Reparations
Chapter One
MAY 1876
ABOARD THE BRIAN BORU
Sometimes she felt like this was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Harder than fleeing Atlanta during Sherman's raid. Harder than shooting that Yankee deserter: she had done that in self preservation. Harder than witnessing Pa's, or Bonnie's, or Melly's, or Charles's, or even Colum's deaths. Harder than Cat's birth: there had been joy there, from the pain. Even harder than telling Rhett of his daughter's existence. This was a new terror, not an old one.
She was returning to Charleston and the accusing eyes of Charlestonian high society. The tough exterior she had cultivated from horrible life experiences had been stripped away by the gentle, unexpected love of her little daughter. This love had changed Scarlett, undoubtedly. It had left her damn vulnerable.
Scarlett's little family was making the two week journey back to America in a comfortable suite aboard the Brian Boru. The suite had three chambers- two bedrooms and a living quarter for breakfast and such. They were spacious and lavish, almost too lavish for the recently simplified tastes of Scarlett. No matter how many times she was hailed as the toast of the Season, whether in Dublin or in London, Ireland had changed Scarlett's extravagant tastes for good. Probably for the better.
"Have you written to your mother?"
"Hm?" responded Rhett absently as he watched Cat play doctor to the big china doll she had gotten for her second birthday.
"Have you written to your mother? About us?" repeated Scarlett from her writing table. Ashley and Harriet had sent a picture of their tiny blonde daughter, Melanie Claire, who had been born the month before. "Can you believe she calls herself Hattie now?" giggled Scarlett.
"Yes, I suppose I can believe it. I haven't met the second Mrs. Wilkes as of yet," smiled Rhett. "And as for my mother... I told her that I was returning from Ireland and would be there sometime next week."
"So no mention of me... or of Cat?"
"I thought a little surprise would be a good in our... how shall I say it... delicate situation. It would be one hell of a mess to try to explain any of this to Mother via my telegram."
"So you get to tell her face to face."
"We get to tell her, my pet." Scarlett shuttered a little bit. "What, are you afraid of Mother?" teased Rhett gently.
"I love Miss Eleanor, I really do, and I've told you that," she countered, "but the whole situation is a little crazy. Cat, sweetheart, do mama a favor and fetch the papers from my black bag." The child bobbed her head and abandoned her doll.
"You really are afraid," said Rhett, "if it's so bad that you would send Cat away." She nodded, and he laid his hands heavily on her shoulders. They were warm, and strong, and for that moment, at least that moment, she thanked God that she had given him the one thing he loved most in this world. Even if she could have no more children, at least they would have Cat. Cat to bind them together when things got rough again. Like they should have had Bonnie.
She hadn't told him. There was so much left to tell him. Bitter things, like that she couldn't give him any more babies, and how much it still hurt her that he had pushed her away. Happy things, like how Cat's face was so brown Scarlett still thought of her as her little pirate baby, and how she had been able to meet her namesake, her grandmother, when she never thought she would see that day. Suddenly Scarlett felt overwhelmed with these memories. His face was on her neck, breathing heavy on her, and she panicked, pushing his hands from her shoulders. "No."
"What's wrong, my love?" Rhett said, huskily.
"I'm sorry," she faltered, "I just can't." She turned away and shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Cat, honey, where are you?"
"Here, Mama," giggled the little voice from the next room.
"Oh, Cat, what are you doing?" said Scarlett, shriller than she intended. The child was surrounded in the papers, finding it more fun to fling them than to bring them to her mother. Holding back the bubble of anger and annoyance that was building inside of her, she coaxed, "Why don't you go with Rhett on deck and see if you can spot land yet."
"America," she said plainly.
"Yes. Do you remember what it looked like? Remember, we went with Bridie to see Maureen and Jamie in Savannah." Rhett developed a pained expression, but Scarlett failed to notice it.
She puckered her forehead. "No."
"Yes, Cat, darling. Now go find your boots so mama can help you with them." Cat nodded vigorously and made haste to her own bedroom.
"I'll tell you something, Rhett Butler, your daughter sure knows how to make a mess," said Scarlett sourly as she stooped to reclaim the papers. "Makes me miss having servants. But it's just as well; I could use the exercise, cooped up inside this silly old boat. It's really not like sailing at all," she jibed.
