This isn't the piece I told a few of you I'd been working on. I've had this written for quite some time now and have been saving it for a time like this when writer's block is at the door and I still want feedback. haha. So... it's not my best, and it's not my favorite, but it's cute and kind of funny and I hope you enjoy! Please review, I really appreciate feedback, good or bad.
And if anyone cares, this story is based on a story in my friend's family--I just had to adjust it to fit the Civil War. Peace:)
Overall, it had been a mild summer in Atlanta thus far. Normally in mid-July the air was swarming with bugs and humidity, the magnolias were wilting in the heat and ladies were seen fanning themselves incessantly. But for the most part, this year had been a temperate one, and thank Heaven for that. It got pleasantly warm during the day and at night when the sun went down it was perfect weather for sitting out on the porch and having a chat after supper, as the residents and guests of Mrs. Pittypat Hamilton's house were doing.
Rhett Butler had come to call so he sat on the porch with Aunt Pitty, Melanie and Scarlett, bouncing Wade on his knee. During daylight hours Aunt Pitty would probably have been all in a tizzy about being seen with Rhett--because he wasn't received, don't you know?--but since dusk had fallen she was assured that no one who happened to be strolling down Peachtree Street would recognize the outline of broad shoulders sitting in her best chair on her front porch.
Melanie's light, gay laughter filled the evening air and startled Scarlett out of her reverie. She had been thinking about Ashley and wondering if the summer was mild in Illinois, too. She hoped to God it was; she couldn't bear the thought of Ashley roasting to death inside some Yankee prison! Oh, never that! Consequently, Melanie's mirth annoyed her. Oh, how could she be laughing when Ashley was probably dead or dying? Rhett had probably told her some stupid story, and being a silly nit, she had found it amusing.
"Oh Captain Butler, you tell the most wonderful stories," Melanie praised with a sigh.
"They certainly distract me from thinking about the true state of things," Aunt Pitty admitted.
"Thank you both," Rhett replied politely. Mockingly, his dark eyes settled on Scarlett. "Unfortunately, my efforts seem to be lost on Mrs. Hamilton."
Not expecting to be drawn into the conversation, Scarlett was caught somewhat off guard and looked up confusedly. "What?"
"Is there a story you'd like to hear, Mrs. Hamilton?" Rhett asked, and the look in his eyes told her he was mocking her. He knew damn well that she couldn't care less about ridiculous stories--why did he have to single her out and embarrass her? To her irritation, he pressed onward still: "A tale of romance, perhaps, or a daring adventure?" She could tell he was trying very hard not to laugh.
Scarlett's shoulders stiffened and her eyes narrowed. Well, she thought, two can play this game. She put on her sweetest simper and giggled, "Oh Captain Butler, I would so love to hear a ghost story!"
Rhett laughed in genuine amusement and surprise at her act. "Why, Mrs. Hamilton, I never expected you to be the type who'd like to hear ghost stories. All the same, I know a fairly decent one."
"Ghost stories? Oh dear, oh dear…" Aunt Pitty mumbled, wringing her hands. "I shall need my smelling salts…" She wandered inside, limping and struggling slightly because she'd tripped over a rug last week, and didn't come back outside to hear the ghost story, but Melanie didn't notice and Scarlett didn't care. Wade hopped down from Rhett's lap and sat on the porch at Scarlett's feet, then Rhett began his tale.
X
"Just a few years ago in this very city of Atlanta, a young woman named Colleen King married a young man named James Grant. Colleen and James were very happy together and loved each other very much, but that didn't matter to their families: Colleen's family was loyal to the Confederacy, being from the noble state of Georgia, and James' family hailed from Pittsburgh, making them therefore sympathetic to the Union's Cause. Now Colleen's mother, Annie, didn't like this at all. The very idea of her only daughter marrying a northerner made her blood run cold. Colleen and James tried everything to win Annie's blessing. James even left his entire family in Pittsburgh, moved to Atlanta and enlisted in the Confederate Army when the war began."
"Oh, how brave of him!" Melanie whispered quietly. "To come all that way for the one he loves and fight for something he doesn't believe in…"
"Hush, Melly," Scarlett snapped. The only thing more irritating than Melanie's sweet approval was this terribly boring story. She was tired of wearisome stories about the South and the struggles of the war. She wanted to be scared, scared out of her wits!
Rhett nodded his acknowledgement to Melanie and continued. "So James went off with the lads in gray and never returned. He was killed in the fighting at Gettysburg."
