minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

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In the time that followed her illness Scarlett noticed a change in
Rhett and she was not altogether certain that she liked it. He was
sober and quiet and preoccupied. He was at home more often for
supper now and he was kinder to the servants and more affectionate
to Wade and Ella. He never referred to anything in their past,
pleasant or otherwise, and silently seemed to dare her to bring up
such subjects. Scarlett held her peace, for it was easier to let
well enough alone, and life went on smoothly enough, on the
surface. His impersonal courtesy toward her that had begun during
her convalescence continued and he did not fling softly drawled
barbs at her or sting her with sarcasm. She realized now that
though he had infuriated her with his malicious comments and roused
her to heated rejoinders, he had done it because he cared what she
did and said. Now she wondered if he cared about anything she did.
He was polite and disinterested and she missed his interest,
perverse though it had been, missed the old days of bickering and
retort.

He was pleasant to her now, almost as though she were a stranger;
but, as his eyes had once followed her, they now followed Bonnie.
It was as though the swift flood of his life had been diverted into
one narrow channel. Sometimes Scarlett thought that if Rhett had
given her one-half the attention and tenderness he lavished on
Bonnie, life would have been different. Sometimes it was hard to
smile when people said: "How Captain Butler idolizes that child!"
But, if she did not smile, people would think it strange and
Scarlett hated to acknowledge, even to herself, that she was
jealous of a little girl, especially when that little girl was her
favorite child. Scarlett always wanted to be first in the hearts
of those around her and it was obvious now that Rhett and Bonnie
would always be first with each other.

Rhett was out late many nights but he came home sober on these
nights. Often she heard him whistling softly to himself as he went
down the hall past her closed door. Sometimes men came home with
him in the late hours and sat talking in the dining room around the
brandy decanter. They were not the same men with whom he had drunk
the first year they were married. No rich Carpetbaggers, no
Scallawags, no Republicans came to the house now at his invitation.
Scarlett, creeping on tiptoe to the banister of the upstairs hall,
listened and, to her amazement, frequently heard the voices of Rene
Picard, Hugh Elsing, the Simmons boys and Andy Bonnell. And always
Grandpa Merriwether and Uncle Henry were there. Once, to her
astonishment, she heard the tones of Dr. Meade. And these men had
once thought hanging too good for Rhett!

This group was always linked in her mind with Frank's death, and
the late hours Rhett kept these days reminded her still more of the
times preceding the Klan foray when Frank lost his life. She
remembered with dread Rhett's remark that he would even join their
damned Klan to be respectable, though he hoped God would not lay so
heavy a penance on his shoulders. Suppose Rhett, like Frank--

One night when he was out later than usual she could stand the
strain no longer. When she heard the rasp of his key in the lock,
she threw on a wrapper and, going into the gas lit upper hall, met
him at the top of the stairs. His expression, absent, thoughtful,
changed to surprise when he saw her standing there.

"Rhett, I've got to know! I've got to know if you--if it's the
Klan--is that why you stay out so late? Do you belong--"

In the flaring gas light he looked at her incuriously and then he
smiled.

"You are way behind the times," he said. "There is no Klan in
Atlanta now. Probably not in Georgia. You've been listening to
the Klan outrage stories of your Scallawag and Carpetbagger
friends."

"No Klan? Are you lying to try to soothe me?"

"My dear, when did I ever try to soothe you? No, there is no Klan
now. We decided that it did more harm than good because it just
kept the Yankees stirred up and furnished more grist for the
slander mill of his excellency, Governor Bullock. He knows he can
stay in power just so long as he can convince the Federal
government and the Yankee newspapers that Georgia is seething with
rebellion and there's a Klansman hiding behind every bush. To keep
in power he's been desperately manufacturing Klan outrage stories
where none exist, telling of loyal Republicans being hung up by the
thumbs and honest darkies lynched for rape. But he's shooting at a
nonexistent target and he knows it. Thank you for your
apprehensions, but there hasn't been an active Klan since shortly
after I stopped being a Scallawag and became an humble Democrat."

Most of what he said about Governor Bullock went in one ear and out
the other for her mind was mainly occupied with relief that there
was no Klan any longer. Rhett would not be killed as Frank was
killed; she wouldn't lose her store or his money. But one word of
his conversation swam to the top of her mind. He had said "we,"
linking himself naturally with those he had once called the "Old
Guard."

"Rhett," she asked suddenly, "did you have anything to do with the
breaking up of the Klan?"

He gave her a long look and his eyes began to dance.

"My love, I did. Ashley Wilkes and I are mainly responsible."

