But I can’t go. Colleton will be able to start at least three more houses once this weather gets the frost out of the ground, but he’ll never do it unless I nag him into it. I’ve never known such a picky man in all my life. Everything has to be just so. He’ll wait till the ground’s warm enough to dig to China and find no frost.
Suppose she went for just a few days? A few days wouldn’t make that much difference, would it? Scarlett remembered Ashley’s pallor and dejected slump at the Carnival Ball, and she made a small sound of disappointment.
She wouldn’t be able to relax at Tara if she did go.
She sent Pansy with a message to Elias to bring the carriage around. She had to go find Joe Colleton.
That evening, as if to reward her for doing her duty, the doorbell sounded just after darkness fell. “Scarlett, honey,” Tony Fontaine called out when the butler let him in, “an old friend needs a room for the night, will you be merciful?”
“Tony!” Scarlett ran from the sitting room to embrace him.
He dropped his luggage, caught her in his arms for a hug. “Great God Almighty, Scarlett, you’ve done real well for yourself,” he said. “I thought some fool had given me directions to a hotel when I saw this big place.” He looked at the ornate chandelier, flocked velvet wallpaper, and massive gilt mirrors in the entrance hall, then grinned at her. “No wonder you married that Charlestonian instead of waiting for me. Where is Rhett? I’d like to meet the man who got my girl.”
Cold fingers of fear traced Scarlett’s spine. Had Suellen told the Fontaines anything? “Rhett’s in South America,” she said brightly, “can you imagine such a thing? Gracious peace, I thought missionaries were the only people who ever went to such an outlandish place!”
Tony laughed. “Me, too. I’m sorry to miss seeing him, but it’s good luck for me. I’ll have you all to myself. How about a drink for a thirsty man?”
He didn’t know Rhett had left, she was sure of it. “I think a visit from you calls for champagne.”
Tony said he’d welcome champagne later, but for now he wanted a good old bourbon whiskey and a bath. He could still smell cow manure on himself, he was sure.
Scarlett fixed his drink herself, then sent him upstairs with the butler as his guide to one of the extra bedrooms for guests. Thank heaven the servants lived in the house; there’d be no scandal about Tony staying as long as he liked. And she’d have a friend to talk to.
They had champagne with their supper, and Scarlett wore her pearls. Tony ate four big pieces of the chocolate cake that the cook had hurriedly made for dessert.
“Tell them to wrap up whatever’s left for me to take with me,” he begged. “The only thing I get hankerings for is cake with thick icing like that. I always did have a sweet tooth.”
Scarlett laughed and sent the message to the kitchen. “Are you telling tales on Sally, Tony? Can’t she do fancy cooking?”
“Sally? Whatever gave you that idea? She fixed a bang-up dessert every night, just for me. Alex don’t have my weakness, so she can stop now.”
Scarlett looked puzzled.
“You mean you didn’t know?” said Tony. “I figured Suellen would have put it in a letter. I’m going back to Texas, Scarlett. I made up my mind ’round about Christmas.”
They talked for hours. At first she begged him to stay, until Tony’s awkward embarrassment changed into the famous Fontaine temper. “Dammit, Scarlett, be quiet! I tried, God knows I tried, but I can’t stick it. So you’d better quit nagging me.”
His loud voice made the prisms on the chandelier sway and tinkle.
“You could think about Alex,” she persisted.
The expression on Tony’s face made her stop.
His voice was quiet when he spoke. “I really did try,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Tony.”
“Me, too, honey. Why don’t you get your fancy butler to open up another bottle, and we’ll talk about something else.”
“Tell me about Texas.”
Tony’s black eyes lit up. “There’s not a fence in a hundred miles.” He laughed and added, “That’s because there’s not much worth fencing in, unless you like dust and dried-up scrub. But you know who you are when you’re on your own out there in all that emptiness. There’s no past, no holding on to the scraps that are all you’ve got left. Everything is this minute, or maybe tomorrow, not yesterday.”
He lifted his glass to her. “You’re looking as pretty as a picture, Scarlett. Rhett can’t be too smart, or he wouldn’t leave you behind. I would make advances if I thought I could get away with it.”
