Five Things That Never Happened to Ashley Wilkes

Act 2: The bell invites me (ii.I)

January 15, 1864

Morton's Ford, Virginia

Dear Captain Butler,

I have recently felt compelled to write to you and extend my thanks for your kindness in calling on me when I was in Atlanta. It is always pleasant to sit and talk with old friends; so much more so when surrounded by the comforts of home. How easy it is, at those times, to forget the dirty business of war.

At present our battalion is still in Virginia, camped on the Rapidan River at a place called Morton's Ford. As I recall from our conversation, you may be personally familiar with this area. It is indeed as lovely as you said. You were also right about the winters in Virginia; the snow here is deep and the nights are very cold. We have need of so many things: most especially Cornmeal, Bacon, and basic medical supplies. How I wish that I could somehow procure these necessities for our men. Speculators have driven the prices of food so high in the Shenandoah Valley that it is difficult to find what we need even though we do have the Means by which to pay for it.

I shall look forward to seeing you again when next I come to Atlanta; I hope that not too much time shall pass before then. I am interested in hearing more of your thoughts on Macbeth.

Most Sincerely,

Major George Ashley Wilkes, C.S.A.

***

January 23, 1864

The Walker House, Petersburg, Virginia

My Dear Major Wilkes,

I am pleased to inform you that your letter arrived just in time yesterday as I was preparing to leave Richmond. Fate must certainly be on your side, as I would otherwise not have received your correspondence for several more weeks. There are some business matters I have to attend to here in Petersburg and elsewhere. To be delayed of the opportunity to read such a heartfelt missive would have wounded me deeply!

Your memory of our conversation is correct. I am quite familiar with the area in which you are wintering. In fact, if you wish to enjoy a bit of local color during your stay in this fair State, a longtime associate of mine owns a vineyard in Andersonville, approx. 10 miles South of where you are. The vineyard is not very active with winemaking in the winter, but the door is always open to visitors. I am sure it would please my friend greatly if such a gentleman as you were to call on him. I shall write to him immediately after finishing this letter, so that he may anticipate your coming. The first Sunday of the month is generally the best day to call.

I, too, look forward to continuing our conversation. All my best to Mrs. Wilkes,

Rhett K. Butler

***

"I don't think we should take the horses inside," Ashley shouted, trying to be heard over the howling wind. He wanted to tighten the ropes that were holding the tarpaulin over the bed of the wagon, but the knots were frozen solid – he would have to leave it as it was, and trust that everything would hold through the storm. He knew Rhett had accepted far less than a speculator's normal price in payment for these goods, but even so the meager amount of money he had managed to scrape together from the troops had barely purchased enough food and medicine to get them through the rest of the winter. Still, he knew they would be far better off than many others in the coming weeks.

"It's not fit out here for man or beast! God isn't going to mind," Rhett shouted back, unhitching the draft horse from the wagon and forcing his way forward through the knee-deep snow and up the stairs of the little church. The front door opened easily when Rhett thrust his wide shoulders against it, and horse and man disappeared inside. Rhett's insistence on making the journey back from Andersonville with him – having two men in a wagon made it less likely to be a target of thieves - had been an unexpected boon for Ashley. It had been nice to have someone to talk with on the ride, someone that wasn't a soldier just waiting to be killed or sent home, wondering if his girl had found another beau, wondering if his father had been able to get the crops in without help. Rhett was full of exciting news from all over the south, all over the world in fact, and the journey had been a pleasant one until the weather took a bad turn in the late afternoon.

Ashley looked behind him for a moment – the path they had made through the snow was already drifting over, and the heavily falling snow showed no sign of abating. The sudden Nor'Easters, as the locals called them, were unpredictable and could be deadly if a man was caught out too far from shelter. And nightfall was coming on fast. It still felt wrong to take animals into a church, blizzard or no blizzard, but he knew Rhett was right. He unhitched Rhett's horse from the back of the wagon and led it inside.

