Being the little peahens that they were, her aunts simply could not wait to visit their friend Eleanor to gossip all about the scandalous buggy ride incident that had spread over Charleston like the plague. As she had expected, an accident did occur, and the families groveled on their knees to preserve their children's honor. Wedding bells rang, in a dreadful chime, to celebrate the disastrous start to a 'sacred' union. Fools, the whole bunch of them, no wonder Rhett had refused! He was the only one with sense!
When she expressed her desire to accompany them to the Butlers, their faces adopted a disturbed look and made her head spin at how fast they switched subjects. After her less-than-desirable conduct last week, with Rhett as her accomplice, the two women feared putting the two in the same room together—almost too much for their decorum-infested minds—and they never failed to mention it at any opportunity they got. The other day, she was slouched on the sofa and miserably bored while dreaming of Tara, and her Aunt Pauline admonished her unladylike posture, immediately diving into a rant about how Rhett had influenced her with his coarseness. On and on about how obscenely close he held her that day, or how egregiously they had flirted when his intentions were not known. It fueled the burning flame within her bull-headed self and made her want to do worse things, out of spite. Seeing how pompously they spoke, her ingrained dislike for Charlestonian society only grew deeper and more hateful.
They had given her a brief scare when they threatened to write Ellen about her conduct, for she could not bear being scolded by her precious mother. Though, she realized, they had very little ammunition for she hadn't acted so differently with Rhett than she had with her other beaux at home. In fact, it would seem like a ridiculous letter—she danced and flirted with a boy and that boy was a Butler, one of the most respected families in Charleston! She had nothing to worry about, she concluded and continued with pestering her aunts to let her come. Drained by her spirit and relentlessness, the two gave in and allowed her to come, but only if she made a flimsy promise to be on her best behavior.
"Of course," she had replied demurely, though those fiery emerald eyes spoke of entirely different intentions. But, as soon as her head touched the pillow that night, her mind was no longer in Charleston.
Scarlett sat on the porch swing of the Butler Plantation in a total daze, drowning out the mellow voice of Eleanor who was calmly explaining the events that occurred that night at the barbeque. Her mind, since that morning, had been treacherously overtaken by the dream she had—replacing her eagerness with strong, volatile emotions, wavering between potent fits of anger and sadness. In it, she was in Atlanta, with a crumpled letter between her numbed, sweaty fingers. She seemed to recall that the Yankee cannons were getting louder with each passing day as she deftly unfolded the paper.
It read, "Dear Daughter, since I last wrote, your sisters have gotten extremely ill with typhoid. I know that with this news, you will be eager to join us here at Tara, but Your Mother does not wish for you to come down with sickness as well. It is best if you stay in Atlanta for now. Stay safe and send your prayers."
'Send my prayers indeed!' she had thought sarcastically. Careen and Suellen were down with typhoid and she was expected to do nothing—tied down to Melanie's bedside on account of her wretched promise to Ashley. How she hated the whole lot of Wilkes' at that moment for holding her back from her beloved Tara—surely, she hated Ashley, Melanie, and the baby! For a moment, she felt her stomach wrench at thinking of him in such a way, though the small semblance of guilt was quickly overpowered with impassioned rage, brought on by a man with just as powerful a presence. He, the broad figure of a man who walked up confidently to the Hamilton House, unbothered by the chaos of war. He whose presence she hated yet cherished all at the same time, whose ill-mannered banter held a charm that made her tolerate his odious reputation. She thought they were friends or allies of some sort, but he merely thought of her as some wanton woman—some conquest for his lusty and unashamed appetite. His mistress! How dare he ask her to be such a vile creature! As she remembered how she shouted at him to leave, she felt her throat go hoarse, feeling inexplicably and profoundly hurt. And just as she thought she had gotten over it, her thoughts reverted to her sisters' illness and it seemed as if her mind were to never rest from its turmoil. She was arrested by the scene, like a spectator watching an unfolding scene, she felt no control over the words that came from her mouth. There was something innate in her that immediately knew that this was no nightmare. It was her life, her real life, and the cycle of anger and weariness arrested her young mind.
Naturally, her bitter mood worsened as she watched the younger varmint gracefully ascend the steps, and she scowled at the toothy grin under the white brim of his Panama hat. His brow rose questioningly at her glaring eyes and thankfully sat on the chair farthest from her as possible, perhaps persuaded, if not by her clear displeasure, but the added grimaces from her two aunts.
"Good afternoon, ladies. Hopefully, I haven't interrupted anything, have I?"
"Oh no, Rhett," his mother replied kindly. "We were just speaking of that unfortunate situation with Miss Davidson and Mister Wilson. They were so young…"
Rhett's glimmering eyes turned to Scarlett as he spoke, "yes, unfortunate is quite the understatement. It seems like one huge misunderstanding, so it is a shame that they must be sanctioned to marriage—though neither of them must have anticipated such an outcome." His eyes bore into her own. "I know I hadn't."