Scarlett tossed her head like a coquette. It was fun to play the old games. “You’d make advances at my grandmother if she was the only female around, Tony Fontaine. No lady’s safe in the same room with you when you flash those black eyes and that white smile.”
“Now, honey, you know that’s not so. I’m the most gentlemanly fellow in the world… as long as the lady’s not so beautiful that she makes me forget how to behave.”
They bantered with skill, and delight in their skills, until the butler brought in the bottle of champagne; then they toasted each other. Scarlett was giddy enough from pleasure; she was content for Tony to finish the bottle. While he did, he told tall tales of Texas that made her laugh until her sides hurt.
“Tony, I do wish you’d stay over a while,” she said when he announced he was about to fall asleep on her table. “I haven’t had so much fun in ages.”
“I wish I could. I like drinking and eating high on the hog with a pretty girl laughing beside me. But I’ve got to use this break in the weather. I’m taking the train west tomorrow, before things ice up. It leaves pretty early. Will you have coffee with me before I go?”
“You couldn’t stop me if you tried.”
Elias drove them to the station in the gray light before dawn, and Scarlett waved goodbye with her handkerchief while Tony boarded the train. He was carrying a small leather satchel and a huge canvas bag with his saddle in it. When he’d thrown them up onto the platform of the coach, he turned and flourished his big Texas hat with the rattlesnakeskin band. The gesture pulled his coat open, and she could see his gunbelt and six-shooters.
At least he stuck around long enough to teach Wade how to twirl his, she thought. I hope he doesn’t shoot his foot off. She blew a kiss to Tony. He held his hat like a bowl to catch it, reached in, took it out, put it in the watch pocket of his vest. Scarlett was still laughing when the train pulled out.
“Drive out to that land of mine where Mr. Colleton is working,” she said to Elias. The sun would be up before they got there, and the work gang better be digging or she’d have something to say about it. Tony was right. You had to use the break in the weather.
Joe Colleton was unshakeable. “I come out like I said I would, Mrs. Butler, but it’s just like I expected. The thaw don’t go near deep enough to dig a cellar. It’ll be another month before I can get started.”
Scarlett cajoled, then she raged, but it did no good. She was still fuming with frustration a month later when Colleton’s message brought her back out to the site.
She didn’t see Ashley until it was too late to turn back. What am I going to tell him? I’ve got no call to be here, and Ashley’s so smart he’d see right through any lie I might try. She was sure the hasty smile on her face looked as ghastly as she felt.
If it did, Ashley didn’t seem to notice. He handed her down from her carriage with his usual ingrained courtesy. “I’m happy I didn’t miss you, Scarlett; it’s so good to see you. Mr. Colleton told me you might be coming, so I dallied as long as I could.” He smiled ruefully. “We both know I’m not much of a businessman, my dear, so my advice isn’t worth much, but I do want to say that if you do, in fact, build another store out here, you can’t possibly go wrong.”
What is he going on about? Oh… of course, I see. How clever Joe Colleton is, he’s made my excuse for being here already. She turned her attention back to Ashley.
“… and I’ve heard that the city’s very likely to run a trolley line out here to the edge of town. It’s amazing, isn’t it, the way Atlanta is growing?”
Ashley looked stronger. Very tired by the effort of living, but more capable of it. Scarlett wished urgently that it meant the lumber business was better. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if the mills and yard died, too. And she’d never be able to forgive Ashley.
He took her hand in his and looked down at her with a worried expression on his drawn face. “You look tired, my dear. Is everything quite all right?”
She wanted to lay her head against his chest and wail that everything was awful. But she smiled. “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, Ashley, don’t be a silly. I was up too late last night at a party, that’s all. You should know better than to hint to a lady that she’s not looking her best.” And let that get back to India and all her mean old friends, Scarlett added silently.
