AN: First of all, I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to review what I've posted so far. I know that this is a little controversial and I really love the feedback as to how believable or unbelievable the circumstances I've painted so far appear. As with any "what if" story, characters have to react a little differently in order for us to end up in this alternate reality and I truly appreciate everyone taking the leap with me by travelling down this road.
Secondly, my apologies for not making the warnings strong enough. I hope that I haven't offended anyone too much. To that note, things will get worse before they get better so if this isn't your thing, please don't continue to read. This chapter isn't harsh, but there are more to come so I would hate for someone to continue to read thinking that last chapter was a one time thing.
Thirdly, I have borrowed largely from MM in this chapter. I felt it was worth including her work here since this scene was completely eliminated from the movie so many readers here aren't familiar with it and I really felt it was a shame the movie left it out.
Finally, I'm a little rusty at this and just realized that I hadn't included any type of disclaimer... so, just to be clear: I don't own any of these characters and am not making any money off of this writing. No harm or infringement intended by this work of fiction. Now, on with the show...
A mercifully uneventful week passed after that fearful night. Scarlett wasn't sure if it was because Frank was now happy with her after having vented his spleen. Or if, since he was feeling under the weather, he was too sick to yell at her, let alone abuse her further. She had been walking on eggshells around him for the entire week so when he again voiced concern on how the store was doing without him, she jumped on the opportunity to check on it for him – giving herself a little breathing room, if even for only a few hours.
Uncle Peter drove her over to the store just before supper time. Entering the dimly lit building, she appraised the wares and layout quietly. Behind the counter, the boy Frank had hired to help in the evenings watched her carefully. Clearly, he was as uncomfortable having her there as she was having him watch her. Offering him a much needed reprieve, she finally had the solitude she craved to explore the store freely. Although open in the early evening hours in the event of a sudden necessity, customers very rarely frequented the store at this time of day and Scarlett was able to peruse the store thoroughly without interruption. To say that she was disappointed was an understatement. She had hoped that her initial impressions of the store had been incorrect, but unfortunately, her early assessments were accurate. Certainly, the store was fraught with potential, but Frank's handling of his business left much to be desired.
'To think that this bumbling business is all that stands between us and starvation,' she chastised to herself.
Eying the ledger books, she suspected that she would find as much distress as she had found in the storeroom. Unfortunately, they were worse. Settling herself in a chair near the fire, she prepared for a long perusal and correction of the stores accounts. She had just finished compiling a list of the debtors that were behind on the payment of their accounts – 'how will we ever make any money if Frank doesn't get people to pay?' – when a draft filled the room as a man entered the store.
Startled, she looked up only to find herself face to face with the one man she thought she would never see again – Rhett Butler. A well-dressed (as usual), perfectly fit and smiling, Rhett Butler. Straightening, she closed the ledger she was working on and placed it on the table at her side.
"My dear Mrs. Kennedy. My very dear Mrs. Kennedy."
"What are you doing here?"
"Is that any way to greet a dear old friend?" He put his hand on his chest, playing at being wounded by her words. "And here I was rushing over to congratulate you on your recent nuptials."
She cringed inwardly. She hated that Rhett seemed to always know her darkest secrets. She hated that she had to look him in the eye when she had been most recently wishing that he had been able to take her up on her very scandalous offer – that being his mistress seemed more appealing these days than Frank's proper southern wife. Here he was, finding her again in poor circumstances. Well, she wouldn't let him know how poorly things had turned for her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Oh, what a pity they didn't hang you?"
He chuckled. "Others share your feeling, I fear. Come, Scarlett, relax. Surely, you've had time to recover from my — er — my little joke."
"Joke? Ha! I'll never get over it!"
"Oh, yes, you will. You are just putting on this indignant front because you think it's proper and respectable. May I sit down?"
"No."
He sank into a chair beside her and grinned.
"I hear you couldn't even wait two weeks for me," he said and gave a mock sigh. "How fickle is woman!"
