Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.
A Fairytale of Atlanta
A Gone With the Wind Fanfic
By: Kinsey Nelson
Atlanta, Georgia, 1875
The esteemed dowagers of the Atlanta Old Guard stood perched like old crows atop the platform as the bugle sounded the old familiar tune of 'Dixie', chins and chests outthrust as they surveyed the scene before them, ascertaining for themselves that all of the upstanding citizenry had turned out for the auspicious occasion, all the while setting aside the names of those who had not attended - the underlying implication for such people being their automatic social ruin for the rest of the Season, at least.
Mrs. Caroline Meade, the good Doctor's wife and head of the Committee, was standing front and center, directly behind the piccolos, and wiping her misty eyes with her husband's handkerchief, at each note reminded of the two boys she had sent off to war, never to be seen again. Mrs. Dolly Meriwether sat perfectly erect to her left, her fingers curled around the crook of her cane, eyes sharply surveying the figures in the crowd. Yes, the Old Guard had turned out in force for the memorial service in honor of the Glorious Dead. It had been, in Mrs. Meriwether's not so humble opinion, a success of the highest order. That was, until she saw her standing there.
Her brows were creased in concentration as she read the program of the day, her shoulders slightly hunched over, yet still stubbornly clinging to her mourning black as though she were mourning a sister. Balderdash, Mrs. Meriwether thought to herself, as if Scarlett Butler ever truly mourned for poor Melanie Wilkes! It had to be, Mrs. Meriwether deduced, a further ploy to entrap Melly's unfortunate husband, Ashley, into some sort of illicit relationship, the sort of which Scarlett was rumored to be well versed in since her husband had taken permanent leave from Atlanta.
Yes, Scarlett had to be doing just that. But why the plain black gown? With none of the fancy adornments, no plunging décolletage, not even rouge! She looked downright sickly, not like a grand seductress. Again, Mrs. Meriwether deduced, Scarlett is nothing if not a consummate actress—no, she didn't fool the matron for a moment…
Her thought process was interrupted by none other than Scarlett herself, who had caught her staring and returned her polite glance with an icy fix of her emerald eyes. Mrs. Meriwether hurriedly broke the gaze and looked instead at the wooden panels of the stage floor, only peeking at Scarlett ever so often for the duration of the service. But Scarlett, for her part, seemed not to notice. Impatiently she looked first left and then right, as though she expected to see someone making his or her way through the crowd of people, seemingly oblivious to the occasional whispers of the ladies who were seated behind her. For shame, Mrs. Meriwether thought, they are more interested in Scarlett than in honoring our Glorious Dead…
Scarlett was not oblivious, of course. Infamous and in disgrace, the bane of the Atlanta Old Guard's existence, Scarlett suspected that she was the topic of conversation underneath the veneer of mourning for the lads in grey. After all, it had been ten years since the war ended-folks' memories surely didn't last thatlong. For herself, she barely remembered the wartime years, save for that they had brought with them the agony of famine and poverty, things that she no longer needed to fret over and she didn't trouble herself overmuch in dwelling upon. No, Scarlett had much more important things on which to rest her attention-getting her husband back, for one. Which was why she was at the blasted memorial in the first place! If someone within a country mile so much as mentioned the name of Rhett Butler, Scarlett knew about it—that is—she made it her business to know. That, and she knew that Melly would have been there, had she been alive, wiping her misty eyes along with Mrs. Meade, crying over her brother Charlie and all her friends that had gone to ground, and anything else that needed tears. I'm done with tears, Scarlett thought, vexed that she had taken the trouble to waste her afternoon at a dull memorial for naught.
Of course Rhett wouldn't be there! She had been a fool to think that he'd actually turn up. For the second time, she noted Mrs. Meriwether's intense stare linger on her overlong.
