The first time I laid eyes on Scarlett O'Hara was on that fateful day when the South declared war against the Union. I was in Clayton county buying up cotton to stockpile. Frank Kennedy, my broker in Atlanta, had invited me to accompany him to a barbeque at the plantation of a Mr John Wilkes. I sometimes wonder how differently my life may have turned out had I not been at that barbeque that day. But I was there. And it was there that the spirited Miss O'Hara first caught my eye. She was just sixteen, but she orchestrated and led on a crowd of adoring young men quite masterfully. Masterfully and mercilessly. For I saw how she played them against each other, made promises and broke them without a care, fluttered her eyelids and flirted shamelessly. She was like a cat playing with mice. It was amusing to watch, and I admired her skill.
After a rather heated discussion amongst the gentlemen about the South's ability to fight a war, in which my opinions were considered unpatriotic, I thought it prudent to retire to the library. Imagine my surprise when my peaceful repose was interrupted by none other than the very same Miss O'Hara whom I had found amusing earlier in the day. She had somehow managed to lure the unsuspecting Mr Ashley Wilkes, John Wilkes' son, to join her. This in itself was scandalous enough, as it was well known that Ashley was to announce his engagement to his cousin Melanie later that day. Now Scarlett was more than amusing; she was passionately animated. Evidently she fancied herself in love with young Mr Wilkes and sought to persuade him to change his marital plans. As she declared her love for him so ardently, I couldn't help but think how wonderful it would be to be loved by such a passionate woman. Mr Wilkes, however, being of a much more even temperament, was not to be dissuaded from his plans. When Scarlett threw a vase across the room in rage, it narrowly missed me and I was forced to reveal my presence. In all it was a much more entertaining afternoon than I had anticipated.
After the outbreak of war I moved to Wilmington, where my attention was fully taken up with setting up a very profitable blockade running business. I loved the risk and the sense of adventure. I spared no thought for young Miss Scarlett O'Hara.
When I returned to Atlanta some time later to arrange for the disposal of some blockade run goods, I was surprised to find myself something of a hero. Those foolish Southerners had ascribed a patriotic motive to my moneymaking schemes and upheld me as an example of selfless heroism. They were so tragically devoted to their cause. But I could see it was a lost cause from the start. The world was changing and those who refused to change with it would be left behind. I played along with their delusion while it suited me. And that was how I came to be present at a bazaar for the benefit of the war hospitals, where I unexpectedly encountered Miss O'Hara for the second time. But she was no longer Miss O'Hara, as it was clear from her attire that she was a widow. However her demeanor was oddly at variance with her attire. Far from being a decorous dowager, her green eyes were flashing with impotent rage and she fidgeted impatiently behind a stall as she watched her contemporaries enjoying themselves on the dance floor. She was still such a child, it was clear that she wanted to dance and felt herself most hard done by to be left out. I wondered incuriously which of the adoring pups of her acquaintance had been unfortunate enough to die so soon after winning her hand, and left such little impression on her. As I renewed my acquaintance with her, her cheeks flamed crimson at the memory of our last meeting, then she began to look as though she may actually faint. I was accustomed to having an effect on women, of course, but I must admit I did enjoy having such a marked effect on a young woman of such vitality. I hastened to assure her that I would not dream of embarrassing her by mentioning the details of our previous meeting.
When, later in the evening, the opportunity arose to bid for the privelege of leading the reel with a dance partner of my choosing, it was only natural that I thought of Scarlett. She so clearly wanted to dance, and so I bid a generous amount for her and we danced. As we danced, something fundamental shifted within me. She was a divine dancer, so light on her feet that she hardly seemed to touch the floor. And as I held her in my arms I was aware of how beautiful she was. But it was speaking to her that really set my heart on fire. For here was someone like me, unafraid to flout convention, selfish, intelligent, strong. I was entranced.
