Reparations
Chapter Two
Monday, May 29th, 1876
Docks of Savannah, Georgia
"Do you know how long it will take the third classers to disembark?"
This question, preceded by a tentative tap on the shoulder, had really surprised Scarlett. The speaker was a woman, slightly shorter than Scarlett, with honey blonde hair, dark eyelashes, and a very conservative dress and bonnet of a shade of rose. Scarlett blinked for a moment, trying to regain her words, and found to her astonishment tiny reflections of herself in the woman's unusual reddish-gold eyes.
"Well, I can't rightly say," she demurred, for lack of a better answer.
"Oh, how silly of me!" gasped the woman as she remembered her manners. "You must think me rude. My name is Abby Starling- er, I mean, White." Scarlett looked confused. "I'm sorry; I seem to have my own name confused. You see, I was just married last month, and my old surname tends to interfere with my new surname. I'm Mrs. Wendell White."
"Indeed," said Scarlett coolly, unfamiliar with the name but unwilling to admit it.
"I'm not really such a stupid creature," Abby apologized, "and I don't usually talk to strangers like this. But you just looked so nice, like an old friend I'd yet to meet."
There was something poetic about these words, but Scarlett did not recognize that aspect. All she knew is that this Mrs. White seemed like a decent sort of person, not one to scorn her past actions. The thing that Scarlett was most vulnerable to right now was not the contempt of former friends and disgruntled family, but the scorn of complete strangers that knew her by reputation only. If only her reputation wasn't so very tarnished! So, without putting the thought to words, Scarlett (Hamilton Kennedy Butler) O'Hara decided right there, in the middle of the bustling port, that she would be completely frank about her past misdeeds from that moment on, despite the consequences.
"I'm Scarlett O'Hara, soon to be Mrs. Rhett Butler, again." Scarlett couldn't quite put her finger on what caused her to add 'again,' but something within her commanded her to be perfectly honest with this perfect stranger.
"Again?" said Mrs. White delicately. "You mean, divorce?"
Scarlett nodded sadly. There was nothing in her declaration of honesty that didn't say she couldn't spin the truth to look like she was the victim.
"Well, at least you patched things up. And with Rhett Butler!" she exclaimed, letting Rhett's name roll deliciously off her tongue, "Of Charleston fame?" Scarlett nodded again.
"Your maiden name is O'Hara. Oh, my, then you're Irish. But you don't sound Irish!" Mrs. White was rather flustered again.
"My Pa was from Ireland," said Scarlett calmly. "I was raised in Northern Georgia, Clayton County to be exact. I may not sound like I'm Irish, but you should hear my daughter."
"Daughter! Oh, what's her name?" gushed Abby. "I do so love children."
"Her name is Katie Colum, but we call her Cat."
Scarlett's smile faded slowly as she realized where she had heard this woman's name before. My God, she thought, she's the woman that Mary O'Conner has come to work for. "Mary and Gloria will be some time in coming, I'm afraid," said Scarlett casually. "You see, third class is rather far down in the ship."
It was Abby's turn to be confused. "You know Mary O'Conner?"
Scarlett's face turned bitter as she imagined this new-forged friendship withering, so she picked her words to be carefully optimistic. "They're my cousin's sisters-in-law."
Abby's face puckered with dismay. "So they're related to you. How lovely," she said, sounding distressed.
Scarlett relaxed when she saw that Abby was genuinely trying to be nice about the fact that Scarlett's relatives were her new servants. "It's alright, Mrs. White. I can accept my roots enough to know that many of the girls in my father's family are lady's maids in America. My cousin Bridie works in Boston. I'm not opposed to any of my kin working for a nice lady like you."
"Oh, no, they're not working for me!" exclaimed Abby. "I could never keep white servants. It would just be too... strange. No, they're going to be working for my mother-in-law, whose name is also, unfortunately, Mrs. Abigail White. Imagine picking a bride with the same name as your mother!"
"That must be awful," Scarlett mock-sympathized. Oh thank goodness, thought Scarlett, then they won't be her servants. I can't abide for women that feel too high-and-mighty to have darkies. Her mother-in-law must be a fright!
The worry faded from Mrs. White's face. "Please, call me Abby."
"Scarlett," she responded warmly, for Scarlett knew how to be warm when she wanted to be. She looked around and frowned. "I seem to have lost my husband and daughter."
"Oh, dear. Will they be hard to find?"
"I doubt it," said Scarlett with surprising good humor. "We were planning to walk to that garden not too far from here. Are you familiar with it?"
"Yes, I must say that I am. You see, I grew up in Savannah."
