Hello!

Sorry about last time. It seems the website decided to play a Halloween's trick on me. Last chapter was quite the ghost chapter.

The chapter 30 that had been notified on the 1rst was an author's note, as I tried to make chapter 29 appear. Yet, it disappeared as well, so it was very strange.

If it ever happens again, don't hesitate to check on my other account, on AO3.

As always, thank you for your support!

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Chapter 30

He knew the road in his heart, though he had never made the whole way. Many times, he had dreamed it, without daring to go. A cowardice he had tried to justify, yet not amounting to anything now. For it was the rival in his wife's heart he did not dare to consider, a presence he could not just erase with money or by the threat of a gun. Ashley Wilkes could not even compare, he was a man and men could die, or be forgotten if given enough time (though time had been too infuriatingly long, filled with tension and suspicion). Houses could burn, be taken down brick by brick, yet they could be repaired, and their image never truly forgotten. It was the roots of his love, deeply anchored in that red earth, when he thought he had given up on his own and could fly wherever he wanted to.

And now Rhett was there. Settled on a carriage with the two children he loved and had taken for his own, in front of it, and he barely found the strength to look at it.

So, this was Tara.

It must have been once a whitewashed brick plantation house, with no true coherent design at all, immaculate in the middle of an ocean of deep red clay, and it certainly had a softer look about it. He could imagine it. Yet now it lay wild, with a wide forest of pines like invaders on an island, a true sign of the victory of nature against culture. Where the men had given up on the land, the environment had ploughed and took piece by piece each parcel.

There was a tiny resistance though, and Rhett saw the efforts of Will Benteen in the field that ran down from the right side of the house, recently ploughed yet not finished. He guessed Will had not had the time nor enough men to do it, and he was not a man to accept help from Scarlett. He remembered her laments over her beloved Tara, like a mother that was complaining of a daughter's misfortunes. Yet, there had been a true respect between Scarlett and Will, so said son-in-law was no rake, but a man that refused the fortunes that were given to him. At least, not enough, she complained. She never could understand it, how someone could give up comfort, security for things that could not be touched and grasped.

Oh, Scarlett…

This had been the land that had seen the growth of his love, a strange mix between roughness and softness, of the French and delicate aristocracy in the Robillard's blood, and the rambunctious audacity of the Irish.

In Scarlett, the wilderness had always seemed to triumph over sophistication and the hardness over the softness. Yet, softness, now he could see he had judged her badly, and the more he thought about it, the more he remembered, all the little moments he could have seen it on himself, but did not let it. She had always been soft with her beaux, and he did not want to be her beau. He did not want to be the elderly husband she was fond of. He wanted to be her everything, her hopes and dreams because he had built his own on her.

And now, where had it left them?

Could her shadow be found here? Already, he could feel there was some magic in this place, named after the lands of the kings, living proof of the ambition of an Irish man, the will and works of black men and women on these fields, now almost deserted.

And yet, the life was there, radiating from that red clay. It was with emotion he touched it, the color enlightening his dark skin. He looked at the stain, and for a moment it looked a bit like blood clouding on his hands. He looked away.

In front of the house, Mammy was waiting for them, and he stopped, apprehensive. How could he even explain to that rare woman, that had always taken care of Scarlett, of them all? A woman that he had wanted by his side for he knew he needed her approval if he wanted to get Scarlett's heart?

"Come on, daddy!" Ella cried eagerly, jumping from the carriage.

The girl grinned at him widely, her eyes glinting with excitation, and for a moment, it was another girl he saw, with the same eyes, and he took strength in it.

Wade was silent by his side, still a bit wary, yet there were moments when the mask cracked, and it gave him hope.

Rhett stepped forward quietly, looking at the old woman, a few grey hairs escaping the white fabric draped over her head. She laughed at Ella, berated her for running, yet took her into her arms with a baritone cry that was heart-warming. Then she handed her a black kitten, that she had hidden in her apron. The girl took the pet with excitation.

"Mammy! You've taken care of her!"

Mammy grinned. The cat protested lazily but did not escape Ella's embrace, as if that protest was more about its mistress being gone for too long than an animal dislike of being gripped by human hands.

"Yes, chile. Dat cat be waitin' for you durin' dese weeks," With some difficulty, she raised and turned toward Wade, nodding with an affected reverence that the fond smile broke. "Why, uhllo Mistah Wade!"

Wade cracked a smile and made a salute.

"Hello Mammy."

"Good, good. Now come un, chilen," She chided. "Come to de house. The ro'ms is ready for ye. Be off, little gremlins."

Heartened by this welcoming, the children did as they were bid, but Rhett did not find enough time to slip with them to avoid Mammy's stern glance. The big black hands were joined tightly in front of her, the junctures almost white.