Rhett stood just within the entryway, stamping the snow from his boots. He looked up as Ashley came in. "It's been a long time since I went to church on a Sunday," he said dryly. "I half expect the whole place to come down around our ears."

Even in the dim light, Ashley could see the place was abandoned. It smelled of dust; there were no candles at the alter, and no hymnals among the pews, some of which were overturned. He brushed a cobweb away from the door frame. "Let's see if there's a rectory attached – it might have a fireplace."

***

There was indeed a small living area in the back of the church, a cozy little room with a fireplace, a water basin, a writing desk and chair, and the remnants of what had probably been a sleeping cot. They were able to put together a decent fire using what was left of the absent parson's small store of wood, keeping the door closed to trap the heat in the room, and they had a fairly nice meal of smoked pork, dried apples and bread from Rhett's saddlebag. They had nothing to spare for the horses, but they melted snow in the water basin and left it for them right outside the door of the room.

As night fell, Ashley lay on the worn hearthrug with arms outstretched, the tips of his fingers almost brushing the outside of Rhett's thigh. Rhett sat warming his back against the stone of the hearth as he puffed on a cigar, idly blowing the smoke up the chimney. The wind continued to blow outside the thin walls, shaking the building with sudden gusts, but Ashley hardly noticed. Between the fire, the meal, and the dusty bottle of wine they'd scavenged from the parson's desk, he felt pleasantly warm and drowsy-eyed for the first time in many weeks.

He tipped the bottle up to drink the last drops, but Rhett snatched the empty vessel from his hands.

"Major Wilkes, I believe you're drunk. Spending time with me seems to be having a negative influence on your character. You should be more careful."

"I'm not worried," Ashley murmured. His tongue felt thick around the words, but there was a soothing glow in his belly. He looked at Rhett's upside-down face and grinned lazily. Somewhere on the other side of the door, one of the horses sneezed.

"Shouldn't you be?" Rhett asked in a teasing tone, tossing the stub of his cigar into the fireplace, his black eyes glittering in the firelight. "I'm a wicked, wicked man."

"By the pricking of my thumbs," Ashley began, but started laughing before he could finish.

Rhett laughed too, shifting closer, leaning toward him. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he smirked. And then just like that, his mouth was on Ashley's, in a dizzying kiss that was tart with the taste of tobacco and stolen wine.

When Ashley was six years old, he'd gone fishing with the Tarleton boys, and Brent, play-fighting, had accidentally knocked him into the pond. He could still remember the shock of it, the sensation of being underwater, how the liquid had rushed into his ears and dulled all sound to a thickened roar. His eyes had been open, but the light slanting down through the murky green water hadn't helped him get his bearings, and for a few terrifying seconds he thought he would drown. He clung tightly to his fishing pole, the only solid thing in the world, until Jim Tarleton had pulled him out by the feet, choking and gasping for breath.

Now, he was drowning again, and the only thing he could cling to was the body of the man pressing against him. What the hell are you doing, Ashley tried to say, but it came out as a moan that Rhett swallowed with his open mouth. Rhett must have taken that as positive encouragement, because he shifted around quickly, still kissing Ashley, so that they lay side by side.

As Rhett's lips and then his tongue continued their exploration of his mouth, and the wine buzzed pleasantly around in his bloodstream, Ashley tugged at buttons until he could slide his hand inside Rhett's shirt. He brushed his hand over Rhett's ribcage, and was startled when he felt something strange there. He pulled away, half sitting up, tugging the shirt open as far as he could. Rhett laughed at him; Rhett had surely been laughing at him the whole time, but at the moment, Ashley was genuinely too drunk to care.

