Scarlett (79 page)

I never have.

All the impetuous, unconsidered errors of her life crowded around Scarlett in the black silence of the night, and she forced herself to look at them. Charles Hamilton—she had married him to spite Ashley, she hadn’t cared for him at all. Frank Kennedy—she’d been horrid to him, lied to him about Suellen so that Frank would marry her and give her money to save Tara. Rhett—oh, she’d made too many mistakes to count. She’d married him when she didn’t love him, and she’d made no effort to make him happy, she’d never even cared that he wasn’t happy—not until it was too late.

Oh, God, forgive me, I never thought once about what I was doing to them, about what they were feeling. I hurt and hurt and hurt all of them, because I didn’t stop to think.

Melanie, too, especially Melly. I can’t bear to remember how nasty I was to her. I never once felt grateful for the way she loved me and stood up for me. I never even told her I loved her, too, because I didn’t think of it until the end, when there was no chance.

Have I ever in my life paid attention to what I was doing? Have I—even once—ever thought about the consequences?

Despair and shame gripped Scarlett’s heart. How could she have been such a fool? She despised fools.

Then her hands clenched and her jaw hardened and she stiffened her spine. She would not wallow in picking at the past and feeling sorry for herself. She would not whine—not to anyone else, and not to herself.

She stared at the darkness above her through dry eyes. She wouldn’t cry, not now. She’d have the rest of her life to cry. Now she had to think, and think carefully, before she decided what to do.

She had to think about the baby.

For a moment she hated it, hated her thickening waist and the clumsy, heavy body that lay ahead. It was supposed to have given Rhett back to her, and it hadn’t. There were things a woman could do—she’d heard of women who had rid themselves of unwanted babies…

… Rhett would never forgive her if she did that. And what difference did that make? Rhett was gone, forever.

A forbidden sob broke from Scarlett’s lips despite all her willpower.

Lost. I lost him. I’m beaten. Rhett won.

Then sudden anger coursed through her, cauterizing her pain, energizing her exhausted body and spirit.

I’m beaten, but I’ll get even with you, Rhett Butler, she thought with bitter triumph. I’ll hit you harder than you’ve hit me.

Scarlett laid her hands gently on her belly. Oh, no, she wasn’t going to get rid of this baby. She’d take care of it better than any baby in the history of the whole world.

Her mind filled with images of Rhett and Bonnie. He always loved Bonnie more than he loved me. He’d give anything—he’d give his life to have her back. I’ll have a new Bonnie, all my own. And when she’s old enough—when she loves me, and only me, more than anything or anyone on earth, then I’ll let Rhett see her, see what he’s missed…

What am I thinking? I must be crazy. Only a minute ago I realized how much I hurt him, and I hated myself. Now I’m hating him and planning to hurt him worse. I won’t be like that, I won’t let myself imagine such things, I won’t.

Rhett’s gone; I’ve admitted it. I can’t give in to regrets or revenge, that’s a waste when what I have to do is make a new life from scratch. I’ve got to find something fresh, something important, something to live for. I can do it if I put my mind to it.

Throughout the remainder of the night, Scarlett’s mind moved methodically along the avenues of possibility. She found dead ends, she found and overcame obstacles, she found surprising corners of memory and of imagination and of maturity.

She remembered her youth and the County and the days before the War. The memories were somehow painless, distant, and she understood that she was no longer that Scarlett, that she could let go of her, permit the old days and their dead to rest.

She concentrated on the future, on realities, on consequences. Her temples began to throb, then to pound, then her whole head ached abominably, but she continued to think.

Just when the first sounds began in the street outside, all the pieces fell into place inside her mind, and Scarlett knew what she was going to do. As soon as enough light filtered through the drawn curtains into the room, Scarlett called out, “Bridie?”

The girl jumped up from the chair, blinking sleep from her eyes. “Thanks be to God you’re restored!” she exclaimed. “The doctor left this tonic. I’ll just find the spoon, it’s on this table somewhere.”