He ignored the reference. "Scarlett, you know it's raining. I'm sure it would be no fun for Cat to stand out in the weather to look for something she won't find for another week."
"It's raining?" said Scarlett as she peeked out of the small porthole window. "No it's not, Rhett. That's more of a mist." She turned to him with a fierce expression. "Do you think my good Irish baby is bothered by a little damp weather? That's no Mid-Atlantic storm, or even a good sea breeze. It's maybe drizzle at most. Honestly, Rhett," she huffed.
"Well, as long as she's got your gumption then I suppose it will be all right for me to take her out. But what will you do while we're gone, my dear?"
"I don't know, Rhett, just reorganize these papers, and then try to write a letter to Suellen for Wade and Ella. I figure they'd be happy to meet a new sister."
"You mean your own children don't know where you've been for the past five years?"
"Not any more than you did, Rhett. I couldn't risk it- you finding out where I was, that is. I'm not a bad mother, I'm not. I made every plan for them to come join me at Ballyhara until I saw how happy they were at Tara. In fact, the only people besides Henry Hamilton that know where I've been are my O'Hara cousins in Savannah."
"Come on, Rhett," said Cat's small voice impatiently. Rhett flinched. He did this every time he heard Cat's insistent little voice that sounded like Bonnie's only with a touch of brogue. The fact that she still called him 'Rhett' and not 'Daddy' only added to this pain. Despite Miss Eleanor's prediction that another baby would fix the hole in his heart, Cat seemed only to widen this hole.
"Wait a moment, Cat; I need to do your boots." Little Cat stood regally while her mother crouched down to use the buttonhook. Rhett found himself snickering at the way Cat had taken to lording over her mother of late. The tension was eased, at least for that moment.
Rhett and his small companion left the suite, each trying to best each other in their exiting flourishes. Scarlett chuckled patronizingly, and returned to the task of sorting her papers.
Among them was a large, unopened envelope in a familiar, firm hand. Scarlett had desperately avoided opening the letter, and had put it off for a week now with a great deal of guilt. She had received it in Galway, from a man that she knew not by name but by reputation as a Fenian. I guess I have to do this, she thought, and tore it open with shaking fingers.
Scarlett aroon,
You can never know how much it pains me to place my pencil to this paper and bare my soul to you. At least I know that you will never know the falsehoods I have had to tell you, for your own good, until I am gone to God. I must assume that you know now that when I claimed that all Fenian activity in Ballyhara had ceased, I only said that to make all of this a little easier for you, Scarlett darling. It was a lie, and a terrible one for any man, much less a priest.
Now that I am gone, for I must surely be gone, I want to confess something besides my lies. I have loved you more than an "almost-brother," more than any priest should love a woman. Truth be told, I am smitten with you, though I dare not confess it to your face. I never expected it, never wanted it. It nearly drove me to insanity, this unwanted, unprovoked love. From what you've told me, I'm not the first poor lost soul to fall to your Siren's gaze. I may take comfort in that.
I wanted you to know that so that you would never doubt that I always did what was best for you when I could. Ireland came first, and you understood that. At least you did when you gave us your money for our cause.
Enclosed with this letter are a few sheets from Uncle Daniel's bible, which was passed on to me. They provide an accurate listing of the O'Hara family two hundred years back from our grandfather, Old Katie Scarlett's husband. I hope that you notice that I have added your sister Suellen's children as well as your own children to the tree. The next time anyone, Charlestonian or otherwise, questions your bloodline, you might proudly prove to them that the O'Haras are truly descendents of the kings of Ireland.
So dear, darling Cousin Katie Scarlett, I bid you farewell, and hope that this final letter finds you and my goddaughter Cat in good health and a safe home.
Yours always,
Colum
"Oh, oh, my poor Colum," sniffed Scarlett as she broke down into her pillow. I never guessed, not in a million years, that he felt anything towards me except friendship and loyalty. Poor Colum! She scrambled for the envelope and withdrew several sheets of yellowed vellum, each scrawled in pencil with various O'Hara hands the names of her ancestors. And her descendents. In Colum's familiar hand, beneath 'Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler' was "Wade Hampton,' 'Ella Lorena,' 'Eugenia Victoria "Bonnie",' and 'Katie Colum "Cat".'
