Chapter XXI

There were too many Irish ancestors crowding behind her shoulders, men and women who had died on scant acres, fighting to the end rather than leaving the homes where they had lived and plowed...

... Rhett had often teased her about her true Irish nature, but now, as she stepped onto the front porch to meet the Yankees, she drew strength from the ancestors she had. Men and women who knew that land was everything and land and family must be protected at all costs.

They approached now, and fear gripped her throat, real and strong, stinging her eyes and choking her throat, setting her hands to shaking. Frantically clasping them in front of her, lest their shaking be seen, Scarlett watched as the waves of blue marched forward towards her beloved childhood home.

"Good evening gentlemen," Scarlett greeted demurely. "What can we at Tara do for you this evening?"

The young man at the front of the army, an officer by the look of him, and a gentleman, startled with surprise at her greeting.

"Evening Ma'am," he drawled, in that drawl that Scarlett had long since associated with Yankees. "You best be leavin' this house, we're here to burn it."

"How very inconvenient," Scarlett sighed, as if the matter was nothing at all. "Unfortunately, we won't be able to leave tonight. Another day, perhaps?"

"Another day?" His eyes bulged out of his head in shock. "Ma'am, this ain't up for discussing."

"Isn't it? I'm sorry to hear that Major..."

"It's Captain Ashbury ma'am," he bowed respectfully, surprising Scarlett. She had purposefully inflated his rank, wanting to stroke his vanity, but even she was surprised by his courteous nature.

"Captain Ashbury, my name is Mrs. Scarlett Butler. I'm sorry to be so unhelpful, but you see, my friend Melanie, Mrs. Wilkes, is upstairs right now and she's...in a fix."

In all her life, Scarlett had only met one man whom did not blush and find the subject of a pregnant woman endlessly embarrassing, and that man was her own husband. Captain Ashbury was not to be the second, as he turned red and shifted his shoes in the red clay of Tara's land.

"We shall let you and your friend pass unharmed ma'am," he promised. "But we will have this plantation."

"Oh we can't, you see Captain Ashbury, Mrs. Wilkes is upstairs right now... her baby is coming right this moment."

As if on cue, the sound of Melanie's ear-splitting scream drifted from the open upstairs window.

"She's having a very hard time of it Captain Ashbury, and I think... oh I'm worried she might die! I can't move her Captain, I just can't!" Tears flew to Scarlett's eyes, unbidden but entirely useful. The young captain flinched again, shifting nervously in the dust.

"Let 'er die then!" A voice rose from the crowd of Yankee soldiers behind the young Captain. "I say we burn the great big house over their 'eads Cap'n!"

"Enough!" Captain Ashbury snapped harshly. "Ma'am, we must have this house!"

"Have it then!" Scarlett's desperation grew. "Use it however you wish, as a Headquarters for your officers if you would! But please, we are a house full of women, we mean you no harm, and my friend is dying! Please Captain Ashbury!"

The young officer was clearly torn. For a long minute he looked between his men and the great house of Tara, before finally settling his gaze on Scarlett again.

"I shall fetch our company doctor, Mrs. Butler, and ask him to assess your friend's situation. If she might be moved – well, then your home burns. If she is as ill as you say however, then your home shall become our Headquarters."

"You are too good," Scarlett found that she meant it. This man, the young Captain, wasn't anything like the Yankee men she had heard tales of. A small, faint glimmer of hope began to flutter wildly in Scarlett's breast. Tara, and her family, may just survive this yet.

The Captain was back within minutes, beside him, a man of indistinct years, his blue uniform splattered with blood. Scarlett's stomach turned at the sight of it.

"Doctor Beau Stevenson, at your service," he spoke gruffly. "Your friend's dyin' in childbirth you say?"

"Yes Doctor," Scarlett responded, wondering how she could present a Yankee doctor to Melanie and Ellen, and expect them to let her see to her. "She's been laboring for hours now, her doctor warned her... it might be difficult. She's very small you see..."

"Show me the way," the doctor sighed, swinging down from his horse heavily. "All over this God forsaken country side men are dying in there thousands, and still women who ought not be are having babies. Some things never change."

A shiver ran down Scarlett's spine as the doctor passed the threshold and for a moment, she thanked God that Gerald was away fighting the war, for his heartbreak in seeing a Yankee in Tara would have been too much to bear.

"This way, Sir," Scarlett indicated the staircase, ascending slowly. The beginning of a horrendous headache was throbbing at her temples; for this was wrong, she knew this was wrong, but how else was she to save Tara?

She paused outside the door to Melanie's room. Her mother would be horrified, Mammy even more so, Melanie she was unsure about, she was in agony, but would she let a Yankee doctor touch her? Taking a steeling breath, Scarlett opened the door.

"Melly," she whispered through the darkness. "Melly I've bought a doctor to see you."

"A doctor?" She whispered, her voice broken and cracking, as if every word was an effort.

"My name is Doctor Beau Stevenson, ma'am," the doctor greeted Melanie politely, respectfully, his trained eyes taking in the scene before him. "I must say, it's a welcome change to be helping bring life into this world today, it feels I've done nothing but ease men out of it these last two years."