"You done mah lamb wrong, Mistah Rhett."

Rhett lowered his head.

"I know."

"She done you wrong too, dat por chile. But tis not the same."

"I know."

"Stop tellin' Mammy yer no, yer donno!" Mammy scoffed, her brow furrowing deeply on her marked forehead, and her brown eyes glinting dangerously. The foot stamped on the earth. "Yer better fix it. Ahma not cleanin' dis 'fter de boss of yer. Ah don't hav' dat much tahme left!"

With a last glare, she tried to turn away, but Rhett stopped her, his voice weary and jaded. She had not said things he hadn't told himself over and over, yet it did not make it less painful. He needed to focus on other things.

"What about the other children, Mammy?"

Mammy froze, then looked away.

"Dat Prissy. Ah tole her it wasn't to be. Took a likin' to them, and, after they fled in de field, she found dem. Den took dem in. Now she doan want to let dem go, and dey is stuck to her like chicks to hen."

Surprised, he considered this information and wondered what he could do with it.

He sighed. No, he would not think of it today. It was almost night. He needed a good supper, and sleep.

…

Yet it was not to be. For as soon as he passed the threshold, Prissy came with an assurance that was strange to his view, the two children that had been missing gripping her skirts and looking at him with defiance.

"Mistah Rhett!" She cried. "Ah be needin' to see you."

"Not now, Prissy," He shook his head, exhausted.

Yet she relented, for it was to her a mission sent to her by fate, and she intended to keep it.

"Der is my chilen, Mistah Rhett. Ah done find dem, now Ah keep dem. Ah love dem, and dey love me. Ah keep dem, and take care of dem. Miss Scarlett done tole me so."

At the mention, Rhett's eyes went swiftly to the servant, searching, yet she stood firmly. He sighed, dismissing it.

"It will not be accepted, Prissy, I'm sure you know that."

"Yer can do someting. Ah know yer can."

Well, that was certainly a vote of confidence, but at that moment it seemed a bit too much for Rhett who dismissed with a gesture. Prissy smiled, for it made her remember somehow Mister Gerald, the one who bought her from the Wilkes just so her family would not be apart anymore. She felt more secure in this as she gathered the children around her.

She knew what people thought of her. A silly little thing, a goose, Pansy had said. And maybe it was so. She did not quite know, but she could see she wasn't thinking in the same way as the other persons, not as quickly, not as soundly. When she was afraid, it was difficult for her to contain her emotions. She had grown, treated like a child, and taking care of the mistress' children. All the while wondering what it would be like, to have her own. Yet, it never came.

And then, she found them, hidden in one of the oaks that were surrounding the house. She had looked at these children, that did not have black skin like hers, and yet, she saw in their eyes a fear she knew all too much. She guessed things and understood more than she had ever had, for there were things she had lived too. She felt something that took her whole, and that gave her a reason to live she hadn't expected. A sense of owning, of belonging, that made her more than that little fool serving the Butlers.

And when she realized the feeling was reciprocal, once she took them in and fed them, her choice was done. That, and another thing that had to be a secret for now, and that actually showed she was not a fool after all.

But that could wait. Master Rhett would find a way. He always did.

And if he didn't, she could count on another.

She needed to believe it would be alright.

She kissed Caroline and Billy on their foreheads and led them to their rooms. Yet, it took a lot of reassuring before the poor things let go of her skirt.

…

In fact, the idea was taking roots in Rhett's mind, despite his willingness to think of it on the morrow.

These children had been quite a thorn on his side, and at first, he had been relieved to learn they had been missing. He did not know what to do if they were found. Scarlett, it seemed, had wanted something of them, and he couldn't for the moment see what. That unanswered question made him ill-at-ease and he couldn't just send them back to the orphanage. So he had to keep them close until he could figure it out.

Yet, as much as he loved children, and he loved Wade and Ella so very much, these strangers were too wild for his sake, with a glint in the eyes that made him uneasy, for he had known for a long time what had been happening in the orphanage.

He would put it to the test, then. He did not expect very much from Prissy, who never really showed a hint of sense to him. Yet, a person was needed to take care of them, he could see that.

While waiting for supper, he wandered through the rooms, taking everything in, all the signs of its former glory, and the new additions, little oddities that seemed like the attempts of someone trying to give an aristocratic air to it but failing to completely grasp the notion of it. Suellen's, maybe. Scarlett was more one to go the whole way, either keep the ancient style or change it completely. And for this house, he was sure it would have been more of the first option, for changing it would seem like changing her childhood, an aberration when the house was her haven.

