As always, thank you all for your support, you really motivate me in the writing of this story.
I hope you will like it :)
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Chapter 31
It was quiet and slightly windy, the day Mammy was buried in the wet, fertile red clay of Tara, and the wind seemed to hum a last funeral lament in her honor.
Big Sam added his own too, big tears flowing down his kind face, and soon Pork, Dilcey and Prissy joined. Rhett looked at them with dull eyes, his two children gathered around him. Ella was crying, hiding her little face on his cloth, while Wade was trying not to show his emotions. Yet his eyes were blood-shot. Billy and Caroline were there as well, silent shadows behind Prissy. Nothing on their faces, as if they were old and tired old persons having lived through enough tragedies not to feel anything.
There had been too many funerals, Rhett reflected. He couldn't cry as well. Not because he prevented himself from it, but because he had already done it enough. His eyes were dry, and it felt hard to process all of this. He needed to be calm. He needed to be in control of the situation.
And there was this splitting headache, that did not leave him! Maybe he should be more reasonable with the drinks. Even if these days, it seemed it was the only thing that brought him to sleep. And that brought him her image.
Soon, it would be over. Soon, maybe he could mourn that woman as well as she deserved to be mourned. But not today. There were too many things to think of at once.
When the funeral lament ended, people dispersed, and Rhett encouraged Wade and Ella to join Prissy, before turning to Pork.
"Why aren't there more of your people here?"
"Dis a haunted place, sir," He replied simply. "Dere's too many gosts in de 'ouse. De oders are 'fraid."
"Ghosts?"
There had been too many mentions of it lately, and it gave more shape to that dream he had had, the night Mammy died. The hope that was there, that maybe…
But he couldn't think about it now.
"Dey be folish, dat's all…"
"No…" Rhett mused. "But what made them think there are ghosts?"
The man's face closed.
"Ah kain talk about dat, sir. Dey is nothing I can tell ye, 'nd Ah doan like talkin' 'bout it. Too painful, it is."
It made Rhett pause, and by empathy, he felt sorry for mentioning it.
"Sorry, old Pork. I did not want to trouble you."
"Dis nothing. Dere's the chillen, 'nd dey shuden't be 'fraid."
"They won't. I'll make sure of it."
"Mistah…" Pork continued. "Ah saw someun spill po'der 'round de house."
Then it has begun. It had been lucky the man hadn't burned the powder.
"Did he see you?"
"No, sur. Been scar'd by… someting else."
"Another ghost, perhaps," Rhett mused. "Wash it, Pork. Be discreet about it. And put the substitute I told you about instead. That man must not suspect we know of it."
"'Ritt, sur."
He nodded quietly, staring once again at the tomb. It wasn't even nearly enough for her, and he promised himself that when he would have the time, he would provide something better.
"Go to rest, Pork," He said after some time. "You've done plenty for today."
And plenty, they had done, indeed. It was a feast he had prepared to honor her memories, with all the things he could gather in such a short time. Some neighbors were even invited.
Suellen had refused the invitation, and Rhett had the feeling she must have answered before even talking to her husband. She would pay her respect when the demons would be gone, she said.
To Rhett, it made no difference not to have her, or perhaps a little regret, that of not being able to talk to Will, like he did the last time.
When it was all said and done, he silently went to what must have been Scarlett's mother's office, a place he discovered recently but had not dared to put a shoe in it.
The place was untouched, as if waiting for its former mistress. The dust had gathered on every surface, and it still had a nauseating smell of lemon verbena, that must have been sweet at its prime. Now, it just felt sad, abandoned. And yet, he wanted to know. It was the mistress Mammy had served with such diligence. The mother Scarlett had adored… Certainly, looking through her things would make him feel closer to her…
He looked through the pigeonholes eagerly. Letters, accounts all went to his eyes, most of them without interest. The headache worsened, and he sneezed numerous times because of the dust.
Then, he saw little carnets, deeply pushed in the pigeonholes, seemingly more intimate. A light of interest came to his eyes. Picked by curiosity, he opened the first and realized it was a diary. What could it reveal about Scarlett? He thought. What could it reveal about her mother, how she raised her?
There were little installments in the carnets that were mostly short descriptions of the daily activities, charities of the late Ellen O'Hara. He was surprised by the impersonal way that was mostly used, as if it was the writing of someone recalling the life of somebody else. Some of the phrases were lists of things to do, concrete tasks. Gossips reported. Yet, very few feelings, and when there was, it seemed it was mostly sadness, a deep languor that did not leave the woman that was writing it. And at the end of each installment, the same, worrying, counting. And the same you, that must have been the memory of young Philippe Robillard, if he had to guess. He looked at it, his eyes selectively focusing on bits, the ones that interested him.
