Author'sNote: I greatly amused myself while writing this. I wrote over half of it without typing, only using voice recognition software. It was an interesting expereince. Of course that left me with quite a large number of typos. It didn't seem to understand me.
She didn't know what she was going to do. People would know soon. She couldn't hide it much longer. She was having a baby. The truth could not be ignored. Even now,if she wore the right dress, if she turned the right way, people might be able to see it. And her dizziness and her paleness might clue in the most keen observer to the truth.
She missed Bonnie fiercely. She missed her bright little girl with all of her heart. She had not been able to make a connection with Wade or Ella, despite all of her efforts in the past several months. They were too afraid of her. She had tried, but it was possible that too much damage had been done in the fragile early years of their lives for a connetion to ever be forged between parent and child.
She placed her hand over her stomach. But it would be different this time around. The swell there was still only slight, but it was certainly there. Her child, their child, was growing inside of her. This child was the first child that she had ever wanted. But she did want this child. She couldn't wait to hold it in her arms. She could imagine it now; she could see the brightness of his eyes staring up at her in adoration coupled with an intense feeling of love and devotion flowing from her to him. This must be what other mothers talked about, the discussions that she had never understood. And now she finally did.
It was then that she heard Bonnie's voice ringing out, calling for her. Her shrill, small voice yelling "Mother! Mother! Where's my mother?". Oh what a wonderful sound it was to hear. Her heart swelled with joy. Her child was home. And Rhett was home. She could finally tell him about this child. She couldn't wait to see what his reaction would be. He loved children, and she had no doubt that he would love this child as well.
She rushed out the door of her office. Rushed to the stairs and met her child halfway down, for the stairs were tall and difficult for the child to climb on such short and stocky little legs. The deep, rich red colors of the massive entry hall seemed to surround them and assault her as she stood holding her Bonnie in her arms. How good it was to have her home. She had missed her so terribly much. She smoothed the dark curls from the pale face with hints of pale rose blooming in her cheeks. Bright, brilliant blue eyes stared into her own pale green ones where tears were of the verge of seeping out as she stood savoring the weight of the child. Nothing else mattered now. The poor squirming kitten, however, did not seem to be in agreement as it was nearly crushed between the two bodies. It escaped, but Scarlett did not want to release Bonnie from her arms. She could barely contain her tears of joy of holding her child once again.
It was then that she saw Rhett at the foot of the stairs. He was standing there trying to look nonchalant and unaffected by the scene before his eyes, looking to all the world as though he didn't care. Perhaps it was true that he did not, but she needed him to care. There was so much that she wanted to tell him. He had to be happy about this. She didn't know how she could stand it if he wasn't. This child had been created from love and passion, a passion that she hadn't even known existed. He had to be excited.
Bonnie, following the kittens example, squirmed to escape her mother's embrace that had lasted much longer than an active, adventurous child of two prefers to be held other than when on the verge of sleep. And so Scarlett reluctantly set her down. And Bonnie was off and running immediately, hobbling along on her sturdy baby legs, running with a specific purpose and destination. She was calling out for Mammy and for Ella in her sweet little voice. Scarlett watched her as she disappeared down the long hallway.
As she turned, she realzed that the moment was here. Rhett was striding up the stairs words towards her, much too fast. So fast that it caused her head to spin. She was already dizzy from the exertion of her haste to meet Bonnie. And coupled with the dizziness was a massive lump in her throat. This was the moment. She could feel the blood draining from her face as her heart beat in a furious rhythm. Her hands were shaking as a ghost of a smile touched her lips. And then he spoke.
"Is there a shortage of rouge? Could this wanness mean that you been missing me?" He asked coldly.
"If I'm pale it's all your fault." She burst out in exasperation. This wasn't going how she it needed to go. He was supposed to be happy about this. But then the madness continued. He threw more cruel words at her, and she couldn't seem to still her viper tongue. Words flew from her mouth, words that she could not contain or stem.
And then he dealt a blow, a last crippling blow that for a moment stunned her into silence. " Maybe you'll have a miscarriage." In that moment her mind began roiling like turbulent waves, like furious storm clouds dark and threatening. He wasn't happy about this baby, and she wanted this baby. This baby was special to her -- this baby was a part of her, and a part of him. Rage bubbled up in such furious waves that she could not suppress.
She struck out at him. She wanted to hurt him, needed for him to feel the pain that she was feeling. And so she lunged. She attacked with no other thought in mind than to make him hurt, as if by hurting him she would hurt less.
