"Rhett, do be sensible. I don't want to marry anybody."
"No? You aren't telling me the real reason. It can't be girlish timidity. What is it?"
Suddenly she thought of Ashley, saw him as vividly as though he stood beside her, sunny haired, drowsy eyed, full of dignity, so utterly different from Rhett. He was the real reason she did not want to marry again, although she had no objections to Rhett and at times was genuinely fond of him. She belonged to Ashley, forever and ever. She had never belonged to Charles or Frank, could never really belong to Rhett. Every part of her, almost everything she had ever done, striven after, attained, belonged to Ashley, were done because she loved him. Ashley and Tara, she belonged to them. The smiles, the laughter, the kisses she had given Charles and Frank were Ashley's, even though he had never claimed them, would never claim them. Somewhere deep in her was the desire to keep herself for him, although she knew he would never take her.
She did not know that her face had changed, that reverie had brought a softness to her face which Rhett had never seen before. He looked at the slanting green eyes, wide and misty, and the tender curve of her lips and for a moment his breath stopped. Then his mouth went down violently at one corner and he swore with passionate impatience.
"Scarlett O'Hara, you're a fool!"
Before she could withdraw her mind from its far places, his arms were around her, as sure and hard as on the dark road to Tara, so long ago. She felt again the rush of helplessness, the sinking yielding, the surging tide of warmth that left her limp. And the quiet face of Ashley Wilkes was blurred and drowned to nothingness. He bent back her head across his arm and kissed her, softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that made her cling to him as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world. His insistent mouth was parting her shaking lips, sending wild tremors along her nerves, evoking from her sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling. And before a swimming giddiness spun her round and round, she knew that she was kissing him back.
"Stop-- please, I'm faint!" she whispered, trying to turn her head weakly from him. He pressed her head back hard against his shoulder and she had a dizzy glimpse of his face. His eyes were wide and blazing queerly and the tremor in his arms frightened her.
"I want to make you faint. I will make you faint. You've had this coming to you for years. None of the fools you've known have kissed you like this-- have they? Your precious Charles or Frank or your stupid Ashley --"
"Please--"
"I said your stupid Ashley. Gentlemen all-- what do they know about women? What did they know about you? I know you."
His mouth was on hers again and she surrendered without a struggle, too weak even to turn her head, without even the desire to turn it, her heart shaking her with its poundings, fear of his strength and her nerveless weakness sweeping her. What was he going to do? She would faint if he did not stop. If he would only stop-- if he would never stop.
"Say Yes!" His mouth was poised above hers and his eyes were so close that they seemed enormous, filling the world. "Say Yes, damn you, or--"
She whispered "Yes" before she even thought. It was almost as if he had willed the word and she had spoken it without her own volition. But even as she spoke it, a sudden calm fell on her spirit, her head began to stop spinning and even the giddiness of the brandy was lessened. She had promised to marry him when she had had no intention of promising. She hardly knew how it had all come about but she was not sorry. It now seemed very natural that she had said Yes-- almost as if by divine intervention, a hand stronger than hers was about her affairs, settling her problems for her.
He drew a quick breath as she spoke and bent as if to kiss her again and her eyes closed and her head fell back. But he drew back and she was faintly disappointed. It made her feel so strange to be kissed like this and yet there was something exciting about it.
He sat very still for a while holding her head against his shoulder and, as if by effort, the trembling of his arms ceased. He moved away from her a little and looked down at her. She opened her eyes and saw that the frightening glow had gone from his face. But somehow she could not meet his gaze and she dropped her eyes in a rush of tingling confusion.
When he spoke his voice was very calm.
"You meant it? You don't want to take it back?"
"No."
"It's not just because I've-- what is the phrase? -- 'swept you off your feet' by my -- er -- ardor?"
She could not answer for she did not know what to say, nor could she meet his eyes. He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face.
"I told you once that I could stand anything from you except a lie. And now I want the truth. Just why did you say Yes?"
Still the words would not come, but, a measure of poise returning, she kept her eyes demurely down and tucked the corners of her mouth into a little smile.
"Look at me. Is it my money?"
"Why, Rhett! What a question!"
"Look up and don't try to sweet talk me. I'm not Charles or Frank or any of the County boys to be taken in by your fluttering lids. Is it my money?"
"Well-- yes, a part."
"A part?"
He did not seem annoyed. He drew a swift breath and with an effort wiped from his eyes the eagerness her words had brought, an eagerness which she was too confused to see.
"Well," she floundered helplessly, "money does help, you know, Rhett, and God knows Frank didn't leave any too much. But then-- well, Rhett, we do get on, you know. And you are the only man I ever saw who could stand the truth from a woman, and it would be nice having a husband who didn't think me a silly fool and expect me to tell lies -- and -- well, I am fond of you."
"Fond of me?"
"Well," she said fretfully, "if I said I was madly in love with you, I'd be lying and what's more, you'd know it."
"Sometimes I think you carry your truth telling too far, my pet. Don't you think, even if it was a lie, that it would be appropriate for you to say 'I love you, Rhett,' even if you didn't mean it?"