.
Mister O'Hara is nice. Not a gentleman, but he tries. Screams a lot, but I can see now it's just the way it is. I know he tries his best, and I am gentle with him, as I should be.
I'm pregnant. It will be a boy, I hope. It would be the end of that part of my duties.
Have taken new duties too. Can't bear staying in the house for too long. I need some activities, not to make me forget, but at least to make me think of it less often.
One year, two days without you.
.
Can't sleep. That child is exhausting. It is mine, oh, I know it, but there's some wildness in her that is not mine. I try to be soft, but it doesn't work. Does she want to make me scream? I can't. I have no voice left. My heart can't bear it.
Mammy will know what to do. The girl will be better with her.
Still no boy. A girl, Susan. She clings to me like Scarlett did, but her grip is weaker, and she's silent, at least.
Three years, thirteen days without you.
.
Must talk to Mammy. Today, Scarlett pushed Stuart Tarleton and jumped with him in the river. All while I was nearby.
Hopefully, Caroline is a sweet baby. Calm. Doesn't ask for more than I could give.
Five years, one day without you.
.
Another boy dead. I must still bear it. It is a lady's duty.
What should be done with Scarlett? She is wilder and wilder, almost like a boy, and I'm beginning to think Mister Gerald considers her as such. That shouldn't be so. It's not what she is meant to be.
Seven years, sixty-seven days without you.
.
Scarlett went to Fayetteville. Peace at last. One should not think of their child like that, and I feel guilty thinking it. Yet… I can't help but think Suellen and Carreen are easier girls, and Suellen is almost sweet when her oldest sister isn't there.
Twelve years, one hundred and one days without you.
.
Thank God, Scarlett is returned and resigned! She is calmer now. Listens more. Yet, there are more and more boys that gather around her. She doesn't seem very serious about them. I hope it's only a phase.
Sixteen years, forty-five days without you.
.
Mister Kennedy is seeing Suellen more and more. An old man, but a good name. An Irish name, yet settled for a longer time than Mister O'Hara. Suellen seems happy enough. She doesn't have much choices, poor dear.
Seen Scarlett and Ashley. Could it be?
Sixteen years, two-hundred and fifty-two days without you.
.
He's different from you, love. Yet you were different from me as well. He's not an adventurer, but she is, and the Wilkes family is ancient and respected. Could it be a way to end this story? My daughter marrying the one she loves, convincing him to escape with her, like you tried with me?
Must talk to Ashley.
.
Reading other little installments, Rhett realized something. Ellen had stopped the counting. And the more he read, the more he could feel anguish lurking in the delicate cursives.
.
Just a flirt, they say. Yet, I've seen it. He's playing with her, and I believed he would do the right thing. And she believes it, the poor child. What is the prize of a girl's broken heart, for them?
I can't talk to her about it. I can't do it.
Oh, love, what would you do?
.
Now, she is set to marry another, and I can't help but remember you. She is determined like I was at her age. Must history repeat itself?
She is strong. Stronger than she knows. Yet I can see. There's this glow in her eyes, and I know she isn't going to let it go. Oh, what have I done?
.
She is desolate, the poor child. Did she learn to love the man she married, as I could not do? Nothing seems to help her, not even the delicacies of Savannah and Charleston. I hope she will be better in Atlanta. I can't bear seeing her like that. It awakens something in me that I can't think about now. Yes, she'll be better in Atlanta. Melanie Wilkes is a sweet girl, and perhaps they will form a friendship, with the loves they have in common. Or perhaps not. One can only hope.
.
Scarlett is doing it again. And now she had attracted the attention of that Rhett Butler. Eulalie and Pauline tell me so many things about him. And I remember. I remember it was him that told you you could find fortune elsewhere, my love. Else you would have stayed, I know it… I hate him. I know a woman should not have these feelings, but I can't help it.
Oh, the irony it would be if somehow he… No, I mustn't think about it. It is a mean thought, and I wouldn't want to curse my child with such a man.
Mister O'Hara needs to go. But not be too forceful. Scarlett would only be encouraged by it.
.
Rhett blinked, intrigued. Did he? He couldn't quite remember. He had said many things in that time.
Well, he never expected her blessing anyway. She could keep her aborted attempt at a malediction, he thought bitterly. He was already cursed, and long before she even thought of it.
.
Hopefully, it is done. Scarlett does not mention it.
I think there's a new glow in her. Does she have a new suitor?
.
Scarlett refused to come back. Ashley was visiting. Maybe it was that. Maybe she hadn't quite forgotten…
No, I will not think about it.
.