Ellen gasped, Mammy harrumphed, for there was no mistaking that distinguishing Yankee accent. Scarlett shot glares at them, begging them to mind their mouths, for if the Doctor would save Melanie, and if his men would in turn spare Tara, she'd invite ten thousand Yankees into their home.

"Hello Doctor Stevenson," Melanie whispered weakly. "I'm very glad to see you."

Scarlett's cheeks burned with mortification for Melanie's sake as Doctor Stevenson conducted his examination. Mammy's grumbling reached new heights and Scarlett thought her mother might faint as she sat by Melanie's head, soothing her gently, while glaring daggers at the Yankee doctor. Scarlett's disgust with her mother's behaviour reached fever point and, had she loved her less, she would have slapped her.

"Well then, you are in a fix aren't you Mrs. Wilkes?" The doctor huffed. "I've seen more than one woman like you in my time, and don't you worry, me and these learned women who have been seeing to you will have your baby here as quick as we might. But first, some pain relief I think."

Melanie cried in relief as the doctor administered the first dose of opium and Scarlett could have cried with her at the doctor's words. Hope was a real, discernable thing now. The doctor thought Melanie needed his help - they may yet save Tara!

"There now, that's better isn't it?" Dr. Stevenson kindly patted Melanie's hand as the pain relief clearly began to take hold. "Mrs. Butler, a word downstairs if I may?"

"Of course, doctor," her head held high, for her mother and Mammy were as likely to judge her as any marauding Yankees, Scarlett swept from the room behind the doctor.

Dr. Stevenson paused on the landing to the staircase, turning to face Scarlett with a serious expression gracing his face.

"I will be honest with you Mrs. Butler," he began frankly. "You seem a sensible, hardy sort of women and I don't expect any histrionics from you. Your friend is worse off than I had expected, I've seen many women in better situations than her succumb."

Scarlett gasped, her hand flying to her throat, gripping the wall behind her for support.

"In saying that, she seems strong and, she may yet survive. If, that is, you can deal with having Yankees take over your home."

"I can deal with it," Scarlett declared immediately. For she could deal with the Yankees taking over Tara, would deal with it, if it meant that, when they left, it would be safely back in O'Hara hands again.

"But can your Mother, your other relatives? Do not think me oblivious to their distress Madam."

"They will not cause your officers or yourself any embarrassment," Scarlett promised. "I will see to that."

"Very well, Mrs. Butler. You'd best return to the birthing room. Our officers will be taking up residence in your home as soon as I speak with Captain Ashbury."

Wearily, her body aching and her head spinning, Scarlett returned to Melanie's side. She was resting more peacefully now, the opium had taken effect, and she smiled gently at Scarlett as she entered the room.

"You are the dearest girl I know," she murmured, pressing a dry kiss to Scarlett's hot palm.

"Fiddle dee dee Melly," Scarlett whispered, scared at the silence that had overtaken her friend after the hours of agonized screaming. "Rest now. The doctor will be back soon."

Mammy moved in then, with fresh, cold towels to bathe Melanie's face, chest and arms with and Scarlett moved away, against her better judgment, towards the window, where her mother stood, body held tensely still, staring out the window at the thousands of blue uniformed men marching through the fields of Tara.

"Scarlett, what were you thinking?" Ellen demanded in a low voice. "Inviting that... man into this house! What would your father say?"

Scarlett flinched at her mother's words, for she knew that Gerald, darling Gerald! would have rather died than see Yankees step over Tara's threshold. But his women, Ellen, Scarlett and Suellen and even Mammy, meant more to him than anything, and Scarlett was determined that if it came down to Yankees at Tara, or his women being kicked out, alone and friendless into the world, and Tara being burnt to the ground, Gerald would chose Yankees in his precious Tara any day.

"Father would understand," Scarlett told her mother, with surprising vehemence. "It was that or let Tara burn over our heads and kill Melanie in the process. What else would you have had me do Mother?"

Ellen had no answer for her, so Scarlett moved away, back to Melanie's side, taking her hand and beginning to talk to her once more of nothing in particular.

Scarlett lay her head wearily on the wall underneath the window, from where she lay sprawled. Her legs were leaden, trembling with fatigue and strain and she shivered with cold from the clammy sweat that soaked her body and dried too quickly in the cool breeze drifting through the open window.

It was all over. Melanie was not dead and the small baby boy who made noises like a young kitten was receiving his first bath in Mammy's capable hands. Melanie was asleep. She had hemorrhaged at the end of the birth, so much that Scarlett was sure she would die, but through Dr. Stevenson's actions and the grace of God, she had survived.

From downstairs, Scarlett could hear the nasal drawl of the Yankees that currently inhabited the house, rising and falling in muted conversation, the details of which could not be made out from the sick room. If she cared to look out the window she would see thousands and thousands of blue uniformed men, turning the cotton and corn fields azure. Thousands of fires burnt, for they had torn down the fences and barns and stables for firewood. They had killed every animal that Scarlett had been unable to hide, cows, hogs and chickens, and Gerald's precious turkeys, though the losses had not been as severe as they might have been, had Scarlett not acted when she did. The sight of the cotton sheds up in flames was too much to bear, for in them lay the produce of a years work at Tara and the profit that went with it.