She promptly looked away, his nasty offer still echoing the harrowing chambers of her mind.
All the while, Eulalie frowned and shook her head. "There are rules for a reason, and they knowingly defied them. Now, the consequence is marriage, which is merely the respectable thing to do!"
He grinned wickedly. "How could I forget our chivalrous codes of honor? It's a wonderful system that pushes two people into the harmonious sacrament of marriage by no means pathetic reasons—"
"Rhett," Eleanor warned, startling Scarlett with her sudden sternness. She heard her aunts gasp at his scandalous words, threatening the very institution they embraced unthinkingly for as long as they lived. They even had the gall to look back at her, with eyes that gleamed 'I told you so', and it infuriated her to no end. Oh, if only he could just keep his mouth shut for a moment!
"How about you, Miss O'Hara? What are your thoughts on the whole affair?" he goaded. She smiled a sickeningly sweet smile, though her words were sharp, "I'm afraid I didn't catch that. I must have been woolgathering."
For a moment, his confidence wavered and was replaced with a quizzical look meant purely for her, his lip curving downwards. His eyes scanned her attire—a modest high-collared cool grey frock—which her aunts had picked out for her this morning. Too distracted by happenings in Atlanta, she did not bother to fight them, and now Rhett looked at it with hard eyes, as if the dress offended him, though she did not know that he saw it as more than a dress. He saw it as a treacherous shift in alliance.
"I see," he said indignantly. "Care to explain why you've been glaring at me since I've walked up this porch?"
The adults were shocked at the blatant display of vehemence as Scarlett gave him a livid stare. "How conceited of you to think so. I was simply lost in thought, Mr. Butler."
She saw the conflicted emotion on his face, uncertain of whether to pursue his irritated tirade or to be amused by her candor. Before he could choose, Eleanor stood and coughed, her eyes bright in contrast with her calm, nearly calculated countenance.
"Pardon me, I just feel a little chilled out here. I must go grab my shawl…"
Certainly, it mustn't be so, for it was the middle of the summer, but with a raised brow, Scarlett supposed it was the coastal chills. Wide-eyed, Pauline and Eulalie looked at each other, and then—quite disdainfully—at their company if Mrs. Butler were to leave. They too stood and Scarlett swore she saw Eleanor smirk, only for a half a second, before it was masked again by that unmistakable kindness.
"There'll be no need. Let's simply head inside. I'm feeling quite cold as well."
Aunt Pauline nodded in agreement. "So am I." She turned to her. "And you, Scarlett?"
Scarlett shifted in her seat to get up, until her eyes landed on the conceited varmint, his eyes challenging as if daring her to join them, daring her to be a coward. And certainly, she was no coward!
"No," she said petulantly. "I like the fresh air."
They hesitated for a moment and gave her cautious looks; she was sure she'd hear an earful on the way back to the house. But they seemed to be comforted by the fact that she seemed to grow hostile to the young man and dutifully followed Eleanor inside.
As soon as the door shut, Rhett began his interrogation.
"What is it, Scarlett? I assume it is the same thing that has compelled you to wear that mop of a dress."
Her furious eyes greatly contrasted the dull, mechanic tone of her voice. "Why, this is what ladies are meant to wear."
"Spare me the pretense, I can see it in your eyes, you want to send me to the Devil," he jeered. "What happened? Did I anger you somehow?"
A curt 'no' left her lips but he did not buy any of it and gave her a blank stare. She so badly wanted to yell at him for being a no-good cad and scoundrel, for playing her for a fool and thinking so low of her to equate her to a loose creature—a mistress! The word seared into her mind and she leered hatefully at his imposing figure. But she couldn't unless she wanted to appear like a madwoman. A small part of her recognized that the man before her was innocent from the ill-doings of the sinful blockade runner, but she ignored it, with all her bullheadedness, and jutted her chin out with a pout. She simply could not look at him without thinking about that moment… or the moments that came before it, as skillful lips brushed upon magnolia-white skin, light and feathery, her pulse racing with each caress...
No! It was unseemly, that he was able to make her feel such things.
"Well?" he asked, irritated by the lack of response. She looked up, still thinking of the tender kisses, and her illicit gaze could not stray from his full lips. Quickly remembering herself, she became angry at her thoughts and glared.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" she grumbled, unthinkingly.
Rhett's eyes darkened with intensity, the kind of which she had never seen before, on any gentleman.
"Is that what you really want? I'll be happy to oblige if you tell me what has brought on this behavior. It's quite unbecoming," he snarled.
"Is that so? I'll have you know that you really are the most infuriating man—"
"Rhett! You're home!"
Her mouth hung open, mid-speech, as the two young adults turned their heads at the high-pitched voice that had interjected Scarlett's impassioned response.
A little girl, no more than the age of four or five, stumbled onto the porch and she threw herself into her brother's arms with little restraint. The hard, bitter look that had previously tainted his face softened into something that surprised Scarlett—for she had never imagined tenderness to be possible in a man such as himself. Yes, he had shown Wade some of the same kindness, but this was of a different, indulgent sort.