The Slatterys are sick, and now after that I feel a little dizzy as well. Mister O'Hara wants me to see a doctor, but it'll be too much trouble. Carreen will help me. I wish Scarlett was with me. She is nursing too, now. Yet, I can't borrow her when the Cause so greatly needs her. And I can't worry her, poor child, she's already going through too much.
And she hasn't forgotten. Her words in the letter don't say it, but I feel it. Is it a malediction?
.
My fault, my terrible fault… Must my woes and sins befall all on my daughters as well?
He closed the carnet with a feeling of fright coming into his body like goosebumps creeping to his skin. Almost breathless, there was a deep cold in him, and he attributed it to the fact of reading the writing of a dying, tortured woman. Yet, there was some other thing he could not quite place, or would not, and Rhett, who had always been very self-aware, felt very frustrated with himself.
Swiftly, he put the carnets back to the pigeonholes and escaped the suffocating place to breathe more clearly the sharp, invigorating air of Tara.
The house was calm, asleep, and dark. Yet, there was still life in this land, he felt it.
Wade was there, sat on the steps of the house, and he joined him silently. He could smell the magnolia from here, and that deep, earthy scent of the land having been recently ploughed.
"I can't believe she's gone…" The boy finally whispered. "She had always seemed…"
"Invulnerable. An unmovable force, to be reckoned with."
"Yes," Wade admitted, lowering his head. "And with her, it was easier…"
He seemed to have trouble continuing, and Rhett did not urge him to. He could see he needed space and time. The words would come on their own, disparate, maybe, but it was him, his caregiver, his adopted father, that had to put some order into them. And he prepared himself to do that.
"I envy Ella sometimes. I still remember it, you know?"
"What do you remember, Wade?"
"The war," The boy began. "I was a little boy then, but I still remember the shots of the cannon, the uncertainty of living another day… The people leaving us…"
Rhett leaving them. Guilt came to his heart, in a way it had never been when he had been with Scarlett. He had never wanted to think she might be harmed. She seemed so fierce, his little frivolous fighter in petticoat, and he had always wanted to believe she would be fine, waiting for him somewhere.
Yet it wasn't the case.
"I'm sorry, Wade."
But the boy shook his head.
"No, not just you. Doctor Meade. Mrs. Meade. Mrs. Elsing, running away in her carriage with food…. They were all running away. And Aunt Melly was crying, she felt so much pain, and Prissy had lied… I don't know really what she lied about, but Mother was furious. Yet, when she came to Aunt Melly, her voice was soft, and she made her laugh… And I was there, I was afraid and hungry… And Mother told me not to bother her…"
Oh, Scarlett. It must have been a difficult time for her, and the child had suffered it. How could a scared child comfort another, when other atrocities were coming?
"Mother…" He continued, his voice breaking. "She always told me to run if I felt I was outnumbered."
"She did not teach you braveness…" Rhett could not help but say, a wistful smile on his face that looked too much like a jeer.
Wade froze. His face closed and as he rose, Rhett cursed himself for not going to the point.
"Wade…" He tried, following him to the living-room.
But the boy was already walking toward the wall, and Rhett saw the old saber that had once belonged to Charles Hamilton. With a swift gesture, Wade took it and unsheathed it towards his stepfather, his eyes hard as stone. Wary, Rhett raised his empty hands and slowly came forward.
"Take it back," The boy said. "Take it back, damn you or I…"
The blade cut through the thick skin of the palm, and Rhett winced a little with the sting while Wade's eyes widened at the drop of blood that was coming from the wound. The grip trembled, the tears burned while the lip trembled, and he let go of his weapon with a cry of frustration and sorrow. It rang with a clear sound, almost crystal on marble. His stepfather took advantage of it, taking the boy into his arms and kicking the saber away.
"Oh, if I was a man…" He remembered her say.
"She did not teach you braveness," He said, embracing his son against him. Wade tensed against him, but relaxed at the next words. "Because she knew you already had it. You're as hot-blooded as she."
The boy almost laughed in tearful relief.
"Why couldn't you say that at the beginning? Why would you say such a thing?"
"My fault, son. I tend to forget you can have the same temper as she. It's… too hard to even think of it, that sometimes I try not to think about it," He answered quietly, his heart beating slowly, yet soundly. "Your mother… She saw a lot of people she cared about dying. Many men died in a cause they thought honorable, without thinking of the ones they left behind, and your mother… she was the one… rare sensible person to think that it was a folly. Of course, she did not want you to be brave. She wanted you alive, safe…"
"Well-fed," Wade could not help but cracking with a sob a tiny smile, that Rhett returned.
"Well-fed," He chuckled. "She loved you, Wade. More than she ever knew."