On the walls, they were all looking at him, all the members of Scarlett's family, and it felt like most judged him sternly. Rhett looked at the portraits with anxiety and expectation in his heart, the image of his beloved so vivid in his mind, but wanting the reassurance of the concrete to go on. His black eyes were alert on the walls and he wondered, irritated, how many Robillard portraits young Ellen as a bride might have brought with her. Then, they stopped at the figure of a beautiful and haughty black-haired woman, and his heart stopped for a little while.

He blinked. Then the illusion disappeared, and he was left disappointed.

No, this wasn't Scarlett. That woman did not have his wife's mischievous green eyes, and nor that square jaw and pointed chin. The woman had the black slanted eyes of the Robillards, and a cold aura of distinction about her. Yet, she had the same proud air, that of a woman who knew of her worth. A grandmother maybe, or maybe the infamous great-grandmother.

He continued and his heart sored. He came across a family portrait. There she was, the darling thing, a little girl crying with laughter on her father's shoulder. The same grin was on Gerald O'Hara's face as he looked at his daughter in pride and love, and Rhett stared and stared. No, she was not like Bonnie had been, he realized. There were some similitudes, heart-rending similitudes. Yet both little girls at further inspection were different. Scarlett's chin was a little more pointed, and there were a surprising maturity and expectation and these eyes, that had never been in Bonnie's blue ones. There was a restless energy radiating this one, an energy that was dispersed yet mettlesome and it was in a second glance Rhett remarked the eyes were not on the father, but on the mother.

Ellen O'Hara was sat quietly on a mahogany chair with a little white velvet cushion. Her features seemed carved in marble, soft yet unmoving, and as much as she was beautiful, there was no life in these black eyes that were staring right ahead. She was wearing a stern black dress that accentuated the paleness of her skin, and Rhett wondered if the portrait had been done after a miscarriage. After all, Scarlett's sisters were here, little Suellen with an elegant pose that was only betrayed by the envy in her eyes as she looked at her father and sister. Carreen must have been a toddler, yet she was calm, and there was a quiet grace about her that made her a pale copy of her mother, who she was touching the hand.

The shadow of a shadow, he reflected. He remembered once seeing Miss Ellen Robillard, and in these memories, there were some giggles and a vivid interest for gossip. He remembered dismissing it with the contempt of a boy that had just been excluded from home and wanted nothing but to hate these manners from that part of the coast. Ellen Robillard was at that time like the other girls, with a bit more gossip on her maybe, for it was said she was urged to escape by a cousin of hers.

Now, it seems the life had gone from her, and he wondered for a time how Gerald could have lived with it, having the shell of a woman, but not her heart and mind.

And most importantly, where did these green eyes and restless energy come from?

That part, when he thought he knew everything about Scarlett, bothered him.

Dinner was eaten quietly, watched over by the past, and once the children were put to bed, he stayed behind, his heart beating at the idea of seeing Scarlett's childhood room.

So he drank. And drank. Until Mammy took back the bottle and berated him. At this, he invited her to settle at his side and put a drink in her hand.

"Tell me about Scarlett, Mammy."

Mammy blinked, but settled the glass on the table.

"What woud you want Mammy to say, dat you doan already 'no?"

"Everything. How she was as a child. How she grew up. What she was before I met her," He said, and it sounded like a plead. "Please. I want to hear about her."

"It be killing you, uh, Mistah Rhett?" Mammy's gaze was merciless on him, yet he expected it. After a while, she sighed. "Alraitt, Mistah Rhett. Ah be tellin' ye. Miss Scarlett… she was a turbulent baby. A turbulent child. Always loud, always demandin'. Always maikin' mischief. She be tirin' Miss Ellen. It be laike…"

She stopped, as if she hesitated in continuing, her face distorting in conflict.

"It was like?"

"It be laike she be tryin' to ouake up Miss Ellen. Laike she be nowing dat Miss Ellen's art be not in it," She sighed. "Miss Ellen be a good woman. A good wife, and moder. She be lovin' Miss Scarlett, very much, and worried so. But evar since Mistah Philippe be gone, he be takin' most of her art wit him. An' she never been de same. Never laughed, never been happy, truly."

"I've heard this story. A long time ago. And what happened then? With Scarlett?"

"She be continuin her mischief, 'nd mostly wit boys, 'nd it became more 'nd more. Masteh Gerald be glad of is gairl for dey 'ad similar spirit, 'nd a lot of energy to spaire. But even for 'im, it be becomin' too much. She be sent to Fayetteville. Den, wen she came back, Miss Scarlett be calm, too calm. Miss Ellen be thinkin' she be becomin' a laidi, resignin' laike she did. Yet I new bettah. I could see it. Miss Scarlett be haiddin. Dem bein' apart only made her haiddin' wat she was."

"And it was certainly when she came back she began to think of her mother as a saint, wasn't it?"

