his side.