I'll copy them, she thought, into a nice ledger, so that I can show them even when the vellum is illegible. "Oh, what a wonderful gift you've left me, Colum," she said out loud. She looked good and close at the first entries. "They're in Gaelic," she murmured, disappointed. "And nobody I know even speaks that, much less reads it. Oh, bother it all, I'll copy the symbols the best I can, and nobody will be the wiser."
Suddenly Scarlett felt as though a new burden had settled on her shoulders, replacing the fear of returning to Charleston. She realized for the first time now that she was exhausted. "I'll sort it all out tomorrow," she decided, barely able to place Colum's letter and the bible pages back into the envelope before she collapsed into a dark and fitful sleep.
It was a quarter past six o'clock before Rhett and Cat returned to the suite, armed with a dinner of fried bass and grilled vegetables. Mrs. Rooney, neé O'Shea, cast a withering glance when she heard the duo marching down the hall, humming for all to hear, "Peg in a Low Back'd Car." Cat had the sense to cover her laughs with her hand, but her father gawfed out loud.
Some Irish-Americans, including Mrs. Rooney, found it all right to visit Ireland but totally inappropriate to bring it back with them.
"Mama!" squalled Cat, her hands full with the basket of bread. There was no response, so she tried again, "Mama!"
"Scarlett!" added Rhett to the bellowing. Both fully expected for Scarlett to pop out her room, red faced, and mutter something about "keeping quiet in public."
Still no Scarlett, he thought. Well, if she refuses to come to us, we'll come to her. "Come on, Cat, let's find your mother." But Cat refused to go any farther than the doorway.
"Mama sleep. Cat doesn't want to bother," she declared, and crossed her arms.
"Scarlett," whispered Rhett softly, shaking her arms. "Scarlett, come on, it isn't like you to take a nap before supper."
Scarlett woke with a gasp and a squeak. "Don't," she hissed, pulling away from his touch.
Rhett backed off. Then he slammed the door. "Now you tell me what's the matter," he said loudly. "Are you so repulsed by me?"
"No, it's..."
"Just last week you were caterwauling about how much you loved me. Now I can't even touch you without you cringing. Even when you were desperately in love with your stupid honorable Mr. Wilkes, you still let me touch you. In fact, the only time you ever refused me was when-" suddenly he was aware of Cat's presence in the other room. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "It was when you didn't want any more children." His dark eyes were searching her face, desperately looking for reaction to his words. He didn't find what he was looking for, and his face twisted back into its mask of dark rage.
Scarlett's face was also a mask, but it was harder to read than his rage. It was blank, expressionless, emotionless, tired. Only her eyes showed her true feelings of hurt and bitter disappointment. "I can't," she said dully.
"Can't what?"
She took a breath. "I can't have any more children."
"What?" he asked cautiously.
"I'm like Melly now, I guess. I want them but I can't have them."
"How do you know?" he asked faintly, his eyes grasping for truth in her words.
"Cat's birth... took everything from me. Between the fall and her being born, my insides are too damaged."
"So," he sucked in breath.
"Getting pregnant could kill me."
His breathing turned loud, shaky. "And you know for certain?"
"Cat is my last child. I wanted, needed to tell you, but I didn't know how you would take it."
"What do you mean?" he said harshly, feeling as though she had slapped him in the face.
"You love children. I wasn't sure you'd marry me again if you knew that I couldn't give you any more."
His eyes turned gentle, chastising: "Scarlett, I watched Anne struggle with two pregnancies. I watched her die desperate to give me a child. My son only lived for four days, Scarlett. In those four days I realized that I would rather the mother live than for me to be proud papa to twenty children."
She gave a small cry when he swooped down on her and held her crushing against his body. "Thank you," she whispered into his shoulder as she let a few nervous tears splash onto his sleeves.
Scarlett stood in front of the tri-mirror and admired her new evening gown. It was a daring princess cut bosom done in gold-and-navy striped silk. The sleeves were three-quarter with elegant gold silk puffs, and the train was cleverly narrow below a bustle with a giant navy bow. Rhett had declared it gaudy but had approved the dress nonetheless, on the condition that he choose the other pieces that would create her new wardrobe. Scarlett had quietly mentioned that all of the nice dresses that Daisy Sims had designed for her for the Season had been left behind at Ballyhara and were most likely destroyed by the fire that had claimed the town.