"Miss Ellen be always a Saint, Mistah!" Mammy protested, before adding begrudgingly. "But yea, Miss Scarlett began to act differently wit Miss Ellen. She be more respectful."

He considered it, then nodded.

"Thank you, Mammy."

"Go to sle'p, Mistah Rhett. You be tir'd after de travel."

He sighed and nodded.

Then, when he could not avoid it anymore, he went to Scarlett's room, his hand trembling a little as it touched the handle of the door. His heart squeezed, and he opened it, a crazy expectation settling.

Yet, just like great expectations, they faded away with a painful sting of disappointment.

The room had certainly been taken for a little time by one of Suellen's girls, and recently at that, because there were still some dolls and toys lingering on the floor, and drawings fixed on the walls painted in a deep green that highlighted the few pieces of furniture in mahogany.

The great case-bed lay on a thick green carpet, and it felt like it was waiting for its owner to come back soon. From the window, he could see and smell the magnolia. Magnolia had been the part of her scent, and he found himself missing the scent of roses.

He settled between the sheets of Scarlett's bed and sighed, his heart aching. The scent was here, as if its owner had been there recently. After turning and turning, he gave up and drank himself to sleep.

…

After that talk with Mammy, the days passed, full of longing and discoveries.

Longings because he felt he could sense her everywhere, from the room where she had slept during her childhood, to the fields where sometimes he had the feeling she would be there, running through the rows of cotton, her laughter ringing in echoes down the hills of her beloved Tara.

Discoveries because he realized things he had not observed before.

He realized somehow the late Gerald O'Hara had been quite musical in his time, for he found an old Irish violin with his initials in what must have been his office, and strings that seemed to have been teased many times. There was a thick layer of dust on it, but surprisingly, it still had a good sound. He took a fondness on the instrument, piqued by an odd feeling of nostalgia, of a time when as a boy, he defied his father who would have preferred him to play a more sophisticated instrument, like a piano, for example.

He realized Ella had quite the green thumb, and enthusiastically took care of the little garden in the yard, sometimes bullying Billy into helping her. She could be quite forceful too, working from dawn to sunrise. But her sweet smile made it difficult to refuse her, and even Mammy and Rhett were invited to the task.

He realized Wade knew every person in the land and could call them by name, forgetting his natural shyness to share anecdotes about it. It was something that gave him confidence, and Rhett found in it a way to get closer to him again, valorizing his knowledge to get his trust back.

The love of the land was strong in these children, and he felt proud in Scarlett's behalf.

But most surprisingly, he realized Prissy deeply loved Billy and Caroline and took great care of them. The three of them were oddly complementary, and for all of the lack of his servant, the children adapted without a word, never once raising the voice nor protesting.

They had found one another, and it was somehow beautiful to see. Even if Rhett, by his upbringing, could not help but think they still made an odd trio.

So when he presented his plan of adopting them officially so that she'd be able to be their caregiver for real while not worrying about their formal education, Prissy almost jumped into his arms, crying big tears of joy, and the house's atmosphere was lightened up immensely.

Yet, there was one thing, that was not a discovery per se, but which still hindered that new peace.

Mammy. Mammy, so strong, almost unmovable.

Mammy who was ill, yet too stubborn to admit it.

It was little signs. Times when she would forget some things. Times when she would stare longingly at the windows or be tired more easily.

Even her chidings had grown weaker, and more and more, Rhett realized how much the land depended on that woman, who still handled it in a strong grip, in memory of her former masters.

Adrian and Olsen were still nowhere to be seen, and the waiting was getting frustrating. So he made sure to leave some little provocations on the way, the times when he could linger in the neighboring taverns.

As for that Scot and that black man, Scarlett's former employees, they seemed to have disappeared entirely, hopefully to some hell they would not escape. Yet one could never be sure.

So he decided to put himself to the task, taking Mammy's burden off of her, while continuing his investigations over the land.

Yet, these practicalities did not avoid some strange events to happen.

…

One stormy night, a black woman knocked at the door, her wet rags heavy on her thin body.

It was Mammy who raised the alarm, her big, baritone voice echoing in the house.

"Yer, in de house? Miss Ellen be rollin' on her grave, Ah tell you dat! Not whale I liv'!"

When Rhett went down to see what it was all about, she had firmly put herself in front of the door, as the true protector of Tara.

"What is it, Mammy?" He intervened smoothly.

"Dat damn fortoone tattletale!" Mammy grumbled. "Mammy Jincy. But no Mammy anymore, no! Been goin on houses after houses, tellin' her stories. Tis enough she put some tale in mah lamb and the young uns years ago, now she be wantin to do it again."

Oh, a fortune teller. Once again. Yes, he thought he had heard about it. Who told him? Maybe it was Scarlett, and that thought gave him an odd feeling.

