The glorious summer day, daughter of 1929, has been trying in vain to attract the woman's attention for a very long time. Sitting on the sun-bathed veranda, she is deep in thought. She doesn't notice the warm breeze playing upon her face, trying to make the frown on her forehead disappear. Finally, the gentle wind dies away, saving its caresses for someone more responsive to them.
Her green velvet garment speaks for itself – it is rich, luxurious and elegant, albeit somehow out of place in the simple, serene atmosphere of the large house surrounded by nature. It has a wave of nostalgia about it, as if it rightfully belongs to another time and only a mistake is responsible for its being here. Just like its owner.
She is an old woman, but not the fairytale sort of – plump, cheerful, baking cookies for her grandchildren. Far from it. There is dignity written all over her features, also present in her position. It almost resembles pride – the gratifying knowledge of having survived, against all odds. On her face, an artist or a long acquaintance could have guessed, even after so many tempestuous years, an unconventional beauty and natural charm which must have made her stand out in the crowd in her youth. The passage of time, with its continuous siege, couldn't yet extinguish the remnants of a remarkable assemble of features.
The sound of somebody clearing their throat behind her altered her train of thought and brought her back to reality. She was now sure to hear Molly's annoying voice… oh, how she reminded her sometimes of Prissy.
"Excuse me, madam. I'm sorry to disturb you. I just came here to bring you today's newspaper."
"Then give it to me and leave."
"Yes, madam." She treats me as if I were her slave. But I have no right to complain, she pays me well. She can afford anything. Hmm, maybe she robbed a bank in her better days.
The old lady opens the newspaper at the fashion page, the only one that interests her in the slightest.
"Great balls of fire!"
"Madam, madam! Are you alright?"
"This is just atrocious! Look at that awful dress. No waistline and no bodice! No wonder she looks as fat as Mammy or Aunt Pitty."
"But madam, this is all the fashion! Nobody wears those impossible cages anymore. I once tried one and couldn't even breathe in it."
"Fiddle-de-dee! It's better not to breathe at all than to look like that!"
This is the moment when I give up, smile and slowly prepare my retreat.
"And where do you think you're going?"
"Oh, well… I'm going to the kitchen, madam. There's something I have to do." Anything.
"Very well. It's not like you're good company."
"Oh… I almost forgot. Mr. Hamilton phoned and said he's coming tomorrow. He will bring his – now what was it called? – his automobile! The fastest ever made. How beautiful it must look!."
At the mention of her son's name, her mind begins to wander again, while Molly's voice is going on and on. I haven't seen him in a while. I hope he knows how to drive that… somehow, I can't see him doing anything that dangerous. He's still so reserved. I know everything we've been through marked him as well. During the War, all I could do was notice how he was gradually shying away from me. I guess I lost him then and found it so hard to regain his trust afterwards. But God knows I've tried.
For the first time that day, she starts to take in the surroundings and, as usual, her eyes drink in the land's exquisite beauty – the imposing presence of the dark, secular cedars, the fresh green of nature in full bloom and the graveled drive that seems to promise a wonderful journey towards a magic place. Here, where it all began. This magnificent sight opening up in front of her has been an infallible source of comfort to her through the numerous bad times in her life.
Feeling herself flooded by a wave of thankfulness, she speaks aloud:
"Tara, Tara… What would I have done without you? Pa was always right…land is the only thing that lasts." She knows better than anybody else that Tara is a solid pillar which has stood its ground throughout so many periods of time.
And, more than anything else, she sees in Tara a "living" memory, a testimony of old days gone with the wind. It gives her the same sense of security and calmness which permeated her life before the Civil War. It was her liaison with the past and the glory of her youth, never letting her forget what a lifetime has thought her.
She remembers herself crying on the grand staircase, wondering "What is it that matters?"… Now, she knows the answer. And she's not going to let it slip through her fingers ever again.
The thought of losing the answer is enough to make the woman involuntarily shudder. It is the magic resort that makes her cross the oceans of time to relive those days of grief yet revelation, so intense that every moment seemed to count for the beginning of a new lifetime.
She always tries to stop looking back – it's one of her oldest rules to turn her eyes away from what's been and gone, but today, when nature seems to have mistaken the year by turning this beautiful place into what it used to be, she finds herself powerless. So she drifts endlessly, taken by the flood of memories which may never want to stop their running at breakneck speed…
So this is the first chapter of my story. I decided to begin with the end and narrate the story by using a series of flashbacks that sometimes merge with the present. I hope you found it interesting.
Please let me know what you think.
Until next time! Ann.