What was he driving at, she wondered, becoming more confused. He looked so queer, eager, hurt, mocking. He took his hands from her and shoved them deep in his trousers pockets and she saw him ball his fists.
"If it costs me a husband, I'll tell the truth," she thought grimly, her blood up as always when he baited her.
"Rhett, it would be a lie, and why should we go through all that foolishness? I'm fond of you, like I said. You know how it is. You told me once that you didn't love me but that we had a lot in common. Both rascals, was the way you--"
"Oh, God!" be whispered rapidly, turning his head away. "To be taken in my own trap!"
"What did you say?"
"Nothing," and he looked at her and laughed, but it was not a pleasant laugh; "Name the day, my dear," and he laughed again and bent and kissed her hands. She was relieved to see his mood pass and good humor apparently return, so she smiled too.
He played with her hand for a moment and grinned up at her.
"Did you ever in your novel reading come across the old situation of the disinterested wife falling in love with her own husband?"
"You know I don't read novels," she said and, trying to equal his jesting mood, went on: "Besides, you once said it was the height of bad form for husbands and wives to love each other."
"I once said too God damn many things," he retorted abruptly and rose to his feet.
"Don't swear."
"You'll have to get used to it and learn to swear too. You'll have to get used to all my bad habits. That'll be part of the price of being-- fond of me and getting your pretty paws on my money."
"Well, don't fly off the handle so, because I didn't lie and make you feel conceited. You aren't in love with me, are you? Why should I be in love with you?"
"No, my dear, I'm not in love with you, no more than you are with me, and if I were, you would be the last person I'd ever tell. God help the man who ever really loves you. You'd break his heart, my darling, cruel, destructive
little cat who is so careless and confident she doesn't even trouble to sheathe her claws."
He jerked her to her feet and kissed her again, but this time his lips were different for he seemed not to care if he hurt her-- seemed to want to hurt her, to insult her. His lips slid down to her throat and finally he pressed them against the taffeta over her breast, so hard and so long that his breath burnt to her skin. Her hands struggled up, pushing him away in outraged modesty.
"You mustn't! How dare you!"
"Your heart's going like a rabbit's," he said mockingly. "All too fast for mere fondness I would think, if I were conceited. Smooth your ruffled feathers. You are just putting on these virginal airs. Tell me what I shall bring you from England. A ring? What kind would you like?"
She wavered momentarily between interest in his last words and a feminine desire to prolong the scene with anger and indignation.
"Oh-- a diamond ring -- and Rhett, do buy a great big one."
"So you can flaunt it before your poverty-stricken friends and say 'See what I caught!' Very well, you shall have a big one, one so big that your less-fortunate friends can comfort themselves by whispering that it's really vulgar to wear such large stones."
He abruptly started off across the room and she followed him, bewildered, to the closed doors.
"What is the matter? Where are you going?"
'To my rooms to finish packing."
"Oh, but--"
"But, what?"
"Nothing. I hope you have a nice trip."
"Thank you."
He opened the door and walked into the hall. Scarlett trailed after him, somewhat at a loss, a trifle disappointed as at an unexpected anticlimax. He slipped on his coat and picked up his gloves and hat.
"I'll write you. Let me know if you change your mind."
"Aren't you--"
"Well?" He seemed impatient to be off.
"Aren't you going to kiss me good-by?" she whispered, mindful of the ears of the house.
"Don't you think you've had enough kissing for one evening?" he retorted and grinned down at her. "To think of a modest, well-brought-up young woman-- Well, I told you it would be fun, didn't I?"
"Oh, you are impossible!" she cried in wrath, not caring if Mammy did hear. "And I don't care if you never come back."
She turned and flounced toward the stairs, expecting to feel his warm hand on her arm, stopping her. But he only pulled open the front door and a cold draft swept in.
"But I will come back," he said and went out, leaving her on the bottom step looking at the closed door.
The ring Rhett brought back from England was large indeed, so large it embarrassed Scarlett to wear it. She loved gaudy and expensive jewelry but she had an uneasy feeling that everyone was saying, with perfect truth, that this ring was vulgar. The central stone was a four-carat diamond and, surrounding it, were a number of emeralds. It reached to the knuckle of her finger and gave her hand the appearance of being weighted down. Scarlett had a suspicion that Rhett had gone to great pains to have the ring made up and, for pure meanness, had ordered it made as ostentatious as possible.
Until Rhett was back in Atlanta and the ring on her finger she told no one, not even her family, of her intentions, and when she did announce her engagement a storm of bitter gossip broke out. Since the Klan affair Rhett and Scarlett had been, with the exception of the Yankees and Carpetbaggers, the town's most unpopular citizens. Everyone had disapproved of Scarlett since the far-away day when she abandoned the weeds worn for Charlie Hamilton. Their disapproval had grown stronger because of her unwomanly conduct in the matter of the mills, her immodesty in showing herself when she was pregnant and so many other things. But when she brought about the death of Frank and Tommy and jeopardized the lives of a dozen other men, their dislike flamed into public condemnation.