The day was warm and hazy. The soft swirling air eddied around them with faint whispers of blooming flowers and fresh clean air the only exists in the untampered wilderness such as Clayton County Georgia was in that glittering afternoon. It was the end of the last beautiful days of spring of 1852, before the softness was choked out by summer's heat. The silky cool water of the Flint meandered in its muddy path, flowing far beyond Scarlett's sphere of life.
There were no other sounds other than the faint conspiratorial whispers of the young girl who was seated between two identical boys that were several years older than she. But it was obvious that she was their peer and not a tag along, in the imperious manner in which she conducted herself. Often it was her schemes that sent the county in turmoil. The ladies all said that No girl should be quite as vitally alive as she. No one ever knew what to expect when the three of them were involved. Scarlett had never been like the other girls. She was a unique creature; she always would be. The most recent altercation had taken place at the Wedding of Hugh Calvert and his children's governess from the North.
"I hate weddings, don't you?" Brent asked.
"There's nothing worse." Stuart chimed in. "Unless we can manage to find a way to have some fun, without getting into too much trouble."
"Well, you might not have gotten in so much trouble at this one if you hadn't snuck that liquor bottle from the table." She reminded them. "Or even if you hadn't made such a fuss after all of your drinking."
The boys both snickered at her. "I reckon you had your share too, lil miss O'Hara. You are in just the same trouble we are." Brent replied.
"Well you are the fools that threw me into the fountain! Mammy was as mad as a wet cat when she caught me." She recalled. "It was all your fault."
"Nah, Scarlett. Your the one who dared us to snitch that bottle. You said we couldn't do it, and we was chickens if we didn't. If you want, I'll go tell Mammy the whole story." Stuart added.
"No!" She squealed. "and anyway, if we go back to the house then you know that Suellen will try to follow and start crying like a baby when she can't keep up. And if she does keep up, she is a terrible tattle-tale. And anyway, I did have fun until you ruined my new dress!"
"You mean you had fun when we knocked the cake over into that governess's cake. Cade and Rafe thought it was terrifically funny besides. But aside from that all weddings are boring!"
"I don't know." Scarlett replied. "They can't be all. Most of the balls are fun. Or so I am told. Mother says I'm not old enough to go yet. I am so." she pouted. "And besides, I like all of the presents that Pa brings me when a party is coming up. Not everyone is a sour puss like Cathleen's step-mother."
"Aww Scarlett," Brent protested. "Don't tell me you're one of them."
"I don't know which are talking about Brent. Just because I think weddings might not be that bad. I am a girl after all, even if I can beat you on a horse and climb trees better than you ever could. I want to get married someday and be a grand lady. I want to meet someone who will sweep me off of my feet."
"They did tell you that fairy tales aren't real, didn't they? Because they ain't." He assured her.
"Well, I don't believe you." She said with a toss of her hair. "I will meet the right guy. He is out there."
"Aww shucks, Scarlett. Don't be mad. You know you are our favorite girl. Maybe you'll marry one of us, even if you are just a little squirt. You're not a sissy like the rest of them. I don't like any other girls. Just you darling." He assured her.
She smiled up at him content to be with them, for they were her best friends. There was no one else who understood her like them.
"But you had better get back up to the house now, Scarlett." Brent cautioned. "Mammy will have your hide. We're hiding out from ma now. We left some bobby traps around the house asa joke, and I think that we scared some of the slaves with 'em. Ma's fit to be tied. And we were already in deep trouble from that stunt we pulled at the wedding. At least it was funny seeing the second Mrs. Calvert all covered in that cake. She tole ma that we was heathens, and then she started bawling life a calf."
"No, I don't want to go. Not yet. If I go inside then I have to listen to the babies whining and crying. I can stand Careen, but Suellen is such a brat! And besides, I found us a new secret place to hide." she told him. "I want to show you something."
She flipped over, not caring that her starched white pinafore was now streaked with the red clay of the river back. She jumped up and raced away with the two boys in hot pursuit. "Come on! Hurry up, you slow pokes!"
"Aww Scarlett! There ain't nothin'in the county that we haven't explored. Why you have to go rushing off like that?"
"Trust me," she shouted over her shoulder "I promise, it'll be worth it."
And they followed her on swift feet with the careless ease of children, following her wherever she would lead. It didn't matter that she was only seven. It didn't matter because she was a part of them. She was their best friend. And together they were unstoppable.
Suddenly they caught up with her, running into her because she had stopped in the path and was standing completely still staring into a clearing, where the trees vaulted high over her head. Sunlight streamed through the branches and fresh leaves, and danced across the smooth opening settling in buttery pools of gold. She was right; it was a place that they had never seen. And it was singularly spectacular, even to their young minds it was something that was both grand and majestic and much greater than themselves. There was something almost sacred about this place, something in the air here, something in this dancing light that set it apart from the rest of the world.
