Let me begin by saying that compared to the rest of you wonderful writers, I'm a bit of a Gone with the Wind noob. *sheepish smile* GWTW is my favorite movie, and I'm just beginning to read the book, so bear with me if I've made any ignorant mistakes. All feedback is graciously appreciated!! :)
As far as days could go, this one, so far, had gone absolutely terribly for Scarlett O'Hara Butler. Somehow (she suspected that alcohol was involved) Rhett had persuaded her to come spend Independence Day with "his people" up in Charleston. He'd been throwing the idea around for weeks and weeks, dropping hints whenever it was appropriate--and whenever it was not appropriate--and promising to show Bonnie things "when they got to Charleston." Scarlett vaguely remembered Rhett asking her one night if she and Bonnie would come with him to Charleston for the Fourth of July, and her response--which had very probably been slurred--must have been in the affirmative, because she found herself packing furiously the next two days, not just for herself but for Bonnie as well.
The next two days after that she spent crammed into a carriage, still angry at Rhett for tricking her into taking this journey. They snapped at each other incessantly; she'd accused him of being manipulative and malicious, and in an uncharacteristic bad mood he'd called her a drunk. I still haven't forgiven him for that one, Scarlett thought angrily as she stood next to Rhett in his cousin's back yard, waiting for the so-called spectacular fireworks to begin. Rhett had been bragging about his cousin's fireworks ever since it had been announced that they'd be spending July Fourth in Charleston.
"The best in the South!" he'd told Bonnie, his eyes wide with wonder and sparkling with delight, the way they often looked when he was indulging their daughter--the way that had a peculiar effect on Scarlett. She couldn't explain it, but when he looked that way, she found it absolutely impossible to hate him, or anything else for that matter. When these few precious moments did occur, she tried her best to savor the feeling before it inevitably vanished again.
"The best in the South!" Rhett boasted again as they stood in the dark at his cousin Barney's. He looked down at Bonnie, who was resting on his hip, supported by his strong arms. "And the North too, I'm sure. Those Yankees probably can't tell a Catherine wheel from a roman candle!"
A slight breeze whiffed past, making Scarlett just cold enough to pull her wrap tighter around her shoulders. She'd never forgive Rhett for this, never, she swore to herself. What was she thinking, coming here? Back in Atlanta she and Rhett were the very pillars of high society. But here in Charleston, among Rhett's "people"--as he called them, for some were family and some were just simply that: "people"--here, they were just like everyone else, no more special than the next fellow. Scarlett was reminded of this as she shifted her eyes left and right, and eyed Susannah King and Louisa Delaney. Probably two of the fanciest women here, they had done nothing but brag--impolitely, of course--all day, boring Scarlett with in-depth descriptions of their homes, which by the sound of them could more accurately be called villas, their travels, their pains and their lives, all of which were utterly dull.
These people don't know suffering, they don't know what real pain is, Scarlett had thought angrily as Mrs. King droned on about her son not writing home for an entire summer. Their husbands were too old to fight in The War, they just kept living their lives as they'd always lived them, without hurt or hardship or trouble, while I put my heart and soul into keeping Tara and everyone there alive… Oh, it made her blood boil.
Thankfully, Scarlett had one small consolation on this miserable trip. In her ever-generous nature, Melanie had offered to come along and help look after Bonnie, so that "Scarlett and Rhett might spend more time together." As every minute ticked by, Scarlett was more assured that there was nothing she would rather do less, but was thankful nonetheless for Melanie's presence. She had been an unlikely confidante on this journey, taking Scarlett's complaints about the twittering society women very well, assuring Scarlett that she was noble for saving everyone at Tara and admitting that these women were a bit self-righteous and boring.
Melanie stood beside Scarlett now, mirroring Rhett, and Scarlett wondered briefly why on earth Melanie would want to be here now instead of at home with Ashley and Beau. If she were Melanie--she stopped immediately. She was not Melanie, a fact that she had to painfully deal with--although never truly accept--every day. She did not have what Melanie had, and the very idea that Melanie was willing to abandon what Scarlett coveted most, even only for a few days, made a fire of hatred stir in Scarlett's bosom, one that she'd nearly extinguished.
