In his Sunday suit and stiff celluloid collar, Wade dogged Tazewell Watling and hoped no grown-up would ruffle his hair. His great-aunt Pittypat said, "Wade, you are the very image of dear Charles!" A tear tracked down her old wrinkled cheek.
Beneath the portrait of Scarlett's grandmother, Beatrice Tarleton and Alex Fontaine were discussing a loose horse several men had seen. Mrs. Tarleton disbelieved. "I know every roan between here and Jonesboro.”
Beatrice's daughters were somewhere about. Her sons, Brent and Stuart and Tom — Scarlett's ardent suitors before the War — were now just sad memories.
Scarlett sighed.
As if he'd read her thoughts, Rhett took her hand. "Darling, if there are ghosts here tonight, they want us to be happy.”
The little orchestra interspersed waltzes with reels. To the older guests' dismay, the musicians refused to play "them old-timey" quadrilles.
After Taz danced with his mother, he partnered Beatrice's grand-niece Polly — a brown-haired, shy slip of a thing.
Belle Watling glowed with pleasure. "Look at my boy," she whispered to no one in particular. "Lord, will you just look at him.”
Beatrice Tarleton inclined her head to the woman beside her, "Miss Watling," she said, hoarsely, "things are not as they were.”
" I ...”
"I believe it's for the best. I don't know what got into people. All that needless straitlaced respectability. Did we actually think God cared if a man got a peek at our legs? Tell me, Miss Watling" — Beatrice looked Belle square in the eye — "are all men the same?”
Belle coughed and patted her throat. "Gracious," she said. Then she leaned in confidentially, "There's men and men, don't you know.”
Ashley and Rosemary sat on the porch swing, discussing nothing really — but enjoying their conversation immensely.
Desserts were served on tables on the lawn, but once the breeze died, the mosquito hordes descended and everyone carried their plates indoors.
In her high-backed wing chair, Miss Pittypat reflected happily and sadly how much dear Melanie would have enjoyed this evening.
When the fiddler struck up "Soldier's Joy," Rhett offered Scarlett his hand.
"Rhett, I've been so foolish.”
"Yes, we both have been." Mr. Butler led Mrs. Butler onto the dance floor.
When we met, Scarlett thought, I was a child. Rhett helped me become who I am.
"My dear," Rhett murmured politely, "it's a reel, not a two-step.”
Scarlett O'Hara Butler whirled. Whirled like the girl she had been, like the girl who dwelled in the depths of her heart. She whirled as a child whirls, as a young girl whirls, as a woman whirls, and her man was beside her, his hand quick to capture hers. So much love sparkled in her husband's eyes that for the first time in her life, Scarlett Butler wasn't afraid of growing old.
At midnight, despite many protests, the band put their instruments away.
Rhett had a special train waiting in Jonesboro for their Atlanta guests.
Nearer neighbors lingered in the turnaround.
"Thank you so much for coming," Scarlett repeated. "Certainly we'll do it again.”
As the last buggy lamp dwindled down the lane, Rhett closed up the house.
Scarlett found Belle Watling in the upstairs hall. She wore an astonishingly pink dressing gown.
"I don't think I've ever had a lovelier day," Belle said. "Thank you, Miss Scarlett, for having me to stay.”
Scarlett kissed the pink creature on the cheek. "Good night, Belle.”
In her bedroom, Scarlett luxuriated in her undressing. Rhett would come to her tonight — her tingling skin assured her he would. Humming, she dabbed cologne behind each ear and beneath the soft curves of her breasts.
Rhett had never seen the sheer nightgown she put on. Scarlett felt like a precious gift.
When she opened the curtains, cool blue moonlight flooded the room.
Scarlett knelt beside her bed and crossed herself. She thanked God for Tara and Ella and Wade and everybody who loved her. She thanked God for bringing Rhett home.
Then she smelled smoke.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
My Day Is Come
Scarlett coughed and coughed. Shadows gathered at the base of her bedroom door and oily black smoke trickled, then surged inside and up the wainscoting.
Rosemary cried, "Fire! My God! Fire!”
When Scarlett touched the doorknob, she jerked back with a gasp. It was hot as a stovetop!
Shirtless and barefoot, Rhett burst in from the nursery. "The fire's in the stairwell," he said matter-of-factly. "Help me get the children out.”
Everything was happening so quickly! When Rhett took her hand, Scarlett protested, "But I'm not dressed!”
In the nursery, smoke drifted lazily through the moonlight. Among scattered toys and books, the children sat around Rosemary, who held Louis Valentine in her lap. As icy calm as her brother, Rosemary said, "Tazewell's gone for his mother.”
"Good man." Rhett knelt at child's eye level. "Ella, it's past your bedtime.
What are you doing up so late?”
Ella put her hand over her mouth; her fear transmuted into giggles.
"Beau, are you my brave boy? I need you to be brave tonight.”
Beau blew his nose hard.
Rhett said, "We're counting on you, Wade Hampton Hamilton.”
Outside the nursery door, the fire sounded like a great beast crackling through the undergrowth. Hurry! Scarlett thought. We must hurry!
Rhett turned to the shivering Louis Valentine, "How old are you, Louis?”
"Seven, Uncle Rhett.”
"You were named for a pirate. Did you know that?”
"Yes, sir.”
"Rhett!" Scarlett protested.
Rhett squeezed Scarlett's hand but kept his eyes fixed on the child.
"Then you'll have to be brave as a pirate. Right, Louis Valentine?”
Louis Valentine squeaked, "Yes, Uncle Rhett.”
"Good. Because when we go through that door, it's going to be hot and black and frightening. We will hold hands so nobody gets lost or left behind.
Scarlett will lead us, then Wade, then Louis Valentine, then Rosemary, then Ella. Beau, you'll take Ella's other hand — you mustn't let go of it — and I'll hold your hand and come last. Join hands now. Good. Hang on tighter than you've ever hung on to anything. Hang on hard!”
As Rhett was talking, the room filled with smoke and Ella started coughing. Scarlett prayed Ella wouldn't take one of her fits.
"We're going to crawl down the hall underneath the smoke to the servants' stairs and down those stairs to the kitchen and outside," Rhett continued.
"You mustn't tarry and, even if you are scared, you must pretend you're brave. You cannot turn loose of the hands you are holding. Do you understand?”
A ragged chorus of yeses. Ella muffled a sob.
In the same even tone, Rhett said, "Scarlett, honey, take Wade's hand.
Off we go.”
Though her teeth were chattering, Scarlett said, "Mr. Butler, are you sure this is the way to the Honeysuckle Ballroom?”
Rhett snorted. Scarlett hitched her nightgown above her knees and knelt.
Rhett threw the hall door open on suffocating black smoke tongued by sullen yellow flames. Scarlett crawled into it. Each wooden floorboard was outlined by light from below; the ceiling had disappeared in swirling blackness.
Scarlett's neck was so hot. What if her hair burst into flames? It was farther to the servants' stairs than Scarlett remembered. She crawled, with Wade's hand clamped behind her, and when her fine new nightgown slipped under her knees and hampered her crawl, she ripped it.
The fire roared like an angry bear. The floor scorched Scarlett's hands and knees and she gasped for air. Wade's hand in hers was slippery with sweat. Rhett's bellow cut through the roar: "Children. You must not let go.