A raised white scar traveled across Rhett's ribs in a fluid line and then turned down toward his muscular abdomen. A memory came fleetingly to Ashley's clouded mind, idle gossip from years ago: knife fight, California, gold fields, nearly died. He heard the sharp intake of Rhett's breath as he lightly traced the length of the scar with curious fingers. It was fascinating, exotic. The way to dusty death. It made Rhett - tall, muscular, and seemingly impenetrable –suddenly appear as fragile as the rest of mankind. He felt the rippling of muscles under his hands as Rhett failed to suppress a shudder. And he noticed that Rhett wasn't laughing any more.

Swearing softly, Rhett pulled him back down for another kiss, this one deeper and more insistent, drawing the breath out of his lungs until he thought he might faint. Then Ashley was flat on his back again, writhing inside his skin like a thousand snakes as Rhett's teeth scraped against the stubble on his throat. He was taller than Ashley and heavier, stronger. Ashley couldn't breathe, and raised his hands to push him off, but Rhett grabbed his wrists and held them still, pressed firmly against the floor.

Ashley's mind whispered danger, danger as he lay pinned to the floor, and indeed, Rhett Butler was a dangerous man. As tricky as a cat; one minute purring softly by the fireplace, the next sinking sharp teeth into the breast of a screaming songbird.

Now it was Rhett's turn to tug at the buttons of Ashley's shirt. He let go of Ashley's wrists to tear aside the newspaper that had been stuffed inside to keep the wind off of his skin. His mouth burned a hot trail down Ashley's bare chest, the whiskers of his black mustache tickling along the ridge of muscles criss-crossing Ashley's lean belly, to the waistline of his breeches which were now coming undone under Rhett's strong fingers. But when Ashely tensed at this intrusion, Rhett paused, coiled like a spring, and waited.

Ashley lay very still for a moment with his eyes closed and thought that maybe he should fight Rhett. He should say no, stop before things went any farther. But he now had Rhett's full attention, and he knew that once that was upon him, it wasn't something he could ever fully escape.

As a soldier, Ashley was no stranger to the things that men could do with one another. Some of the rougher men under his command told jokes and stories that would have made even the most jaded whore turn bright red with embarrassment. Ashley himself had heard muffled groans and scuffling sounds occasionally coming from the tents after the lights went out.

It wasn't as if he didn't understand the reasons why such things happened. These were young men, far from their wives and their pastors, tense before battle, the smell of death hanging over them heavy in the air like a sickening fog. They might seek a physical release from that fear, looking for distraction in each other's bodies. Ashley had always turned away from that path, preferring to write letters or read alone in his tent until sleep overtook him. But sometimes, he would settle his own hand between his legs and thrust quietly into his own palm until he climaxed, letting the anxiety and tension drain away for just a few moments of lonely peace.

Ashley knew that if he opened his eyes and looked up he would see that the snow had ended and the moonlight was shining through the stained glass windows, the ones which told the story of Lazarus. Lazarus who had died, was dead for four days; Jesus had raised him, awakening dead flesh through the power of His will, calling his name and touching Lazarus' hand, touching him …

There was no danger, no impending death in the church where they lay, silent except for their ragged breaths and the occasional snap of the fire. There was nothing but warmth and wine, skin on skin, seeking lips and hard fingers. There was only Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler and the clear glass eyes of Lazarus, looking down upon them, holy, accusing.

He kept his eyes closed, and by way of acquiescence, laid his hand gently on the back of Rhett's tousled black head.

Ashley gasped as the heat of Rhett's mouth enveloped him, bit his swollen lips to keep from crying out as his body surged shamelessly in response. Melanie had never touched him like this, would never dream of touching him like this. She always pulled the sheets up to her neck and blushed shyly as he came to their bed, and he always put out the light for her, and oh God he couldn't think of his wife. He didn't want to see her face or remember how soft and white her skin was, now, in the midst of his betrayal. His head rolled back, spinning faster with heat and wine and desire and the ache of need, and he clung to the edge of control or maybe it was just the edge of the hearthrug with shaking fingers while his back arched and he failed to hold back the whimpering sounds that tore from his throat.