"Oh no!"
This time Scarlett only managed an exasperated sigh. If only Melanie would stop…
"When Colleen got the news that her husband was dead, she wept for days and days and would neither eat nor sleep. Annie, seeing her daughter's distress, tried to comfort her as best she could with her own failing health. But James was not the only loved one Colleen was to lose that fateful year. A few months later her mother was taken by old age and influenza."
Scarlett thought of Ellen, sick at Tara with typhoid and her heart wrenched in her chest at the fear of losing her own mother. Why, then she would have no one! Nothing! Oh, would this horrid story never end!
"Colleen's family began to notice strange goings-on in the room where Annie had lived. At night when everyone was asleep, they would sometimes be awakened by the light tread of footsteps pacing the floorboards, one leg with a limp like Annie's. Or they could hear whispered voices through the walls. Colleen's brothers investigated many times, but always found nothing. And that was the least of their problems.
"In the weeks following her mother's death, Colleen was haunted by the same dream. In it, her mother would come to her, whispering, 'I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you…' Colleen assumed it meant that Annie forgave her for marrying James. But the nightmare would not end when she woke up. Every time she woke, she saw the shadowy outline of her mother standing at the foot of her bed, repeating the mantra, 'I forgive you, I forgive you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…' The dream occurred every night for almost a year, until finally one night, Colleen woke up and said to the ghostly apparition of her mother, 'I forgive you, Mama. Rest in peace.' And she never had the dream again."
Scarlett was listening now; the picture of a ghostly woman in white at the foot of a bed was clear in her mind, making her shiver despite the warm night air around her. Unconsciously, she leaned forward in her chair, hands balled into tight fists resting on her knees. Rhett slid her a glance out of the corner of his eye, and then finished the story.
"Colleen remarried, and one night when she was sitting at the dinner table with her family, she heard someone coming down the stairs. No one was upstairs; the negroes were in the kitchen having their own supper and the whole family sat at the table. They hadn't a dog or cat… No one was upstairs. And yet they heard the footsteps, someone coming down… someone with a limp."
Melanie let out a small gasp that made Scarlett start with surprise, and then glare crossly, unnoticed, at her sister-in-law. Rhett continued.
"Colleen pushed back her chair and told everyone to wait where they were. Her husband and children obeyed with grim faces. Colleen walked into the hallway, looked up the staircase, stood there for several moments watching and then came back to the dinner table, her face white as marble. She never told anyone who or what she saw on the stairs that night, and no one ever asked. But her brothers swear that it was the ghost of their mother leaving the house, seeing that her daughter was happy again, and looking for some other lonely Atlanta widow to haunt."
A hush had fallen over the porch. Scarlett's fingers were white from gripping the arms of her chair and Wade sat staring up at Rhett with glassy eyes, petrified. Only Melanie seemed to have escaped the stricken spell.
"Oh, what a marvelous story!" She clapped as if it had been a splendid theatrical production, a luminous smile on her face.
Normally Scarlett would have been annoyed, but she was breathless with a mixture of fright and anger. Why, Rhett had made up that story on the spot just to scare her! A limping old ghost who haunts widows, indeed! But still, a chill ran down her spine and she gave a silent, startled jump when Wade grabbed onto her leg.
"Great balls of fire, Wade Hampton!" she snapped. "Don't do that!"
"Wade sleepy…" the little boy whined, and Melanie clucked her tongue.
"Poor dear, of course you are, it's getting late, isn't it? Come on inside, Aunty will put you to bed." Wade followed her into the house, leaving Rhett and Scarlett alone on the porch.
"Well, Mrs. Hamilton?" Rhett asked, his smile openly insulting her.
Scarlett narrowed her eyes and said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, "A lovely story, Captain Butler."
Rhett laughed. "Come now, I had you scared to bits, admit it."
Scarlett gave a false, nervous laugh. "Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, of course not! It's just a silly ghost story!"
He fixed her with a knowing glance but said, "Why don't we go inside? Judging from the gooseflesh on your arm you're cold--or are you frightened?" His teeth flashed at her in a smile.
She glowered at him and replied, "It's quite chilly, let's go into the living room, it'll be much warmer there."
Rhett followed her into the house and they both sat down in the parlor, the dying oil lamp casting vague shadows over their faces and throwing shapes across the walls. Scarlett looked about anxiously, every sound making her uneasy. Oh, the scoundrel, why did he have to tell that story? Now she was going to be on edge all night! But she mustn't let him see that, never. She held her head high despite her quaking constitution and waited for him to make some rude remark.
