Disclaimers:
•I need to reiterate that my goal at the onset of YMCB was to not sanitize Rhett nor Scarlett which invariably means that YMCB will not be everyone's cup of tea. I appreciate readers that are still willing to give YMCB a try, but I understand if you do not continue on with the story. Cheers.
•Like all authors, I LOVE comments and feedback that are constructive and useful. If the intended comment is meant to inflame, then it will be deleted. Sorry guys, no trolls on the YMCB board.
•I do not own nor profit from Margaret Mitchell's beautiful characters. In accordance with producing a transformative work, the source copyrighted elements derived from Gone With The Wind have been removed and Your Mistress, Captain B- has been submitted to the US Copyright Office for copyright protection, thereby the author retains all rights to the original creative work of this story.
Chapter 1
Springtime, The Deep South, 1874
He stood erect, a dignified presence amid the chaos. The tips of his shoes touched the threshold of the heavily guarded door. His gnarled, weary fingers held out the wash bin of warm water and fresh linens. Lowering his gaze, he bowed in deference when a head of brown curls fractured the ribbon of light emanating from a single gas lamp, illuminating the forbidden secrets of the gloomy bedchamber.
"Hol' da clawt 'ganst da woun' til da bleed'n dun stop." Pork instructed softly. He hunched his shoulders, draping the strips of material over the master's forearm, and placing the bowl of water into his anxious hands.
"But it won't stop bleeding!"
"Ahs kin fetch Dahkta Me—"
"No!" His sweet, soulful eyes widened in shock while his quaking arms struggled to calm the water sloshing around the rim of the basin.
Pork peered down at the unwitting orchestrator of the unspoken but momentous coup that took place within the walls of of the Peachtree Street mansion that evening. His tone grew quiet and conspiratorial. "Ahs kin fetch Dilcey. She dun make ev'thin' righ' good."
"Yes— Please— Please fetch Dilcey. Th–Thank you, Pork."
Pork bowed his head. "Ahs beh righ' back wit Dilcey, Masta Wade."
Sequestered in her well-appointed parlor, she appeared before judge and jury. Scarlett's stare traveled down the straining buttons jutting out from Uncle Henry's burgundy and gold jacquard vest. The brass studs groaned in time with every indignant exhalation whistling forth from his nose. The heat brought about from his vexatious snorts and sputters seemingly perked up a few stray whiskers residing just above his lip, curling one particular strand back up into his nostril.
After catching her fingernails in their third attempt to embed themselves into her scalp, she twisted her fingers together and jammed them into the folds of her skirt. Dilcey's needlework was commendable. The cut lay hidden just beyond Scarlett's hairline. Considerable care was taken with each stitch of the needle, ensuring that scarring would be minimal. But after eight days, the skin chafed, itching mercilessly. However, nothing but time could heal the grotesque discoloration blanketing the side of Scarlett's face.
"Thank you for collecting Wade, Uncle Henry." Scarlett held her chin to her chest, keeping her profile angled away from his eyes, squinting with the intent of a thorough appraisal of her person. Henry leaned back into the settee, placed his clasped hands over the swell of his waistline and harrumphed —twice.
"Wade has been expelled from school for two weeks." Henry broke the pregnant silence.
"I don't know what to do." Scarlett whispered. "He has become so angry..."
"Indeed. He is a very angry —and a very confused— young man."
"Expulsion. Two weeks." Scarlett fretted at the silk material cascading down her lap. "Why now? It has been months since Melly and —and Rhett —and —we were doing just fine on our own. But now this..."
"You are not doing 'just fine' and this is not about Melanie nor Rhett. Wade is caught between Scylla and Charybdis." Henry sighed at the joining together of Scarlett's delicate brows. "Has Wade told you as to why he was expelled for scrapping with the Picard boy?"
Her expressive eyes belied the emphatic shake of her head.
"Just or unjust, your actions —or in this case— inaction, is grist for the mill. You have been in hiding since your..." Henry grappled to find a delicate euphemism for 'on a bender', "...unfortunate incident... and I assure you, Scarlett, that your absence about town has not gone unnoticed."
"I can not be seen looking like this."
"No, you can not." Henry grunted, shaking his head. "Unfortunately for you, it may have been easier if your injuries were do to an altercation with your husband. At the very least, you could have possibly gained some sympathy."
Henry brushed off a speck of lint from his coat, along with Scarlett's enflamed glare. "I beg your pardon if you took offense, but I did not make the comment in jest. The gossips are on your scent and they have sniffed out your affinity for spirits."