"Really?" said Scarlett with interest. "My mother was raised here, too."
"In what family?"
"The Robiliards," said Scarlett, watching with pure joy the expression of awe on Abby White's face. "And my first husband was a Hamilton. I have more family than I can account for!" This was said in a sneaky, scheming voice, as though Scarlett was sharing an intimate secret.
"The Robiliards of Savannah and the Butlers of Charleston? You certainly have high class kin, Scarlett."
"And low class. And I'm proud of both."
The two women walked towards the gangplank of the Brian Boru as third class began pouring out into the sunshine, many desperately shielding their eyes.
Making friends had never been one of Scarlett's high priorities, at least until she went to Ireland. Colum and Kathleen had opened her eyes to a closeness that not even her childhood best friend, Cathleen Calvert, could match. Now that Colum was dead and Cathleen and Kathleen were God knows where, Scarlett was eager to have such a relationship again.
But she had never expected to find it within eight minutes of the arrival of the Brian Boru.
Abigail Starling White was a different sort of woman altogether than the women she had grown up with. Certainly not what one would expect from gentle Savannah breeding and elegance. She was as eager to please as Melanie had been, but had a vivacious vitality where Melly had been a delicate, gentle creature. Scarlett herself had been acclaimed for her vigor, but Abby seemed to exude it without even trying. And unlike Scarlett, whose vigor had been the cause of rather unladylike behavior, Abby's was tempered with a gentle honesty.
"You remind me of Sallie," said Scarlett thoughtfully as they waited for Mary and Gloria.
"Sallie?"
"You mean you don't know her?" said Scarlett, aghast. "Your husband is from Charleston he's never mentioned Sallie Brewton? What ever is the matter with Wendell?"
Abby giggled. "Well, you'll have to point her out to me when we go back to Charleston."
Scarlett grinned. "It won't be too hard to pick her out."
Her sharp green eyes spotted the O'Conner sisters, and she waved frantically. Too bad it was unladylike to shout to them.
Scarlett, Abby, Mary, and Gloria bounced up and down through the broken cobblestones in the White carriage as it headed for Les Petits Jardins. The Little Gardens, as they were called, were the work of the Confederates of Savannah Memorial Committee. Abby explained, "My mother, Mrs. Betsy Starling, led the committee directly after the War. Despite Sherman's best efforts, our family retained most of its former wealth. The Starling Family donated the Statue of Brethren in the center of the gardens, as well as the money to maintain the azalea bushes."
Scarlett nodded to show she was listening, but in truth her mind was a million miles away. Could she really go back to Charleston, even with the supporting shoulder of Rhett, Sallie, and Abby? Certainly she had made a fool of herself there- flirting with Middleton Courtney, making an enemy of Rosemary, disappearing to Savannah without making her goodbyes in person like a respectable lady.
"Here we are, Scarlett darling," informed Abby as the carriage lurched to a stop. "Shall I take your bags with me?"
"With you?" sputtered Scarlett, drawn back to life. What promises have I made? she thought, guilty for not listening.
"Yes, Scarlett, with me. Of course you're coming to stay with me at Vérité! I can't let you put yourself up at some hotel; what kind of friend would I be?"
Scarlett had intended on staying with her aunts Eulalie and Pauline while in Savannah, but this was an example of Southern Hospitality that she just could not refuse. How I missed it! she realized. "Of course," agreed Scarlett. "I just don't know how Captain Butler will react to such a sudden change of plans."
"You'll fix everything up just right," assured Abby, "I have full confidence in you."
"Mrs. White, I do believe we know each other too well for such a brief meeting."
"That I'm sure of," agreed Abby. "Now if you have any trouble finding my home, you can ask anybody. It's as well known as that pink mansion of your aunts."
Scarlett, feeling that one complication had been sorted out, marched confidently out into Les Petits Jardins with a smug smile on her face. At least I won't have to stay with my prissy aunts, fussing over me sharing a room with Rhett when we're divorced, she thought. How easy this whole thing has been! And how lovely I look in this new cotton dress!
Scarlett couldn't help but love being in new clothes, despite the change of heart she had had about them in Ireland. If only I wasn't forced back into a corset, she scowled. But there was no avoiding them, and since she had decided to be a great Charleston lady, she had to get used to Victorian propriety again,
She whistled a few notes to a song she couldn't quite remember. She was an awful singer but a fairly decent whistler, and had gotten better when she practiced by herself in Ballyhara. Too bad whistling was unladylike, too.
"Rhett!" she called to the familiar figure a little ways down the flowered path.