To make matters worse, Rhett had barely spoken to her all day. That morning, he'd dragged her and Bonnie out of bed to come see the parade he'd been raving about and then didn't speak one single word to her the entire time! He'd let Bonnie ride on his shoulders--something that Scarlett detested; it wasn't safe, she insisted--and had pointed out to their daughter important people he knew from this place and that place, and all the while he never gave her, Scarlett, his wife, a second glance. Why, it was as if she wasn't even there at all! And then that afternoon at the picnic, he'd gone off to mingle with his friends and cohorts, leaving her stuck with Melanie and the awful society ladies. How dare he abandon her like that so far away from home, leave her to fend for herself in a sea of consorting old hags!
Standing on a stranger's land, sandwiched in between two people she'd rather not speak to at the moment, Scarlett heaved a sigh, a great big sigh that, in the days before the war, would usually have been followed by a sob. But Scarlett found that she had little time for sobbing now, and so her heavy sigh simply hung unfinished in the air, waiting for someone to give it some attention.
Rhett, never missing out on an opportunity to become locked in a battle of words with his wife, turned to her with that cavalier smile that was almost enough to make Scarlett spit and said, "Don't worry, Mrs. Butler, you'll see your first fireworks shortly."
"Oh Rhett, I do wish you would stop calling them my 'first' fireworks," Scarlett snapped, just looking for a reason to argue with him. "I've seen dozens of them before. Back before the war, Pa used to set off fireworks every Fourth of July at Tara."
"Then be prepared to see your first real fireworks," Rhett amended. "These, I'm sure, will put any others you've ever seen to shame."
"Oh stop it!" Scarlett hissed. "This whole trip you've been treating me like I'm some ignorant country girl and I won't have it any more!"
"Why Mrs. Butler, I'm sure I don't know what you--" Rhett began, pouring on his charm like honey, but he was cut short by the sound of the first boom as his legendary fireworks began. Scarlett watched as a yellow beam of sparks shot straight up in the air, and then exploded around them with a deafening bang, dispersing into little green balls of light, then into smoke and then into nothingness.
Bonnie, who had begun to fall asleep on her father's shoulder, was wakened by the sudden bang, and looked up in wonder as the green sparks came raining down upon them. "Look, Mother!" she cried, turning to Scarlett. "Fireworks!"
"Yes darling, Mother sees…" Scarlett answered absentmindedly, enthralled already despite her best efforts. Melanie said something to her but she didn't hear; her eyes were turned skyward.
Another jet of yellow light streaked across the night sky, and when it boomed down this time, it rained long yellow streaks that looked like the dying branches of a weeping willow tree. Scarlett didn't dare to blink; it seemed that every second there was a new light in the air, and she didn't want to miss any of them. Gold, blue, green, red, purple, orange sparks rained down from the heavens, showering the 'ooh'-ing onlookers with brief but beautiful memories of their reign in the sky.
The loud boom of the fireworks made Scarlett's heart race; the sound reminded her of cannon fire. And yet, it exhilarated her at the same time. Somehow, she'd grabbed onto Rhett's arm in excitement, and squeezed it tightly as green sparks crackled out of sight, a sound that reminded her of her mother's old gramophone. A purple streak of light shot so high into the night that Scarlett had to tilt her head all the way back to watch it turn orange and form the shape of a sun before it disappeared, briefly illuminating the smoke in the sky, and then, leaving them in darkness again.
Scarlett could have watched the sparks rain down forever, but before she knew it, it was over, with dozens of fireworks going off at once, booming so loudly her ears hurt, and sparkling so brightly that she had to squint in the pitch black night. And then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone. This, Scarlett had learned in her short time in Charleston, was the way things were done by Rhett Butler's people.
She realized only then that she'd been clutching Rhett's arm, and let go suddenly, embarrassed. But Rhett was smiling down at her in a way she hadn't seen him look at her, well… ever. That seemingly ever-present smirk had given way to a genuine smile, and his eyes were shining like they did when he talked to Bonnie.
"Well, Mrs. Butler?" he asked, still grinning.