"With all due respect, Mrs. Hamilton--" Rhett began, but Scarlett cut him off.
"Whenever someone starts a sentence off like that, they really mean, 'I'm going to say something that will offend you, so brace yourself.'"
Rhett laughed good-naturedly. "Touché. But if what I had to say would offend you, you know that I wouldn't precede my statement with some polite gesture like that, don't you, Scarlett?"
"Oh, of course, Captain Butler," she mocked. "How silly of me, I seem to have forgotten that the rules of propriety don't apply to you." She smiled with mocking sweetness.
"You're one to talk of propriety, my dear," Rhett countered.
Scarlett sighed impatiently and smoothed down her dress, wincing at the humble knit of the fabric. Oh, it had been ages since she'd had a new one… "Oh, nevermind all this banter. What was it you were going to tell me?"
"Merely that I didn't take you for the type who enjoyed ghost stories… or was frightened by them."
"I've never heard anything more ridiculous in my whole life!" Scarlett snapped. "Why, it's just a silly old story, Rhett. You can't scare me that easily."
"I can definitely scare your son that easily, though," Rhett said more quietly, and had Scarlett cared enough to listen, she would have noticed a hint of reproach in the statement.
"Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, Wade's scared of everything," she answered, slightly defensive.
"Even, it seems, his own mother."
Scarlett's eyes widened in fury. "How dare you! Insinuating that my own child is frightened of me? You get out of this house this instant!" But the fact that she didn't rise to her feet to reiterate her claim made it hollow, and Rhett continued.
"I'm not insinuating, Scarlett, I'm outright telling you that Wade Hampton is absolutely petrified of you."
"Nonsense," she replied immediately. "Didn't you see--on the porch. He--he turned to me for comfort!"
"And what did you do? You snapped at him and scolded him."
"That's what you do with children, Rhett, you have to reprimand them, otherwise they'd just go around behaving badly and then what do you have? A bunch of delinquent children who can't keep out of trouble and then--"
Rhett laughed rudely. "My dear, have you no sense in that pretty little head of yours at all? Wade wasn't--what did you call it?--'behaving badly.' He was simply scared and looking for some reassurance that everything was all right."
"Well he's a boy, he shouldn't have to," Scarlett responded automatically, the Southern code of life rising to her lips naturally, because that was what she had been told her entire life, and because she knew it was true. Men shouldn't turn to women for help or support or comfort; it made them vulnerable, it made them weak. "He's just as lily-livered as Charles was."
Instantly, she wished she hadn't said it. Gerald's daughter had spoken, and she couldn't take back the words. Well of course Charles was a sissy, everyone knew that, even if they didn't say it, but for his widow to say it to another man while they were unaccompanied by a chaperone--the marks against her kept adding up and Rhett laughed as he watched her face struggle through embarrassment, rage and confusion.
"Well, Mrs. Hamilton, now we get down to it," he drawled. "You blame Charles for the boy's insecurities. You blame his father whom he never met for his inadequacies."
"Oh, shut up!" Scarlett snapped. She floundered for an excuse. "If anyone's to blame for his cowardice it's Melly."
Rhett was uncharacteristically surprised. "Mrs. Wilkes?"
"You've seen the way she fusses and fondles with him," Scarlett continued hotly. "Gives him sweets and sings him songs--"
"Scarlett, permit me this rather prying question, but does your heartlessness shield you from being able to appreciate those who do have hearts?"
She ignored the personal slights with a tight-lipped grimace and bit back harsher words. "I don't know why you praise Melanie so much," she spat. "What has kindness ever done for anybody? It's not kindness that will win us this war, it's not kindness that grows cotton or plows fields."
"No, but it is kindness that teaches and nurtures those people who go out and fight wars and plant cotton and plow fields," Rhett said quietly.
Ignoring his homespun truths, Scarlett barreled on. "Wade Hampton has all the kindness and sympathy he needs from Melly, so why do I have to give it to him too?"
Rhett didn't answer, he just stared at Scarlett, the expression on his face changing from bemusement to concern to a mixture of both. Scarlett continued.
"And besides, it doesn't matter because I'm not having anymore children."
"Oh you're not, are you?"
"No, I'm not," Scarlett answered, rather proud of herself that she was ridden of all that nonsense. "And I shan't marry again because I hated it."
