Suddenly she felt very unhappy and leaning her head on the arm of the chair, she cried.
CHAPTER LII
ONE RAINY AFTERNOON when Bonnie was barely past her first birthday, Wade moped about
the sitting room, occasionally going to the window and flattening his nose on the dripping pane.
He was a slender, weedy boy, small for his eight years, quiet almost to shyness, never speaking unless spoken to. He was bored and obviously at loss for entertainment, for Ella was busy in the corner with her dolls, Scarlett was at her secretary muttering to herself as she added a long column of figures, and Rhett was lying on the floor, swinging his watch by its chain, just out of Bonnie's reach.
After Wade had picked up several books and let them drop with bangs and sighed deeply, Scarlett turned to him in irritation.
"Heavens, Wade! Run out and play."
"I can't. It's raining."
"Is it? I hadn't noticed. Well, do something. You make me nervous, fidgeting about. Go tell Pork to hitch up the carriage and take you over to play with Beau."
"He isn't home," sighed Wade. "He's at Raoul Picard's birthday party."
Raoul was the small son of Maybelle and René Picard--a detestable little brat, Scarlett
thought, more like an ape than a child.
"Well, you can go to see anyone you want to. Run tell Pork."
"Nobody's at home," answered Wade. "Everybody's at the party."
The unspoken words "everybody--but me" hung in the air; but Scarlett, her mind on her account books, paid no heed.
Rhett raised himself to a sitting posture and said: "Why aren't you at the party too, son?"
Wade edged closer to him, scuffing one foot and looking unhappy.
"I wasn't invited, sir."
Rhett handed his watch into Bonnie's destructive grasp and rose lightly to his feet.
"Leave those damned figures alone, Scarlett. Why wasn't Wade invited to this party?"
"For Heaven's sake, Rhett! Don't bother me now. Ashley has gotten these accounts in an awful snarl--Oh, that party? Well, I think it's nothing unusual that Wade wasn't invited and I wouldn't let him go if he had been. Don't forget that Raoul is Mrs. Merriwether's grandchild and Mrs. Merriwether would as soon have a free issue nigger in her sacred parlor as one of us."
Rhett, watching Wade's face with meditative eyes, saw the boy flinch.
"Come here, son," he said, drawing the boy to him. "Would you like to be at that party?"
"No, sir," said Wade bravely but his eyes fell.
"Hum. Tell me, Wade, do you go to little Joe Whiting's parties or Frank Bonnell's or--
well, any of your playmates?"
"No, sir. I don't get invited to many parties."
"Wade, you are lying!" cried Scarlett, turning. "You went to three last week, the Bart children's party and the Gelerts' and the Hundons'."
"As choice a collection of mules in horse harness as you could group together," said Rhett, his voice going into a soft drawl. "Did you have a good time at those parties? Speak up."
"No, sir."
"Why not?"
"I--I dunno, sir. Mammy--Mammy says they're white trash."
"I'll skin Mammy this minute!" cried Scarlett, leaping to her feet "And as for you, Wade, talking so about Mother's friends--"
"The boy's telling the truth and so is Mammy," said Rhett. "But, of course, you've never been able to know the truth if you met it in the road… Don't bother, son. You don't have to go to any more parties you don't want to go to. Here," he pulled a bill from his pocket, "tell Pork to harness the carriage and take you downtown. Buy yourself some candy--a lot, enough to give you a wonderful stomach ache."
Wade, beaming, pocketed the bill and looked anxiously toward his mother for
confirmation. But she, with a pucker in her brows, was watching Rhett. He had picked Bonnie from the floor and was cradling her to him, her small face against his cheek. She could not read his face but there was something in his eyes almost like fear--fear and self-accusation.
Wade, encouraged by his stepfather's generosity, came shyly toward him.
"Uncle Rhett, can I ask you sumpin'?"
"Of course." Rhett's look was anxious, absent, as he held Bonnie's head closer. "What is it, Wade?"
"Uncle Rhett, were you--did you fight in the war?"
Rhett's eyes came alertly back and they were sharp, but his voice was casual.
"Why do you ask, son?"
"Well, Joe Whiting said you didn't and so did Frankie Bonnell."