Scarlett ignored the formality; when he called her that it was usually only to patronize her, to remind her of who she was, but tonight she didn't mind at all, and it seemed like he really didn't mean it that way, for once.
"They were… lovely, Rhett, just lovely," she answered honestly, at a surprising loss for words. She turned to Bonnie, who she, in her awe, had nearly forgotten was there. "Did you like the fireworks, darling?" she asked her daughter. She feared they might have been too loud, or too bright, or too something that the child wouldn't like.
So when Bonnie replied, "That was the best day of my whole life!", Scarlett felt that her heart might burst with love and she kissed the end of her daughter's nose.
"Should I take her up to bed, Scarlett?" Melanie asked. "She's probably exhausted." Bonnie eagerly extended her arms to "Aunt Melly", said a goodnight to her mother and father, and allowed Melanie to carry her back inside, already nearly asleep on her shoulder.
Rhett and Scarlett were left standing alone in Barney's yard--relatively alone, anyway. Most everyone had dispersed after the end of the fireworks, leaving them one of the few couples who still strolled around the plantation as the night drew to a close.
Later, Scarlett would blame it on the several brandies she'd had to calm herself when Mrs. Delaney had agitated her, and Rhett would say it was because of his irresistible charm, but at that moment, neither of them knew what drew their lips together in a searing and passionate kiss. Scarlett allowed her arms to come up and encircle Rhett's neck, and he gently fingered a handful of her chocolate curls as their kiss said what they were both too stubborn to allow their words to say.
"You devil, you absolute horror, you," Scarlett mumbled weakly as Rhett's lips traced a trail down her elegant neck.
"I love you, Scarlett," he said softly into her ear, and she froze. He noticed the change in her demeanor immediately. "What?…" he asked, dreading the answer.
"Well we were having such a good time, and then… and then you have to go and ruin it by saying silly things like that!" Scarlett snapped and pulled away, flustered.
"It's silly to tell my wife that I love her?" Rhett asked, his incessant grin seeming to suggest that he thought everything was a joke. "Come now, my dear, that doesn't make much sense…"
"It makes perfect sense," Scarlett shot back, keeping her voice low so that others didn't hear, but deadly so that he understood the venom in her words was genuine. "You know the way we've been talking to one another lately, the things you've said to me. And then you think you can just make it all go away by saying you love me. Oh, Rhett, you really are such a child sometimes…" She tried to stomp away, but Rhett gripped her arm tightly. "Let me go, you pig," she spat, still talking quietly but with more passion than ever.
"You listen to me, Mrs. Butler. That's an order," Rhett said, matching her tone, and the playful light had gone from his eyes. Scarlett could tell he was serious now, but she didn't care. "You're going to go upstairs if I have to drag you, and you're going to make love to me like it's your first time, understand?"
Oh, she hated him in that moment, she hated him more than she'd ever hated him before. What angered her the most though was that the only person she hated more than him was herself. She hated herself for wanting to listen to him, for wanting to obey, and for sensing a challenge in his extremely audacious order. She hated her competitive nature, her need to always have an advantage over him. And most of all she hated herself because she knew she wanted do it.
Scarlett wanted to let Rhett drag her upstairs, she wanted to revel in making a scene, in kicking and screaming like a child throwing a temper tantrum. She wanted to fight him as he shucked off her beautiful new dress, down to the last petticoat and corset. She wanted to fight for dominion over their kingdom of sheets, and most of all, she wanted to fight him at the climax, still battling hard as she inevitably cried out, letting him think he'd won. But when it was all over, he would name the true victor by kissing her and kissing her soundly, and it would all be worthwhile to receive that small acknowledgement that it was she, and not he, who was ultimately in control.
But despite all this, Scarlett looked her husband in the eyes and answered, "No, Captain Butler. I am not your whore."
She knew at that moment that she had the upper hand. Not only had she refused him, but she had insinuated that he used her as his personal prostitute, something that was completely untrue, but would make him angry nonetheless. But then again, she thought darkly, you never really knew with Rhett…
Although she would never admit it, nothing scared Scarlett more than an argument with Rhett. She would put up with the Yankee army every day if she and Rhett didn't have to fight all the time. The relentless pounding of cold metal cannons she could take, but Rhett's unpredictability and knack for turning the tables faster than she could utter an insult unnerved her more than she would ever let on.