At least Lord Fenton's gigantic pigeon's blood rubies were safe in the care of Mrs. Sims, who would return them to the Earl of Fenton when Scarlett's letter arrived at her home. And as for the spectacular wedding dress that Daisy was making for Scarlett and Luke's wedding, it would still be made and shipped to America. Too bad she wouldn't have the rubies to wear with it, and too bad that the dress wouldn't be finished until after Rhett and Scarlett were quietly remarried.
"Hazel, will you help me with getting out of this dress?" called Scarlett to the dressmaker's servant. How good it is that there is an excellent seamstress aboard the Brian Boru, she thought with a grin. And I suppose the money isn't bad for Mrs. Trawling. Hazel quickly entered the room, her arms full of Scarlett's gowns. Most were in proper ivory, lavender, rose, and dove gray, but there were also a few in bright swatches of color. "My goodness Hazel, Mrs. Trawling must have simply an army of women to make so many in only two weeks!" Scarlett gushed, feeling like a young child in a confectioner's shop.
"Well, ma'am, there are dozens of young Irish girls in third class that are paying their way to America by working for Mrs. Trawling."
"Yourself included, Hazel?"
"No, ma'am, I am Mrs. Trawling's full time apprentice," explained the girl, whose voice could distinctly be recognized as English.
"Well, I'm glad that I could help those girls get to America."
"They're very grateful, ma'am. They spend hours talking about what sort of woman could afford twenty new dresses." Hazel blushed. "I apologize, ma'am, it was not my place to repeat gossip."
"Nonsense, Hazel, I don't mind. In fact, I would love to meet some of these girls before we dock tomorrow."
Hazel nervously lead Scarlett down several flights of stairs and a ladder or two until they came to a locked gate. "What is this here for, Hazel?" asked Scarlett innocently.
The girl shuttered at the question, then answered as kindly as she could, "It's to keep the bottom classes from going out on deck and mingling with the first class passengers."
Scarlett frowned sharply. "What if the boat ran into trouble and we needed to 'abandon ship,' as they say?"
"They would keep the gate locked to prevent the third class passengers from getting on the lifeboats before the luxury class."
"Oh my," said Scarlett thinly, regretting ever asking the question. Some things are better left unknown, she thought sadly.
Hazel produced a key, unlocked the gate, and smiled grimly. "Welcome to third class, Mrs. Butler."
Scarlett couldn't keep her mind off the fact that they were somewhere in the belly of the boat. The moan of machinery hardly let her forget it.
"This place is called Steerage, Mrs. Butler."
Scarlett, pale, nodded and clung to a pipe queasily. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to be seasick. It was just so dark and so hot and so foul. The air was stale with the smell of vomit and unwashed bodies. It reminded Scarlett drastically of the hospital during the War, and she had to repress her churning stomach.
Hazel waited patiently for Scarlett to recover herself. She was familiar with the reaction- on every trip there was always some fine lady who wanted to give her thanks in person. In fact, Hazel looked forward to the reaction. Sometimes the lady would find their condition so deplorable that she would send a severe complaint to the steward of the Brian Boru, who would quickly provide clean water and better food for the third classers until the lady was appeased. So, for at least a few days, the low ranks could get the attention they rightfully deserved. But to the rankling of Hazel, and Brian Boru staff like her, the whole thing was quietly hushed when the advocator thought she had made a permanent difference.
Hazel started. Scarlett had been saying something to her. "-always like this?"
"Yes, ma'am. It's like this on every ship Mrs. Trawling and I have ever served on."
Scarlett moaned with pity. My God, if only I could do something! she thought. This was exactly what Hazel had hoped she would think.
They approached the living quarters now. "Do they work here?" asked Scarlett.
"No," responded Hazel, "they would get the clothes all mussed. The lucky ones, the ones that Mrs. Trawling employs, get to work in a large chamber in second class." She unlocked the narrow door to the girls' sleeping compartment. "Here we are."
There were rows upon rows of bunk beds, crammed in so that the isle way was nonexistent. "These girls were lucky, Mrs. Butler. All old enough to work were employed this time. But sometimes there isn't a rich lady looking for a new wardrobe, and all must pay their own way to America. Of the about seventy girls in the third class this voyage, forty-nine were able bodied workers."