Here again, superstition was coming to him, and he could not help it. Because the want did not disappear, nor the need. This night especially, when he was at his fourth glass of Scotch.

He wanted to see her again. And if it was irrational to do so, then once again, he did not care to be so. Yet, she still wasn't there.

"Let her, Mammy. I would like to hear her."

Surprised, Mammy blinked, then stared at him. But seeing he would not change his mind, she took a step back and begrudgingly let the woman in. Yet not without expressing loudly her opinion on the subject.

"Doan understand Mistah Rhett be lettin' dis one in de house. Unnatural, dat is. Ain't fittin'."

And just like that, the woman was settled, ironically fed as fitted the hospitality of the South, and once it was done, she sat quietly on the couch of the living room, savoring the warmth of the burning logs in the fireplace. Rhett sat quietly on the big chair, observing her, looking for a trace of scam.

"So tell me, woman…"

"Mammy Jincy."

He smiled, amused. "Mammy Jincy. It is said you tell fortunes."

Her eyes glinted.

"Ah do."

"See, I've already seen one, and I'm still not quite convinced…"

"Yer 're, else you wudno ask," She retorted.

"Oh, so you can maybe tell me what I'm doing here, then."

She barely looked at him, her eyes settling on the flames.

"Yer lookin' for a ghost, ser. A ghost wit gre'n ayes 'nd dark 'air."

A hint of white teeth was shown through the red lips. He knew the rumors might have said something about it. Just how far would it go?

"Oh. But then you can tell me why I can't find it."

"Yer too old for seein' a ghost like dat, ser," She laughed. "Ye can't see a ghost ef dey don't want ter see you. Only chilen, pets and dyin' people can do dat."

"That sounds a bit unfair."

She shrugged.

"Ah'm not de one setting rules, ser."

He gritted his teeth, feeling like he had wasted his time.

"Yer in der rit place, sir," The woman said in a softer tone. "But a bit late. Shou'd have come so'ner."

"Well, tell me something that I don't know."

"Yer not searching on the rit sid', sir. Ye'll not find what yer searchin' for."

"And yet I'm in the right place?" He insisted, before sneering, irritated not to have a clear-cut reply when he had told himself over and over again he did not truly believe it. "You're saying nonsense, old cat."

"Yer not lissening."

"Oh, I am. But you haven't told me what I am looking for."

She smiled largely, revealing a golden tooth among blackened ones.

"Dat woman. Dat woman yer lookin' for. Yer lookin' in der 'rong sid'. Ye'll not find her dat sid'."

He raised, not tolerating this nonsense anymore, and left the room. Not being cruel enough to order her out in the rain, he ordered things to be done so that she could stay for the night. Then, he went to the room with his usual bottle, smiling as he heard Mammy's remonstrances.

"Dat woman. Ain't fitting, 'er 'ere. Miz Ellen be rolling on her grave, Ah tell ye dat," Mammy grumbled. "She and her fortoons. A wicked ting, Ah tell ye dat."

…

Yet, it was not the only strange thing that happened. It was little things at first. Objects that were moved, or who disappeared. Little whispers that echoed in the house, familiar shadows, beloved shadows. Scents, feelings that she was there, by his side, and that he could find her again. He would not even say her name, for he feared saying it would break his heart over again and made the presence leave.

There was this cat also, who sometimes took to hissing for no understandable reasons.

And then there was one day when Ella came to him and told him something that completely dumbfounded him. She came to him with her eyes glinting, her little mouth trembling as if she was refraining from saying too much, but was failing at it.

"I have a secret…"

Amused by it, he looked at her and decided to humor her.

"And what is it, my dear Ella?"

"I've seen Mama."

He blinked. The woman's voice came to his mind.

"Lucky you. I wish I could see her too."

"She's waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?"

"She said you were playing a game of hide and seek, and she's waiting for you to find her."

Wade was calling, impatient, but the girl was staring at him, determined.

"Then tell her next time you see her she hid pretty well, and I'm helpless at finding her. She'd better leave her hiding spot."

"She said you're still angry with her. She can't if you're angry."

He sighed. "I'm not angry, child."

"She said you will," The girl relented, a stubborn little pout on her face. "She said you have to find her."

That being said, she raised and ran towards Wade who was coming toward them.

At that talk, Rhett first did not react. Yet it stayed on his mind and the more he tried to let go, the more it stuck.

In the end, it was her presence in the house, the presence of his beloved, and he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe he would see her again, that somehow these little oddities would take shape and make her appear.

When some neighbors came, they could feel it, in his talk, in the talk of the children, but none dared to say anything.

None but Beatrice Tarleton who made it her mission to put her nose in it, for the sake of the children.

"You shouldn't talk to the children like that," She said one day.

