Yes, I know, I should update quicker, I'm sorry. I had finals and I was stuck with no internet connection during Christmas break and now I have to squeeze out an update in two days, so I guess I have some kind of reason for not writing anything for such a long time. Alright, enough excuses, I'll start writing the actual thing now.
Scarlett stood outside the firehouse that had recently been transformed into a prison, too frightened by the blue uniforms to enter. How strange that she had not hesitated to kill a Yankee, but was not even courageous enough to talk to one. The fact that Rhett Butler had been arrested just like in her dream added to her bewilderment. How could it be? How could a stupid little dream about her marrying a man she despised predict the future? She shook her head. It was impossible. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Her superstitious side was playing tricks on her. She had to stick with common sense, and common sense told her that it was all a big coincidence.
She took a resolute breath, plastered some confidence on her visage, and walked towards the gate until a soldier stopped her.
"What is it Ma'am?" asked the man in an accent that sounded very queer to Scarlett. His voice was quite pollte, and Scarlett became less nervous.
"I want to see a man in there-he is a prisoner."
While a soldier took her to the headquarters, Scarlett was assailed by memories. Why, she had danced all night at balls organized in that lovely old house. Now the wallpaper was torn and the building was full of bluecoats. Even though they were nice to her, Scarlett cringed each time she saw anyone wearing a blue uniform. And the idea that Rhett Butler was confined in that old firehouse was so ridiculous! Rhett Butler, well dressed and well mannered Rhett who was always ahead of everyone? How in the world could some stupid Yankees hang him? Impossible.
Oh Lord, what in the world should she say to Rhett? She suddenly realized she didn't know what to say to him at all. Rhett, I missed you, I'm sorry I slapped you, and by the way I need 300 dollars? No, that wouldn't do at all.
Scarlett still had no idea what to say to Rhett as he grabbed her hands and kissed her cheek without her permission.
"My darling little sister!" Rhett said, looking very amused. Scarlett tried to hide her smile. He seemed pleased to see her. Maybe his good mood would make him feel more generous.
"Well, Scarlett, I can't say you look very tidy today." He said, throwing a deprecating look at her patched old clothes. "Did the Yankees not only crush our boys in gray's overlarge ego but also steal all the southern belles' dresses?"
"Oh Rhett, don't be so mean, this is one of the only dresses I have left." She replied, already regretting she had not put on the green velvet dress. It was horrible to have a man like Rhett insulting her like this.
"My, if I needed anything to make me realize that the Old South has perished, seeing you in such rags would convince me immediately."
"Yes, well you're not looking all that neat yourself. How could you let those Yankees capture you? What did you do to get locked up anyway? Kill a Negro and hide all the confederates' money for yourself? And are you really going to be hanged?" She was trying to change the subject and she felt that Rhett knew it.
He smiled. "They might hang me and they might not, thank you for your concern. My killing negroes is none of your business, and I know you're not interested in the crimes I commit against uppity darkies anyway. Now tell me the truth Scarlett, why are you visiting me? I admit I hope it's because you missed me, but I'm afraid that would be wishful thinking."
"I did miss you. A little." She teased, without mentioning the fact that she had absolutely hated him for months or that she had had a dream about the two of them marrying. "I know you're way too smart to let those horrible men kill you. But the real reason I'm here Rhett, is because I need money. Three hundred dollars. The taxes are so high because our old overseer wants to buy the house, and you know I can't lose Tara, it's my home." She hesitated. "I would pay you back, I promise." She peered at his face but his expression was unreadable.
"Why don't you let the farm go? You could live with Miss Pittypat, you own half the house."
"God's nightgown, Rhett, how can I let Tara go? It's my home. And I won't let it go. Please, if you'll just let me borrow three hundred dollars from you…" She glanced at him pleadingly but his face was still undecipherable. She grew more uneasy.
He stayed silent for a moment. "How bad are things at Tara?" He finally asked. His voice was soft and smooth.
