That was true, thought Scarlett, suddenly marveling. He did seem to enjoy playing with
Wade and often brought him presents.
"Now that we've brought this dreadful subject into the light and you admit that you expect a baby some time in the not too distant future, I'll say something I've been wanting to say for weeks--two things. The first is that it's dangerous for you to drive alone. You know it. You've been told it often enough. If you don't care personally whether or not you are raped, you might consider the consequences. Because of your obstinacy, you may get yourself into a situation where your gallant fellow townsmen will be forced to avenge you by stringing up a few darkies.
And that will bring the Yankees down on them and someone will probably get hanged. Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps one of the reasons the ladies do not like you is that your conduct may cause the neck-stretching of their sons and husbands? And furthermore, if the Ku Klux handles many more negroes, the Yankees are going to tighten up on Atlanta in a way that will make Sherman's conduct look angelic. I know what I'm talking about, for I'm hand in glove with the Yankees. Shameful to state, they treat me as one of them and I hear them talk openly.
They mean to stamp out the Ku Klux if it means burning the whole town again and hanging every male over ten. That would hurt you, Scarlett. You might lose money. And there's no telling where a prairie fire will stop, once it gets started. Confiscation of property, higher taxes, fines for suspected women--I've heard them all suggested. The Ku Klux--"
"Do you know any Ku Klux? Is Tommy Wellburn or Hugh or--"
He shrugged impatiently.
"How should I know? I'm a renegade, a turncoat, a Scalawag. Would I be likely to know?
But I do know men who are suspected by the Yankees and one false move from them and they
are as good as hanged. While I know you would have no regrets at getting your neighbors on the gallows, I do believe you'd regret losing your mills. I see by the stubborn look on your face that you do not believe me and my words are falling on stony ground. So all I can say is, keep that pistol of yours handy--and when I'm in town, I'll try to be on hand to drive you."
"Rhett, do you really--is it to protect me that you--"
"Yes, my dear, it is my much advertised chivalry that makes me protect you." The mocking light began to dance in his black eyes and all signs of earnestness fled from his face.
"And why? Because of my deep love for you, Mrs. Kennedy. Yes, I have silently hungered and thirsted for you and worshipped you from afar; but being an honorable man, like Mr. Ashley Wilkes, I have concealed it from you. You are, alas, Frank's wife and honor has forbidden my telling this to you. But even as Mr. Wilkes' honor cracks occasionally, so mine is cracking now and I reveal my secret passion and my--"
"Oh, for God's sake, hush!" interrupted Scarlett, annoyed as usual when he made her look like a conceited fool, and not caring to have Ashley and his honor become the subject of further conversation. "What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?"
"What! You change the subject when I am baring a loving but lacerated heart? Well, the other thing is this." The mocking light died out of his eyes again and his face was dark and quiet.
"I want you to do something about this horse. He's stubborn and he's got a mouth as tough as iron. Tires you to drive him, doesn't it? Well, if he chose to bolt, you couldn't possibly stop him. And if you turned over in a ditch, it might kill your baby and you too. You ought to get the heaviest curb bit you can, or else let me swap him for a gentle horse with a more sensitive mouth."
She looked up into his blank, smooth face and suddenly her irritation fell away, even as
her embarrassment had disappeared after the conversation about her pregnancy. He had been kind, a few moments before, to put her at her ease when she was wishing that she were dead. And he was being kinder now and very thoughtful about the horse. She felt a rush of gratitude to him and she wondered why he could not always be this way.
"The horse is hard to drive," she agreed meekly. "Sometimes my arms ache all night from tugging at him. You do what you think best about him, Rhett."
His eyes sparkled wickedly.
"That sounds very sweet and feminine, Mrs. Kennedy. Not in your usual masterful vein at all. Well, it only takes proper handling to make a clinging vine out of you."
She scowled and her temper came back.
"You will get out of this buggy this time, or I will hit you with the whip. I don't know why I put up with you--why I try to be nice to you. You have no manners. You have no morals.