"Like what?" He said in his drawling flat tone.

"Like their mother is still alive. You'll only confuse them and they'll be lost them in hopes that will never be true."

Then we'll be together in that illusion, ma'am, he wanted to answer. But the woman was already riled up.

"Oh, if you had been one of my sons, I would have whipped you!" She scolded. "I did not understand Scarlett when she was a young girl. I always thought she was… too spirited, and there she was, trying to take my son with her… Yet, when she came back to Tara… She was another woman entirely, and I respected her. She was a strong woman, fierce and resilient. Let her be at peace."

"I am not at peace. The children are not at peace." It is fitting she be not at peace, he thought bitterly.

"Then you are the most selfish man I've ever met."

He did not deny it, for he knew it was the truth.

The interview was ended with restrained politeness, that could have been warmer had the circumstance been different, for they were two persons who respected the strength of character, especially when it wasn't opposed to them in some way, and that believed in encouraging certain independence of mind in others.

With a weary sigh, he settled in the living room. He took Gerald's old violin and played it, in his mind the last song Scarlett had ever played for him. In his heart the memory of her loving look on him, her declaration to the crowd, and the passionate night that had followed.

After a time, Ella hummed at his side, and Wade sat on the bench of the piano, silent, before touching the keys.

They had understood and now played along too. He smiled, getting lost in the melody.

Yet, suddenly, Wade lingered on some keys, and Rhett stopped, surprised. The boy did not look at him. He stared at the keys, as if undecided, then his jaw tightened, his eyes bright and sorrowful.

He began to play "When this cruel war is over".

Dumbfounded, Rhett blinked, his black eyes widening with emotion as Ella joined her brother on the bench. And when she began to sing, it was like his heart was being squeezed in his chest.

.

Dearest one, do you remember,

When we first did meet?

When you told me how you loved me,

Kneeling at my feet?

Oh! How proud you stood before me

In your suit of grey

When you vow'd to me and country,

Ne'er to go astray.

.

Weeping, sad and lonely,

Sighs and tears how vain,

When this cruel war is over,

Praying then to meet again…

.

His lament of mournful love had been changed by them to a cry for their mother, he understood. A cry for her to come back.

And somehow, without he could hold them back, tears left his eyes, and he took the violin back to join them in their cry.

When the night came, Rhett stayed a little longer outside, gazing at the fields, the calmness of it, and the mystery brought by the mists. It had rained that day, and the red earth was wet and malleable.

He took a puff of his cigar. It was a night fitted for the supernatural, he decided. But then why couldn't he see her? If there was such thing as ghosts?

"You miss her, right?" He heard the voice of Wade, before feeling him sitting at his side, on the steps of the house. "I've heard you talk with Mammy Jincy. You want to see Mother again."

Rhett sighed.

"Your mother is the love of my life. That will never change."

"Then you'll find a way," He said. "Didn't you say for what it means to be, there's always a way?"

"Sometimes it's not that simple. Sometimes, the ways are cut."

The boy looked at him, conflicted, and then his eyes flashed.

"Then build new ones."

That being said, he went back to the house, leaving his stepfather pondering painfully on the question.

…

After that, the children stayed a little longer by usual in the living room and, curious, he watched them, settled on his chair with a cigar.

Mammy was in her room. She barely left it these days, and Rhett had a bad feeling about it, especially with the melancholy taking its hold on the imposing woman.

He took a puff of his cigar. Wade was sitting cross-legs on the carpet, nonchalantly turning the pages of a book he did not seem to read, Ella by his side tapping impatiently her fingers on the carpet.

"Wade, Wade," Ella pleaded. "Please, tell me the story!"

"Alright, Ella," Wade said, a bit too theatrically. "But then you have to tell me what happened with Solene and Robert the last time."

Oh, so they were continuing that story, Rhett realized.

"Well, Solene found Robert and tried to make him escape. But then there were pirates, Robert's enemies that set fire to the prison, and Solene and Robert escaped but lost each other on the way!"

Ella's gestures were wild and enthusiastic, and Rhett almost chuckled fondly. He looked at them, without truly listening, for it was too hard, and he knew if he was taking an interest, they would expect him to add his part, and without Scarlett, he couldn't bear to.

Wade smiled.

"Good, Ella. Yet, you forgot to say the onyx fell back on the floor, and she disappeared when the men came."

"Oh, the last stone!" Ella squinted. "Oh, but then that means she can go back to her realm!"

"You're right, Ella. But then she disappeared, and Robert thought Solene was dead."

Ella's eyes were wide, then fluttered lightly as she asked.

"But she wasn't dead, was she, Wade?"

"No. Not really. Her father had said she would think it was too late when she came back, but in fact it felt too early for her. She did not want to go home. She wanted to find Mary and Robert back. Yet, she did not know how."