Hazel blew a little whistle that hung around her neck with the key. All of the girls sat up from their beds. Some were tiny, no older than Cat, and some were in their late teens, but all were sunk-eyed and scrawny from the sicknesses that passed rampantly through Steerage. "Girls, this is Mrs. Butler."
A ripple of chatter passed through the dark room. Their voices were distinctly Irish. "Oh, hello everyone. I'm Mrs. Butler." Scarlett felt timid all of a sudden.
Hazel took over. "Mrs. Butler has come to giver her thanks to you for the excellent job you did on her gowns." Another ripple of excitement. "Do you have anything you would like to ask her?"
Scarlett started. Hazel had made no mention of the fact that they would be asking her questions. "My name is Casey Shum. Did you like Ireland, Mrs. Butler?" piped up a voice in the back.
After a little hesitation, Scarlett replied, "Ireland was very lovely, Casey."
"My name is Brigid O'Leary. How long did you stay?"
"Eh, four years," said Scarlett slowly.
Brigid again: "Why did you stay so long?"
Scarlett smiled, and for a moment she forgot the deplorable conditions of Steerage and focused in on the memories of Ireland she had cast aside when she boarded the Brian Boru. "I stayed because it was so lovely. And because my family needed me there." A sigh settled through the girls as they too reflected on their homelands.
"My name is Gloria O'Conner." Scarlett's eyes widened as she heard the familiar name. "What part of the country did you stay in?" The child's voice indicated that she was about five. Too old to be Kathleen's. And besides, Colum's sister had had only boys so far.
"Well, Gloria, I bought a town-"
"Bought a town!" interrupted a new voice. "You're a landlord?"
Scarlett felt her blood rising as she struggled to defend herself. "Who am I addressing, please?"
A young woman of about sixteen rolled out of her bunk and stood eye to eye with Scarlett. "Mary O'Conner, Mrs. Butler. I'm bound to be a lady's maid in Charleston to Mrs. Abigail White."
"In Charleston?" A white maid in Charleston? thought Scarlett with disgust. Probably some Yankee woman too afraid of being alone in a room with a darkie.
"Yes, Mrs. Butler, in Charleston, South Carolina. I'm taking my little sister Gloria with me."
"What about the rest of your family, Mary?"
Mary sat back down on the bunk. "My brother Kevin-"
"Kevin O'Conner?" said Scarlett. She hadn't even considered that they could be Kathleen's sisters-in-law.
"Yes, that was his name, God rest his soul." Everyone in the room crossed themselves. Scarlett felt old panic creeping up her spine.
"What happened to him?"
"Well, following the burning of the stables of Sir John Moreland, some English soldiers came into Dunsany and arrested Kevin on charges that he was the, uh, arsonist," she said, struggling with the last word.
"Kevin set the fire?" Suddenly Scarlett felt her loyalties to Sir John, Bart and her loyalties to Kathleen pulling her emotions both ways. If only Kevin hadn't gotten involved! she thought. If only Colum hadn't gotten involved!
"Never!" shouted Mary vehemently, then lowered her voice, "I know my brother very well. He would never do such a horrible thing to innocent creatures. But he confessed to protect his wife and two sons when the English threatened to do something horrible to them. And they hung him, as well as three other men in Dunsany." This last came out in a whisper.
Scarlett stood, frozen, horrified. "What will happen to Kathleen?"
"She has moved farther south towards Galway to stay with some of her new O'Conner relatives. She would have stayed with her own family but their homes and fields were destroyed when Adamstown and Ballyhara went up in flames." Mary's tones were sympathetic and sad. "Most of her family, the O'Haras, were killed when the rest of the village turned on them."
That was the last thing Scarlett heard of Mary's story before the roaring of blood in her ears overwhelmed her. "Mrs. Butler?" squeaked Hazel as Scarlett collapsed in a faint...
There was fire. Fire on the water. She tried desperately to swim away, but her legs were frozen from the cold and her petticoats weighed down her waist. "Rhett, Rhett!" she shrieked desperately, but the familiar strong figure was gone, and she was all alone in the freezing, burning ocean.