"I know it," The boy said quietly after a pause. "I've doubted it once. I was afraid and sad… Sometimes, she seemed… cold. Cruel. And then… Aunt Melly told me… Mother was not the one to say she loved me, to hug me and kiss me and comfort me if I was upset. It was…" He swallowed the sob that threatened, then continued. "In the little things, yet so essential. She was there when everyone was running away, and she tried to provide when she could, even when she had to suffer for it. A bed where I could sleep. The meals she would give up for herself again and again to give it to me. The shoes she always made sure were on my feet. The… saber of my father she defied the Yankees for to protect my inheritance…"
"Oh, she did?"
"Oh yes! And they burned a part of Tara because of it… Mother almost got burnt too, trying to salvage it. Hopefully, Aunt Melly was there…"
Defiantly, the boy raised his head towards him, and Rhett was painfully remembering the determination of his mother.
"So, sir. Don't even dare to suggest my mother is not brave. Or is selfish."
"No. That'd be a lie."
Yet, it wasn't the end of it. The boy needed to talk, so he let him. Even if it felt like salt rubbing on his wounds.
"Aunt Melly had told me: 'see how she loves you! You must be quiet for her, then. Quiet as a mouse. Don't disturb her. Be a good little boy. And if it's too much to bear, come to me. Your mother, she's the strength of Tara. But not every source is inexhaustible. We need to be her strength.'…."
Yes. The relationship between the two women had always been one that had fascinated him. Two women so different in manners and upbringing, with interests that opposed, yet that clang to each other tightly. Scarlett begrudgingly and mostly unaware of such fact. Melanie fervently, demonstratively. Yet, Scarlett's part, though in his disappointment he had dismissed it, had been more important than he had wanted to admit.
But it was no use now to think of every gesture, every word he had ignored. It was too painful. It was no use to think about him by himself. Especially when Wade wasn't finished talking.
" … And I did! I… tried to stop being angry, tried to stop to be sad. I said nothing at all, and yet… I was so afraid! She was so sad, and so tired, and I could not do anything about it!"
"You couldn't have," Rhett said softly. "You've done everything you could. Yet, you couldn't have. No one could have. You did all you could. You are a brave, extraordinary boy, Wade. You are your aunt's nephew. You are your mother's son. Both of their strengths and fierceness are in you."
But there was still that question in his eyes.
"Then why were you…"
Rhett sighed. It was one he knew he could not avoid.
"See, Wade, I loved your mother. But… my relationship with her… had always been quite peculiar. I'm sure you have seen more than any child should have, and I'm sorry for it. I loved your mother, and that is true, even now. Always," His voice cracked at the word.
"I… think Mother told me something like that. Once," Wade said, his brow furrowing in concentration.
"Did she?" Rhett asked, the lump in his throat growing.
The boy nodded.
"Uncle Rhett… How can people who love each other hurt each other so much?"
"Doubts. Fear. Circumstances. A war we never left… Jealousy. Sometimes the deepest love is the one that hurts the most when things go in the way."
"It… was true then, what they said about Uncle Ashley and Mother?"
Rhett sighed and forced himself to think of it. Maybe some kisses, and that before they ever married. If it had been more, Scarlett would have been disappointed with what she got, and perhaps it would have been easier for them all.
And then half an embrace, in memory of the past, interrupted.
But certainly not what had circulated then, and which presented Scarlett as a seductress. He was sure of it now. His shoulders fell.
"Not the half of it," He said wearily. "You have to know, Wade, that people do like to talk. And they do like to hate on what they don't understand. Your mother was a strong woman, she was smart, wild, full of charms… and she was successful, doing things others wouldn't have dared to. Some envied her but wouldn't say. Some hated her and wanted to destroy her. And I… didn't make her way easier."
Far from it, he could see that. He had wanted her by his side, sharing everything she had. But he couldn't let her in. He couldn't let her in because loving in his life had never been without a price, a price that could be paid by others. Loving in his life could be erased, as easily as a name crossed on the first page of a bible. Love was like a whip, and you either used it on the other or you were hurt. You punished or you were punished. So he had learned to live without it.
If she knew, she would have power over him, he had thought. If she knew, and he wasn't certain of her, she would play him like she did with the others. And he couldn't let it.
Wade nodded. The embrace loosened and he put some distance with his stepfather. In his eyes, there was an expectation that confused Rhett, for he did not know quite yet what that boy wanted from him.
"You've done terrible things, yes. But you've done some great things too… she loves you, and you've protected her. Protected us. You're the one who saved us in Atlanta, and you took care of us. And you're there now…"
Rhett wanted to laugh at it, bitterly for the irony wasn't lost on him.
She had been the only love he had wanted to sacrifice everything for, and that made him afraid. He could still remember the day in Atlanta, when she thanked him for helping them. And him thinking: 'what am I doing there? Why couldn't I let it be? Men are dying for a Cause they put above else nearby. Above even their wives, daughters and children. They're dying free for their convictions, and I'm here, because she asked me. She binds me, and I let her. Damn her. Damn me. I have to escape it.'
