CHIAROSCURO

Between the idea

And the reality

Between the motion

And the act

Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

-TS Eliot

PROLOGUE : PART 1

The dictates of Mother Celestine demanded of Carreen O'Hara the creation of a persona at once stoic and profoundly devout, a divine sleight of hand that would make the complexities of the plantation born and bred miss's life appear simple. Despite appearances, though, neither Carreen nor her nom de plume, Sister Caroline Irene, ever tried to make things simple for themselves. Indeed, in the view of her mother Ellen, a living, breathing saint if there ever has been one, simplification of one's life is tantamount to a kind of lazy immorality, and Carreen desperately desired to live out her days in accordance with her mother's morals. What little Carreen said, or felt, or did, resonated with all that she did not say, did not feel, and most especially, did not do. The simplicity of her new life in the Sisters of Mercy was merely apparent and in all manners of speaking, paradoxical.

Naturally, Carreen was forced to acknowledge employing her upbringing to her advantage: her Charleston Robillard connections still counted for as much inside the convent walls as outside them, despite the fact that she had renounced all of her worldly goods. She deemed the soft whispers of her mother far more suitable for study than the loud, gravelly voice of Mother Moran, who oversaw the novitiates and informed Sister Caroline Irene that she could not understand her and that she needed to speak more clearly. So, Careen spoke more clearly, although her words came out in short, precise replies. The other Sisters regarded Sister Caroline Irene as ostensibly lacking consciousness - she was clearly only half-hearted in her new vocation, they deigned! She possessed, at the very least, a natural modesty that served as an anecdote to any misplaced sense of pride, which served her well.

But underneath the veneer of subordinate Sister lurked a far tougher core: her sisters, those related to her by blood rather than the religious order had pointed the way. And they might have found it rather ironic that their sweet, subdued sister could have been in the situation in which she now found herself. It had been a mistake of her own rendering, she saw that much now. It was the same story she had always read, the makings of which might have come out of one of her novels, secretly stowed underneath her pillow some ten years before. As tends to happen in life outside of the novella, there was a less…romantic outcome.

When Carreen had met Andrew Deneau in the dark confines of the prison on her ministerial tour of duty in her final novitiate year, she had immediately sensed a certain intelligible earnestness in the man, who had been incarcerated for three years for a crime he would not discuss with her. Poorly educated and a heavy Creole accent might perhaps be effective in describing her immediate impression - although she quickly found fault in her hasty judgment and attempted to more effectively listen to what Deneau said and how he said it.

For instance, Deneau observed through his gritted teeth: Elle etait avec sa Bible." As usual, Carreen did have her Bible. Although its contents meant very little to the man to whom she was to offer charity, she had brought the Bible to read to him. His response, for instance, to her reading from the Gospel of Saint John, was that Christ offered no resistance to His execution, and therefore, must have contributed to His own demise. She didn't bother to correct him; she merely continued to read. And he listened, quietly. It was at some point during the six months that she made her daily pilgrimage to the prison that she realized the straightforward sentences were a window in Deneau's eyes, and as he saw things, she was worth just as much to him as a wife or a lover…no small thing to a girl of twenty, who had only had one beau in all her dull, colorless life after the war. Brent Tarleton had been her whole existence for as long as she could remember, the sole flicker of brightness in her young life, always overshadowed by her sisters, pretty, vivacious Scarlett, and catty, demanding Suellen.

Finally, she told Deneau about Brent, a direct response to his impudent but repeated question of why, why did she become a nun?

She had told him that two theological terms were appropriate attributes for her fallen beau, and that they could only be applied posthumously: hero and martyr. One described how Brent Tarleton had lived, the other, how he died. As such, she was compelled to honor not only God, but Brent as well, by submitting herself into His service.

And when she told him, he had replied with an eloquence that even her beloved had not possessed: "Ma belle, such …peculiarities of perception, oui?"

"What do you mean by that?" she had responded in French.

"Increments of character…" he replied in English. "You 'ave, two faces."

"Oui."

"But you choose to strip yourself of liberty?"

"Oui. In service of something greater than myself."

"You are…unconventional…Sister Caroline Irene."

"I suppose I am to take that as a complement, Monsieur Deneau?"

"Oui. Startlingly original."

In the second half of her second novitiate year, Carreen had allowed herself freer rein when alone with Deneau, even to the point of giving herself over to an experience which she counted hers alone - it went beyond sensation, beyond memory - it was the result of unsatisfied desire on her end and a kind of understanding on his. Although there were fundamental differences between the two of them, there was born some impossible sense of fidelity, and under his breath, she heard him whisper: "Je t'aime." I love you.

And for a period, Andrew Deneau constituted all of Carreen's sensibility, in a way in which Brent Tarleton never could have, even at the height of her excitement over his curious new feelings for her after her sister Scarlett had married another man right under his nose. But as with all things, her novitiate year passed, and she was returned to the motherhouse to make her temporary profession of vows, and she thought never to see Andrew Deneau again.