Scarlett opened her mouth meekly for the bitter medicine. “There,” she said firmly, “I’ll have no more of being sick. Open the curtains, it must be day by now. I need some breakfast, my head is aching, and I’ve got to get my strength back.”

It was raining. A real rain, not the misty showers that were customary. Scarlett felt a dark satisfaction.

“Colum will want to know you’re better, he’s been that worried. Can I tell him to come in?”

“Not now. Tell him I’ll want to see him later, I want to talk to him. But not yet. Go on. Tell him. And ask him to show you how to order up my breakfast.”

S
carlett forced herself to swallow bite after bite of food, even though she wasn’t even aware of what she was eating. As she’d said to Bridie, she needed her strength.

After breakfast she sent Bridie away, with instructions to return after two hours. Then she sat down at the writing table near the window and, with a small frown of concentration, rapidly filled sheet after sheet of thick, creamy, unmarked letter paper.

After she had written, folded, and sealed two letters, she stared at the blank paper in front of her for a long time. She had planned it all out in the dark hours of the night, she knew what she was going to write, but she couldn’t bring herself to pick up the pen and begin. Her very marrow shrank from what she had to do.

Scarlett shivered and looked away from the page. Her eyes fell on a pretty little porcelain clock on a nearby table, and she drew in her breath, shocked. So late! Bridie would be back in only forty-five minutes.

I can’t put it off any longer, it won’t change things no matter how long I do. There’s no other way. I’ve got to write to Uncle Henry, eat humble pie, and ask him sweetly to help me. He’s the only one I can trust. Scarlett gritted her teeth and reached for the pen. Her usually neat handwriting was cramped and uneven from strained determination when she put the words on paper that would turn over control of her Atlanta businesses and her precious hoard of gold in the Atlanta bank to Henry Hamilton.

It was like cutting the ground out from under her feet. She felt physically ill, almost dizzy. There was no fear that the old lawyer would cheat her, but there was no chance that he would watch every penny the way she always had. It was one thing to have him collect and bank the receipts from the store and the rent from the saloon. It was another thing altogether to give him control of store inventory and prices, and the amount of rent to charge the saloonkeeper.

Control. She was giving up control of her money, her safety, her success. Just when control was most needed. Buying Carreen’s share of Tara was going to dig a deep hole in her accumulated gold, but it was too late now to stop the deal with the Bishop, and Scarlett wouldn’t stop it even if she could. Her dream of spending summers at Tara with Rhett was dead now, but Tara was still Tara, and she was determined to make it hers.

Building the houses on the edge of town was another drain on her resources, but it had to be done. If only she wasn’t certain that Uncle Henry would agree with everything Sam Colleton suggested, without asking the cost.

Worst of all, she wouldn’t know what was going on, for good or for ill. Anything might happen.

“I can’t do it!” Scarlett groaned aloud. But she continued to write. She had to do it. She was going to take a long vacation, she wrote, do some travelling. She would be out of touch, with no address where mail could reach her. She looked at the words. They blurred, and she blinked the tears away. None of that, she told herself. It was absolutely essential to cut all ties, or Rhett would be able to track her down. And he must not know about the baby until she chose to tell him.

But how could she bear not knowing what Uncle Henry was doing with her money? Or if the Panic was getting worse, threatening her savings? Or if her house burned down? Or, worse, her store?

She had to bear it, so she would. The pen scratched hurriedly across the pages, detailing instructions and advice that Henry Hamilton would probably disregard.

When Bridie returned, all the letters were on the blotter, folded and sealed. Scarlett was sitting in an armchair, her ruined corset in her lap.

“Oh, I forgot,” Bridie moaned. “We had to cut you out, to let the breath into you. What will you have me do? There might be a shop nearby I could go to—”

“Never mind, it’s not important,” Scarlett said. “You can baste me into a frock, and I’ll wear a cloak to hide the stitches in the back. Come on, now, it’s getting late, and I’ve got a lot to do.”