"I know that you're just going to stay that I am being stupid girl. But being here makes me feel like the fairy tales can come true. It makes me think that maybe things aren't always as they are right here and now. I'm going to come back here some day. I will never forget this spot."
And silently the three laid down on the ground their heads together starring up at where the trees met over head forming nature's own magnificent cathedral. And none of them would ever forget about this place or this moment.
She lunged at him. She lunged at him and yet he moved out of the path of her attack with the fluidity of a dancer, with the grace and flow as if he was moved by the wind itself. He moved, and her foot slipped on the freshly polished stairs. She could feel herself falling without any grace or care. She could feel herself plummeting downward swift and terrifying. She could feel all of the days of her life bursting across her memory in rapid succession. She couldn not even scream out, nor even make a sound, could not even call for him to catch her. Her voice was caught in her throat rendering her dumb. And she knew that the end was coming.
As she fell, she lost consciousness and was as one already dead. From this half- state she was awakened—ages later, it seemed to her—by the pain of a sharp pressure upon her back and sharp pains in her ribs, followed by a sense of nausea that swelled up inside of her. Keen, poignant agonies seemed to shoot from her neck downward through every fiber of her body and limbs even as the entire span of her life flashed before her eyes. These pains and memories appeared to flash along well defined lines of ramification and to beat with an inconceivably rapid periodicity. They seemed like streams of pulsating fire heating her to an intolerable temperature. But through the pain she could sense Rhett's presence calling her, calling her back to him.
As for her head, she was conscious of nothing but a feeling of weightlessness—she was flying free like a bird. These sensations were unaccompanied by thought. The intellectual part of her nature was already effaced; she had power only to feel, and feeling was torment. The free flying sensation was replaced with a swift felling of falling to earth as ahe pain in her body became a blinding white heat consuming her from limb to limb. She was conscious of motion. Rhett must be carrying me up the stairs, a brief logical thought flickered through her mind. Encompassed in a luminous cloud, of which she was now merely the fiery heart, without material substance, she swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum.
Then all at once, with terrible suddenness, the light about her shot upward with the noise of a loud crack; a frightful roaring was in her ears, and all was hot and dark. The power of thought was instantaneously restored. She was surprised by the thought that she had not died. Rhett, with the agility and strength that only he seemed to possess, had somehow managed to stop her fall. Her neck and arms and entire body ached because of the force he had employed to pull her to safety and stop her fall. To die from falling down the stairs of her own home that she had planned out with such joy and relish —the idea seemed to her ludicrous.
She struggled to open her eyes in the dim darkness of the hall that was cloaked with curtains, but no it was much to dark for that. Rhett had already carried her to her bed and the drapes had been drawn. And through the drapes there was pinpoint of light that gleamed at her, but how distant, how inaccessible that light seemed! She was still sinking in the darkness of the bed, the dark quietness of the room, for the light became fainter and fainter until it was a mere glimmer. She fought against the waves of darkness and then it began to grow and brighten, swelling and spiraling towards her, and she knew that she was rising toward the surface away from the fainting spell that must have been about to pull her under—rose from it with reluctance, for she was now very comfortable.
She was not conscious of an effort, but a sharp pain in her wrist apprised her that she must have injured it as well in the near fall. She tried not to move it, tried to avoid any more pain than she was already feeling. But pain seemed to echo through her body like a voice that was calling out in an empty room.
She was now in full possession of her physical senses, though the pain was biting, sharp and intense. They were, indeed, preternaturally keen and alert. Something in the awful disturbance of her organic system in the fall had so exalted and refined them that they made record of things never before perceived. As she opened her eyes, she was stunned as each fleck of dust that shimmered through the air was separated as if its own celestial body in the night sky. Each emotion, each object seemed that much more defined and separated. It was almost if if the entire world was moving in slow motion. Each scent present in the room was more intense and assailed her nostrils with their fragrance. She felt the soft rush of this fragrant air as she rose with a renewed strength and made her way out of the door blindly. It was as if in that moment she felt more alive than she had ever felt before. The whole world seemed more alive, and more amazing. Each sensation all the more vivid, each sound she heard with such sparkling clarity. She could hear the way Rhett had called her name hoarsely still as if trapped in that terrifying moment of her fall, could feel the warmth of his arms as he held, crooning her name assuring her that all would be right. And she remembered that mad insanity of the night when their child had been conceived. And yet not even that night seemed as real and concrete as this moment.
