Tara.

The first Tara was nothing more than a field of dreams and ghosts of the past. To be sure, the folk still visited and mourned the great loss.

But time moved on... and so had...

XxX

The second Tara was nought more than a dilapidated house surrounded by fields of untamed soil and hope.

Hope for the future.

Hope that one day it would rise against its tormentors, the humble weed and stray broken tools that had once been proud to say, I helped sustain the mighty Tara.

The land yearned to be fertile and grow. It longed to feel the wheel against its back or hear the horse thud along, making its presence known. Her former master called her a curse because he was unwilling to do the work himself and did not have the means to hire someone to help cultivate the land into the great plantation of old.

So, he chose to throw the land away... on a bet.

XxX

When Gerald O'Hara first set foot on this piece of Georgia soil in 1824, he knew he was home. The red earth had called to his soul much the same as the soil of his homeland would. By night, it was his siren's call that he had to ignore for fear of the Orangemen that would surely strengthen his neck, should he ever trespass there once more on the emerald isle.

The house itself had two floors. The first having sufficient space for a kitchen, dining room, family room and study. The second offered three reasonably sized beds. As the youngest of eight, most of them being brothers, Tara was a mansion. For now, Gerald was content to buy any furniture that his neighbours kindly advised him would benefit his situation as a Gentleman.

He did not realise that they were slowly chipping away all his peasant-like attributes so that he could fit in with their society. Or perhaps he was clever enough to realise it but not hold it against them?

XxX

At night he would lie dreaming of the day when Tara would be as it should be.

There would be a long drive way, where he would ride up on a beautiful and proud black stallion and admire the cotton that would dance in the wind.

Just like at a ball.

The cotton would bow to their partners then prepare to waltz through the night, taking turns to liven up the atmosphere with a hearty Irish jig.

Ah, t'would be a grand sight for all to see. And what a thing to tell Ma, Gerald chuckled to himself, Old Katie Scarlett's baby a fine and dandy landowner.

XxX

Gerald's plight from Ireland resulted in a fight between the landlord's overseer and himself. That bastard Orangeman had not only tried to evacuate the O'Hara's, but he had raised his fist at his Old ma. In truth, Katie Scarlett would have decked the man himself, for even thinking that he could take advantage of a woman but the O'Hara rage had formed a red mist and his fist had knocked the blighter down dead. His ma had told him to run and not to stop.

He had managed to work his passage to Savannah, where his two eldest brothers were living. They had allowed him to become partner in their firm and all might have stayed like that had it not been for that poker game.

Gerald was well on his way to calling it a night when a middle-aged man slumped into the bar-room. He had been to the bank to ask for a loan and had been rejected. The barman clucked his tongue when Gerald asked for a whiskey for the man. ''Make sure it's Irish. There's naw't better." The evening which had been a drag had begun to pick up. Gerald, who was a very generous man, had bought a few rounds by the time he discovered that the route of all his troubles was a plantation in North Georgia. The man had inherited it but having no interest and a lack of funds, the chance to be his own master had become a burden rather than a dream.

"Tell me lad, do you play poker?"

XxX

It's a blessing when men walk into a bar with enough money for a few drinks, only to walk out the proud owner of a slave. Gerald had recently acquired his very own body slave, a fine young man by the name of Pork. It's a miracle when the same man walks into the same bar-room and leaves one plantation the richer. Southerners disliked gambling. Of course it was one of those things that they accepted that a bachelor liked to pass the time with. But that didn't mean they had to like it. James and Andrew were downright petrified when they heard of their youngest brother's latest antics. And with their money too! Gerald was blissfully unaware of their protests when he took that train to Jonesboro to meet the man who would take him to his new home.

Tara.

Whilst it could never be described as an architect's dream, it certainly had a charm of its own. The original building consisted of two floors. Gerald had never bought it for its white-washed walls, but the land. Oh the land. Acres of red soil aching for cultivation and nutrition. For what was the use of land if not to produce sustenance or to represent Mother Nature's continuous efforts? Gerald had missed the green hills of Ireland. To be sure, the city life was grand, but he was a country man in his heart and if he could have his own piece of it, why, he wouldn't need much more for the rest of his life. After leaving Ireland all those years ago, he was finally home!