I had an old friend in Atlanta by the name of Belle Watling. I had set her up in business there, and I enjoyed her company when I was in town. She had no time for Scarlett. She called her a spoilt, selfish brat. Perhaps I should have listened to her. But then, I believe she was jealous.
I took every opportunity after that to call on Scarlett where she was staying in Atlanta with her sister-in-law Melanie Wilkes in the home of Miss Pittypat Hamilton. I loved to bring her little treats from France, blockade run goods that no one else could get. Her eyes would light up with pleasure and it gave me a warm glow of satisfaction. I wiled away many happy hours chatting with her, and I came to appreciate her quick mind and sympathetic ear. She still believed herself smitten with Ashley Wilkes, but I hoped to be able to rid her of her childish obsession.
Later on, when the fighting came close to Atlanta. the citizens were refugeeing out of town. But Mrs Wilkes was expecting and not fit to travel, so she and Scarlett stayed in town. I feared for their safety so I remained nearby, discreetly watching over them. When Mrs Wilkes was finally delivered of a baby boy on the very day the Confederate Army pulled out of Atlanta, Scarlett was desperate to leave. By then there was scarcely any means of transport left in Atlanta, but I managed to rustle up a decrepit old horse and cart, and conveyed Scarlett out of town, along with her charges Melanie and the baby, Scarlett's son Wade, and their negro Prissy. It was a dangerous and exhilarating undertaking. Scarlett was afraid and she clung to me in a most endearing manner. But she was determined to go home to Tara, her family plantation. I dreaded to think what she might find there but did not have the heart to frighten her further. She was courageous, despite her fear, and I admired that immensely.
Meanwhile the sight of the retreating army had stirred me in an unexpected way. They were brave boys, and I suppose it was evident to all by then that they were fighting for a lost cause. Yet they had such comeraderie, such understanding between them, that all of a sudden I wanted to be part of it; to share in their defeat. Because after all, I was a Southerner too, and a part of me grieved with them for all that was lost. So I left her to continue her journey without me. I knew she would get there, she had such drive and determination. I wanted badly to kiss her goodbye. In fact, I longed to do more than kiss her. I did kiss her, and she liked it, but she pretended not to. In fact, she slapped me across the mouth, and hurled childish insults at me. That was the send off I got from Scarlett as I set off to join the death throes of the confederate army,
I thought of her a lot during my time in the army. Of course, all soldiers think of their girls back home.
After the war ended, my first thought was to see how she had fared. There was a warrant out for my arrest in Georgia. For misappropriation of Confederate funds or some such nonsense. The truth was they knew I had made a fortune out of trading for the Confederate army and they wanted to get their dirty hands on the money. I knew I risked arrest to go and see Scarlett again. But I couldn't help myself. I was arrested too, straight off the train, and locked up in the firehouse. They were threatening to hang me, and I was saddened to think that things could end that way, and I would never have the pleasure of Scarlett's company again.
In the midst of my gloom however, Scarlett unexpectedly paid me a visit. She was like a ray of sunshine in my despair and I am afraid I was so pleased to see her that I allowed her to quite take me in. She looked heavenly, and she led me to believe that she cared about me. But then I saw that it was all an elaborate charade. She only wanted my money, to pay the taxes on Tara, and it cut me to the core. Of course, I was unable to give her any money, even when she offered to sell her womanly services to me. How tempting it was. But the Yankees would have been onto it in a flash and I would have lost everything. So she raged and then she stormed out. She was a sight to see in a rage.
When the Yankees finally released me from that miserable holding pen, I hastened to find Scarlett. I would have given her the money for the taxes then if she had still needed it, but sadly I was too late. The shameless woman had married Frank Kennedy, her sister's beau, just to get the taxes. How I cursed the unfairness of it all.
To Frank's distress, Scarlett took an active interest in his store, and proved to have a good head for books. More than that, she could see a good business opportunity when it arose, and so it was that she persuaded me to advance her a loan to buy a timber mill. She was a born businesswoman, and I delighted to see her pleasure in making money.
