Imperfect pieces of a porcelain figurines head lay scattered on the thick velvety carpet. Drops of white and pastel on a backdrop of rich and red. The blue of a lonely dead porcelain eye staring into a vast emptiness. Innocence broken once again.
Another pair of eyes stared into the same confines of space. Empty too – like the broken dolls. Somehow she felt broken too. This should have been a moment of victory. Her moment of victory. She had thought she would feel purified by her sanctimonious sacrifice on the alter of her unrequited love. Instead... instead she felt only emptiness, and somehow cheated. She shook her head slowly as if to shake the feeling of immense loss of her shoulders. Straightening her back at the same time. A pretty picture, perched on the edge of her bed where she had sunk down after he had left the room in a flurry of splintered porcelain and a loud bang of the heavy wooden door.
"What a silly goose I am." she said forcing a flirtatious mocking note into her voice and a peal of laughter reminiscent of her southern belle days. But even to her own ears it rang hollow and false. The eyes that before had been empty now looked immensely sad. She shook her head more violently, not wanting to let the waves of sadness overtake her.
"Well, you can go to Hell Rhett Butler – see if I care" she spoke louder and with more force. Trying to spark a sense of anger. Somehow the thick carpets and tapestry muffled the sound and the words sounded feeble and faint. She slumped down on her bed in a crackle of heavy silks as her skirt adjusted.
"What a silly goose I am" she repeated, this time more of a whisper. As if a sudden realisation came with the repetition of the words. So what if it was silly her stubborn mind interfered, not wanting to go into the deep waters of self discovery and realisation. He should have fought for me since the matter seemed so surprisingly important to him. He just does not like not getting his own ways the stubborn little voice of her mind continued. That is not fair, another voice interjected – and you know it. The voice came from the largely untouched waters of her pond of self-discovery. Would you have fought if the roles had been reversed? it continued.
"But I am not a man" to her surprise she spoke out the words loudly. However no response was given since she was alone in the room. The figurine's eye still stared unblinkingly into emptiness. No response could be gained from any of the dead things that now surrounded her.
"Men are supposed to find this the most important – they are the beasts who have needs..." she blushed as she spoke the words, though they came out as hushed tones only. Deep down she knew that it wasn't only missing THAT that had made Rhett so angry. And he had been angry – despite his deliberately careless words, and talk of indiscretions and divorce. Only a very angry Rhett would have resorted to violence, even if it was only violence committed to an unspeaking object.
She sat up again. Taking in all the details of her elaborately decorated room. She normally loved the room. The curtains, the drapery, the colour scheme. Her small dressing table with her pots and flacons, jewellery from the previous evening, carelessly left atop it's velvety box. Silver brushes sitting where they landed after he had tossed it when she had initiated the conversation. The dresser with her collection of porcelain figurines that he had given her, where now one was was sorely missing. The room, normally so cosy and warm had changed. Now it felt lonesome, her cosy nest ruined somehow by his departure.
She slowly got up from the bed. Her skirt rattling with her every movement, telling tales of riches. Riches that she had longed for, but now they felt empty.
Her eyes scanned the room once again. Taking in even more details, fixing on the ceramic murder scene. She bent down and picked up the largest piece of the former porcelain beauty. She sank down on the floor, a body afloat in a lake of silks and lace. Slowly she tried to piece together the shattered porcelain bits.
Two pieces made up the front of the head, a rosy mouth with a perfect little nose and one unblinking eye. The other a small white ear, and arched brow and another dull unblinking eye.
"Would you keep me warm and tell me stories if you could" her voice was brittle and childish. In that moment she acknowledged and admitted to herself that she actually would miss him. She would miss the comfort of his company, the warmth of another human body next to hers. The little vibrations it gave through his body, when he spoke into the semi darkness of a half lit room. She hated loneliness almost as much as she hated poverty. She had been alone for so long, even in her previous marriages she had always felt lonely. With Rhett she realised she had actually enjoyed moments of togetherness, a sense of company, of being safe.
The echo of his low rumbling laughter and the warm smell of his nighttime cigar rang through the room as a very lively memory. Would the memory of this fade like all other happy memories of her life? Her youth and childhood which before had stood so clear to her, were now only faded pastel pictures in her mind. She had felt safe then. Had she now lost the newfound safety she had gained for herself? Would soon the memory of Rhett and her together in amiable companionship also fade into sepia and be stored away as a has been or a then was?
"I was happy here" she said to herself. She realised it only as she spoke it out loud. And the realisation made her open up her eyes in wide surprise.