"What happens in the privacy of my own home is no one's concern but mine! Besides, what does it have to do with Wade being expelled?"
"Everything!" His cheeks flushed and his eyes bulged, clashing in a unbecoming manner against the silver threads streaking his white hair.
"Forgive me." Henry straightened his vest with fervor and ran a finger around his collar, clearing away the constriction in his throat. "Forgive me." Tapping out a rhythm on the arm of the sofa, Henry settled back into the cushions and continued assessing his niece.
"Surely, you can see that Wade is no longer a little boy. He is growing up, Scarlett." Henry softened, searching Scarlett's face for acknowledgment. "He is at an age where he has a greater understanding of the world around him and the same can be said for his playmates. The time has come where youth and innocence can no longer shield Wade from the gossip. Children also have eyes that can see and ears that can hear. One does not have to wonder what was said to Wade that would incite him to engage in fisticuffs."
Scarlett's hands shook with such vehemence that they were rendered useless, rustling the fabric as she attempted to smooth her skirt. The flush of her heated cheeks deepened and tears were collecting on her lowered lashes.
"Wade loves you dearly and he has always seen you as this fearless and indomitable creature. However, he is beginning to realize that you are also a flawed human being, and for some particular reason, your accident has been most unsettling to him." Henry cleared his throat, becoming pensive. "He has seen too much, Scarlett...
"I must have an honest answer from you. I suspect that Dr. Meade never attended to you on the evening of your injury and I believe that is due to Wade. It was your son that nursed you and saw to your care, was it not?"
Scarlett's forlorn sob of admission said everything that Henry anticipated. "Just as I had suspected," he murmured.
"I suppose Aunt Pitty knows." Scarlett fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief, her tone spiced with bitters.
"I suppose that is true."
"She has probably already sent an express to Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie."
"I suppose that to be true as well."
"Then Rhett must know."
"I suppose."
"What would Mother think of me?" Scarlett bemoaned.
"Your mother?!" Henry guffawed twisting his upper lip. "What kind of notion is that? Is that what truly concerns you?"
"Mother raised me to be a lady."
"This not about your mother, or for that matter, your father. Your parents have gone on to their Glory!" Heat spilled over Henry's white sideburns, reddening his skin up to the frosty roots of his hair. "This is not about your upbringing, this is about the upbringing of your children. You are a grown woman, Scarlett. This is about you and your legacy.
"Your child was witness to your dissipation. Your child is now the subject of ridicule. Your child was defending his mother's honor!
"Ten years from now, even in five, how will you be seen through the eyes of your children? Will Ella revere you as you did Ellen? I can not imagine her awestruck by her mother's beauty when your teeth have rotted, your eyes are bloodshot, and your nose has grown into a gin blossom!"
Henry allowed a fleeting smirk to contort his lips as Scarlett's mouth gaped, satisfied that his strike upon her vanity pierced her armor.
"Ella doesn't know— I have kept her away from—"
"What about Wade?!"
The time had come to draw the poison out from the blood. Silence ensued until Henry picked up the gauntlet.
"My great nephew is the last of the male line that bears the family name. Wade is to carry on our heritage and our traditions. We are Hamiltons. We are Southerners, resilient and prideful!"
Henry leaned forward, clasping his hands together, and rested his elbows on his knees. "Wade Hampton is a remarkable young man, Scarlett. Simply remarkable. I know this to be an absolute truth. Why? Because, although he does not speak of such things, when it is asked of him, he will not hesitate to talk of his most prized possession."
Scarlett raised her eyes in askance and Henry nodded in confirmation. "That's right, Charles' sword —but not for the reasons that you may figure. That vestige may have belonged to his father, but to Wade, that is merely an aside. That sword embodies his mother and what she means to him.
"A few years from now —God willing— Wade will graduate from the military academy. Ask yourself one question, when that day arrives, what do you envision when your son steps onto the stage dressed in full regalia and wearing Charles' sword? When Wade spies you in the audience, will he proudly gaze upon his momma, the woman who had the gumption to fight off the Yankees for that sword, or will he see nothing more than a common drunkard?!"
Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler came alive. She snapped her spine to attention and squared her petite shoulders. Her red-rimmed, emerald eyes fired off flames of infuriation. With each ragged breath, her chest heaved of fierce determination. Scarlett thrust her chin forward, fighting against a quivering bottom lip, and lifted her tear-stained face as if her head held up a crown of jewels fit for a queen. The wisp of a woman that met Henry Hamilton's challenging glare was strength personified.