Rhett's strong hand was on his hip, guiding him, holding him fast as his bones melted like snow. The fire was hot, too hot, but Rhett's touch was hotter as the other hand moved to ruck up the hem of Ashley's shirt and slide across his sweat-slicked chest to brush across his nipples. The added sensation was overwhelming, and Ashley cried out as he spasmed into Rhett's mouth. Shame flooded through him, mixed with the exquisite pleasure, but Rhett did not move away, swallowing everything down with a pleased hum.

Ashley lay panting for a moment, all of his nerves tingling as Rhett crawled up to rest beside him again. Ashley looked over at the older man as he lay there, stretched out on his back, eyes closed, head pillowed on top of his crossed arms. He could see the bulge at the front of Rhett's breeches, and although he had very little experience in these matters, he felt as though perhaps it would be proper, in this kind of situation, for a gentleman to reciprocate.

He sat up slightly, leaned over and began to undo the fastenings of Rhett's pants with one hand. At this, Rhett's eyes snapped open, and his stare was penetrating.

"That isn't necessary," he drawled. "I took advantage of your inebriated state, and you were gentleman enough to allow it. Despite your general opinion of me, I don't expect anything in return."

Ashley didn't know what to say to that, and anyway he couldn't tell if Rhett was being serious or sarcastic, so he said nothing. Instead he took firm hold of Rhett's erection and began to stroke up and down the length of it with his hand, the way he would have done to his own. Rhett's breathing quickened, and he made no further protest, so Ashley kept right on going with even, rhythmic strokes. Rhett began to move his hips slightly in the same rhythm, pushing gently up to meet his hand. It wasn't long before Rhett went completely still, groaning softly as he spilled hot and sticky and wet all over Ashley's hand.

They remained still for a moment, then Ashley withdrew his hand, wiping it dry on the discarded newspaper that lay nearby. When he turned back, Rhett had fastened up his clothes and rolled over on his side, his breathing slow and even. Relieved that there would be no awkward conversation, Ashley too lay down and quickly drifted off to sleep.

***

Morning brought with it a dull ache in Ashley's head that threatened to ruin an otherwise perfectly good night's rest. He lay still as long as he could, fighting off wakefulness until the stamping of a horse nearby brought with it the sudden memory of exactly where he was, and exactly what he had been doing before falling asleep.

Ashley opened his eyes with some trepidation, but the floor next to him was empty. He got up slowly, so as not to make the ache in his head any worse, and made his way to one of the small windows behind the desk. The morning sky was clear after the previous day's storm, the sun bright and blinding on the hard white surface of the snow. To his surprise, he saw several curls of smoke rising above the trees, coming from someplace not too far distant. It must be the Confederate encampment, he realized with a start. They had spent the night only a mile or so from where they had been going in the first place.

A noise from behind made him turn around. Rhett was standing by the door, pulling on his heavy black overcoat. When he spoke, he looked boldly into Ashley's eyes, and gave no indication that he felt any of the nervousness or shame that was coursing through every one of Ashley's veins.

"I thought it would be rude to leave before you woke up," he said casually. "But I've got four days to get back to Richmond, and this snow isn't going to lend me any speed. I trust you can find your own way from here." He gave Ashley a little mock bow as he opened the door. "The bell invites me," he said, and then in a swirl of dark wool, he was gone.

Ashley waited until the sounds of Rhett's horse had faded into the distance before sitting down and putting his head in his hands. Later, he very carefully avoided looking up at the stained glass windows as he packed up, hitched the horse to the wagon and set out for the army camp.

It wasn't until that afternoon, as he was helping unload boxes of supplies from the wagon, that Ashley noticed where Rhett's fingers had pressed bruises into the skin of his wrists. He pulled the cuffs of his gloves down over them and pretended they didn't exist. And if, over the next day or two, any of the other men noticed their Major's new habit of worrying absentmindedly at his sleeves, at least they didn't mention it.

A few days later Ashley rode out on a scouting mission, and didn't come back.