Ashley accepted her explanation without question. He began to tell her about Joe Colleton’s houses. As if she didn’t know all that, right down to the number of nails needed for each one. “They are quality construction,” said Ashley. “For once, the less fortunate will be treated as well as the rich. It’s something I never thought I’d see in these days of blatant opportunism. It seems that all the old values weren’t lost after all. I’m honored to have a part in this. You see, Scarlett, Mr. Colleton wants me to supply the lumber.”
She made an astonished face. “Why Ashley—that’s wonderful!”
And it was. She was truly happy that her scheme to help Ashley was working so well. But, Scarlett thought after she talked privately with Colleton, it wasn’t supposed to turn into some kind of fixation. Ashley intended to spend time at the site every day, Joe told her. She’d meant to provide Ashley with some income, not a hobby, for heaven’s sake! Now she wouldn’t be able to go out there at all.
Except on Sundays, when there was no work going on. The weekly trip became almost an obsession for her. She no longer thought about Ashley when she saw the clean strong lumber in the frame and rafters, then the walls and floors, as the house went up. She walked through the neat piles of materials and debris with a longing heart. How she’d love to be a part of it all, to hear the hammering, watch the shavings curl away from the planes, see the daily progress. Be busy.
I only have to hold out until summer—the words were her litany and her lifeline—then Rhett will come. I can tell him, Rhett’s the only one I can tell, he’s the only one who cares about me. He won’t make me live like this, outcast and unhappy, once he knows how awful everything is. What went wrong? I was so sure that if I could just have enough money, I’d be safe. Now I’m rich, and I feel more afraid than ever before in my whole life.
But when summer came there was no visit by Rhett, no word from him. Scarlett hurried home from the store every morning so she’d be there if he was on the mid-day train. In the evening she wore her most becoming gown and her pearls for supper, in case he was coming some other way. The long table stretched before her gleaming with silver and heavy damask starched to a shine. It was then that she began to drink steadily—to shut out the silence while she listened for his footsteps.
She didn’t think anything of it when she began having sherry in the afternoon—after all, taking a glass or two of sherry was a ladylike thing to do. And she hardly noticed when she changed from sherry to whiskey… or when she first needed a drink to do the store accounts because it depressed her that business was falling off so… or when she began leaving the food on her plate because alcohol satisfied her hunger better… or when she began to take a glass of brandy as soon as she got up in the morning…
She hardly even noticed when summer became fall.
Pansy brought the afternoon mail to the bedroom on a tray. Lately Scarlett had tried sleeping for a while after dinner. It filled up part of the empty afternoon, and it gave her some rest, a relief denied to her at night.
“You want I should bring you a pot of coffee or something, Miss Scarlett?”
“No. You go on, Pansy.” Scarlett took the topmost letter and opened it. She stole quick glances at Pansy, who was picking up the clothes she had thrown on the floor. Why didn’t the stupid girl get out of her room?
The letter was from Suellen. Scarlett didn’t bother to take the folded pages from the envelope. She knew what it would say. More complaints about Ella’s naughtiness, as if Suellen’s own little girls were some kind of saints. Most of all, nasty little hints about the cost of everything and how little money Tara was making and how rich Scarlett was. Scarlett threw the letter to the floor. She couldn’t stand to read it now. She’d do it tomorrow… Oh, thank God. Pansy was gone.
I need a drink. It’s almost dark, there’s nothing wrong with a drink in the evening. I’ll just sip a small brandy very slowly while I finish reading the mail.
The bottle hidden behind the hatboxes was almost empty. Scarlett fumed. Damn that Pansy. If she wasn’t so clever with my hair, I’d fire her tomorrow. It must have been Pansy who drank it. Or one of the other maids. I couldn’t be drinking that much. I just hid the bottle there a few days ago. No matter. I’ll take the letters down to the dining room. After all, what does it matter if the servants watch the level in the decanter? It’s my house and my decanter and my brandy, and I can do what I choose. Where’s my wrapper? There it is. Why are the buttons so stiff? It’s taking forever to get it on.