And he did escape…
But he was never free again. If he ever was.
That day… she could have been his, wholly. She had been there, by his side, and she had needed him. She was there for the taking. He had seen it. He had feared it, of this power this girl had on him. So he had tried to lessen its importance, and take the next best thing.
Yet, it was the cry of a boy that awakened the mother, and she did not let him. He was left with a taste of what could have been.
Just like now…
And it did not matter now who was right and who was wrong, who could be blamed. She wasn't there, and the loss of her was the hole in his chest, in his life.
"If I could only have her back…" He uttered, his voice almost shaking and his eyes far away, looking for her. "I would give her everything I could. Treat her the way I should have…"
Wade's soft brown eyes lightened up considerably.
"What if I told you… I've seen Mother…"
Rhett raised an eyebrow. The dream was gone. And he couldn't hope for it.
"I'll tell you Ella did too. And I did. In my dreams. The ones that we love never quite leave us. They stay in our hearts, our memory."
These were practical sentences, and he cursed them for saying it. But it was better than to reveal his deepest desire, that seemed to be the sign of madness.
And here the light dimed.
"You don't understand," The boy shook his head, a sorrowful expression on his face as he escaped his embrace. "You don't want to understand!"
Rhett let the boy go and released a breath, burdened by all the suffering the discussion had brought, and went to bed, hoping it would stop. He looked at the wound and shrugged. He had cleaned it quickly, he wasn't a fool. Yet, he was too tired to do more now. It would have to wait for the morrow.
Yet, it didn't. For, through the night, he felt the fever coming to him, cold then hot, sweaty, confusing. He lost track of time, focused on a battle against that swift intrusion, without knowing when it would end. If it would end.
And then, like a temporary light in a storm, he felt it.
He felt a soft caress on his cheek, tender and loving, a soothing freshness on his forehead. He tried to open his eyes, but it was difficult, the lids almost stuck and very much painful. He tried to fight it, and after a long time, he managed to lift it a little. His eyes skipped a bit.
Scarlett was there. She was there, her beloved shape surrounded by a hazy halo, almost blurred in his mind, her voice soft, far away as an echo of what it once had been.
Children, pets, and dying men, he remembered. Could it be?
"Am I dying?"
She froze, her hand stopped in a mid-gesture with a wet towel toward his brow. He felt her supernatural green eyes looking at him closely, like the description of the angel judging the souls in the purgatory. She finally shook her head, a slightly bemused smile drawing slowly on her lips.
"No, foolish man, that's not your time yet. You're just making me worry unnecessarily."
He blinked, his eyes aching, and chuckled. "Even in death, you're still not very soothing, my Scarlett…"
"Your…" She closed her eyes, her lips pursed, yet there was almost a wistful smile on her face. When she opened it again, and the corners of her mouth lifted, the green stones glinting. "You love me, right?"
"You… vain woman. Even dead, you still want me to say it… over… and over."
"That's because you say it too little, and never when you should," She laughed slightly, yet he could see some tears gathering her lids. "You're ill. Shh… Sleep, my dear. It'll be better tomorrow."
"Will you be there, tomorrow?"
She froze yet said nothing.
Or if she had, he did not hear it. The darkness had taken him back.
…
Soon enough, he recovered, but the image of her stayed, and he couldn't help but question Pork one night about it, once he was in state of leaving his bed.
"Who nursed me?"
Something crossed the eyes of the servant, yet he replied smoothly.
"Well, dat's… me, sur. Me 'nd Prissy."
"No one else?"
"De chillen came. Ye done call Miss Ella like her moder…"
"… Thank you, Pork."
Oh, by God, he thought, he must have frightened the poor child with his hallucinations.
Hallucinations… yes, it couldn't be anything but. Or maybe… Children, pets and dying people…
He considered it, a frightening idea coming to his head.
No. No, he wouldn't do it.
By God, she was driving him mad!
He turned away and went to play with the children. Ella welcomed it eagerly, and he saw how worried she had been. He could see now how that worry was transcribed in the game, how she was more nervous now at the memory of it, and he tried to reassure her as he could.
And there was Wade, silent, yet a participant as well.
When the game was over, he joined him in the living room, leaving his little sister in the room, and Rhett invited him to sit by his side.
The boy radiated with guilt and nervous energy. Sighing, Rhett took him by the shoulder and embraced him silently.
"I'm sorry…" Wade began to say hurriedly.
"Why, son?"
"It was my fault… I shouldn't have hurt you with the saber."