And as she stood boldly facing him now, her heart raced. What would he do? What would he say? Would he find some other way to humiliate her in front of his high-society friends? Would she have to hold her head high when they left tomorrow and endure the whispered rumors that would already be spreading like wildfire?
Whatever number of reactions she had expected from Rhett, laughter wasn't counted among them. Scarlett could do nothing but stare on in horror as her husband laughed a big, hearty laugh, booming across the now empty back yard of his cousin Barney.
"What are you laughing at, you fool?" she snapped.
"Scarlett, you have had many titles thus far in your short life. First Miss O'Hara, then Mrs. Hamilton, followed closely by Mrs. Kennedy and finally followed even more closely by Mrs. Butler. And yet despite all these titles, one you will never hold is that of my whore."
Oh, he was pompous. It had been a cheap shot, referencing her less-than-conventional marriage history, so she responded with her own low remark, one that centered around his reputation. "Apologies, Captain Butler. The title of your whore belongs to Belle Watling."
Without missing a beat or looking at all fazed, Rhett replied, "My dear, if you could ever become one tenth of the woman Mrs. Watling is, I'll consider it an amazing accomplishment."
Scarlett's reaction was quick, instinctive, and harsh. Her palm made contact with his cheek, letting out a horrible smacking sound, and then both her hands flew to her own mouth in horror. Oh, hell, what had she done? She hadn't meant to even try to hurt him, she'd just wanted to make him pay for his awful remarks, past and present. And there he stood, still grinning, damn him!, moving his jaw from side to side mockingly, as if to ensure it wasn't broken. Oh, this hadn't gone as she'd planned at all… she felt sick.
She stumbled to an abandoned lawn table set and collapsed into the wrought-iron chair, cradling her head in her hands. She hated him. She hated him for making her so angry, for making her temper flare, for making her want to wring his neck and not lay a hand on him all at once… God, she hated him for everything. And she didn't mind telling him.
"I hate you," she spat, her voice muffled by her hands.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Butler," Rhett drawled, strolling over to her with his hands in his pockets. Then, as he often did, he changed the subject to something that was more suited to his strengths. "Unfortunately, another title you will never hold is the first woman to slap me."
She didn't respond. She didn't do anything except sit there holding her head, massaging her temples. Maybe she would wake up back in Atlanta and the whole weekend would be some terrible nightmare. The warm morning breeze would blow through the window, rustling the curtains and waking Rhett, who would be lying beside her without the outline of her hand emblazoned on his cheek. God, her heart ached for this to be true! For a brief moment a scene flashed before her eyes: a scene of a complacent marriage, a happy marriage even. Less arguing, more silence. Appreciation and respect. And, most importantly, kisses in the morning, subtle squeezes in passing, winks across the dinner table, and absolute, unbridled passion at night. The vision faded from her sight like a dying firework in the night sky.
"Where did it all go wrong?" Scarlett muttered helplessly, more to herself than to him, though she finally did look up and meet his eyes. "I can't talk to you without you insulting me anymore."
"My dear, what else am I to do when, every time you open your mouth, you grant me the opportunity?"
"Oh, shut up," she snapped irritably. "You're always so insulting, so rude and cold and mean! Why, if anyone looked at us they'd never guess we were married!"
"Lucky for you then, Scarlett," Rhett observed, seating himself across the table from her. "You can still pursue Ashley without people accusing you of being unfaithful. They'll just call you a hussy for going after another woman's husband."
For the second time that night, Scarlett's temper spun out of control before she could catch it and she tipped the small round table between them over on her husband. She stood there, bosom heaving, expression livid, and he was still wearing that stupid grin! It sent her over the edge.