Scarlett hurried downstairs and to the dining room, where she tossed her mail onto the table in a heap. She poured brandy into a glass and drank a reviving swallow at the sideboard before carrying the glass to the table and sitting in her chair. Now she’d just sip her drink while she calmly read her letters…
A circular for a newly arrived dentist. Pooh. Her teeth were just fine, thank you very much. Another one for milk delivery. An announcement of a new play at DeGives. Scarlett sorted irritably through the envelopes. Wasn’t there any real mail? Her hand stopped when it touched a thin crackling onionskin envelope addressed in a spidery script. Aunt Eulalie. She downed the remainder of her brandy and ripped open the letter. She always hated the preachy, prissy missives from her dead mother’s sister. But Aunt Eulalie lived in Charleston. She might mention Rhett. His mother was her closest friend.
Scarlett’s eyes moved rapidly, squinting to make out the words. Aunt Eulalie always wrote on both sides of the thin paper, and often she “crossed” the letter, writing on the page then turning it to a right angle and writing across the previous lines. All to say a great deal about precious little.
The unseasonably warm autumn… she said that every year… Aunt Pauline having trouble with her knee… she’d had trouble with her knee as long as Scarlett could remember… a visit to Sister Mary Joseph… Scarlett made a face. She couldn’t think of her baby sister Carreen by her religious name, even though she’d been in the convent in Charleston for eight years… the bake sale for the Cathedral building fund was far behind schedule because contributions were not coming in, and couldn’t Scarlett—great balls of fire! She kept the roof over her aunts’ heads, did she have to roof a cathedral, too? She turned the page over, frowning.
Rhett’s name leapt from the tangle of criss-crossed words.
It does one’s heart good to see a cherished friend like Eleanor Butler find happiness after so many sorrows. Rhett is quite his mother’s gallant, and his devotion has done much to redeem him in the eyes of all those who deplored the wild ways of his younger days. It is beyond my comprehension, and also that of your Aunt Pauline, why you insist on maintaining your unaccountable preoccupation with trade when you have no need to remain associated with the store. I have deplored your actions in this regard on many past occasions, and you have never heeded my pleas that you abandon a course of action so unsuitable to a lady. I therefore ceased to refer to it some years ago. But now, when it is keeping you from your proper place by the side of your husband, I feel it my duty to once again allude to the distasteful matter.
Scarlett threw the
letter onto the table. So that was the story that Rhett was handing out! That she wouldn’t leave the store and go to Charleston with him. What a blackhearted liar he was! She’d begged him to take her with him when he left. How dare he spread such slander? She’d have some choice words to say to Mister Rhett Butler when he came home.
She strode to the sideboard, splashed brandy into her glass. Some fell onto the gleaming wooden surface. A swipe with her sleeve mopped it up. He’d probably deny it, the skunk. Well, she’d shake Aunt Eulalie’s letter in his face. Let’s see him call his mother’s best friend a liar!
Suddenly her rage left her, and she felt cold. She knew what he’d say: “Would you rather I told the truth? That I left you because living with you was intolerable?”
The shame of it. Anything was better than that. Even the loneliness while she waited for him to come home. Her hand lifted the glass to her lips, and she drank deep.
The movement caught her eye, reflected in the mirror above the sideboard. Slowly Scarlett lowered her hand and set the glass down. She looked into her own eyes. They widened in shock at what they saw. She hadn’t really looked at herself for months, and she couldn’t believe that pale, thin, sunken-eyed woman had anything to do with her. Why, her hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed for weeks!
What had happened to her?
Her hand reached automatically for the decanter, providing the answer. Scarlett pulled her hand away, and she saw that it was shaking.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. She clutched the edge of the sideboard for support and stared at her reflection. “Fool!” she said. Her eyes closed and tears slid slowly down her cheeks, but she brushed them away with quivering fingers.
She wanted a drink more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Her tongue darted across her lips. Her right hand moved on its own volition, closed around the neck of the glittering diamond-cut glass. Scarlett looked at her hand as if it belonged to a stranger, at the beautiful heavy crystal decanter and the promise of escape that lay within it. Slowly, watching her movements in the mirror, she lifted the decanter and backed away from her frightening reflection.
Scarlett: The Sequel to Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind Page 12