"But I love Ashley" the words reassured her. Had she ever felt the same sense of comfort and being safe with Ashley. The voice from the pond pipped a very timid no, but was soon silenced by the voice of habit.
"I love Ashley" She repeated more strongly. And with that she firmly put a lid on that box and firmly locked it. She wasn't ready to go deeper into that chain of thought.
"I will miss him" This time it was her husband that was in her thoughts, not her gilded prince. She looked down at the shattered remnants of the figurine. The piece was beyond repair. With a sigh she picked up the remaining fragments. Even so small pieces still lay behind, dust of porcelain that meant that what had been could never be again. She wondered if that would be the same for her and Rhett. The thought brought on a new wave of sadness.
"I don't want to be lonely again" She said to the broken face. The only response she got was an unmoved smile and eyes that would not make contact. Right now she was lonely – but maybe just maybe this was one thing that could still be mended.
Resolutely she got up, opened the door and tripped out into the unknown outside the confines of her room.
Out on the landing she hesitated briefly. What on earth was she going to do? She couldn't just go up to him and say that she regretted her decision. There would be no end to his jibes if she did so. She would rather be alone than live without pride she decided then and there.
"There must be another way" she mumbled to herself.
The rest of the day was spent in restless contemplation. Rhett had gone out it seemed, which of course was both a curse and a blessing. On the one hand it gave her time to plan and think, on the other hand it gave her time to think and plan. A double edged sword, as still she had no clue as to what to do.
She tried to do her ledgers, a task she normally enjoyed hugely. Adding numbers, seeing the sums she could stow away normally filled her with joy and satisfaction. But today the numbers wouldn't add up, and the pages she had tried to do, before finally tossing it away were marred with crossed out lines, and blotted numbers.
She spoke to Cook about dinner, but as it was all already taken care of, it only served to frustrate her more.
She perused the heavy tomes of the library, letting fingers run over the even backs and gilded letters. Not really taking in the titles, but enjoying the rippling sensation. She had gone back and forth a couple of times when suddenly her fingers caught an irregular bump in the even rows. She paused, not particularly curious but, as she was in a restless mood and ready to go wherever her fancy took her, she picked it up. Hoping that despite her very practical approach to religious belief that some divine interference would show her the right path for her project.
The book that had created the irregularity was small and looked very plain and a little gritty as her little fingers pulled it from its place amongst its peers. It was also rather dusty – probably due to its size it had escaped the meticulous cleaning of the maid. It didn't seem like anyone had read the book since it had been placed in the library. She turned the covers, the etching on the front was largely faded. She tracked a finger along the faded lines.
"Fan ill" She said as she tied the visible letters together in her mind. It seemed a wholly unremarkable title for a book. Yet she was curious, though she could not have explained why. She took the book and went outside on the porch, the sweltering heat of midday had melted away and left behind a nice warmness which made for comfortable outdoor times. She sat down in one of the low hanging chairs which had been conveniently hung in the shade of the roof overhang. Ivy had been left to its own device creating at this time of the year a cosy green alcove. The perfect place for a retreat into the realm of fantasy created by books. Not something she would normally have opted for, but today with her tickled curiosity it was just the place she needed. She opened the book and looked at the inscription on the inside – RKB and a date from the last year of the war had been carefully imprinted. Rhett's book of course – he had always been bookish. She calculated in her mind and deducted correctly that this book had come into Rhett's possession during his time as a soldier.
"No wonder we lost the war if all the soldiers did was hang around reading novels." she said huffily to herself. But it intrigued her a bit, what kind of book would a soldier read in his times of trials. Something interesting surely, to really pull the mind away from the dangers ahead, or maybe it would turn out to be one of Rhett's normal books which had yet to spark even the slightest bit of interest in her mind.
She turned the page over. "Fanny Hill" the full title said. A book about a woman! She raised a puzzled eyebrow. What sort of tale of a woman could engross a soldier, even if the soldier was one Rhett Butler who had always been overly fond of the most boring books? A bit disappointed that the book apparently had little chance to be of any interest, she randomly flicked through the pages, and the book fell open where a wad of paper had been tucked away. She picked up her new findings, intrigued anew by the slight chance of a mystery at her hands. It looked like two booklets. She opened the first one – the thickest. It revealed an even more simple book than the one she held in her hand "Maria Monk". She snorted derisively. Another book about a girl. Well it seemed like even during the war Rhett had been busy with the opposite sex.