In August of 1873, she was called to Mother Celestine's office to receive a telegram, thankfully unopened by the Superior. "An audience, s'il vous plais? Regards, A. Deneau."

When Sister Bernadette had walked with her to the receiving room, Carreen had lingered at the door, distracted as she was by the gentleman seated in the high-backed wooden chair. His black hair was immaculately clipped and his prison beard had been shaved off. His bronzed skin was set off by the perfectly starched white shirt and black tie. When the other Sister shut the door, nodding with understanding and, Carreen knew, began standing guard on the other side, Deneau looked at her with his clear eyes and shook her hand, holding it so long she didn't think that he'd ever let go - not that she wanted him to do so.

"You are going through with it?" he asked, indicating her habit, which had attained an additional layer of cloth and a fuller, longer veil since he had seen her last - the other had been so very easy to remove…

She thought that he was criticizing her for her choice, and started to defend herself, although he quickly cut her off.

"You do not have to justify yourself to me, Carreen. The truth is, you are happier here."

"I am," she said, not convincing even herself.

Then, he had pressed himself against her, putting his lips on hers. Her eyes were stinging with bitter tears of longing, desire for his touch. They moved in unison, him holding her about the waist as the layers of fabric came off, revealing her petal soft skin -

"Like a flower," he whispered, lips traveling down her bare flesh.

She was glistening with sweat as she let her hair come down in waves - she could feel the heat from his body pressing down on her as he asked for her permission. And she nodded, gritting her teeth as she strained every nerve in her body - knowing that the moment had to end, that he had to walk away after he was finished.

He stood there, motionless, as though the very world had closed in around them. The dazzling red glare of the sun from the window overcame the room, and she turned to dress herself, stealing a peek at his hard, manly form, knowing that it would be the last time she would allow herself the pleasure of the flesh.

He tried to ask her to leave with him, although he could not altogether form the words. He did not look her in the eyes after she had replaced her habit and veil, unable to face Sister Caroline Irene.

And Carreen knew that Sister Caroline Irene had a decision to make, although it did not take her long to reach it. To stay or go amounted to the same thing. A minute passed, and she turned her back on Andrew Deneau and walked through the door, where Sister Bernadette was waiting on the other side…

There were some things that Carreen had never been particularly comfortable about discussing with her Mother, when she had been alive: religion, for one, although they would have largely agreed on such matters; wifely duties for another, something that would have been inevitable before the war but was unnecessary due to her youthful age and Brent's sudden death at the Battle of Gettysburg. But Carreen did know herself, and the bodily changes which occurred at a certain time each month - and when they did not occur.

She had never felt more reluctant in her life, reluctant to dress or to eat or to walk down the stairs to attend morning prayer. She had the choice, of course, to leave the convent - she had not taken final vows and she could rescind her temporary profession without any penalty. But to what end? To say that she had fallen in love would be no shame, would she only have chosen a more worthy candidate. A penniless ex-con. The idea of a Robillard married to such a person was laughable - for if one did not laugh, one would weep at the shame. She felt that she was hardly in the convent during those first three months - as though Sister Caroline Irene had gone on a permanent leave of absence until further notice and Carreen had been left in her stead. And the truth was, Carreen had very little idea of who Carreen O'Hara actually was - and at the moment, her life in Christ was at a permanent standstill until she determined a solution. And her solution was waiting for something to happen.

She studied her middle during Mass, and noticed only a slight bulge when she moved a certain way, easily covered by her habit. Her breasts though, were another story, and she was going to begin showing a considerable weight gain before long.

It was only after she received the letter from her sister that she began to formulate any sort of plan in her mind. A very short letter from her oldest sister, Scarlett:

Dear Sweet Carreen,

I wanted to pass along the sad news of our dear Melanie's passing. I have no doubt that she is safely in Heaven with Pa and Mother and Charles and all our little brothers, but I know you will want to know and say a rosary for her. If you would, Sister, say one for me, too. You must have heard from Suellen of my precious Bonnie's accident, and how much her father and I miss her - how much we have grieved and still continue to grieve for her. Sue might also have told you about difficulties between Captain Butler and myself - that situation is what it is, and this is my hope for you, sweet Carreen - Mrs. Eleanor Butler, Rhett's mother, is a very dear friend of our Aunt Pauline, who I know you visit often. Would you be agreeable to calling on Auntie, and extending the invitation to Miss Eleanor as well? I would be ever so grateful to know where Rhett is staying, and if he is well and if he thinks of me - Perhaps I could even make a visit myself; that is, if I am welcomed. Under the circumstances, I'm terribly afraid that I wouldn't be. But if I did come, I would be very glad to have my sister with me. With love, I remain your sister, Scarlett

Oh Scarlett. For a full second, Carreen was annoyed - but then she reread the letter. It was Scarlett unguarded, vague, seeking her help in the sensitive matter of her marriage. Perhaps, if she helped her sister in that, her sister in turn might help her to escape her own predicament. With Scarlett's money, she could disappear to Europe for a few months with no one the wiser, invent a husband and call herself a widow when she returned with a child. It was nothing short of divine - she hastily crossed herself and looked heavenward, knowing that the situation was anything but divinely inspired. But surely, she reminded herself, the God she knew and loved would in His infinite mercy take pity on her for her weakness.