"Hateful old buffalo," Scarlett murmured under her breath as she gazed beyond the stage platform, as though willing it to crash under the combined weight of the band and the matrons. She watched as one of Mrs. Meriwether's thin grey eyebrows lifted in disapproving scorn, and got a perverse sense of pleasure from the knowledge that her lips had been read. Returning the look with a smirk of her own, Scarlett gave her a mocking smile, then wiped her eyes exaggeratedly with Rhett's handkerchief as the band finished its last godforsaken tune to close out the event.
"That was torture, was it not?" a voice came from near Scarlett's ear. She turned her head quickly, thinking for a brief moment that perhaps it was Rhett, that he had decided to show up after all…Disappointment filled her as she met Ashley's stone gray eyes, filled with concern and bemusement as he looked back at her.
"Well, what do you say, my dear?"
Her eyes widened as he leaned forward, clearly having imbibed more than his fair share of alcohol-and it was not noon yet.
"Ashley Wilkes, what are you doing?" she frowned and put one arm out to support him, should he attempt to stand up.
"Watching you," he murmured. "You are, my dear, lovelier than ever."
"Stop it, Ashley," she hissed into his ear. "Not here, not now."
"Why ever not?"
"Because I'm one thin hair from burning in hellfire for all eternity in their eyes, and well you know it! And while you're likely not bothered by that so much, I am. I'm trying—" She looked at him squarely in the face. "—to to the very best that I can. Do you understand?"
Ashley Wilkes stared into the face of the woman who had loved him for over a decade.
"I do, Scarlett. Would you allow me to walk you home, at least?"
She sighed heavily. "Very well. I suppose that there is nothing else to see here. All the graves have been beautified and all the rot said, it seems. What do you think that they'll say when they see us leaving together?"
He shrugged. "It troubles me very little, to be perfectly honest with you."
"I do my very best not to hear them…I try to shut them out—it never works particularly well though."
He chuckled wryly. "I would imagine that your hearing is as sharp as the diamond facets on that ring you still wear, my dear."
She looked down at her ring finger, fairly covered by the sizable ring of diamonds and emeralds.
"He's my husband, Ashley. I'll wear it until its otherwise."
Ashley frowned as he took her arm and began to walk down the street. "For the last two years, his objective in life seems to have been to make you suffer...and suffer you have. You've burned through more money than I care to imagine saving me from ruin at the mills, though I can't imagine why you did it—"
She rolled her eyes as he went on.
"And then he consistently finds ways to get his name blasted throughout the newspapers and further scandalizes you by cavorting with harlots...at this point, Scarlett, I think its fair to say that his reputation exceeds even your own."
Scarlett looked at him darkly as they walked, her arm linked with his.
"Well, I don't care. I told you that he's coming back to keep the gossip down. He reassured me of that, before he left, he did, Ashley."
"Right. He's come back how many times, since that date?"
"None. I realize the inevitability of my situation, Ashley. And I know what they're saying about me and I don't care. I must try to make it right though...if only for Wade and Ella—I must…"
His eyes narrowed. "He should have never said what he said about you being an unfit mother. He is a cruel, selfish bastard and if I knew where to find him I'd—"
"What, shoot him?" she said with a raised eyebrow in perfect imitation of Mrs. Meriwether.
Ashley sighed. "I suppose that wouldn't be particularly helpful to you, my dear, but I would like to speak to him. You know, gentleman to gentleman."
"Ha!" Scarlett laughed. "You're being generous with the word gentleman, Ashley."
"That I am aware of. Oh yes, I am well aware of that fact…but that doesn't put aside the point that you're hurting, my dear. You're exhausted and you're—"
"What? Heartbroken over Rhett leaving? Fiddle-dee-dee, Ashley, I'm alright. After all," she smiled coquettishly, reminding him that the belle that he knew and loved was lurking deep down under her placid exterior, "I have enough money to tell everyone to go to the devil…and I have you."
She said the last part with heavy sarcasm, which Ashley did not catch. Instead, he moved up behind her, and placed a compassionate hand on her shoulder. "You do have me, Scarlett. God help me, I would be lying if I said that I did not want you still—after all this time…but I do know that your heart lingers with Rhett, no matter how...unworthy...a cad he has proven himself to be—"
She shrugged his hand away and laughed hollowly as the heat rushed to her face.