She then turned her attention to the other much slimmer booklet, in fact it seemed more like just the cover for something. Opening it she dropped it at once startled. After a moments pause she picked it up again. And looked at the content with a surprised disbelieving look in her face. The content of the coverlet was a picture, in fact it was a perfect miniature of herself. She looked at it closely, it really was an amazingly accurate portrait of herself. How had he gotten hold of such a thing? And more importantly why? She felt a surge of anger... how dared he. The moment after, the flare died down leaving behind a sense of flattery and some pressing questions. Why had Rhett carried with him a picture of her into war?
Did it mean that he really cared for her? Why else would a man carry a picture of a woman with him into battle. And why did he keep them with the novels about women. She felt she had a lot of questions she would like to ask her husband. That is if he ever wanted to speak to her again. She played out the scene between them from this morning in her head, most of his words had been careful and deliberate. As always he, Rhett Butler, was an impenetrable mask of indifference. But his eyes had looked stormy, and perhaps hurt as well, if she dared flatter herself that much. And then there was the door and the porcelain figurine. These actions lend to the belief that he had in fact been very much bothered by her decision.
A little comforted by that thought, Scarlett settled back down in the chair to peruse the books about the women. Maybe she could learn something that would give her a clue as to how to best get Rhett to understand that she had regretted her decision?
Looking over the page Scarlett's cheeks took on a rose coloured hue. What kind of book was this? She felt she ought to put it down, yet she was curiously intrigued. In this moment, like never before she hoped that her mother could not see her, and what she was doing.
Her eyes caught on a sentence "We lay together that night, when, after playing repeated prizes of pleasure, nature, overspent and satisfy'd, gave us up to the arms of sleep: those of my dear youth encircled me, the consciousness of which made even that sleep more delicious".
This spoke of pleasure, pleasure for women as well. She had never really thought that women could derive any real pleasure from being with a man. She thought it over. Charles – it was such a long time ago, and only such a very brief encounter, the actual memory of it was blurred and pressed into an inaccessible corner of her mind. Frank – a different story. A memory of panting and sweat – all from him – came into her mind. And the smell, his heavily tinted breath unavoidable as she lay immovable pinned down by his thin yet surprisingly strong arms. Rhett – Rhett was a completely different story. It hadn't been vile. His skin against hers had always felt nice she admitted to herself. It wasn't really something she had thought a lot about. Bearing a man's advances was something she had always thought was just a necessary part of marriage. Even in her day dreams about marriage to Ashley, the more intimate part of marriage was something she always blanked out. She enjoyed being kissed, and remembered faintly how Rhett's expert kisses had persuaded her to accept his proposal.
Could there be more to be gained? She had always had a curious nature, especially for thing hidden and somehow forbidden. And she felt that this area would be something both forbidden and hidden.
For the next hours Scarlett spent more time reading than she had for all the previous years combined. She didn't read the book from end to end, but flicked over the pages reading excerpts. Some made her catch her breath, some startled her and made her uneasy, other intrigued her and piqued her curiosity. Others again brought heat to her checks, and made the question pop up in her head. Could women really enjoy this? If so why had nobody told her? And was it something only a few women could enjoy? Or was it something even she could learn? Again and again fleeting memories of an unspoken longing awoken in her. A distant kiss from Ashley or even more numerous were the memories of a similar feeling being awakened by the touch of Rhett's lips and his hands encircling her waist.
Scarlett hated nothing more than feeling left out. And the feeling that she might have been barred from the experience of feeling overwhelming pleasure made her feel somehow cheated. Not that she would ever have admitted it openly, had anyone asked. She barely even admitted it to herself, though the nagging voice from the pond of her self revelation pointed out that it was grossly unfair that she had never been told this. For a moment she felt the unfairness for all of womankind. How much nicer would not marriage be in general if a woman could actually learn to enjoy the intimacies brought on her by her husband? And did men know this? If so, why did they not try to educate women? Very puzzling questions that could not be easily answered. Nor could they be easily erased from her mind now that they had started showing up.
For a moment she paused. If this was true, her choice of chastity was even more unbearable. One thing was being lonesome, another was being cheated of something good. Though blinded to many of the feelings of herself and others, Scarlett's chains of logical reasoning were strong, and currently they told her – much to her own surprise and very much against her will - that this was something to take into consideration and added to the arguments as to why she should persuade Rhett to come back to what had been their bedroom.
Engrossed, as she was in her book, she did not hear the approaching footsteps. Thus she was caught very much of guard when her husbands voice disrupted her relative peacefulness. The day had been blissfully calm, a stark contrast to her tumultuous insides, with Wade and Ella away in school and later with Prissy and Bonny taken care of by the live in nurse.
"Good evening my dear" he said in his slow Charleston drawl.