Of course he would be waiting outside her door, waiting for Dr. Meade to come and examine her. And she quickly assured him that all was right with her. "Rhett", she could almost hear herself whisper. "I want to go home to Tara. There is a place that I have never shown you." The world seemed to wheel slowly round, herself the pivotal point, and she saw the stairs, the bright light of the entryway. But she knew that Rhett would be convinced that they needed to leave with all due haste. She felt an urgency to return home that she could not explain.
Then she was riding in the carriage. She felt herself whirled round and round—spinning like a top. The carriage, the children, the buildings passing quickly beside her, and behind them the house, with its imposing staircase, all were commingled and blurred. Objects were represented by their colors only; circular horizontal streaks of color—that was all she saw. She had been caught in a vortex and was being whirled on with a velocity of advance and gyration that made her giddy and sick. She tried to cling to Rhett, but all was spinning too quickly. She steeled herself against the seat, trying to bypass the swirling churning that clutched at her. The sudden arrest of her motion, the abrasion of one of her hands against the elaborate ornamentation of the carriage, restored her, and she wept with relief. She dug her fingers into the cushions, stroking the soft surface absently. The colors around her looked like diamonds, rubies, emeralds; she could think of nothing beautiful which the colors of this world that she had almost left did not resemble. The trees beside the road were giant garden plants; she noted a definite order in their arrangement, inhaled the fragrance of their blooms. A strange roseate light shone through the spaces among their trunks and the wind made in their branches the music of Aeolian harps. She had not wish to perfect her travel—she was content to remain in that enchanting spot forever, for it seemed as if for a moment that the war had never happened all hardship and toil had ceased.
Rhett had rounded up the children, they were on the way to Tara. It seemed as if the travel lasted for years and conversely was finished in a moment. The journey seemed interminable; for a moment she wondered if she finally reach her destination. She did not remember the journey home ever taking so long. She did not remember ever thinking of home as being such a wild, strange place. There was something uncanny in the revelation.
By the time that they had reached Tara she was fatigued and famished. But the thought of being home at Tara with Rhett and the children and this precious bundle that she carried was more than enough to propel her along. As soon as they reached the familiar line of pines, she needed to pull Rhett from the carriage, leading him across the fields to where she knew that the cathedral of tress awaited them. At last she found a path which led her in what she knew to be the right direction. It was as wide and straight as a city street, yet it seemed untraveled. Only fields bordered it, no dwelling anywhere. Not so much as the barking of a dog suggested human habitation. The black bodies of the trees formed a straight wall on both sides, terminating on the horizon in a point, like a diagram in a lesson in perspective. Overhead, as she looked up through this rift in the wood, shone great golden streams of light looking unfamiliar and grouped in strange scattering patterns. She was sure that there was some explanation for the overly blinding brightness of this light. The wood on either side was full of singular noises, among which—once, twice, and again—she distinctly heard whispers in an unknown tongue.
Her neck was in pain and lifting her hand to it found it horribly swollen. How odd. She knew that it had jerked painfully when Rhett had rescued her from her fall. Her eyes felt heavy and crusted, but she could no longer close them. Her tongue was strangely swollen with thirst; she relieved its fever by thrusting it forward from between her teeth into the warm air. How softly the grass beneath their feet was, the turf that had carpeted the untraveled space that had seen little activity since that long ago day when she had revealed the discovery of this space to Brent and Stuart—she could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet!
Doubtless, despite her suffering, she had fallen asleep while walking, collapsed into a state of hysteria, or been among those who walk in their sleep, for now there is another scene before her—perhaps she has merely recovered from a delirium. She was standing in the sun spotted clearing where she always dreamed of showing her future love. It was as she had left it, and all bright and beautiful in the morning sunshine. They must have traveled the entire night to reach Tara. Time no longer held any relevance to her. As she pushed her hands against his chest, feeling his solid arms around her as he whispered something to her that seems to make no sense as if coming through a tunnel. His hand brushed her cheek as she felt moisture against her face. She smiled at him with a smile of ineffable joy, an attitude of matchless grace and dignity. Ah, how wonderful he is! He leaned forward, his lips falling towards hers with speed and certainty. As his lips are only a breath away she feels a stunning blow upon the back of the neck; a blinding white light blazes all about her with a sound like the shock of a cannon—then all is darkness and silence!
Scarlett Butler was dead; her body broken from the fall, killed instantly when her neck broke. Having fallen to lie in a crumpled heap at the base of the stairs in the mansion on Peachtree Street. Rhett Butler cradled the limp body of his wife against his chest pouring out tears to wash her face, brushing a soft kiss against still warm lips. Scarlett was gone forever.