When she did not reply he continued.
"Tell me, Scarlett, just between friends — between very old and very intimate friends — wouldn't it have been wiser to wait until I got out of jail? Or are the charms of wedlock with old Frank Kennedy more alluring than illicit relations with me?"
He paused, continuing after she failed to respond: "I would like to say that marriage becomes you, but that would be a lie. Why on earth are you wearing such an awful dress? Surely, there is some decent fabric in this dusty place for you to create something more becoming? Or is it because you married an old man that now you feel the need to dress like an old woman?"
She tugged at the high collar of her tan walking-out dress – a style and color that she abhorred. She had been grateful to find it stuffed at the back of her closet however. The collar was just high enough to hide the bruises from her altercation with Frank that had yet to fully fade. Her ire had been raised at the beginning of their conversation and she thought to demand that he leave. But as she remembered the reason for her dreaded attire and that the man in front of her knew that her hand had been forced into these circumstances, she relaxed visibly.
"Oh Rhett, you are always so obsessed with my clothes," she deflected. "Whatever did you do to pass the time in jail? What, with not having any women's clothing to critique? How did you ever get out of jail anyway?"
"That is a long and boring story. Let's just say that influence is everything and guilt or innocence merely an academic question."
"I'll take oath that you weren't innocent," she replied.
"No, now that I'm free, I will admit that I'm as guilty as Cain. I did kill the darkie. He was uppity to a lady, what else could a Southern gentleman do? And, while I'm confessing, I must admit that I shot a Yankee cavalryman after some words in a barroom."
He was so blithe about his murders that her blood chilled. Words of moral reprimand formed briefly in her mind until she recalled the Yankee laying under the tangled vines at Tara. He had not been on her conscience any more than a roach she had stepped on. She could not sit in judgement on Rhett when she was as guilty as he.
"And, as I seem to making a clean breast of it, I must tell you in strictest confidence, that I did have the money, safe in a bank in Liverpool."
"Do you mean you – you actually have the Confederate gold?"
"Not all of it. Good heavens – no! Only about half a million of it. Just think, Scarlett, if only you'd restrained your fiery nature and not rushed into wedlock again!"
A half-million dollars. She felt a pang of almost physical sickness at the thought of so much money. His jeering words passed over her head and she did not even hear them. It was hard to believe there was so much money in all this bitter and poverty-stricken world. So much money, so very much money, and someone else had it, someone who took it lightly and didn't need it. And she had only a mean, sick husband and this dirty, piddling, little store between her and a hostile world. Oh, her hasty decision to choose Frank for her safe harbor was looking worse by the minute. She felt tears prick her eyes as she remembered that dark night just a week past. Her wrist throbbed in answer and she rubbed it slowly. She found herself tempted to ask Rhett to leave her alone so she could finally give into her despair.
"Are those tears, Scarlett? Does the thought of my having that money upset you so? Surely you are taken care of well enough. Hasn't Frank as much money as you hoped?"
There was no evading his impudence. Either she would have to put up with it or ask him to leave. And now, all of a sudden, she did not want him to leave. His words were barbed but they were the barbs of truth. He knew what she had done and why she had done it and he did not seem to think the less of her for it. And though his questions were unpleasantly blunt, they seemed actuated by a friendly interest. He was the one person to whom she could tell the truth or at least some portions of the truth. That would be a relief, for it had been so long since she had told anyone the truth about herself and her motives. Talking to Rhett was comparable only to one thing - the feeling of ease and comfort afforded by a pair of old slippers after dancing in a pair too tight.
"Didn't you get the money for the taxes? Don't tell me the wolf is still at the door of Tara." There was a different tone in his voice.