No, not alone. "Cat?" she croaked as the figure floated past, bobbing on her back with a smile on her little face, as though she was enjoying a bath.
"Come on, Mama, Cat's ready to play!" giggled the little girl as her head sunk out of view on the crest of a wave.
"No! Cat! Come back!" she screamed, struggling to swim to the spot where her daughter had vanished. The flames were getting closer. The current was pulling her towards the burning water, away from her drowning child.
"Please," she moaned, and turned to face the flames head on as dark shapes loomed within. Why, they were houses, houses burning on the water! Old Katie Scarlett and Colum stood in the doorway of the middle house. "Colum!" she cried, trying to float closer to him. He shook his head, and there was the sound of an explosion. "Colum, no!" she tried, tried to get to him, get his attention.
It was too late, and she sensed doom for all whom she loved. The house exploded in a blast that knocked her back, pushed her under the water.
She was falling, falling under the water and could not breathe. Her arms and legs flailed in vain. I let them down. I killed them, she thought slowly. She could see the fiery brightness above like the sun floating on the surface.
She felt an icy white hand grip hers, saw Melanie's face contort in fear and pain as her black hair whipped around unhindered in the water. The falling slowed, and Scarlett exhaled her last breath. Then it was dark and nothingness.
"She was where?" croaked Rhett as Hazel and Mary lifted Scarlett onto the bed.
"The Steerage," repeated Hazel guiltily. "It was my fault, Captain Butler sir. She wanted to meet the girls that worked so hard on her dresses but instead of me bringing her to their work room I brought her to their living quarters far below..."
The English apprentice continued speaking but Rhett tuned her words out. Scarlett showed no signs of waking up, and Rhett was genuinely worried. Damn that stupid girl for dragging Scarlett down to a place she never should have gone, he thought.
"Forgive me, sir," said Hazel as she hastily backed out of the room. "I shall tarry no longer. The doctor's on his way down." Making a short, nervous bow, the dressmaker's assistant hastily exited, feeling disappointed about the outcome of her attempt.
"Scarlett, Scarlett, come on Scarlett, come on..." said Rhett softly, gently slapping her cheeks with the backs of his fingers. God, her face is so white, he thought frantically.
"Wake up, wake up Mama," joined Cat in a singsong chant, shaking her mother's arm with both hands as she stood on the opposite side of the bed.
Mary, who had stayed behind when Hazel left, looked with concern upon the unconscious woman but did not fail to take stock of the suite. Mary, Mother of God, she thought with delight as she noticed every detail of the suite from its plush royal blue curtains to the grape pattern on the wallpaper to the real china washbasin. Then she took a look at Mrs. Butler's husband. I heard Miss Hazel call him 'captain.' He sure is dashing enough to be one, she thought. Drawing the courage to speak to the man, she began, "Captain Butler, sir, I feel as though this might have been my fault."
Rhett turned, surprised that there was someone still in the room, though his face did not show it. An Irish girl, he thought passively. Square chin, blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair. She might be a relative of Scarlett's. I certainly wouldn't know. One Irishman- or woman- looks the same as the next on this ship. "Your name is?" he said a little bit too bluntly.
A shiver of fear went down her spine as he rose from his knees. "M-Mary O'Conner, sir."
Rhett did not fail to notice that the girl was frightened. Catch more flies with honey, he reminded himself with a chuckle under his breath. "Now, Miss O'Conner, how do you feel that you're the cause of Scarlett's "spell." Being in Steerage alone makes any unaccustomed man ill. I ran a boat myself once."
Mary frowned, feeling her anger at the upper class returning as her girlish fear fled. We've festered in Steerage while lots of other people have enjoyed an easy ride, she thought. A landowner and a boat captain. They're right for each other, then. "I know some people have difficulties with the, eh, atmosphere of belowdecks. What's left of my family has rotted there for two weeks."
It was Rhett's turn to frown. He hadn't meant to upset the girl. "I ran a riverboat," he tried to explain, "Gambling, not Atlantic crossings." The truth hammered at him, and he was forced to tell the rest: "And a blockade boat during the War to deliver cotton to England." Damn, he thought as the girl's Irish temper flared even more at the hated word 'England.' She stared with steel blue eyes, her body posture stiff.
"If you'll allow me to explain, sir, I'll tell you what caused Mrs. Butler to faint."