"Not being married doesn't protect you from no longer having children, Scarlett," Rhett suggested insouciantly.
"No one but a cad like you is low enough to even think of something like that," she retorted, her face getting hot. It wasn't proper for him to speak like that, but at the same time it made her stomach leap with a feeling she couldn't explain, talking about such things with him.
"Are you suggesting that I have thought about it?" Rhett asked, then laughed loudly. Before she could answer, he said, "Well, to be honest with you, I have given it a thought once or twice--actually, quite frequently. Sweeping you off your feet and throwing you over my pommel and riding away with you." He chuckled to himself. "Atlanta would buzz louder than a beehive with gossip."
Scarlett couldn't think of one singular thing to say; so many were floating around in her mouth, but not one would come out. She fumbled wordlessly and tried to form coherent thoughts but none escaped her lips. Rhett laughed at her confusion and rose from his chair to stand above her. The action was enough to make Scarlett get a grip on her senses and narrow her eyes.
"You know what I think you are, Rhett Butler?" she asked, her voice dangerously low and dripping with venom. "You are nothing more than a self-serving, common-minded bas--"
She never finished her sentence; a noise from the stairs made her jump.
They strained their ears for a sound… It was a dull tread; someone was coming down the stairs. For some reason she had shot up in fright when she'd first heard the noise, and now found herself pressed against Rhett's chest. Instinctively, his arm circled round her waist firmly, but she didn't notice. Her heart was thudding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. They listened again, more closely this time, and realized that the shuffling sounds down the stairs weren't even. A quiet tread, then a loud one, then again… It sounded like--oh, God…
"Rhett… whoever's coming down the stairs has a limp," Scarlett whispered fearfully, stating the obvious in her time of fright. Rhett didn't answer but the same thought was on both their minds--Annie's ghost, haunting Confederate widows.
"Rhett… do something!" Scarlett breathed, scarcely daring to move. She looked up at his face and was startled to find it looking graver than she'd ever seen it. His brows were knit in confusion and his black eyes stared straight ahead at the bottom of the staircase.
"Quiet," he muttered, his lips barely moving.
His stunned silence was the antithesis of her nervous chatter. "Ghosts can't kill you, can they, Rhett? I suppose they could scare you to death, couldn't they? But other than that, they can't actually kill anybody… Rhett? They can't kill people, can th--"
"Shhh…" Rhett whispered, never taking his eyes off the landing.
Scarlett's hand rose to her mouth to stifle a gasp when a figure in white came into view coming down the last few stairs. In a split second, her mind was barraged with so many thoughts that it was impossible to identify them all. First and foremost, she knew she was going to die. Either of fright or by ghostly massacre, she would surely be dead in a heap on the floor of Aunt Pitty's parlor very, very shortly. With that realization came the immediate fear that she was going to hell. She remembered in horror her father's threats of eternal damnation and, in a last-minute attempt at salvation, began reciting the Lord's prayer in her head. Our Father, who art in Heaven…
But at the same time one half of her brain was praying (hallowed be thy name…), the other was trying to remember everything about the current moment. This was her final scene, her last stand; she didn't want to forget anything about it. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done… And just like that, her usually unnoticing mind was made acutely aware of every detail. The air in the parlor was thick and placid, almost stiflingly still. Cookie was shuffling about in the kitchen where the faint smell of roasting chicken still wafted about, unaware that two people were about to be murdered in the other room. Outside, cicadas trilled into the darkness and inside, the timbers of the house whispered to each other.
Scarlett felt a bead of sweat trickle down between her breasts but didn't dare move. It was now that she noticed Rhett's arm around her waist, smelled his manly fragrance of whiskey and cigars, felt every muscle in his body tense against her own, ready to shield her--and she felt safe. And strangely enough, that was all that mattered. Scarlett knew she would die cared for and protected, and suddenly everything else seemed very unimportant.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked up into Rhett's face. For some reason she wanted to kiss him. Oh, she knew it was silly and stupid, but she was about to die and he had been one of her beaux, one of the best she'd ever had, in fact, and it seemed a shame that she would die without kissing him. Then again, there was a very great chance that they would end up in hell together, and he would never let her forget it. And what if--now she couldn't believe she'd even wanted to kiss him--what if they were killed while they were still kissing? Rhett would gloat about how she'd died with his lips on hers and she would never live it down. No, kissing him was stupid and impulsive and she wasn't going to do it. If they lived through this, maybe she would kiss him in thanks if he saved her life. Had the situation not been more grave, Scarlett would have huffed in annoyance. She didn't know why she wanted to kiss him so badly anyway…
Scarlett thought all these things in the blink of an eye, and the next second all her thoughts were gone when a familiar voice called feebly, "Cookie? Make sure you save everything from dinner tonight! Mrs. Meade said they need all the extra food they can get down at the hospital and you know what those potatoes do to my intestines. I want them out of this house, Cookie, out…"
It was Aunt Pitty.
