Belle was laid out in a gray silk dress of distinctly old-fashioned cut.
Her hair was loose on the white satin pillow and her hands were crossed devoutly.
She looked like a child wearing her mother's ball gown. A broad red ribbon with Beloved in black letters was draped across her coffin.
An ashen-faced Rhett Butler accepted condolences. "Yes, she was a fine woman. Belle had a trusting heart. Yes, Belle meant a great deal to me.
Thank you, Henry, for coming.”
Mrs. Butler stood beside her husband. "So glad you could come, Grandfather Merriwether. I hope you'll partake of our refreshments. Kitchen's through that door.”
Scarlett introduced the young man: "Belle's son, Tazewell Watling. Mr. Watling is a cotton factor from New Orleans. A Confederate veteran, yes.”
Stunned by grief, Tazewell Watling accepted well-meant condolences from strangers. Though he thanked each politely, their kind words meant nothing. Tazewell's mind was regretting what so easily might have been: his mother in the sunshine in his little Vieux Carr? garden, happy at last. How he wished he'd kept one, just one, of his mother's silly, precious letters!
Although respectable Atlantans eschewed Belle's lavish funeral feast, rougher citizens and their womenfolk gathered in the kitchen for roast beef, ham, and whiskey. They complained about the national depression and wondered when Atlanta would get up and get going again. They toasted Belle's memory. They recounted Belle's kindnesses when they'd been down on their luck.
The Atlanta Journal reporter wrote,
Wearing clanking leg irons, his wrists cuffed with bracelets of iron, the murdered woman's father was escorted to the wake by Clayton County sheriff Oliver Talbot. As mourners recoiled in horror, the bearded patriarch who had taken his daughter's life approached her bier. No fatherly tenderness softened his stony features; he uttered no grief-stricken cry. His finger had pressed the fatal trigger. His daughter had fallen at his feet, crying piteously. But if Isaiah Witling felt remorse, he showed none.
What thoughts must have tormented his obstinate mind; what fevered emotions must have been quenched by his obdurate will. He bent for a moment over his daughter's coffin and was seen to place something therein.
But his grandson, Mr. T. Watling of New Orleans, detected this movement, retrieved the old man's offering, and, as Watling was led away, the young man returned it to him...
"I believe sir, you forgot this." Taz placed the New Testament into his grandfather's shackled hands.
"I weren't..." With rheumy old eyes, Isaiah searched his grandson's face.
He licked his lips. "I weren't never my own man ... " He dropped his gaze, and when Sheriff Talbot tugged, the old man followed, obedient as a dog.
Rhett had persuaded a reluctant St. Philip's rector that Belle Watling should rest in the city's oldest churchyard. The rector picked a site against the back wall, where Belle's presence wouldn't offend. Rhett tapped a bishop's prominent stone. "Belle never fancied old Charley anyway.”
And so, on a beautiful Sunday morning, Ruth Belle Watling was laid to rest. Dew sparkled the grass. Churches tolled Christians to worship. Its bell chiming prettily, one of Atlanta's new streetcars rolled past.
Wade Hamilton and Ella Kennedy flanked Scarlett. Beau Wilkes and Louis Valentine Ravanel stood with Ashley and Rosemary. The rector read from the Book of Common Prayer. The children were awed. Louis Valentine shuffled his feet.
Tazewell Watling wept.
The rector got away as soon as he decently could. Negroes with shovels waited at a respectful distance.
Ashley Wilkes offered Rhett his hand. "I am sorry, Rhett. Belle was a fine woman. She saved my life.”
Rhett took the slighter man's hand. "How many years have we known each other?”
Ashley considered, "We met in '61.”
"Thirteen years. Strange, it's seems so much longer. How's your garden coming along?”
Ashley brightened. "Wonderfully well. I've got the fountain flowing.
You must stop by some time and see it." Ashley took Rosemary's arm. "Your sister is becoming a horticulturalist.”
Rosemary asked, "Have you ever wondered why it is, brother, that men pretend to take care of women, when it's generally t'other way 'round?”
Rhett kissed Rosemary's forehead.
Tazewell had been away from his business too long and he left for the railroad station.
When the Butlers reached Aunt Pittypat's, Rhett's strength abandoned him and he stumbled on the stairs. In what had been Melanie Wilkes's bedroom, Scarlett helped her husband undress. When she put Rhett into bed, his teeth chattered and he shivered so violently, Scarlett undressed, slipped under the covers, and held him until he slept.
As late-afternoon shadows passed through the room and wind rustled the elm tree outside the window, Scarlett woke in Rhett's arms.
Tara, Scarlett thought. She would have wept, but she'd wept herself dry.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes so hard, she saw stars. "Fiddle-dee-dee!”
Scarlett O'Hara Butler informed the world.
Rhett muttered sleepily and she smoothed the hair off his forehead and kissed his lips. "I'd better see to the children," Scarlett said. "There'll be coffee when you come down.”
Mammy and Ella were on the back stoop stringing beans. Pitty, Wade, and Uncle Peter were in the garden.
"We pickin' 'em 'fore they're by," Mammy said. Her old fingers flew.
"Mr. Rhett all right?”
"I believe he is. I was trying to remember, Mammy; when did you come to Tara?”
"Goodness, child. I come with your Momma when she was married.”
"Did you know Philippe Robillard?”
Mammy's lips set themselves in a familiar stubborn line.
"Mammy, they're all dead. The truth can't hurt anyone now.”
"Honey, you ain't lived so long as I have. Truth can hurt whenever it's told." Grudgingly, Mammy admitted, "I never cared for Master Philippe.
He was a reckless man.”
"Like Rhett?”
"Mr. Rhett? Reckless?" Mammy's ample flesh shook with laughter.
"Mr. Rhett never reckless with people he loves.”
Everything had changed. Everything Scarlett had willed, everything she had once wished for — utterly changed.
Could she, like Ashley, re-create a version of what life had been before the War? Bountiful azaleas and wisteria artfully draped over ruins? Scarlett snorted.
She and Rhett might rebuild Tara. Or maybe they'd just travel for a time. There were a world of places Scarlett had never seen. Maybe she and Rhett would go to Yellowstone and see those Natural Wonders: hot water spouting out of the ground, regular as clockwork. Mercy!
In that mood, she greeted Rhett when he came down. "Good afternoon, darling!" she said.
He raised his eyebrows. "Am I your darling, then?”
"You know you are. Rhett, please don't mock me anymore.”
His infuriating grin vanished. "Honey, never again. I promise.”
Each looked into the other's soul. Her eyes were green; his were dark.
He said, "Life has hurt us again.”
"A worse hurt than those hurts we have already endured?”
"No," he said. "I suppose not.”
Then Rhett Butler laughed, laughed out loud, and he scooped Scarlett up and waltzed her around the kitchen, smothering her with kisses, to Ella's delight and Mammy's consternation. "Mr. Rhett! Mr. Rhett, you gettin' everything upset!”
Rhett Butler smiled that smile of his and said, "Wife, you are the most captivating woman in the world.”