"Scarlett," he said with relief. "We thought we'd lost you for good. Now, what did you do with the bags?"
"Abby has them," she said offhandedly.
"Abby?" he repeated.
"Mrs. Abigail White, junior. Her husband is from Charleston. Perhaps you know him. His name is Wendell White."
Recognition dawned on Rhett's face. "I went to primary school with his father, Joseph. But didn't Joe marry an Abby?"
"Like father, like son," said Scarlett as she rolled her eyes.
"So, my pet, you've made a friend."
"Yes, and we're going to stay with her at Vérité." Her tone was demanding and final.
"Fine," he said, agreeing quicker than she expected. Scarlett smiled flirtatiously, satisfied. She had failed to see the change in Rhett's expression when he heard the name of the house.
Vérité was the Starling's family home on the famous Saint Martine Boulevard, a French community. It was painted bright yellow, as many other houses on the boulevard were painted reds and golds and blues. All of the houses were old, but they disguised this fact under fresh coats of paint. On St. Martine Blvd., all were separated by thick lilac bushes, which had been sculpted and maintained as hedges by the community. Good hedges made good neighbors in the St. Martine district.
Before it was the Starling's, the house had been the Souhait's, a strongly hated French family, for six generations. The last of the Souhait's was a powerfully ambitious woman named Elizabeth, called Betsy.
She married Marshall Starling fresh from Annapolis, Maryland, who came from a very old American family. This was a marriage of convenience, as was often the case, but it allowed for Marshall to become a Navy General in the War and gave Betsy Souhait Starling the money she needed to claim social status like none ever before.
Abby was their only daughter.
So when Rhett learned that Scarlett had been invited to stay with Abigail Starling White, the daughter of a war hero and a social queen, he knew that Scarlett had unwittingly redeemed herself in the eyes of Savannah. And if she could do that in stiff necked Savannah, who knew what she could do in Charleston? Stranger things have happened, Rhett thought pleasantly.
Scarlett marched sturdily through the red brick Square and down the wide street of Savannah's downtown district. She felt slightly strange, as if she was floating along. This was rewinding history- she had made this same walk four years before, maid in tote, going to meet her O'Hara cousins for the first time.
This time, of course, they would not be strangers to her. And this time she brought, in stead of Pansy, her daughter Cat and the two Irish sisters, Mary and Gloria O'Conner.
Turning down several streets to get to her destination, she began to hear the small steps of three year old Cat beginning to lag behind. "Would you like me to carry you, Kitty Cat?"
"No," retorted Cat and redoubled her efforts.
"We're almost there," encouraged Scarlett to her panting little girl. "In fact, we are there."
Mary and Gloria, unaware of the destination, looked with distain at the string of blue and white houses, used to the grandeur of the highest classes.
Looking both ways to see if anyone was watching, Scarlett tread lightly to the lower level kitchen door. Without knocking Scarlett pushed it open.
A familiar red head stood up fast from where she was tending the kitchen. "Why, Cousin Scarlett! I never hoped to see you again in my kitchen!" exclaimed Maureen O'Hara.
"Hello Maureen," returned Scarlett, grateful for the familiar voice of her friend. "You see, I've brought some friends." Cat peeked her head shyly out from behind her mother's skirts.
"Why, that can't be Baby Cat!" cried Maureen. "But you look so much bigger from the last time you saw us, honey."
"Cat is bigger," explained Cat calmly.
"Of course you are Kitty Cat," agreed Scarlett. "Maureen, I would like you to meet Mary and Gloria O'Conner."
"As in Kathleen?" said Maureen carefully.
"So you know the news from Ireland," said Scarlett with a lump in her throat.
Maureen nodded. "We got a letter from Molly, of all people." Scarlett sat down shakily, her face in her hands as she tried to block out the image of Ballyhara burning.
"We know you got out on the skin of your eyeteeth, Cousin Scarlett. We hold no ill will or blame towards you," said Jamie, coming in from the next room."
"Thank you," said Scarlett hoarsely. "I just really needed to hear that from you." Maureen patted her shoulder.
"Let's talk about something a bit lighter, shall we? Have you heard about David? He's going to marry an heiress." Scarlett raised an eyebrow. "Well, not really an heiress in the strictest sense. But he was Julie's father's assistant, and when her father dies, she'll inherit the business and David will have it for himself. Of course we always expected David to go far- no O'Hara since Uncle Andrew has had such a head for business, except for you, my dear. The wedding will be in August (sit down Mary and have some real breakfast. I'm sure Cousin Scarlett was too eager to come to eat proper) and you and Cat are most certainly invited..."