"But… Couldn't her mum and dad help her?"

Wade paused, as if trying to see if the girl could bear it.

"Her mum and dad were dead, and the land was in chaos. That was why in fact she was late. She couldn't find her way back."

"Oh, but she can!" Ella cried.

"No, not now, Ella..."

There, he was recalling his mother returning home to Tara during the war, a painful memory for him, yet it was kind of brave of him to want to talk about it, Rhett thought. But the girl's eyes filled with tears, and Rhett decided it was enough, interrupting Wade as he was trying to continue "but at least she had some friends she could rely on…"

"Alright, children, to bed now."

"But…" Wade protested. "I haven't finished…"

"I think you did your part, Wade," Rhett could not help the bite from escaping his lips as he led them to bed.

Ella was crying, yet there was a moment when she turned to her brother to say sorry, and Rhett could not understand why. He tried to comfort her, and make her laugh. Once it was done and the girl closed her eyes, he turned toward Wade, who was looking at him with an upset expression on his face.

The candle was flitting, and it accentuated the shadows in Rhett's face.

Wade's eyes widened, as if a bit frightened, then he lowered his head. "You'll have seen it wasn't that bad if you had let me continue the story. Ella just overreacted."

Rhett looked at him and sighed. He remembered the words of Mrs. Tarleton and wondered if she was right, after all. Maybe it wasn't good for the children. "Boy, you know how hard it is. I know you love your mother, and believe me, I miss her every day. I know you want to do something to make us remember her. But maybe it's too early, to continue that story of hers. She wouldn't want…"

Wade's eyes burned. "You don't know what she wants! If she was there…"

"But she's not," Rhett said softly, his heart squeezing painfully at this. "Wade, I don't want us to be angry at each other. You are my boy, and I love you, just like I love your sister. I will do anything to keep you safe and secure, and I hope I'll make you happy when the time comes. But now, it's too early."

"But…" Wade protested.

"No but," Rhett sighed, before kissing his forehead. "Go to sleep, Wade. It'll be easier tomorrow."

That being said, he closed the door of the boy's room and went down to take a drink. Then another. But another room begged to be visited, and he had delayed it for too long.

Yet, it felt hard to even think of it.

In front of Mammy's door, Ella's cat was hissing and he chuckled.

"Jeez. Silly cat."

Amused, he took it and put it on Ella's bed, the cat nuzzling the sleeping girl's pillow.

Then he went back to see Mammy. There was no turning back now, no distraction to be found. It was something that had to be done, hard as it was.

He took a breath in, then out, and entered the room.

She was laying on her bed, almost immobile. Her eyes were gazing at the ceiling, and he thought he was too late. Yet, she stirred when he went closer, and looked at him with these brown, intelligent eyes.

There was no mistaking now. It was time.

"Ah, Mistah Rhett. Ye came."

"I did, Mammy. You were waiting for me?"

"Waitin'?" She let out a loud sigh. "Yea, waitin'. Ah been waitin' for a lon', lon' taime. 'nd yet it caime. Ah feel it. Ye feel it too?"

"I had the feeling, Mammy. Yet, I didn't want to believe…"

"No un want to believe wen it come, but it come," She said, her breath loud and clear in the room. "Ah done want be buried wit my pretty r'd petticoat. Tis too pretty to let it to a stranger. 'nd Prissy be dat clumsy."

"And it fits only you."

He looked at the woman that had been constant in their lives, his, Scarlett's and Bonnie's, like that of a mother watching over them. He felt a surge of sadness at the idea of her gone, with a despair, for it felt like another link to his wife that was slipping away. He took her hand in his and found himself pleading.

"Don't leave us here, Mammy. You're too precious of a soul to loose."

Mammy shook her head, and with a slight reprimand gently taped on his hand. He sighed and filled a glass for himself, gulping it down to numb the emotion that was taking over. Mammy's mouth raised in a disapproving pout.

"Bad habit it is, Mistah Rhett, to drink yerself to sleep like dat. Miss Scarlett be not liking it."

"Peace, Mammy, you've already berated me enough. Take a drink with me. You deserve it."

Yet Mammy was stubborn till the end, and he was forced to put down the glass.

"Not enough. Not barly enough. 'nd no, Ah woan take a ting."

They talked some more, softly, reminiscing, and he did not dare to leave her, for fear she would be alone in her deathbed. Yet, he could not hold back anymore from these restless nights, that now took over, encouraged by the amount of liquor he had ingurgitated. He slept and dreamed, a dream after so many nights without, sweet yet so sad he wanted to cry.