She looked up to meet his dark eyes and caught an expression which startled and puzzled her at first, and then made her suddenly smile; a sweet and charming smile which was seldom on her face these days. She knew now that the real reason for his call was not to tease her but to make sure she had the money for which she had been so desperate. She knew now that he had hurried to her to lend her the money if she still needed it. And yet he would torment and insult her and deny that such was his intent, should she accuse him. Did he really care about her, more than he was willing to admit? Or did he have some other motive? 'Probably the latter,' she thought. But who could tell? He did such strange things sometimes.
"No," she said, "the wolf isn't at the door any longer. I— I got the money."
"But not without a struggle, I'll warrant. Did you manage to restrain yourself until you got the wedding ring on your finger?"
She tried not to smile at his accurate summing up of her conduct but she could not help dimpling. He seated himself again, sprawling his long legs comfortably.
"Well, tell me then what has upset you so? Did Frank, the brute, mislead you about his prospects? He should be soundly thrashed for taking advantage of a helpless female. Come, Scarlett, tell me everything. You should have no secrets from me. Surely, I know the worst about you."
"Oh, Rhett, no, he didn't exactly fool me but —" Suddenly it became a pleasure to unburden herself, even if only on some level. No, the worst of her circumstances she could never confide to Rhett – to anyone. She could only imagine at their smug looks should anyone find out how badly her tides had turned. But money, she could definitely talk to Rhett about money and he wouldn't judge her for it.
"Rhett, if Frank would just collect the money people owe him, I wouldn't be worried about anything. But, Rhett, fifty people owe him and he won't press them. He says a gentleman can't do that to another gentleman. And it may be months and may be never before we get the money."
"Well, what of it? Haven't you enough to eat until he does collect?"
"Yes, but — well, as a matter of fact, I could use a little money right now." Her eyes brightened as she thought of the mill. "Perhaps —"
"What for? More taxes?"
"Is that any of your business?"
"Yes, because you are getting ready to touch me for a loan. Oh, I know all the approaches. And I'll lend it to you — without, my dear Mrs. Kennedy, that charming collateral you offered me a short while ago. Unless, of course, you insist."
"You are the coarsest —"
"Not at all. I merely wanted to set your mind at ease. I knew you'd be worried about that point. Not much worried but a little. And I'm willing to lend you the money. But I do want to know how you are going to spend it. I have that right, I believe."
"I don't know quite how much I'll need," she said sulkily. "But I want to buy a sawmill — and I think I can get it cheap. And I'll need two wagons and two mules. I want good mules, too. And a horse and buggy for my own use."
"A sawmill?"
"Yes, and if you'll lend me the money, I'll give you a half-interest in it."
"Whatever would I do with a sawmill?"
"Make money! We can make loads of money. Or I'll pay you interest on the loan — let's see, what is good interest?"
"Fifty per cent is considered very fine."
"Fifty — oh, but you are joking! Stop laughing, you devil. I'm serious."
"That's why I'm laughing. I wonder if anyone but me realizes what goes on in that head of yours behind that deceptively sweet face."
"Well, who cares? Listen, Rhett, and see if this doesn't sound like good business to you. Frank told me about this man who has a sawmill, a little one out on Peachtree road, and he wants to sell it. He's got to have cash money pretty quick and he'll sell it cheap. There aren't many sawmills around here now, and the way people are rebuilding — why, we could sell lumber sky high. Frank would buy the mill himself if he had the money."
"Poor Frank! What is he going to say when you tell him you've bought it yourself right out from under him? And how are you going to explain my lending you the money without compromising your reputation?"
Scarlett had given no thought to Frank's reaction but it gave her pause now. She rubbed her wrist distractedly, the slightest grimace marring her features briefly. The ever-perceptive Rhett took note all the same, narrowing his eyes at the movement. She wasn't sure what she had done to displease Frank previously, but she was sure this would upset him again. She wasn't altogether certain that the act alone of buying the mill would upset him. But, she was sure he would be furious if he found out that she had borrowed the money from Rhett.
"Well, I just won't tell him."
"He'll know you didn't pick it off a bush."