"Please," he said, feeling that the girl's Irish temper had bested him without saying a word.
"I was a' telling Mrs. Butler that Kathleen O'Conner, my sister-in-law, had moved south to a village outside of Galway following my brother's hanging in Dunsany." She stopped, looking to see if there was any reaction from Capt. Butler. Only an impassive flicker in his eyes when she said 'Dunsany' gave her any clue if he knew what she was talking about.
"Kathleen?" disrupted Cat. "She's Cat's friend."
Rhett turned to his small daughter. "You know Kathleen?"
Cat nodded. "She's Colum's sister."
"Colum?" asked Mary.
"Father Colum Terrence O'Hara. He is Mrs. Butler's friend and cousin," replied Rhett, beginning to piece together the story as well as Scarlett's reaction to it.
"Cat's godfather," added Cat.
"And Cat's godfather," agreed Rhett.
"So my sister-in-law is Mrs. Butler's cousin. That means..."
"Scarlett's maiden name is O'Hara."
"Oh. Oh!" gasped Mary as she hit on the last piece.
"What?" Rhett said urgently.
"I told Mrs. Butler that in the uprisings following the burning of Ballyhara and Adamstown, the townspeople turned on the O'Haras for some reason. Most of the O'Hara family was killed with-" Mary stopped, realizing that Cat was sitting there with wide eyes.
"Big stones?" asked a frightened Cat.
Mary stood up, distressed. "I should go, Captain Butler sir. Third class is forbidden from the upper decks." Before Rhett could protest, Mary had vanished like an apparition.
"It's okay Kitty Cat," coaxed Rhett as he embraced his scared daughter. Her fright melted away in her vigorous little struggle to escape the hug, and she skittered away to her own room with a self-satisfied smile.
"Silly Rhett."
There was movement in the bed, and Rhett returned quickly to his post, sitting on the edge of the bedspread. Scarlett opened her green eyes suddenly, and they were full of such intense pain that Rhett's breathing stopped for a moment. "I killed them," she said weakly.
"It wasn't your fault, Scarlett."
The pain retracted from her eyes. They were no longer sharp but dull and glassy. He wiped the beads of cold sweat from her forehead. She recoiled from his touch once more, but this time he wouldn't allow it. His mouth was on hers, hard, crushing, and she responded before she even knew what was happening. The kiss was urgent, desperate for both parties. She wanted to forget her nightmare, and his lips tended to block out everything that rattled around inside her head. He wanted to make her forget it.
It quickly escalated from there, with his hands undoing the buttons on the front of her dress. "Wait," she blurted out. "Not now. Cat." He nodded, disappointed, and helped her fix her clothes. The presence of their daughter in the other room had seriously hindered their lovemaking on this trip, but they still found time. For example, after she was safely asleep.
Scarlett was jittery, slightly on edge. "That was too close," she warned him. He grinned, and she pinched his shoulder hard. She fell serious again and explained the feeling that she couldn't shake. "I killed my family, Rhett. I know I did. They killed them because I was The O'Hara and I failed Ballyhara."
"They were filled with an insane rage, my pet. You could have done nothing to protect your family except get killed yourself. But I am genuinely sorry for your loss, Scarlett."
"Thank you, Rhett," she whimpered, burying her face in his shoulder.
Author's Note: Certain liberties must be taken with every piece of fan fiction. For instance, Colum's confession letter is based off of the television miniseries Scarlett: The Greatest Love Story Ever Told. Although it probably wasn't Ms. Ripley's intent to imply such a relationship, it is a popular base that was utilized in the movie. Therefore, even if you have an issue with a priest falling in love with his cousin, it was not my idea originally, and you must take it up with the writer of the screenplay, not me.
The rest of the ideas follow Mitchell's and Ripley's canon accurately. I'm not one for changing the details of the book as of yet, and I probably won't in the future if I can help it. I am not perfectly accurate in the dates of certain events, but let us assume for fiction's sake that Cat is three years old and the time frame is May 1876. If anyone can provide a more accurate time frame for the end of the book due to research, I'm open to the suggestion.
All recognizable characters from the two books, Gone With the Wind and Scarlett, belong to Margaret Mitchell, the Margaret Mitchell Estate, or to Alexandra Ripley.
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