THURSDAY, JUNE 8, 1876
THE HOME OF MRS. ETHEL BAKER
Confederates of Savannah Memorial Committee, "BEAUTIFICATION" SECTOR
Scarlett bit her tongue, hard, as she managed to prick her thumb above the thimble for the third time this afternoon. She had never had the patience for fine needlework. Staunching the flow of blood with the rag she kept in her lap for that purpose, she gave Abby a thin lipped smile, but her eyes were scowling. Poor dear, responded Abby's own reddish-gold ones. Mrs. Baker was bragging about her newest grandchild, oblivious to the silent conversation carried on by two of the members of her circle.
The "Beautification" sector of the Confederates of Savannah Memorial Committee was dedicated to the upkeep of Les Petits Jardins as well as all memorial gardens, statues, and plaques within city limits. Because it was Abby's family that paid for this upkeep, Abby was the co-chairman of the sector, along with Ethel Baker who kindly donated her house for the meetings of the sector.
All of this meant that twice a week Abby dragged Scarlett with along with her to these horrendously boring sewing circles.
"Now Scarlett," Abby had warned, "be careful to show no interest in the financial aspects of the sector, even if the girls are planning something way outside our budgets. Most of these ladies know nothing about business, and those that do know better than to show it. Mother and I will handle them in private, so that they don't feel embarrassed."
Scarlett had frowned and replied, "Don't tell me Savannah ladies are too stupid to manage a budget. I'm sure that they all run their households with maximum efficiently."
Abby laughed. "Oh, but Scarlett, they would never admit it!"
Suddenly Scarlett was struck with the difference between Savannah ladies and Charleston ladies: Savannah ladies were too proud to admit their smarts, while Charleston ladies were too proud not to admit them.
"I aught to go back to Charleston, Abby. They may not be my kind but they're a lot closer to my kind than these Savannah ninnies."
"Can you hold out for another week?" begged Abby, "I can't leave Savannah until Wendell returns from up north, and I don't want to feed you to the wolves just yet."
So Abby and Scarlett struck a bargain- Scarlett would be the perfect lady and attend all of the meetings with Abby, and then their two households would leave Savannah for Charleston. Together.
"Cassy," said Abby softly to Mrs. Baker's parlor maid, "would you go to the trouble to fetching a fresh pot of tea. This one has grown cold."
"Yes'm," replied Cassy automatically.
Scarlett stuck her tongue out at Abby from behind her embroidery piece. I've been trying for ten minutes to get a fresh kettle, she thought with irritation, and at one word from Abby they jump to fetch it. Being away so long must have made me forget something important- the darkies always know who's respectable and who's not.
Scarlett picked up the smaller scrap of a piece that sat in the vacant chair to her left. This little attempt at stitches belonged to her daughter Cat. Scarlett had never tried teaching Ella or Bonnie at the tender age of three, but she found Cat to be a bright, if not eager student. It was amusing how Cat's attentions could shift from wanting to play outside to wanting to sew her letters quietly by her mother's side.
It was Cat's presence alone that warmed the hearts of the Beautification Sector of the CSMC to Scarlett's presence. They had heard the gossip from her aunts about how she was a divorced woman, though Scarlett would have never guessed they knew. But a woman who cared for a child so much couldn't be all bad, especially such a beautiful and unruly one as Cat Butler. And hadn't Captain Butler been the one to divorce her? And wasn't Abby White so very devoted to her?
So, working from the innermost circle outward, Scarlett became an accepted member of Savannah high society in just two short weeks. Rhett heard from the husbands of the Committee that Scarlett was praised by all tongues at dinnertime. And he just laughed.
"Cat, honey, can I talk to you for a moment?" asked Scarlett on the eve of the last day they spent in Savannah.
"Yes Mama," responded Cat from inside the lilac hedge. She and a little French girl named Lisette had sculpted a fort deep inside the bush, and had filled it with the toys from Cat's Tower. "You may come in."
Ignoring the fact that her dress would probably become soiled beyond saving, Scarlett ducked down and scooted into the hedge on her hands and knees.
"Hello Kitty Cat!" greeted Scarlett to her muddy little daughter. Cat was quite willing to dirty herself, but quite unwilling to dirty the soft quilts that had decorated the inside of her Tower, so there was nothing but mud in the little fort.
"Read Cat a story?" Cat suggested, holding her favorite book of Irish fairy tales.
"In a minute Kitty Cat. I would like to ask you something."
Cat nodded, "Ask."
"Do you like Rhett?" asked Scarlett cautiously.
"Yes," said the child without hesitation.