Inevitably though, she became pregnant, and I don't know who was more unhappy about it, me or her. She saw it as an inconvenience that stopped her from being able to run the mill, while I... I was just jealous of old Frank. He didn't even appreciate her.
As her pregnancy advanced she scandalised everyone by continuing to appear in public. She insisted on travelling to the mill herself even though the road lay through a dangerous area where malcontents gathered. I tried to escort her through the area as much as I could, but inevitably I could not always be there. It was Melanie who came up with the unlikely solution. She had a rough character by the name of Archie who sheltered in her cellar, and she persuaded him to drive Scarlett around as a favour to her.
Once I saw that Scarlett was safe, I left Atlanta and travelled around for a bit. In truth I could not bear to see her pregnant with another man's child. I went to New Orleans to visit my legal ward, a boy for whom I had taken responsibility as a favour to Belle. Then I went to Cuba to visit some old acquaintances. Then my father died and I returned to Charleston to see to my mother and sister. I could not grieve for my father. He always disapproved of me, cast me out without a shilling in my youth, and forbade my mother from seeing me. He even crossed my name out of the family bible. I was glad he was dead. But I grieved anyway, for myself, because I had always nursed a forlorn hope that one day my father would be proud of me. But it was not to be.
I did not return to Atlanta until some months after Scarlett's child was born, a girl whom they named Ella. How wonderful it was to see her again. I so enjoyed conversing with her, she was unlike anyone else I knew. She was never afraid to speak her mind, and she allowed me to speak mine. She gave as good as she got and I somehow felt more alive in her presence. I had to be so careful though. Frank was a good man and I didn't want to shame him with rumours that I was courting his wife.
Then one afternoon the thing I dreaded happened, and Scarlett was attacked by a negro as she was travelling alone to the mill. He actually succeeded in ripping her bodice. Fortunately a Tara Negro came to her rescue and she was not further harmed, but she was badly shaken. We all were. Frank and Ashley and most of the other men of Scarlett's acquaintance belonged to the Ku Klux Klan. They rode out that very night to administer their own form of justice in response to the attack. But the Yankees got wind of it and set a trap. Frank was killed. Ashley was shot in the shoulder but he was not badly wounded.
To Scarlett's credit she seemed genuinely upset at Frank's death. I could barely contain my joy. Scarlett was free and I intended to make her mine before anyone else could beat me to it. I proposed to her the very day of Frank's funeral. She was drunk at the time, and perhaps that is why she said yes. I knew she didn't love me. But I thought I could make her love me. What a lovesick fool I was!
Scarlett enjoyed our honeymoon in New Orleans. I made sure that she did. I wanted her to have everything she desired, to feel safe and cherished . . and loved. But still she pined after Ashley Wilkes. I could not understand it. He was such a reserved, refined gentleman, she would have been bored with him in five minutes if she could have had him. It drove me to distraction knowing that she was lying with me, wishing I was him.
A few months later Scarlett delivered the happy news that I was to become a father in a way that felt like a punch in the stomach. She looked at me with hatred and said she didn't want it. As if I had somehow done something cruel and horrible to her. How my heart lurched. I didn't know what to say. And I wondered where I had gone wrong.
From the first moment I laid eyes on my daughter Bonnie she became the most precious thing in my life. I never wanted her to know a moment's unhappiness. She was a beautiful child, and I see now that I overindulged her. I gave her all the love that Scarlett would not let me give her.
In truth our marriage was doomed from the start because of Ashley Wilkes. One day after Bonnie was born, Scarlett had been visiting Ashley at the sawmill that he managed for her. When she returned, she announced to me that she no longer wished me to set foot in her bedroom. How that wounded me! Because I loved her to distraction. And I wanted her. And I was her husband! I knew I could have forced her, but what would that have achieved? She would only hate me more.