"Obviously he wasn't nearly so serious in his supposed love for me, or he simply wouldn't have vanished like this. And he simply doesn't care enough to come home—at least not to me. Had I only not been so blind for so long, Ashley-"
"What difference does it make, Scarlett, if he does not love you, as you have just said?"
Her eyes briefly closed. The stiff taffeta of her gown was clinging to her skin and she felt nauseous as the sun beat down its rays.
Rhett's image rose before her mind's eye-his swarthy face with coal black eyes, his hair, black as a raven's wing...the kindred spirit that had rescued her time and time again. Rhett, not love her? That was the problem: she knew that he did. Or at the very least—he had.
"But I'm in love with him, Ashley. For the first time in my life, I know what it is to be in love, deeply. And it will no more leave me than my love for-I don't know-Tara, perhaps? Despite everything, I still love him. No matter how mad he makes me...despite him leaving when Melly died."
Ashley's jaw hardened at the mention of that name.
"I know what you mean, Scarlett."
She took his hand and gave it a hard squeeze. "I know you do, Ashley. I know."
He chuckled dryly. "I suppose that we'll have to content ourselves with one another's company, in the meantime. I for one cannot endure sitting next to Pittypat after I walk India down the aisle…"
Scarlett laughed, genuinely this time. "I can't believe she's getting married. It's a wonder that she's found a man—any man—let alone a fully functional, moderately handsome Southerner."
Ashley grimaced. "Poor fellow."
"Well, I certainly can't attend without an invitation, Ashley. I may be unconventional, but I've not sank that low—not yet, anyway."
Ashley smiled, "Well you certainly are invited to be my escort. Lord knows they can't create any new rumors. Why just yesterday I heard a charming one about our rendezvous inside of Mrs. Watling's establishment…"
Scarlett feigned horror. "Except that you chose with me over one of those women because I'll serve the same purpose for no charge, was that the gist of it?"
Ashley laughed appreciatively, but was cut off in his reply by the sound of a man loudly clearing his throat from behind them.
Scarlett and Ashley turned around in unison and were greeted by a slight bow that was more mocking than courteous.
Rhett's face seemed to swim before Scarlett, and she felt that her stays were near ready to burst, along with the contents of her stomach at the sight of him.
He spoke solemnly, though his eyes settled upon Scarlett with a knowing smirk.
"I happened to hear that very rumor you were referring to, Ashley…but I do believe that it went that Scarlett's fee was substantially cheaper, but that she enjoyed it far more—"
"Why you rotten—"
"Spare me your righteous indignation, Wilkes. I'm not in the mood. As for you, Mrs. Butler, I came to Atlanta to see the children and was told that they were away at Tara. A pity, perhaps next time…"
"You're leaving again?" she managed, the weight in her chest like hot lead.
He nodded coolly. "After Miss Wilkes's wedding. I am acquainted with the groom, you see…a long association."
"Well, you are certainly not welcome—" Ashley began again.
"I happen to have an invitation, sir. That and I'll be damned if I start taking orders from you. As for Mrs. Butler attending as your escort—well, I'll look forward to witnessing that sort of circus. Naturally, I'm glad that its you and not me who is inciting her to spiral into the abyss of total ruin…"
"Stop it, Rhett! Why, you're one to talk! When you've left me here for two years to be subjected to talk and scandal!"
He bowed again, in the same mocking way as before. "My dear, I have already plummeted into perdition of another sense…I take no ownership over your fate. Mr. Wilkes—I'll see you at your sister's nuptials."
With that, he turned around and returned to his fine coach, which had been waiting at the end of the street.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Ashley muttered as Rhett's driver urged the horse on.
Scarlett shook her head, unable to speak. With any luck, she could just make it to the safety of her home before she passed out on the street. That would be just what the Old Guard needed to hear—they'd be saying that she was carrying Ashley's child next…Rhett's words floated to her, scattering like windblown leaves—something about abysses and total ruin. How dare he say that? How dare he?