"No, Wade. It would have happened anyway," Rhett said tiredly. "See boy, sometimes one man can continue running and running to keep his heart beating. Yet, when the race ends, once he falls, it's everything in him that falls with him, and it's much harder to raise then."
Wade blinked, a confused expression on his face that put wrinkles on his youthful forehead.
"I don't understand…"
Rhett sighed.
"Son. Many things happened. The war. Bonnie… Your mother's… disappearance. Mammy's death. And I tried to go on with this, tried not to face it. But there's a limit to what one man can take, and all of that made sure the moment I felt vulnerable, it would all come down anyway. Remember it, Wade. You can't escape the shadows of your past. One day or another, you will have to face them. And it doesn't matter if you fall during the fight. What matters is that you raise again to live. Now go to sleep, Wade. It had been a long day."
The boy looked at him one last time before obeying, and Rhett was left alone.
He took the bottle he had brought, lifted it, then stopped.
Now. He couldn't do it just now. He needed to keep a clear mind during the preparations.
The next morning, he came to town and sent instructions for his will, the last straw to his plan. It would certainly pick Adrian's interest.
Jordan, Randall gone. Adrian, and then Olsen in the end.
Soon, that joyous little gang would be gone. Adrian certainly the last, for he was the most cunning of the group. But soon.
He'd be damned if he died before that!
So he continued, made the necessary last meetings and purchases.
…
Rhett was on the way home when he found on the road of Tara a black woman slipping through it. First, she did not seem to recognize him, but then she took a step back. He focused on her face and a light of recognition came to him. He took a step forward, curious.
"Oh. You again. I did not expect it."
Pansy looked at him warily, before sending swift glances at her sides, as if to verify something.
"This is the place where I grew up."
Amused, Rhett cocked an eyebrow at her, then tried to remember.
"Did you?"
Pansy grinned nervously and continued hurriedly.
"I was… Miss Ellen's keys' bearer. Following her everywhere. I was so small at that time, I must have passed as…"
"I wasn't asking about your story," He dismissed, irritated.
"Charming," She commented, her dark eyes glaring once, before it was replaced by a bland look. "And I thought someone told me you had a way with women."
He faltered and searched into this woman's features closely. She knew something, yes, but what did she know? There was in her tone an insolence he had mostly seen in Scarlett and that until then he had never perceived in Pansy, and he wondered what other characteristics might have taken the servant from her mistress. And what she might have said to her.
Once again, the need rose, to talk of her, yet he stifled it. Not with that woman. She was no friend of his, and the idea that she had talked with his wife, perhaps more than he had during these days with her gave him a sour taste, akin to jealousy.
"You're not hiding anymore."
"With you?" She chuckled, and it had a bitter tinge to it. "It's no use now, is it? You… always knew it, right?"
"I'm neither blind nor deaf."
She rolled her eyes.
"No, of course, you know everything about anything."
His heart stopped a little, for these words had been uttered so many times during his quarrels with Scarlett that he couldn't help but remember it vividly and wish she was there, her eyes blazing as she attempted to counter his jeers with hers. It was the only time he thought he could have power over her, that time, yet now he could see it had only been an illusion, and these words were a sign of her hurt and the crumbling of his marriage before he was even out of her bed.
"Careful,". He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you here?"
She shrugged, yet her little acts did not convince him. What was she hiding?
"Nostalgia. Miss Scarlett…'s children. And my mother still lives nearby. You made quite an impression on her."
He rolled his eyes.
"I wonder how."
She snickered. "Well, I didn't know you were such a superstitious man."
That's where it clicked.
"Your mother is that gypsy from Marietta, isn't it?"
"No," She said with a grin. "That's my aunt. My mother is Mammy Jincy."
He was almost tempted to laugh at him, him that always could laugh at himself. Yet there had always been only one person he had felt comfortable to laugh with, and she wasn't there.
"The world is too damned little," He cursed. "So you all laughed at my expanse, wasn't it?"
"I wouldn't say that," She shrugged good-naturedly. "The underworld is not something to laugh at. There are in this world forces unknown…"
"Do what you want there and go," He scolded before his voice softened. "I think the children will be happy to see you."
…
And indeed, the children were. The three of them seemed to joyously conspire with one another, and Rhett felt a little jealousy at this. But at least it gave him the time to talk to some of his men, that had come in the morning.
Andrew and Alphonse, two brothers that had stayed with him during his blockade years. Strangely loyal, yet awfully shy against the fairer sex. They were discreet, and they were strong. He knew he could count on them.
He would not do the same mistake twice.
"Don't leave them," He told them. "Even one second. Keep them far away from my room. If something goes wrong, take them back to Atlanta."
They looked at him and nodded, and he continued to prepare, till soon enough the sun set, the sky taking the red of the earth of Scarlett's beloved Tara.