Actually I did force her once, when I was intoxicated. And it did make her hate me more. She conceived, then she fell down the stairs and miscarried after we argued. I thought she would die. I thought I had killed her. She was so ill, I wanted to sit with her and take her hand and tell her I was sorry but she never asked for me, and I didn't dare enter her room uninvited. I didn't want to risk a display of her hatred. So I stayed in my room and got thoroughly drunk instead.
I still find it hard to talk about what happened next. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse for us, we were struck by the most cruel tragedy of all. Our beautiful Bonnie was thrown from her pony and broke her neck. She died instantly.
When Bonnie died something died inside me. I think it was hope. I was prostrate with grief. I couldn't eat. I couldn't think. I lost the will to live. Scarlett blamed me. She stared daggers at me every time I was unfortunate enough to run into her. I blamed myself too. I couldn't erase the image of my daughter's lifeless form sprawled in the dirt. It haunted me. It disturbed me to know that my dear Bonnie was buried in the dark earth, because I had failed to protect her from harm. I suffered hideous nightmares in which she was buried alive and clawing at the coffin, crying out to me to rescue her. How I missed her gay laughter and warm companionship.
I began to drink heavily. I felt immensely old and weary. I spent more and more time away from my unhappy home. My old friend Belle tried to ease my pain, but I found little enjoyment in any of life's pleasures.
When Melanie had her miscarriage Scarlett was in Marietta. I seriously considered not wiring her. I didn't want her upsetting Melly by unburdening her guilty conscience. And I dreaded what would happen between her and Ashley Wilkes when Melanie died, as she seemed likely to.
Furthermore, I just didn't wish to be anywhere near Scarlett myself. The woman clearly despised me. All my best efforts to make her love me had come to nothing. And it wounded my pride. More than just my pride. She wounded me, more than I cared to admit.
But Melly was asking for her, so I sent her a message advising her to return urgently. And I met her at the station when her train arrived in the gloomy twilight. And I conveyed her to the Wilkes house in our carriage. As a good husband should. Then I left her there. She was so agitated and afraid, she was actually trembling. I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her against me, to comfort her like a child. But I knew it was no use. She didn't want me. She had never wanted me.
So I left her there, and headed back to the monstrosity on Peachtree Road that we called home. It was no home to me, especially after Bonnie died. The place was vast, ugly, empty and cold. The only comfort there was the bottle. I took no comfort in the bottle that night however. Because I knew the time had come for me to stop avoiding the issue and take action. The more I ruminated on my predicament, the more it became clear to me that I needed to leave. I had no wish to be made an object of ridicule and pity when Scarlett and Ashley finally got what they yearned for. Hah! And good luck to them with that. I knew it would bring them no happiness. But they could not see it. As for our marriage, it was a farce. Perhaps it always had been.
The hour was late when my morose contemplation was interrupted by Scarlett's return. She had evidently run home as she was out of breath and her skirts were splattered with mud. I surveyed her uneasily. She seemed excited about something, and I dreaded to think what could have so animated her on this gloomy evening.
She confirmed that Melanie had died, as I had expected. Melanie had understood my pain a little, and the world seemed an even bleaker place without her.
It was when I offered Scarlett a divorce, however, that I saw the alarming direction her thoughts had taken. It seemed that after years of yearning after Ashley, she had quite suddenly decided, at the very moment when he could have been hers, that she no longer wanted him. More than that, she had just as precipitously decided to throw herself at me instead! My heart recoiled from her snare. She even had the gall to say that she loved me, but I believe she just wanted to posess me. How ridiculous her declaration sounded to my ears. This woman who for years had snubbed me and despised me, whose hurtful words rang in my ears mercilessly; 'No woman would want the children of a cad like you', 'Give me my baby that you killed', 'Take your hands off me you drunken fool'. She was heartless, and I had no heart left for it.
Flatly I informed her that I was leaving. I told her I didn't give a damn what she did or where she went, and I meant it. Then I packed my bags and left. And I felt like a huge weight had lifted off my shoulders. But my heart ached.