"I'll tell him — why, yes, I'll tell him I sold you my diamond earbobs. And I will give them to you, too. That'll be my collat — my whatchucallit."
"I wouldn't take your earbobs before and I still don't want them now."
"You have to take them, Rhett. Frank will never believe my story if I try to hide them. He'll find them and then he'll, he'll….. well, you just have to take them. It's the only way I can explain where I got the money. You are going to lend me the money, aren't you?"
"Good Lord!" he cried impatiently. "Don't you ever think of anything but money?"
"No," she replied frankly, turning hard green eyes upon him. "And if you'd been through what I have, you wouldn't either. I've found out that money is the most important thing in the world and, as God is my witness, I don't ever intend to be without it again."
She remembered the hot sun, the soft red earth under her sick head, the smell of the cabin behind the ruins of Twelve Oaks, remembered the refrain her heart had beaten: "I'll never be hungry again. I'll never be hungry again."
"I'm going to have money someday, lots of it, so I can have anything I want to eat. And then there'll never be any hominy or dried peas on my table. I'm going to have money enough so the Yankees can never take Tara away from me. And Wade isn't ever going to know what it means to do without the things he needs. Never! He's going to have everything in the world. And all my family, they aren't ever going to be hungry again. I mean it. Every word. You don't understand, you're such a selfish hound. You've never had the Carpetbaggers trying to drive you out. You've never been cold and ragged and had to break your back to keep from starving!"
He said quietly: "I was in the Confederate Army for eight months. I don't know any better place for starving."
"The army! Bah! You've never had to pick cotton and weed corn. You've — Don't you laugh at me!"
His hands were on hers again as her voice rose harshly.
"I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at the difference in what you look and what you really are. And I was remembering the first time I ever saw you, at the barbecue at the Wilkes'. You had on a green dress and little green slippers, and you were knee deep in men and quite full of yourself. I'll wager you didn't know then how many pennies were in a dollar. There was only one idea in your whole mind then and that was ensnaring Ash —"
She jerked her hands away from him.
"Rhett, if we are to get on at all, you'll have to stop talking about Ashley Wilkes. We'll always fall out about him, because you can't understand him."
"I suppose you understand him like a book," said Rhett maliciously. "No, Scarlett, if I am to lend you the money I reserve the right to discuss Ashley Wilkes in any terms I care to. I waive the right to collect interest on my loan but not that right. And there are a number of things about that young man I'd like to know."
"I do not have to discuss him with you," she answered shortly.
"Oh, but you do! I hold the purse strings, you see. Some day when you are rich, you can have the power to do the same to others. . . . It's obvious that you still care about him —"
"I do not and I see no need to discuss the subject."
"I wish to discuss it," said Rhett. There was a low note in his voice which Scarlett did not understand but did not like to hear. "And, by God, I will discuss it and I expect you to answer me. So he's still in love with you?"
"Well, what if he is?" cried Scarlett, goaded. "I don't care to discuss him with you because you can't understand him or his kind of love. The only kind of love you know about is just — well, the kind you carry on with creatures like that Watling woman."
"Oh," said Rhett softly. "So I am only capable of carnal lusts?"
"Well, you know it's true."
"Now I appreciate your hesitance in discussing the matter with me. My unclean hands and lips besmirch the purity of his love."
"Well, yes — something like that."
"I'm interested in this pure love —"
"Don't be so nasty, Rhett Butler. If you are vile enough to think there's ever been anything wrong between us —"
"Oh, the thought never entered my head, really. That's why it all interests me. Just why hasn't there been anything wrong between you?"
"If you think that Ashley would —"
"Ah, so it's Ashley, and not you, who has fought the fight for purity. Really, Scarlett, you should not give yourself away so easily."
Scarlett looked into his smooth unreadable face in confusion and indignation.
"We won't go any further with this and I don't want your money. So, get out!"