It will soon be over, he thought. Whether with the men dead, whether with him. The children would be safe, no matter what. It was all in place. He had made sure of it.
Yet, how lonely he felt at that time! And how that loneliness brought him memories, and these dreams, feelings he could not stifle!
An idea came to him. Crazy, but then since she left him, what hadn't? In such a frustratingly lonely night, he wanted to believe.
Her ghost was there, he had seen it. He did not doubt it anymore. It was her that had welcomed the soul of Mammy, and it was her that had been by his side when he thought himself dying… Oh, if his mind could summon here once more, before all was over!
He went to the nearest tavern, took more than one drink to and brought back a woman with him, to that room Scarlett had once slept in.
She giggled pleasantly at his arm, and he made sure not to go too close to the children's rooms. She was still in that state when he settled her on the bed. She tasted of cheap brandy and betrayal, but it would do, even if to forget…
He heard the sound of porcelain breaking, and it gave him back the memories of a day in the County. Of a girl, disappointed in her loves…
His heart awakened and he turned his head to the noise.
She was there, his beloved, his wife! It had been a gamble, but it had worked!
And now… Oh, her black hair shined with the moonlight, and her skin seemed almost translucent. Yes… an Irish fairy like in these legends, beautiful but lethal…
"Oh, you rascal!" She scolded, outraged. "I'm dead a few days, and here you are, dishonoring me with… God's Nightgown! Where does she even come from?"
A few days… He was tempted to laugh. Were days passing so slowly in the in-between she was in? Days, how it seemed inconsequent when he had in his mind and heart the true number of weeks, days, hours, and minutes!
The woman he brought home let out a cry of fright, her skin pale, so much that he thought she would faint. Yet she raised and ran like a madwoman, and he barely spare her a glance.
"I think you made her flee," He dully remarked.
Oh, she was seething, burning with a wrath that raised and raised.
He looked at her in wonder.
"Oh, darling…." He whispered, raising lightly to meet her, subjugated yet not wanting her to run from him like a frightened animal. "So I was right, then. You became one of these white ladies, that come to haunt the men that wronged them?"
She seemed bewildered at that, her green eyes widened almost comically.
Yet, of this he saw nothing but the way her shift tantalizingly hugged her curves. She seemed an apparition that was about to evaporate at any time. He cocked his head to one side.
"You've taken your pretty damn time," He stated almost jeeringly, feeling rejuvenated. "I was getting desperate. But then I knew your greedy little soul wouldn't like it if your man takes another woman to bed, let alone in that home you always return. I knew it just had to return once more. Oh no, don't get angry, my beloved," He raised, opening his arms for her as red came to her face. "Come, take your poor undeserving husband into your arms. Squeeze until he gets lost in you, and you'll have no choice but to take his soul with you. Come… I'll follow you."
"Oh…!" She stamped her foot on the floor, a frown and a pout on her beloved face. How her eyes glinted so! She always was so tempting when she was angry, when the emotion put pink on her pale cheeks, reddened the already red lips, and put additional sparks to these emeralds he coveted so. "Now, that's too much!"
As she turned away in anger, his heart dropped and, in his haste to catch her, he tripped, falling on his knees. Yet, he managed to catch her hand, that he gripped with both of his.
"Oh, sweet ghost, queen of my living hell, my darling dame blanche, don't leave. Scarlett! Haunt me, just a little more. I have wronged you so, and I await my punishment."
She turned back, looking at him with narrowed eyes and he almost smirked, not insensitive to the dramatic scene he was making. Yet, it seemed she had no such humor, as she tried to escape him once again.
"You're drunk and saying nonsense. Let me go."
He relented, kissing her knuckles and pressing it on his chest.
"So I am, my darling, my wife, my soul, and I'm thankful for that if it means I can see you…"
She sighed, irritated, yet with pink glowing on her cheeks.
"Enough with the endearments, let's get you to bed."
He stared at her, raised on his feet and nodded, his eyes suddenly twinkling with a mixture of drunken curiosity and desire as he considered it.
"Oh, yes, I'll get you to bed. Can a ghost be kissed? be loved? Well, I shall certainly try…"
"Whaa…"
Yet, she could not continue for he pulled her to him, his lips catching hers in a frenzy he could not control.
Oh, how could he forget the softness of these lips, their tender shape against his, opening for him with so few efforts? How could he forget the sensual pressure of it, begging for more, and promising more? How could he forget that body, slim yet curvaceous, the feeling of it pressed against him as he put his arms around her?