If she could only orchestrate the events more quickly - hastily, she penned a note to her Aunt Pauline and had one of the little colored girls who cleaned the kitchen at the motherhouse to deliver it. The girl returned in under twenty minutes with her Aunt's enthusiastic reply, that she was ever so happy, that she thought that Sister Caroline Irene had been avoiding her, that she must join her and Mrs. Eleanor Butler for tea the very next day, and best of all, that she must meet Scarlett's husband, the elusive Captain Butler, who was staying at his mother's house…

Carreen adjusted her habit as she walked the cobblestone street the two blocks to her Aunt's townhouse - her undergarment had gotten slightly tight around the middle and she was weary about letting it out so very soon. Surely she could not be carrying more than one babe, she prayed inwardly as she rolled her eyes, stomach heaving. Her symptoms had not been especially bothersome, praise be to God - when Scarlett had been carrying her nephew Wade Hampton, she had been unable to keep anything down in the first few months of her pregnancy.

Scarlett's husband was standing in the foyer when the door flew open, and although Aunt Pauline wrapped her frail arms around Carreen's neck, Rhett Butler was the first person whose face she saw as she entered. For a moment, she thought that it might have been Andrew Deneau she was seeing, albeit an older, heavier version. But there were distinct differences between the two men, aside from the obvious one of age and class. Butler emanated wealth and privilege; indeed, Scarlett had always married men of means, and the Butlers were nothing if not the oldest, best pedigreed people in Charleston. He had dark hair and a moustache, speckled with grey, full, firm lips and a strong chin. He stared at her for several minutes, not speaking as Aunt Pauline introduced around the room, first Mrs. Eleanor, the diminutive Butler matriarch, then Miss Rosemary, the beautiful, unmarried sister, and finally Captain Butler himself, husband of "our dear Scarlett."

Carreen caught the pained look that crossed Rhett Butler's face, however brief it was. She assumed that he would want to do very little talking with her, but to her surprise, he spoke briefly to all of them about his plans to open an office in Paris, which would handle all of his business with various companies both at home and abroad, and how they all felt about it.

Miss Rosemary smiled at the prospect of living with him in Paris. "In the event that you need a hostess," she said snidely.

And Carreen replied demurely, seeing very quickly that Miss Rosemary was the sort of person who sought happiness by tearing down that of others and despising her for it. "Surely it is my sister's place, to accompany her husband."

Her sister's husband seemed unable to glean whether or not she was wise to his marital difficulties or not. Clearly his sister was, but Carreen wasn't certain about Mrs. Butler, who spoke lovingly of Scarlett.

"It seems," he said in his low, musical voice, "that life in Paris might not appeal to Scarlett, Sister."

Carreen smiled sweetly, "You must call me Carreen, Captain Butler, since we are family, after all."

He raised an eyebrow, "You must return the favor then, Carreen, and call me Rhett."

She nodded. "Very well, Rhett. And I must disagree with you. I think that Scarlett would rather welcome a change, as life with one's husband is as fine in one city as it is another."

His mouth thinned into a line. She might have gone too far with that last. He would see that she clearly knew now. He looked slightly unnerved, and inquired about her own situation in Charleston. Aha, she thought! Another barbed remark, insinuating that she was a failure for retreating to the convent rather than facing life outside of it. Marriage and children, after all were lost to her…Ha! If the scoundrel only knew what lurked underneath her demure little habit.

"No, Rhett, I am not dissatisfied with my life here in the slightest."

She was slightly sorry to have upset him, for she seemed to genuinely do so with her straightforward manner of speaking. He's thinking that I remind him of Scarlett, she smarted to herself. And he did continue to stare at her for the rest of the afternoon…

That night, she sat cross-legged on her small bed and said her rosary before taking a ritual account of her body, if only to ascertain that her condition wasn't too noticeable yet, should one of the other sisters disturb her during the night. And then she wrote to Scarlett a very short message, which she would wire in the morning via the Western Union.

Scarlett - He certainly loves you still. Please come immediately, Carreen

A/N: I POSTED THE FIRST THREE CHAPTERS OF THIS STORY ABOUT TWO YEARS AGO, THEN GOT INTO A BIT OF TROUBLE WHEN I USED THE NAME OF ANOTHER AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL CHARACTER (IT WAS A MINOR REFERENCE, AND AN HONEST MISTAKE, AS I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THIS INDIVIDUAL HAD A PART IN 'SCARLETT'). I WAS MISTAKEN IN THAT, BUT SADLY, THE NEGATIVE MESSAGES I RECEIVED AS A RESPONSE WERE ENOUGH TO DISCOURAGE ME FROM WRITING ANY FURTHER. NOW, I FIND MYSELF IN THE MIDDLE OF A DIVORCE, SO I FIGURED I WOULD DABBLE ONCE AGAIN IN THE WORLD OF OUR BELOVED 'GONE WITH THE WIND'.