"Oh, yes, you do want my money and, as we've gone this far, why stop? Surely there can be no harm in discussing so chaste an idyl — when there hasn't been anything wrong. So Ashley loves you for your mind, your soul, your nobility of character?"
Scarlett writhed at his words. Of course, Ashley loved her for just these things. It was this knowledge that made life endurable, this knowledge that Ashley, bound by honor, loved her from afar for beautiful things deep buried in her that he alone could see. But they did not seem so beautiful when dragged to the light by Rhett, especially in that deceptively smooth voice that covered sarcasm.
"It gives me back my boyish ideals to know that such a love can exist in this naughty world," he continued. "So there's no touch of the flesh in his love for you? It would be the same if you were ugly and didn't have that white skin? And if you didn't have those green eyes which make a man wonder just what you would do if he took you in his arms? And a way of swaying your hips, that's an allurement to any man under ninety? And those lips which are — well, I mustn't let my carnal lusts obtrude. Ashley sees none of these things? Or if he sees them, they move him not at all?"
Unbidden, Scarlett's mind went back to that day in the orchard when Ashley's arms shook as he held her, when his mouth was hot on hers as if he would never let her go. She went crimson at the memory and her blush was not lost on Rhett.
"So," he said and there was a vibrant note almost like anger in his voice. "I see. He loves you for your mind alone."
How dare he pry with dirty fingers, making the one beautiful sacred thing in her life seem vile? Coolly, determinedly, he was breaking down the last of her reserves and the information he wanted was forthcoming.
"Yes, he does!" she cried, pushing back the memory of Ashley's lips.
"My dear, he doesn't even know you've got a mind. If it was your mind that attracted him, he would not need to struggle against you, as he must have done to keep this love so — shall we say 'holy'? He could rest easily for, after all, a man can admire a woman's mind and soul and still be an honorable gentleman and true to his wife. But it must be difficult for him to reconcile the honor of the Wilkes' with coveting your body as he does."
"You judge everybody's mind by your own vile one!"
"Oh, I've never denied coveting you, if that's what you mean. But, thank God, I'm not bothered about matters of honor. What I want I take if I can get it, and so I wrestle neither with angels nor devils. What a merry hell you must have made for Ashley! I can almost be sorry for him."
"I— I make a hell for him?"
"Yes, you! There you are, a constant temptation to him, but like most of his breed he prefers what passes in these parts as honor to any amount of love. And it looks to me as if the poor devil now had neither love nor honor to warm himself!"
"He has love! . . . I mean, he loves me!"
"Does he? Then answer me this and we are through for the day and you can take the money and throw it in the gutter for all I care."
Rhett rose to his feet and threw his half-smoked cigar into the spittoon. There was something about his movements - the same pagan freedom and leashed power Scarlett had noted that night Atlanta fell, something sinister and a little frightening. "If he loved you, then why in hell did he permit you to come to Atlanta to get the tax money? Before I'd let a woman I loved do that, I'd —"
"He didn't know! He had no idea that I—"
"Doesn't it occur to you that he should have known?" There was barely suppressed savagery in his voice. "Loving you as you say he does, he should have known just what you would do when you were desperate. He should have killed you rather than let you come up here — and to me, of all people! God in Heaven!"
"But he didn't know!"
"If he didn't guess it without being told, he'll never know anything about you and your precious mind."
Scarlett opened her mouth, but closed it again without speaking. She didn't know what to say to Rhett's accusations and she didn't want to think about what they implied. She didn't want to spend any time dwelling on her current situation. She would think of it all tomorrow. For now, she just wanted to focus on her future.
Just at that time, the counter boy returned from his break, a flash of surprise across his features at finding the pair of them together. Scarlett rose and returned the ledger books to their shelf behind the counter.
"Rhett, can you drive me out to the mill?"
"Now?" he asked, rising from his chair.
"Yes, I want to buy that mill before anyone else does – and before you change your mind about lending me the money."