"My God, Rhett Butler!" she all but screamed. "I used to see something in you, though it kills me to say it! In the early days of our marriage I thought I might be able to care for you one day, maybe even come to love you if I really lost my head. But every day you've grown colder and more distant, more harsh and brazen. You've got no time for me with all these "people" of yours around, I'm just another prize to you, Rhett, another spoil of war; why, if I was dying in a ditch I'm sure you'd only stop to throw me down a shovel so I could dig my own grave! Your patronizing grimaces and quips, oh they make my stomach turn! Oh, I hate you, and I don't care who knows it!" Her voice had now risen several octaves and she was doing nothing short of shouting. "Rhett Butler, I'll hate you until the end of time!"
"In my defense, Mrs. Butler--" Damn him, Scarlett thought, damn him to hell for calling me that! "--my lack of acknowledgement towards you today has been because of your behavior towards me ever since our arrival in Charleston. I assumed you didn't want to speak to me, I assumed you didn't want to have anything to do with these people I've met through the years. So, in an attempt to please you, I let you sulk while I enjoyed myself and caught up with old friends."
"Attempting to please me, indeed!" Scarlett snapped. "Since when has that ever been a priority of yours? You ignored me to spite me today and you know it! And I hate you! I don't know why I ever married you! You tricked me, I know you did! That's what you must have done, you tricked me into marrying you so you would have even more time to mock me and make me miserable! Of all the low tricks, this is by far…"
Rhett cut off her ramblings with that damn, damn, smile! "I'm sorry you feel that way, Scarlett," he responded calmly, which was infuriating. "Because, like I said before, I love you."
"Why you--" She wanted to slap him again but he didn't give her the chance.
"I love your unpredictable anger, your horrible temper; they make life so much more interesting! Just imagine if I'd resigned myself to the same fate as so many other miserable men--a calm, docile wife. No thank you, my dear, I'll take your tantrums any day of the week."
"And I'll take your head on a platter," Scarlett spat.
Rhett was unfazed. "I love your eyes--look away if you want, I've memorized them. Big and beautiful, with a ring of blue around the edge, then a thicker circle of green, and a thin line of amber just outside your pupil. Don't look so shocked Scarlett, I've known you for a long time, remember.
"I love the way your nose twitches when you're angry--see, there you go!" Here he laughed heartily, as he'd done when she'd insulted him earlier. "I love that you think I don't notice all your habits, your quirks. I love your competitive nature; even now as I'm speaking to you I can just see the cogs turning in your head, wondering how you're ever going to get back at me for this one. Well, my dear, you can try, but I doubt you'll be successful…"
She had stopped listening a long time ago. Oh, what did it matter? What did any of it matter? She and Rhett were going to fight. She was always going to hate him and he was always going to love her, so what did it matter how much he ignored her or how much she slapped him? At the end of the day they had Bonnie, who mattered more to both of them than they ever could to each other. They were comfortable, reasonably respectable, and stupidly happy when they got drunk enough. Why does anything else have to matter? Scarlett thought childishly.
Rhett was still going on and she was done listening to him. And when Scarlett was done with something, she did what she did best: she changed her mind.
"…love it when you sigh at night in your sleep, and when your eyelids flutter open every morni--"
He was cut off by the familiar sensation of her lips on his. Scarlett was exhausted, so exhausted that she didn't know how to hurt him anymore, so she kissed him, it was all she had left. She gripped his lapels desperately, as if they were the only things keeping her alive on this earth, and kissed him with all the force she had inside her. He kissed her back, of course, and then they found themselves right back where they'd started: the middle of nowhere, but almost there.
"Well, my dear, once again you've proved yourself unpredictable, and I can't blame you for that," Rhett said once they'd had their fill.
"Oh, just shut up and kiss me, you bastard."
The Butlers were far from marital bliss, but they had in fact perfected one aspect of matrimony: forgetting their problems with sex. It was always inevitable when they fought for long periods of time like this; they would use every word in the dictionary, realize there were no more words to say, and then turn to each other, perhaps seeking the answer, or perhaps just trying to escape from it all.
They stumbled into the house as one person, tripped up the stairs together and collapsed into bed, all with their lips still tightly pressed together. Their lovemaking was effortless, seamless and natural. Sleep took them both when it was over, and somehow they had resolved the problem by saying nothing and everything all at once. And for both Scarlett and Rhett, that seemed, for the time being, enough.