Bridie looked at the window. Late, was it? Her country-accustomed eyes could tell it wasn’t yet nine in the morning. She went obediently to unpack the sewing kit Kathleen had helped her put together for her new role as lady’s maid.

Thirty minutes later, Scarlett knocked on the door of Colum’s room. She was hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, but immaculately groomed and perfectly composed. She didn’t feel at all tired. The worst was over; now she had things to do. It restored her strength.

She smiled at her cousin when he opened his door. “Will your collar protect your reputation if I come in?” she asked. “I have things to talk about that are private.”

Colum bowed and swung the door wide. “A thousand welcomes,” he said. “It’s good to see you smiling, Scarlett darling.”

“It won’t be long before I’ll be able to laugh, I hope… Did the letter from America get lost?”

“No. I have it. Private. I understand what happened.”

“Do you?” Scarlett smiled again. “Then you’re wiser than I am. I know, but I’ll likely never understand. Still, that’s neither here nor there.” She put the three letters she’d written on a table. “I’ll tell you about these in a minute. First I have to tell you that I’m not going with you and Bridie. I’m going to stay in Ireland.” She held up her hand. “No, don’t say anything. I’ve thought it all through. There’s nothing for me in America any more.”

“Ah, no, Scarlett darling, you’re being too hasty. Didn’t I tell you there’s nothing done that can’t be undone? Your husband got a divorce once, he’ll do it again when you go back and tell him about the baby.”

“You’re wrong, Colum. Rhett will never divorce Anne. She’s his kind, from his people, from Charleston. And besides she’s like Melanie. That doesn’t mean anything to you, you never knew Melly. But Rhett did. He knew how rare she was long before I did. He respected Melly. She was the only woman he ever did respect, except maybe his mother, and he admired her the way she deserved. This girl he’s married is worth ten of me, the same as Melly was, and Rhett knows it. She’s worth ten of Rhett, too, but she loves him. Let him carry that cross.” There was a savage bitterness in the words.

Ach, the suffering, he thought. There must be a way to help her. “You’ve got your Tara now, Katie Scarlett, and you’ve such dreams for it. Won’t that comfort you till your heart’s healed? You can build the world you want for the child you’re carrying, a grand plantation made by his grandfather and his mother. If it’s a boy, he can be called Gerald.”

“You’re not thinking anything I haven’t already thought. Thank you, but you can’t find an answer if I couldn’t, Colum, believe me. One thing, I already have a son, a child you don’t know about, if there’s inheritance to consider. But the main thing is this baby. I can’t go back to Tara to have his baby, I can’t take this baby to Tara after it’s born. People would never believe it was made in wedlock. They’ve always thought—in the County and in Atlanta—that I was no better than I should be. And I left Charleston the day after—after the baby was started.” Scarlett’s face blanched with painful longing. “No one would ever believe it was Rhett’s baby. We slept in separate rooms for years. They’d call me a whore and my baby a bastard, and they’d smack their lips with pleasure in the calling.”

The ugly words were marked on her twisted mouth.

“Not so, Scarlett, not so. Your husband knows the truth. He’ll acknowledge the baby.”

Scarlett’s eyes flamed. “Oh, he’d acknowledge it all right, and he’d take it from me. Colum, you can’t imagine how Rhett is about babies, his babies. He’s like a madman with love. And he’s got to own the child, be the best loved, be the all. He’d take this baby soon as it had the first breath in its little body. Don’t think he couldn’t do it, either. He got the divorce when it couldn’t be gotten. He’d change any law or make a new one. There’s nothing he can’t do.” She was whispering hoarsely, as it afraid. Her face was contorted with hatred and a wild, unreasoned terror.

Then suddenly, like a veil falling, it changed. It became smooth, and tranquil, except for her blazing green eyes. A smile appeared on her lips; it made Colum O’Hara’s spine chill. “This is my baby,” said Scarlett. Her quiet low-pitched voice was like a giant cat’s purr. “Mine alone. He’ll never know about it till I want him to, when it’s too late for him. I’m going to pray for a girl. A beautiful blue-eyed girl.”