He folded his newspaper. "Am I to have a sermon on loyalty from Miss Scarlett? Please continue.”
Scarlett flushed. Why had she ever married this hateful man? Rhett tapped his newspaper. "Better hurry, dear. If you hesitate, Rufus might not be Governor. His powerful friends are jumping ship and he's lost control of the legislature. Rufus's wife took their children north so they won't be insulted on the streets her husband governs. Edgar Puryear is Rufus's only friend. Poor Rufus.”
Rhett opened the heavy drapes to watch his wife's carriage make the turn onto Peachtree Street.
. When Prissy came in to say she was taking the children to play at the Wilkeses', Rhett waved an indifferent hand. The house — her house — was so big, he didn't hear them go.This miserable day mocked spring's promises.
Pale yellow forsythia bent beneath raindrops and the lilacs were blue with cold.
How had he come to this? Blinded by love. All his experience, his travels, the women he'd known — nothing had assuaged his insane yearning for the woman he married, whose heart he could not win.
For her and her children, he'd become respectable — a respectable hypocrite: "Neither hanged nor a hangman be." If Atlanta's leaders decided to raid Shantytown again, Rhett Butler would ride with them.
He'd do anything for her, he'd give her anything...
His wife thought she loved another man, but he knew better. Her love was dreaming for a way of life she'd envied and never understood as a child. Daughter of an Irish immigrant who'd married above himself: poor covetous Scarlett.
She'd burn through Ashley Wilkes in six months. He was far too gentle a flower.
Rain slid down the windowpane. Rain dripped from the lead mullions.
Rhett Butler snorted, laughed at himself, and went to the fireplace to stir the fire.
He heard her carriage on the cobblestones. When she came into the parlor, he lowered his book. "You're home early.”
She made a face and went to the cabinet for a brandy. She downed it with a shudder.
Rhett closed his book and laid it on the end table. "Bulwer-Lytton's new Utopia. He imagines we can all be happy and good.”
"We can't?”
"Perhaps if, like the creatures Bulwer-Lytton imagines, we live in a cave at the center of the earth. On earth's surface, goodness and happiness are in short supply.”
"Rhett, why did you make me sell my mills?”
He got up to pour his own drink. "You know perfectly well why I helped you sell your mills. So you wouldn't be closeted with the little gentleman every day.”
"You resent Ashley Wilkes because he is so fine.”
"I pity Wilkes because he is too fine." He set down his glass. "Scarlett, need we do this?”
She searched his face and sighed. "We do have a talent for discord." Her smile was almost friendly. "You were right, Rhett. As usual. Governor Bullock is finished and his celebratory luncheon was a tedious sham. The Pennsylvania Railroad people were disappointed you didn't come.”
"There is a limit even to my hypocrisy.”
"And that is?”
Rhett chuckled.
"Your friend Captain Jaffery has been assigned to Custer's regiment.”
"The Seventh's in Carolina locking up Klansmen.”
"Jaffery hopes they'll go back out west. On ..." She paused for effect.
"The Northern Pacific.”
"I trust you've not put money in that folly.”
"Jay Cooke is the cleverest man alive and his Northern Pacific will be a bigger success than the Union Pacific. Everybody says so.”
"Will it?”
She arched her eyebrows. "I suppose you've heard about the Natural Wonders?”
He stepped nearer and frowned. He asked, "How much have you had to drink?”
Defiantly, she poured herself another and smiled over the rim of the glass. "Near the Yellowstone River on the Northern Pacific route, there's an amazing realm of therapeutic hot springs and spectacular geysers.”
"Geysers? Scarlett...”
"Geysers spout hot water, a hundred feet high, as regularly as clocks chime the hours. Don't give me that look, Rhett. Jay Cooke — “
"Hot water? Spouting? Why do you want to be rich, darling? You already have me.”
She smiled confidently, "Why yes, I do.”
When he touched her arm, the warmed silk of her dress thrilled his fingertips.
Speaking very quickly, Scarlett added, "Jay Cooke had Congress name this region Yellowstone National Park. The Northern Pacific's cars will be filled with tourists visiting Yellowstone National Park. Wouldn't you?”
"Excuse me. Wouldn't I what?”
"Wouldn't you like to see steaming water erupting as regular as clockwork?”
Close to her, he inhaled the scent of her hair and murmured, "Doubtless the Sioux will welcome these tourists with open arms.”
She backed away. Nervously, she patted her hair. "Tourists will take the train to see mineral pools and geysers! They will go to see the Natural Wonders!”
His grin was amused. "Scarlett, you are a Natural Wonder.”
Her eyes softened. Her lower lip trembled. Then he saw a flare deep in her eyes. Fear? Was that fear? What was she afraid of? She turned for the door.
"I never said I loved you, you know," she said, as if she weren't quite sure.
The air in the small space between them hummed.
More firmly she said, "I don't, you know.”
His muscles ached from holding still, from not reaching out and taking her. In a husky voice, he managed to say, "I admire your candor." Because his hands ached to touch her, to ravish her, to close around her throat and murder her, Rhett Butler bowed stiffly, brushed past his wife, and walked out of the house onto Peachtree Street, hatless in the cold rain.
CHAPTER FORTY
A Murderer's Son
In November, President Ulysses S. Grant declared South Carolina in rebellion, suspended habeas corpus, and sent the Seventh Cavalry to smash the Klan. Former Confederate generals Gordon and Forrest were summoned before the United States Congress, where they reluctantly admitted they might have known people who might have been associated with the "so-called" Ku Klux Klan but they personally had had nothing to do with it.
A fortnight after Andrew Ravanel was arrested, Elizabeth Kershaw Butler sat bolt upright in her bed and emitted a faint unearthly cry, which woke her daughter dozing in the armchair at her side. When Rosemary held a mirror to her mother's mouth, the glass didn't fog.
Rosemary's son, Louis Valentine, was a sound sleeper and merely murmured when she carried him to her own bedroom and placed him in her bed. Rosemary went to the kitchen and made herself a pot of tea. She didn't weep for what she had lost. She wept for what her mother had never had.
It was early — before dawn. Though she had expected this death for some time, it still took her by surprise.
Later that day, Rosemary wrote her friend.
Dearest Melanie,
My mother, Elizabeth Butler, went to her Heavenly Reward early this morning. Mother did not suffer at the end.
As you must have heard, Andrew Ravanel has been arrested for his Klan activities. Last Saturday, I brought his clothing to a camp outside Columbia.
The camp is run by Federal cavalry, and whether for his previous rank or because they secretly share his views, Andrew has his own tent in that overcrowded pigsty. I had not dreamed there were so many Klansmen!
Andrew says once the special courts are ready, he will be tried for several negro murders.
There. I have said it. My words change nothing Andrew has done, nor my confusion and heartbreak. Violence and bitterness sully the innocent with the guilty! Will my sweet Louis Valentine grow up as the son of a convicted murderer? Rhett warned Andrew things would come to this, but Andrew was too proud to listen.