In the time that followed her illness Scarlett noticed a change in

Rhett and she was not altogether certain that she liked it. He was

sober and quiet and preoccupied. He was at home more often for

supper now and he was kinder to the servants and more affectionate

to Wade and Ella. He never referred to anything in their past,

pleasant or otherwise, and silently seemed to dare her to bring up

such subjects. Scarlett held her peace, for it was easier to let

well enough alone, and life went on smoothly enough, on the

surface. His impersonal courtesy toward her that had begun during

her convalescence continued and he did not fling softly drawled

barbs at her or sting her with sarcasm. She realized now that

though he had infuriated her with his malicious comments and roused

her to heated rejoinders, he had done it because he cared what she

did and said. Now she wondered if he cared about anything she did.

He was polite and disinterested and she missed his interest,

perverse though it had been, missed the old days of bickering and

retort.

He was pleasant to her now, almost as though she were a stranger;

but, as his eyes had once followed her, they now followed Bonnie.

It was as though the swift flood of his life had been diverted into

one narrow channel. Sometimes Scarlett thought that if Rhett had

given her one-half the attention and tenderness he lavished on

Bonnie, life would have been different. Sometimes it was hard to

smile when people said: "How Captain Butler idolizes that child!"

But, if she did not smile, people would think it strange and

Scarlett hated to acknowledge, even to herself, that she was

jealous of a little girl, especially when that little girl was her

favorite child. Scarlett always wanted to be first in the hearts

of those around her and it was obvious now that Rhett and Bonnie

would always be first with each other.

Rhett was out late many nights but he came home sober on these

nights. Often she heard him whistling softly to himself as he went

down the hall past her closed door. Sometimes men came home with

him in the late hours and sat talking in the dining room around the

brandy decanter. They were not the same men with whom he had drunk

the first year they were married. No rich Carpetbaggers, no

Scallawags, no Republicans came to the house now at his invitation.

Scarlett, creeping on tiptoe to the banister of the upstairs hall,

listened and, to her amazement, frequently heard the voices of Rene

Picard, Hugh Elsing, the Simmons boys and Andy Bonnell. And always

Grandpa Merriwether and Uncle Henry were there. Once, to her

astonishment, she heard the tones of Dr. Meade. And these men had

once thought hanging too good for Rhett!

This group was always linked in her mind with Frank's death, and

the late hours Rhett kept these days reminded her still more of the

times preceding the Klan foray when Frank lost his life. She

remembered with dread Rhett's remark that he would even join their

damned Klan to be respectable, though he hoped God would not lay so

heavy a penance on his shoulders. Suppose Rhett, like Frank--

One night when he was out later than usual she could stand the

strain no longer. When she heard the rasp of his key in the lock,

she threw on a wrapper and, going into the gas lit upper hall, met

him at the top of the stairs. His expression, absent, thoughtful,

changed to surprise when he saw her standing there.

"Rhett, I've got to know! I've got to know if you--if it's the

Klan--is that why you stay out so late? Do you belong--"

In the flaring gas light he looked at her incuriously and then he

smiled.

"You are way behind the times," he said. "There is no Klan in

Atlanta now. Probably not in Georgia. You've been listening to

the Klan outrage stories of your Scallawag and Carpetbagger

friends."

"No Klan? Are you lying to try to soothe me?"

"My dear, when did I ever try to soothe you? No, there is no Klan

now. We decided that it did more harm than good because it just

kept the Yankees stirred up and furnished more grist for the

slander mill of his excellency, Governor Bullock. He knows he can

stay in power just so long as he can convince the Federal

government and the Yankee newspapers that Georgia is seething with

rebellion and there's a Klansman hiding behind every bush. To keep

in power he's been desperately manufacturing Klan outrage stories

where none exist, telling of loyal Republicans being hung up by the

thumbs and honest darkies lynched for rape. But he's shooting at a

nonexistent target and he knows it. Thank you for your

apprehensions, but there hasn't been an active Klan since shortly

after I stopped being a Scallawag and became an humble Democrat."

Most of what he said about Governor Bullock went in one ear and out

the other for her mind was mainly occupied with relief that there

was no Klan any longer. Rhett would not be killed as Frank was

killed; she wouldn't lose her store or his money. But one word of

his conversation swam to the top of her mind. He had said "we,"

linking himself naturally with those he had once called the "Old

Guard."

"Rhett," she asked suddenly, "did you have anything to do with the

breaking up of the Klan?"

He gave her a long look and his eyes began to dance.

"My love, I did. Ashley Wilkes and I are mainly responsible."