Aunt Pitty in her dressing gown at the foot of the stairs.
The ghost in white.
Aunt Pitty.
Scarlett let out an anxious laugh of disbelief and immediately Rhett's hand fell from her waist. They glanced at each other with a look that said, simply and utterly, "Oh."
"Oh goodness me!" Aunt Pitty cried upon seeing Rhett and Scarlett in the parlor. "I didn't know you two had come inside, or I never would have come down, not dressed like this! Oh dear… I think I shall faint…"
Scarlett sprung into action, grabbing Pitty's smelling salts from the dining room table and standing over her aunt firmly, ordering, "Aunt Pitty, don't you dare faint on the stairs. Uncle Peter will refuse to carry you up to your room and then you'll have to lie there all night. Come now, pull yourself together. That's right."
Aunt Pitty magically regained her wits about her when threatened with the thought of an angry Uncle Peter and returned back to bed. On the way up, Scarlett noticed her limp and remembered the carpet she'd tripped over the week before. How silly! Scarlett chided herself. To think that she and Rhett had thought she was a ghost!
Rhett. Where was he? She looked around the empty parlor but he was nowhere to be found. Through the open window she heard him climbing into his carriage. Aunt Pitty would be mortified to learn that she hadn't bid goodbye to a guest, even one as notorious as Rhett Butler. And besides, Scarlett had something she wanted to ask him. Pulling her wrapper about her, she ran down the front steps as he was just about to pull away in his carriage.
"Rhett!"
He smiled down at her, a devilish gleam in his eye. "I trust that your Aunt Pitty is all right?"
"Yes, yes, she's fine," Scarlett said dismissively. "Rhett? Rhett, tell me something-- were you frightened? When we thought Aunt Pitty was a ghost, I mean?"
He laughed. "All right, Scarlett, I'll admit it--I was a little unnerved, yes."
She smiled triumphantly--maybe she'd wanted to kiss him, but she would never tell him that. And now he'd admitted that he'd been frightened. She had won the day. "See? Your silly little stories can scare even you sometimes!"
Rhett cocked an eyebrow at her. "What makes you believe it's just a story?"
Scarlett spluttered. "What--but--"
"Now Scarlett, did you honestly think that I would be afraid of something in a story? I happen to be a very close friend of the former Mrs. James Grant. Colleen told me the tale of her mother's ghost when I visited her and her family just last week. It's entirely true; that woman hasn't a lying bone in her body, and neither have her brothers." Scarlett opened her mouth, ready with oaths that would shame a sailor, but Rhett continued talking and cut off any angry remarks she was poised to make. "Now, if you'll excuse me, your house is not my only stop in Atlanta, my dear. I've really got to get going."
He reached down to cup her cheek in his hand, but Scarlett pulled away and spat viciously, "Get out of here, now! And if you ever come back, I'll shoot you, I swear I will!"
Rhett straightened up, chuckled and drove away, leaving Scarlett with the sound of his laughter ringing in her ears. She stomped back into the house, fuming. How dare he tell her that story, knowing full well it was going to scare her--and then to tell her it was true! Being superstitious, Scarlett fully believed in such things, and knew she would spend a sleepless night tossing and turning, willing Annie's ghost away from her bedside.
And for some reason she couldn't explain, the fact that Rhett had other "stops" in Atlanta irked her. She liked to labor under the delusion that she was the sole reason for his visits to the sassy city. Now that that theory had been rejected, she thought it only appropriate to sulk as she dressed for bed. She wondered darkly, as she crawled under the covers, if halfway across town in some burlesque saloon, Rhett was telling the story of their "ghostly" encounter to Belle Watling and other disreputable women. She imagined their painted faces red with laughter, their kohl-lidded eyes rolling back in amusement.
And Scarlett thought, before drifting off to an uneasy sleep, that she wouldn't mind if Rhett Butler choked on his laughter and died. No, she told herself, she wouldn't mind that at all…