Scarlett was bone weary, exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally. It had been the longest day of her life, and it was not yet over, it would not be over until the Yankees left, returning Tara to its rightful owners. It would not be over until Gerald came home and until Rhett returned, their new son in arm. Silent tears streamed down Scarlett's grime encrusted face, and she had not the energy to so much as lift her arm to wipe them away.

She knew not how long she sat underneath that window, listening to the rise and fall of Yankee accents from below, but after some time, Ellen joined her. Her mother folded herself onto the floor, her back resting against the wall, as her legs stretched, elegantly and tiredly at the same time, in front of her.

Scarlett was surprised. Never in her life had she seen her mother's back touch the back of a chair, never before had she imagined Ellen sitting on the floor. It had been a day of many firsts, and Scarlett couldn't help but think that this was the most surprising of them all.

"I hardly recognized you today," Ellen murmured eventually. "You were not the pretty little girl I raised."

Scarlett bristled at this, not knowing whether it was intended as a compliment or an admonishment, but rather suspecting it was the latter.

"I'm not a little girl any more Mother," she whispered, exhaustion showing in her tone. "I've been telling you all day, but I'm not Scarlett O'Hara any more, I'm Scarlett Butler."

"So I'm beginning to realize," Ellen replied. "It's your husbands doing I suppose?"

"It is," Scarlett's ire was rising now, for she was sure that Ellen had not meant that Rhett had improved her. "Rhett has shown me the world and educated me in ways that you could not imagine."

"I'm sure I could not," Ellen sighed. "I was worried he would turn you into a person I should hardly recognize, and that is what has happened."

"Don't say that Mother," Scarlett implored. "After everything of today... I couldn't bear it..."

"It was not a criticism, Scarlett," Ellen shook her head slowly. "Would Scarlett O'Hara have convinced Melanie and Miss Pitty to leave Atlanta today? Would she have made it through the horrendous birth she just assisted with? Would she have met the Yankees on the front porch, and convinced them not to burn Tara to the ground? I think not."

"I knew when you married Rhett Butler that he would change you. I knew he would take you away from the County and change the girl that you grew up to be..."

"They why did you allow him to marry me?" Scarlett asked, irritated.

"Because I could see what you were beginning to feel for him, and what he felt for you. And I knew that no other boy or man you had ever met would inspire the same feelings in you," Ellen seemed far away now. "And I didn't want you to experience the same devastation I did, of missed love."

"Mother?" Scarlett's exhausted mind was slow to react, confused. "What do you mean? You love Pa."

"Of course I do," Ellen sighed tiredly. "But not the way you love Captain Butler. And not the way I loved Philippe Robillard."

Scarlett felt as though her mind was battling through a thick fog, unable to understand or comprehend just what her mother was telling her. Philippe Robillard, who was that?

"He was my cousin," Ellen answered in a small, small voice, as if she had heard Scarlett's unasked question. "And as a young girl, I loved him, dearly. But he was a gambler, a fighter, a drunk; Father would not allow him to marry me. Philippe went away, convinced that, with time, Father would come round. Eulalie and Pauline agreed. I was miserable without him, but I knew that if some time away meant we might marry eventually..."

"What happened?" Scarlett asked in a whisper.

"He was killed in a ballroom brawl, buried far away from home with no blessings or honors and I was left, devastated beyond words, heartbroken..." her voice broke, the pain of his death, some twenty years previously, still raw in her heart.

"And you married Pa instead?"

"He came to Savannah and offered for me. I needed to leave, to get away from Father and Eulalie and Pauline, for they were the ones that convinced me to let Philippe go. They wouldn't let me marry Gerald O'Hara either, but I forced their hands, I married Gerald, or I took my vows."

Ellen was far away now, twenty years in the past in Savannah. Her face wore a wistful look, that Scarlett had never seen before, and her mother, always serenely pleasing, was truly beautiful, lit with her love for her long dead cousin.

"So you see, my dear Scarlett," Ellen roused herself with a tremendous effort. "I couldn't keep you from Captain Butler, the way my family kept me from Philippe. And I was right not to, for I can see that you are happy."

"Aren't you Mother?" Scarlett asked, desperately feeling that her whole life, that everything she had ever believed of her family and her mother, was a lie.

"Happy? Oh yes, of course, dear," Ellen smiled, patting Scarlett's hand distractedly. "How could I not be, with such a sweet husband and three lovely daughters."

Scarlett still didn't believe her, but she was too exhausted to argue. Right there on the floor of Melanie's room, sleep claimed her.

This is one of my favourite chapters from this story, I hope you also enjoyed it. Please let me know your thoughts in a review.

Today, I posted the first chapter of Brent and Careen's story, Chasing the Wind. Please consider supporting me as I try something a little out of my comfort zone.

Until next week –

Sarah.