"Your skin is warm…" He said between his kisses. "Had death loved you so much that it did not want you to be cold? Here… Let me love you. Let your poor husband get warm in your embrace. He has been cold for too long without you. He had missed you so…"
Not bearing anymore the flash of her eyes that was breaking his heart with a love that threatened to burst from his chest, he turned her and pressed her back against him, his lips grazing the roots of her hair, from temple to the lobe of her ear, in fervent kisses. She gasped and struggled a little against his grip.
Oh, it seemed he was holding a little bird between his palm, nervous and defiant! He feared to crush her if he held her too tight, or that she flew away from him if the hold was loose. How he wanted to embrace her tightly against him, to mark her as his and erase the ban death had put on her!
Yet it was not to be if he wanted to keep her, he realized, so he refrained the animal in him that wanted to take and fight and focused on what he felt he could control with more efficiency.
With fiddling fingers, he found himself combing the glistening threads of the black silk of her hair, gathering them in a tight braid. He counted each strand, carving them into memory, yet it felt not nearly enough with the intoxicating scent of her teasing his nostrils. His voice was thick and warm on her ear, and it seemed his heart was hanging on every word with a painful longing he could not repress.
"Craved you so…"
She stayed still. Softly, delicately, she tilted her head to his side, looking at him askance, bright cat's eyes lightening in the night. He pulled the hair lightly, shaking his head. In his belly, a demon roared and raged, purred and pleaded, trapped in a fragile cage.
"Rhett…"
She shivered, her upper lip slightly quivering when his palms grazed her shoulder, the braid done. He shook his head, laying his forehead on the back of her head, kissing the top of it and crossing his arms around her.
"Oh, my dear… Please, do not wake me from that dream…"
After a time, he felt her relax against him, a soft sigh leaving her lips.
Tenderly yet firmly, he took off each layer that covered his love, and kissed her all over, vanquishing her resistance, to worship her like he had always prevented himself to, for fear she would see it as an act of weakness, until she was left shaking and crying. It broke the silence, a delicious melody to his ears. He sighed.
"I love you…"
"Oh, Rhett!"
"Yes, say my name… I love you…"
Oh, how the view was sweet! Quivering lips and rosy cheeks, and deep, deep emerald sea glinting back at him! The smooth, pure cream of her skin, glinting in the moonlight only for his eyes to see, only for his hands to touch…
"Rhett…! I love… I love…"
"Sshhh… I know, honey. I know…." He caressed her cheek, overwhelmed by the hazy fever in her eyes. Trembling with desire, he kissed the sweet bud of her lips and gathered her against him, burying his nose on the crook of her neck. Yes, magnolia, rosewater… maybe a little hint of jasmine. And something a little salty and earthy, but that wasn't displeasing to his nostrils… Could it be the clay of Tara? Had the good, red earth of Tara given back an envelope to the soul that had loved it so? "Oh, I can't live without you…"
He intertwined their fingers and kissed it. Oh, it seemed all so true, these fingers that he was gripping, and for a moment, he could believe she was truly by his side.
He sighed in longing agony and embraced her tighter. She was warm against him, warm and palpable, yet he knew it couldn't be. How could it be? His mind had been playing tricks on him for too long, and yet, he wanted to keep plunging into that dream, into that illusion, and heaven and hell be damned. All that he wanted, all that he loved, all of it was gathered in his arms, for they were two creatures tied to one another by the same thread, heart against heart, skin against skin. It felt like no mortal love, inconstant and pliable. It was a feeling of eternity, a peace after the darkness of war and he wanted to hold on to it a little longer.
"It will soon be over, my love. Soon, we'll be together."
Her lashes fluttered leisurely, her lips still frozen on a half hazy smile.
"Mmm… What?"
"They will come to Tara. And I'll make them stop," He nuzzled her ear with his nose, closing his eyes. "Olsen is already lurking around the corners, trying to set the house on fire…."
He felt her stiffen in his arms, her eyes widening as she looked closely at his face.
"You…" She tried to escape from his arms, yet his arms were too strong, too tight. "What have you done?"
He shook his head, not willing to open his eyes.
"Sshh… No, please, my sweet ghost… Stay a little longer…"
"Rhett…" He heard her whisper, pleading, urging. He tightened his embrace, gripping the braid he made like a chain that would prevent her from slipping away.
"The night isn't over yet… Please… Don't leave me again in the dark, Scarlett…"
His voice was on the verge of breaking, so tight was that lump in his throat that had formed insidiously at the threat of her disappearing again before his eyes. She said nothing more, did not struggle anymore. She went still, a little tense maybe, yet she was there and he could imagine her pulse, quick like a rabbit's, on his skin. His muscles relaxed, at peace, and he pulled her closer to him.
When he woke up, his fist was tightly gripping a braid of straight black hair. Freshly cut.
There had been no dream. No haunting. No imagination, nor delirium.
Scarlett was very much alive. And she had visited him.