It was at first whispers in the dark, in a hell he couldn't leave. He ran and ran and screamed, yet a deep,cold blankness was surrounding him, and he couldn't escape. He could only listen, familiar, beloved voices. He couldn't reach it, even though he tried to. So he listened and tried to cry for them. But they wouldn't notice. It was a place between the dying and the dead, and he was left out when he so deeply wanted to be in at that moment.

"… der's a man der, waitin' for you."

"Not now, Mammy. Now is not the time."

"Den when'll it be?" The old mammy chided, her lower lip raised in indignation. "You two is the most insufferable uns Ah had to tak' caire of. Tis a wicked game you be playin', boss of you."

"One game I do not know how to end."

"Ye'll find a way, chile. Boss of you. Stubborn mules, boss of ye. Ah done tole you."

The sweet ghost let out a bittersweet peal of laughter that took his breath away. He did not dare to open his eyes, for fear of making her disappear.

"Thank you, Esther."

There was a silence, like a chill in the night.

"What did you say, chile?" Mammy's voice uttered with difficulty. "Mammy is Mammy, and everyone done call mammy mammy."

"And you've been the greatest mammy in the world," There, the beloved voice became tearful. "Oh, Mammy, Esther, please don't leave us like that! You've been the best mother one could have, and I'm sorry I was not the one you wanted me to be!"

"What dis foolishness? Miss Ellen woud no like it. Tis not fitting. She be your mother, and de best one."

"Yes, she was, and I knew she loved me… Yet, I was human and she was an angel, and how can I ever reach that? You have always been there for me. It is fitting. And Mother wouldn't have liked it if I forgot to thank the ones who raised me. And you did raise me."

"Yer mother was a Saint, always workin to death for dose who done noting for it. I know she be not always wit you, chile, dat her hart was not always dere, but tis no reason to say dis ting!"

"Please, don't be mad at me. Here, hold me in your arms, like you used to do when I was a little girl…"

Mammy sighed.

"You been an ignorant chile, ma lamb, an I canno stay mad at a chile. Specially mine. Zo I'd believd you need some whippin' sometahms, for makin us worry so."

"Oh, Mammy!"

Rhett heard a soft sob, almost buried in the sheets, a light pressure on the bed, and the soft caress of a big hand on long hair.

"Yer have to let go, mah lamb…" Mammy's voice was as loving as chiding. "Dat's what wron' wit you. You eizer hold on too taht or you grip too many tings at once. Dat's no way to liv'. Yer gwine get hurt. Dat's how you lose tings."

"I know. But how can I let you go? I so dearly need you, Mammy!"

"Yer dono need me, mah lamb. Yer just tink you do. Yer just tink you can hide behind Mammy, like yer lil' girl."

"You always were too wise for my sake," He heard the soft ruffle of the cover and the sound of a kiss. "Oh, I love you."

"I done love yer too, chile. But tis tahme to let go. Go back to yer world."

No! He wanted to scream. No, she couldn't go back to her world, he needed to hear her once again. He needed to see her once again.

He opened his eyes as much as he could, his lids painful and difficult to raise, and stayed mesmerized. He could not move, could not talk. He felt weak, powerless against that aching surge of love that was running through his body, as well as the dull feeling of numbness the liquor had left on his body even in a dream such as this one.

She glowed with the moon's light, her skin ethereal like that of a fairy. He dared not move, not even breathe. Her eyes shined like the green flash allowing the dead to come back to life, a light like an illusory lighthouse either guiding men to home or to their dooms. She was wearing a thin white shift, light against her body, and it felt like the wind would take her away by the slightest force.

Oh, if he could hold her tight, force her to stay in the land of the living! Would he be able to? Or would she, like Eurydice, disappear once again before his eyes? Would the dream stop if he did so? If so, he wouldn't do anything. He just wanted to stay there, stare at her to his heart's content.

"It'd been a lon… lon time since someone done call me dat…" Mammy said, and there were tears in that big, beloved face. "Esther…"

Scarlett leaned in, and pearls were glinting down her cheeks.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Don you cry, chile, or Ahll really whip you," Mammy scolded. "Didn't raise you like dat."

"No, of course."

"An' ain't fittin' for you to say aye and nay like dat!" There, Mammy's voice became more soothing and she opened her arms. "Der, chile. Come to your Mammy. Taike mah hand, like dis. Stay wit yer Mammy a lil' more, and do promahse me…"

"Anything!"

"Promahse me yer gwine stop actin' lahke a mule and make it raitt!"

"You're unbelievable," She chuckled, the beloved angel of death, tears gathering at the end of the tilted lashes, and kissed Mammy's forehead. "Sleep well, best of mammies. I'll stay with you a little more."

Tears fell silently on his cheeks and he could not prevent his eyes from closing, letting the dream be at an end.

When he woke up, the hand of Mammy was cold, and there was a serene smile on her face. She was dead.