"THAT'S IT, GODDAMMIT!" A cloud of dust erupted from the arm of the settee when Henry's fist hammered the cushion. "That's what I expect from you, Missy! Pride! It is high time that you show some pride by taking your rightful place as the head of this family and conducting your affairs accordingly!"
"But Rhett—"
"RHETT BUTLER BE DAMNED!"
Once held in the clutches of Scarlett's hand, the intricate lace handkerchief fluttered to the floor, landing in a dainty clump at her feet.
"Come now, Scarlett. Now is not the time to be scandalized by any delicate sensibilities that you may have belatedly acquired," Henry sniggered, adding, "and I am certain that you have heard far worse from your ex-husband." His last word came out as a question as he lowered his chin and lifted his scraggly brows.
"I don't know, Uncle Henry. I have not heard from him since..." Scarlett, shrouded in shame, hung her head and slumped her shoulders.
"Rhett is no longer a concern of ours, my dear girl." Henry's voice softened by a touch of compassion. "He has made his decision —and moved on. Now it is time for you to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and for you to move on."
"I don't—"
"Scarlett, in all of the years that I have known you, you have never defined yourself by the words don't, can't, shant, or won't. It is not intrinsic of you. You are a survivor. You must —and you will— carry on for your family, and your family is Wade and Ella."
Henry, mute and patient, waited as Scarlett slowly absorbed the gravity and the truthfulness of his words, along with a faded and torn memory —"buckwheat".
"I'll need to sort through some matters. Will you help me, Uncle Henry?" She implored with a hesitant smile and watering eyes. Henry rose from his seat and walked over to Scarlett.
"I will always be there for you, Scarlett." He outstretched his open hand. Scarlett placed her fingertips in the bed of his palm and Henry rested his other hand over top of hers. He bowed his head, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. The comforting gesture elicited a genuine smile from Scarlett, complete with dimples.
"There is so much to do, so much to consider. I don't know where to begin."
"You will begin by taking your position as the matriarch of this family." Henry strode with a heavy tread over to the console. He pinched two tumblers between his fleshy fingers and held the brandy decanter by the neck, making his way back toward Scarlett. "From this point forward, when you are in society, your conduct will be above reproach. You will never put anything nor anyone above your family. You will never subject your children to unwarranted scorn, and you will NEVER, EVER be enslaved to the bottle again."
Henry poured a generous helping of Rhett's finest liquor into the sparkling crystal and pressed the glass into Scarlett's unsteady hand. "Do not doubt yourself, Scarlett. I have every faith in you." Henry dismissed her bemused features and filled his own snifter with a healthy dose —for medicinal purposes, of course. He sat the cruet on the side table and lifted his glass into the air.
Henry chuckled at her catatonic state of confusion. "Dear Scarlett, beginning tomorrow at dawn, I will personally see that you temper your consumption of libations. But as for tonight, we are surrounded by Rhett's exquisite reserve," Henry leaned in and clinked her glass, "and a 'never' sidling up to an 'ever' is a mighty long time."
"Will you be coming around this way again?" Disheveled and sated, she rested her back against the headboard of the four-poster bed and nestled herself into the feather mattress. Mesmerized by his graceful movements, she secretly marveled at his fastidious grooming.
He turned his head and cocked an arrogant brow, tossing her a nonverbal reprimand for interrupting a most arduous task: fastening cuff links. "I'm afraid I must make my way back to the East Coast. There are some particulars regarding my business interests that require my immediate attention." He showed her his back, reaching for his waistcoat draped over the bench.
"Hmpf." Her fingers played with the fringe on her dressing gown, inadvertently widening the expanse of visible skin, exposing the curve of her breasts and the peak of one rosy nipple.
"What is the meaning behind your sudden concern into my affairs? Have you joined a traveling troupe? Shall I be missing your company when I am in town next?"
"No. It was mere curiosity. Your business—" she hesitated, drowning in the awkward moment. "Folks have been talking."
"Don't you worry your pretty little head over me, sugar. It's the risk that every man must take when he is in business —and speculation is not a pretty business."
She flushed under the intense scrutiny of his veiled glare as his stride brought him flush with the side of the bed. Adjusting the diamond pin in his cravat, he mused, "Is our arrangement your cause for unease? I sincerely hope that your disquietude is not due to something that I may have inferred."
"You have made yourself perfectly clear as to our understanding years ago."