As for Rhett, he had enjoyed the town's hatred since his speculations during the war and he had not further endeared himself to his fellow citizens by his alliances with the Republicans since then. But, oddly enough, the fact that he had saved the lives of some of Atlanta's most prominent men was what aroused the hottest hate of Atlanta's ladies.
It was not that they regretted their men were still alive. It was that they bitterly resented owing the men's lives to such a man as Rhett and to such an embarrassing trick. For months they had writhed under Yankee laughter and scorn, and the ladies felt and said that if Rhett really had the good of the Klan at heart he would have managed the affair in a more seemly fashion. They said he had deliberately dragged in Belle Watling to put the nice people of the town in a disgraceful position. And so he deserved neither thanks for rescuing the men nor forgiveness for his past sins.
These women, so swift to kindness, so tender to the sorrowing, so untiring in times of stress, could be as implacable as furies to any renegade who broke one small law of their unwritten code. This code was simple. Reverence for the Confederacy, honor to the veterans; loyalty to old forms, pride in poverty, open hands to friends and undying hatred to Yankees. Between them, Scarlett and Rhett had outraged every tenet of this code.
The men whose lives Rhett had saved attempted, out of decency and a sense of gratitude, to keep their women silent but they had little success. Before the announcement of their coming marriage, the two had been unpopular enough but people could still be polite to them in a formal way. Now even that cold courtesy was no longer possible. The news of their engagement came like an explosion, unexpected and shattering, rocking the town, and even the mildest-mannered women spoke their minds heatedly. Marrying barely a year after Frank's death and she had killed him! And marrying that Butler man who owned a brothel and who was in with the Yankees and Carpetbaggers in all kinds of thieving schemes! Separately the two of them could be endured, but the brazen combination of Scarlett and Rhett was too much to be borne. Common and vile, both of them! They ought to be run out of town!
Atlanta might perhaps have been more tolerant toward the two if the news of their engagement had not come at a time when Rhett's Carpetbagger and Scalawag cronies were more odious in the sight of respectable citizens than they had ever been before. Public feeling against the Yankees and all their allies was at fever heat at the very time when the town learned of the engagement, for the last citadel of Georgia's resistance to Yankee rule had just fallen. The long campaign which had begun when Sherman moved southward from above Dalton, four years before, had finally reached its climax, and the state's humiliation was complete.
Three years of Reconstruction had passed and they had been three years of terrorism. Everyone had thought that conditions were already as bad as they could ever be. But now Georgia was discovering that Reconstruction at its worst had just begun.
For three years the Federal government had been trying to impose alien ideas and an alien rule upon Georgia and, with an army to enforce its commands, it had largely succeeded. But only the power of the military upheld the new regime. The state was under the Yankee rule but not by the state's consent. Georgia's leaders had kept on battling for the state's right to govern itself according to its own ideas. They had continued resisting all efforts to force them to bow down and accept the dictates of Washington as their own state law.
Officially, Georgia's government had never capitulated but it had been a futile fight, an ever-losing fight. It was a fight that could not win but it had, at least, postponed the inevitable. Already many other Southern states had illiterate negroes in high public office and legislatures dominated by negroes and Carpetbaggers. But Georgia, by its stubborn resistance, had so far escaped this final degradation. For the greater part of three years, the state's capital had remained in the control of white men and Democrats. With Yankee soldiers everywhere, the state officials could do little but protest and resist. Their power was nominal but they had at least been able to keep the state government in the hands of native Georgians. Now even that last stronghold had fallen.
Just as Johnston and his men had been driven back step by step from Dalton to At
lanta, four years before, so had the Georgia Democrats been driven back little by little, from 1865 on. The power of the Federal government over the state's affairs and the lives of its citizens had been steadily made greater and greater. Force had been piled on top of force and military edicts in increasing numbers had rendered the civil authority more and more impotent. Finally, with Georgia in the status of a military province, the polls had been ordered thrown open to the negroes, whether the state's laws permitted it or not.
A week before Scarlett and Rhett announced their engagement, an election for governor had been held. The Southern Democrats had General John B. Gordon, one of Georgia's best loved and most honored citizens, as their candidate. Opposing him was a Republican named Bullock. The election had lasted three days instead of one. Trainloads of negroes had been rushed from town to town, voting at every precinct along the way. Of course, Bullock had won.
If the capture of Georgia by Sherman had caused bitterness, the final capture of the state's capitol by the Carpetbaggers, Yankees and negroes caused an intensity of bitterness such as the state had never known before. Atlanta and Georgia seethed and raged.
And Rhett Butler was a friend of the hated Bullock!
Scarlett, with her usual disregard of all matters not directly under her nose, had scarcely known an election was being held. Rhett had taken no part in the election and his relations with the Yankees were no different from what they had always been. But the fact remained that Rhett was a Scalawag and a friend of Bullock. And, if the marriage went through, Scarlett also would be turning Scalawag. Atlanta was in no mood to be tolerant or charitable toward anyone in the enemy camp and, the news of the engagement coming when it did, the town remembered all of the evil things about the pair and none of the good.
Scarlett knew the town was rocking but she did not realize the extent of public feeling until Mrs. Merriwether, urged on by her church circle, took it upon herself to speak to her for her own good.
Gone With the Wind Page 99