"Oh, it's awful! Father is…he…he's not been himself since my mother died. He just sits and waits for her all day long and he can't help me any. I… we've been just this side of starvation, to be honest. Oh, you don't know! We've never had enough to eat and yet there are thirteen people to feed! And we need some warm clothes since we haven't got any, and the children are always cold and sick, and we don't have any field hands left so I had to plough and pick the cotton that was left, and…"
Before she could go on, Rhett took her hands in his once more and inspected them more carefully. His blank expression transformed into a look of deep disgust. Scarlett became frightened. Rhett looked at her hands furiously, as though these hands were worse than Appomattox and Gettysburg combined. She hurriedly took her hands out of his grip. Was he repulsed by her hands? She looked at them imperceptibly. They were so sunburned they had turned brown, and rough with blisters, calluses and scars. They looked more like a poor white's hands than a lady's. Her hopes sank. Was Rhett disgusted with her? Disgusted to see that pretty, young, and charming Scarlett O'Hara was working like a field hand for her survival? He won't give me the money, she thought. She simply was not pretty enough anymore to be of interest to him. Maybe she should have worn the green dress after all, that way her pride wouldn't be so hurt and Rhett wouldn't look at her so angrily like he was doing right now. She expected him to dismiss her with contempt at any moment now and her thoughts were already turning to Frank Kennedy and a plan to ensnare him, however unwilling she was at the thought of marrying this man.
"Scarlett." Scarlett's head snapped up. His tone was gentle, which surprised her, and she could hear a faint sadness in his voice. Anger had departed from his face, and was replaced by something that looked similar to pity. Scarlett's hopes soared again. Would he give her the money after all? "I haven't any money in Atlanta. Not a dollar. I do have some, of course, but it's not here. If a tried to draw a draft on it the Yankees would be on me like a duck on a June bug and neither of us would get it. I'm sorry my dear, but I'm afraid you'll have to get your money someplace else."
Why did Rhett reanimate her hope just to let her down once more? No, she shouldn't blame him, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't. If he tried to get the money, he'd be hanged and the taxes still wouldn't be paid. Anyhow, she should have known Rhett couldn't get the money for her. It said so in the dream.
God, not that dream again, she thought wearily. Scarlett sunk in a chair and buried her head in her hands."How soon do you need to pay the taxes?" He went on.
"As soon as possible." She answered, barely listening.
"I could try to get out, I have some friends high in the Federate Government and I could blackmail them. Then I'd get the money out of Liverpool and you'd have your taxes paid. But it would probably take too long of a time and you and your family would be kicked out of the plantation before I can manage to escape from this old place. Can you wait a month or two?"
"No. That's too long." Well, at least the man was trying. She ought to feel grateful for that at least. Maybe he really was in love with her... Great balls of fire, what was she thinking?
"I guess I'll have to marry that Frank Kennedy." She laughed bitterly. "Suellen will kill me for it. But I do have to get the money from somewhere, don't I? And you're about the only man I could ever get a loan out of without marrying immediately." She tied her tattered bonnet on. "Goodbye Rhett, try not to get hanged by those damn Northerners."
"Frank Kennedy." He murmured. Anger flickered briefly in his eyes, but he quickly smiled. "I see you still aren't afraid of being wed to men you don't love. Well, congratulations on your upcoming marriage Mrs. Hamilton. I'm certain you won't have any trouble making him propose to you, with all the experience you have in charming men. Unfortunately I will probably not be able to attend the ceremony for reasons you are already aware of, but I'm sure you will make a... charming couple."
Scarlett wondered why his hands were pushed into his pockets in tight fists as though he was enraged about something. Rhett was grinning and his words, as usual, were dripping with sarcasm. He didn't look very angry at all. But she ignored this, thinking that it was just another one of this man's many pecularities, and as she went out Rhett shouted "Scarlett, do you realize that this is the first time we've had a conversation without you becoming mad at me?"
Scarlett couldn't help but laugh.
Scarlett waddled along in the mud, the rain drenching her to the bones and making her feel even more miserable than she should. She almost wished that the dream would be right again, that Frank would come splashing along in his buggy and save her from the deluge so she wouldn't have to walk all the way home. And surely enough, she heard a splashing of hooves behind her. The buggy slowly pulled over, and as she had expected the driver peering at her from the vehicle was none other than the bewhiskered Mr. Kennedy. Scarlett forced a smile with difficulty.
"Surely it can't be Miss Scarlett!" Frank said with pleasure, astonishment, and an embarassed little cough.
"Oh, Mr. Kennedy! I was never so glad to see anybody in my life!" She cried back with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
If there's a typo anywhere, please tell me, as usual.
What ifs are fun to write. They're easier than actual sequels at least. Hey, I'm pretty sure this is the chapter with the shortest author notes I've ever written. You guys should be happy.