"Come, come, sweet. I was led to discern that you have always valued the logical foundation of freedom and independence above the fantastical illusions of love. You once told me you that you had set your stars on becoming more famous than Lillian Russell." Her golden curls whipped through the air with a furious twist of her neck. Her shoulders fumed with umbrage. His lips held on to a trace of a snarl as the smug bastard pursued in a biting tone. "Oh, dear me. I fear I may have misunderstood your intentions from the onset of our acquaintance. I believed you to be a true artist, a serious thespian. Now, one might wonder if your amorous attentions were merely a ruse to snare yourself a benefactor."
"I'm not a whore!"
White-knuckled fists slammed into the mattress, caging her body between a layer of satin and an indescribable evil fleeing from the blackened recess of a charred soul.
"No indeed." He spat between clenched teeth, closing in and sweeping his hot breath over her face. "But you might be wise to remember that you are an actress by profession, and an actress is only one step away from being a whore."
She shrank deeper in to the bed, maintaining downcast eyes. He deliberately raised himself from the bed and adjusted the lapels of his vest. She surreptitiously extended a prayer of gratitude to a higher power when his latent vein of violence cauterized as quickly as it had erupted. He first studied and then dismissed her apprehensive gestures sneering, "What exactly did you expect of me, a plaçage?" A chortle, accompanying the return of his derisive manner, escaped his lips. "Sugar, this may cause you undue consternation, but I must inform you of certain truisms." His manner was exaggerated as he comically swept his gaze around the perimeter of the room, supposedly ensuring their secrecy. "Darling, you are not a Quadroon."
"You're a bastard!" She sniffed under her upturned nose. Catching the capricious turn of the atmosphere, she dared to curl up the corner of her mouth. "Although you may not believe me, I fear that as a suitor for my affections, you do not suit." He snorted, tapping the band of his signet ring against the silver flask, and raised it to his lips. He hesitated before wrapping his mouth around the cool metal. "I do not suit? Hmm. A pity. I had always considered myself to be quite the eligible gentleman."
"Oh, by no means." A relieved smile formed upon her lips. "If what you have to offer consists of your 'business interests' on the hunt for you, then that is a peck of trouble I can forego."
"Touché." The flask saluted her. He took a hefty swig, swallowing with a grimace. "Then do tell, what are your plans? Do you wish to continue acting?"
"Acting does not provide the means for that of which I seek. I have no desire to live the remainder of my life with a view from a rented room."
His knowing eyes, alight with humor, danced around the small but comfortable bedchamber of Widow Tremaine's boarding house, residing in a quiet, respectable quarter of the city.
"Ah, so it is the sweet promise of marital felicity that stirs your soul. My dear, I have always held our friendship in high regard, and as your friend, may I offer you some advice?"
Her shoulders hiked up in a gauche shrug. "It won't cost you anything and it won't do me any harm."
"You are a considerable beauty —and to your credit, savvy— but you do not have the pedigree to aspire to the station of which you covet. Find yourself a wealthy gentleman and enter into an arrangement."
"I believe I can do better." She laced her fingers together and languidly stretched her arms above her head. "Do you recall that little slip of a thing, Minnie Clark? Well, for your information, she is now betrothed to a plantation owner in St. Charles Parish. When they first met, she was a lowly understudy at Varieties Theater."
"And for every Minnie Clark, there are a dozen girls who now roam the back alleys with a mattress strapped to their back. No, sugar, I believe that you will find being married to a gentlemen may not be to your liking."
"As opposed to a wife painted in watercolors? I thank you, no."
"If your decisions are wise, you will afford yourself a good life."
"At what expense? How much lucre will it entail for me to secure a 'good life'? What will become of me when my benefactor no longer seeks my company nor desires my charms?"
"With so devious a mind as yours lurking behind those pretty little eyes, you will manage just fine. Of that, I am certain."
He stepped up to where she lay reclining on the bed and hooked his finger into the knot of the dressing gown's sash. His wrist flicked and the tie gave. The silk slithered down, pooling into the sheets, revealing her supple body still painted with a delicate blush from their earlier exertions. Knuckles, sprinkled with coarse hair, tickled their way up the soft skin of her leg and inner thigh. "And of course, my sweet, with your charming ways, I daresay, you will keep a man's bed warm for some time." His finger circled the apex of her thighs and dipped inside the warmth of her secret treasure, punctuating the blatant backhand of his compliment.
She gasped, spreading her legs wider as he positioned himself next to her on the coverlet. "Well, since you intend to be away for some time," her back arched and her hips purred in concert with every stroke of his finger, "then it would be my pleasure to leave you with a most charming goodbye."
© 2017-18 Olivia E. Landry. All Rights Reserved.