"Would you like it if Rhett was your Daddy?"
Cat considered this offer for a moment with. She tilted her head and squinted her eyes. Scarlett had asked this question once before, about Lord Fenton. Well, Rhett had turned out to be a much better playmate than Luke, although he didn't give her giant tiaras to parade around in. Perhaps, Cat reasoned, Rhett too would give her a tiara, if he was her daddy.
"Cat would like it very much," decided Cat with a brilliant smile.
"Good," said Scarlett, relieved. "Would you call him Daddy?"
"If you wanted Cat to," assured the child.
"Yes, Kitty Cat, that is what I want."
It was not twenty minutes yet when Rhett returned to Vérité from the train station, tickets in hand.
"Why hello my dears," he said with a tired smile.
"Hello Rhett," smiled Scarlett back.
"Hello Daddy," grinned little Cat. Rhett's dark eyes flew at once to Scarlett's smile, and then to Cat's. Without a word, he bent down and hugged his little daughter tightly.
The matter was settled with that one greeting, and never again would Cat think of Rhett Butler as anyone but her father.
SATURDAY, JUNE 10, 1876
CHARLESTON TRAIN STATION
Scarlett clutched her handbag nervously as the steam of the train whooshed out once more. Lorry, the lady's maid that Mrs. Starling had hired for Scarlett in Savannah, held the rest of Scarlett's bags as she blinked in awe at her first look of Charleston harbor.
My, I'm nervous, Scarlett realized shakily. I do hope Abby and Wendell are around here somewhere.
Abby's husband reminded Scarlett faintly of her first husband, Charles Hamilton. He had straw-colored hair and pale, watery eyes but a boyish charm that made Scarlett smile when she first met him. Like his father, Wendell was an investment banker, traveling all over the North and South; he was rarely home.
"G'Morning Miss Abby. G'Morning Mr. Wend," greeted Cat when she spotted her mother's friends.
"Good eyes, Kitty Cat," complemented Scarlett in Cat's ear.
"Good morning Abby. Good morning Wendell," said Scarlett and Rhett in unison in unison.
"Good morning Butlers," said the Whites in return.
"Scarlett," said Abby, pulling her to one side, "I just received a letter from my husband's aunt, the Mrs. White in Atlanta."
Scarlett frowned. She hadn't realized that that Mrs. White was any relation of theirs. "I should have figured the old cats in Atlanta would warn you to stay shy of me, Abby White."
"Don't worry, Scarlett dear, I'm going to write a polite letter back gushing about how simply wonderful you've been to me." She turned away. "Mary darling, please be sure to get all of my bags. I want to be at Mrs. White's house before noon, so that you and Gloria can finally meet your new mistress." Mary O'Conner nodded and shifted a bag underneath her arm. Five-year-old Gloria gave a shy wave to Cat, who had become her friend on the train ride to Charleston.
"Rhett, you have told your mother that you'd be in today, right?"
"Yes, my pet, I wrote her a nice long letter apologizing for not coming to see her the second my boot struck American soil." His eyes were teasing.
"Oh, Rhett, you're awful."
His voice was hard. "And I hate lying to my mother. So your plan better work out."
"I would never intentionally hurt Miss Eleanor. I love her," assured Scarlett.
"My mother's carriage will be waiting for us," said Wendell. "Will you ride with us, Mr. and Mrs. Butler?"
"No thank you," said Scarlett firmly. "We're planning on walking." Behind her, Lorry gave a small groan. "Goodbye Abby, goodbye Wendell. Goodbye Mary and Gloria. I'll be sure to call on you as soon as we are settled."
"The same," agreed Abby, "goodbye Scarlett."
THE BATTERY
ELEANOR BUTLER'S HOME
Scarlett fingered the latch on the gate and took a deep, slow breath.
"Are you ready, my pet?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
Rhett opened the gate gradually, and took Indian-light footsteps towards the front door. "Hello Tessa. Could you please inform Mrs. Butler that her son has finally come home?"
Author's Note: 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.
I would like now to answer a statement that was brought up in the reviews of the first chapter:
Scarlett's Misery wrote, "I'm pretty sure she didn't witness Charles' or Colum's death."
First off, I was referring to the death of Charles Ragland, the English soldier, not Charles Hamilton, her first husband. This death she did witness directly.
Second, as to the death of Colum, that was an indirect witness. Even though she was not physically there, his death affected her as though she was right there with Rosaleen Fitzpatrick when Colum was shot to death. I hope you can understand what I mean by that, and I hope I answered your statement well enough.
Please Review! Thank you!