His laughter was loving and gentle. "You saw me yesterday, darling."
"I know," she pouted. "But do you have to leave so soon? Can't you just stay here?"
"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" he said truthfully, no doubt with bitterness. "Don't worry, my dear sister, one day I'll return home and bother you so that you'll wish you'd never have to see my sorry face ever again!"
Rosemary, if she had recalled correctly, began babbling about the most unimportant things, yet he looked at her with such attentiveness that made the young one feel like the most precious thing in the world. Rhett caught her eye over the girl's shoulder, and she scoffed, turning away, with the embarrassment of being caught staring.
As if sensing she no longer held her brother's every attention, little Rosemary turned her head to face the young belle, who looked every bit like the refined lady her mother was teaching her to be.
"Who's that pretty lady, Rhett?" Rosemary lilted and Rhett laughed aloud at the initial shock on Scarlett's face, that instantly blossomed into triumph.
"My dear sister, don't say such things, I'm afraid you'll coax her vanity."
She bestowed upon her brother, a bemused expression. "Van-i-ty…?" she parroted, the unfamiliar word rolling off her tongue.
"Don't listen to him, he's just being hateful," Scarlett replied and simpered with such overwhelming charm that she immediately enraptured the young girl. "I'm Scarlett… an acquaintance of your brother."
Rosemary squirmed out of his arms (a hurt look crossed his features) and the little one curiously treaded to the other side of the porch. She felt unnerved at the childish admiration in the girl's eyes, reminding Scarlett of her own responsibility—little Wade, whom she had little affection for, until now. Did his eyes not give her the same cherishing looks? Those brown eyes, much like his aunt and father, looking at her with such adoration…
The moment of clarity, quite frankly, made her uncomfortable as she was unused to such introspection, so she focused back on Rhett's sister. Shifting in her seat, she picked up the girl and placed her on her lap, surprising both Rhett and even herself with the sudden bout of motherliness that had possessed her. The feeling settled awkwardly in her body; the act was both unfamiliar yet not unpleasant to her and though she was so very confused at the turn of events, she ignored it and finally tuned in to listen to the girl ramble.
"Are you from Charleston too? Will you visit me? Robert's no fun and Rhett's never home."
Scarlett tried to reel in her annoyance at the constant questioning. Her struggle must have been painfully apparent, for Rhett chuckled, clearly amused.
"I'm from Georgia and—"
"Is that very far?"
"Yes," she grumbled. "But I have two little sisters and they aren't much fun either. Especially Suellen, she's a little brat. I played with the county boys."
"County boys, huh? It's a wonder you look like such a lady Scarlett. It's quite impressive."
Quickly, she was reminded of her earlier anger and her expression became cross.
"You are so vile, Rhett Butler. I am a lady, I am!" she asserted.
"She is!" Rosemary echoed, giving a defiant look as well and the man mused in the sudden similarity between the two girls, their chins jutted, and cheeks tinted a youthful shade of pink.
"I find myself outnumbered," he humored, his eyes mirthful. "Scarlett, must you know that ladies don't hold any charm for me?"
She muttered under her breath. "I know, alright." Varmint.
Hearing her grumbling, he threw his head back and laughed while Rosemary tugged on her sleeves.
"Are you staying here? You should join our picnic today! Ma is packing all my favorite foods! And I'll show you the toy sailboat Rhett gave me…"
"I'm not so sure—"
Rhett patted the girl's shoulder and gave a winning smile. "She would love to come, isn't that right Scarlett?"
You can go straight to Halifax, is what she wanted to tell him, and is what she nearly said (though in a much more decorous way), if it weren't for Rosemary's large, pleading eyes that irked some hidden sense of duty within her. She felt inextricably bound to compensate for something, something that she could not identify and did not bother to ponder further as she mumbled a reluctant 'yes', much to the satisfaction of both Butler siblings. But her glinting emerald eyes gave him an unforgiving glare just in case he attributed her acceptance to himself and she refused to let him stroke his own ego.
"Go tell mother an extra serving will be needed," he whispered conspiratorially into his sister's ear and grinned at the youth's blatant eagerness.
"Yes!" she exclaimed. Rosemary jumped off her lap and bounced her way inside the house, leaving her alone with this man she could not wrap her head around.
He sat back down and brought his ankle to rest on his knee, in one fluid, graceful movement. With that show of ingrained upbringing, she was momentarily taken aback at how the dignified Charlestonian air seemed to suit him, despite his ramblings about not fitting in or not wanting to fit in. In a strange moment of speculation, she imagined what would have happened if he followed his father's decrees and kept his reputation… would she ever have met him? She shivered at the thought of passing by this man, so much larger than life, as a stranger, sharing nothing but two fleeting seconds of curious glances.
No, she was glad he did what he did. Though, she never questioned why she felt as such.
As she came out of her thoughts, he spoke: "You may keep your reasons for anger to yourself. I'll find out sooner or later, and now that I think about it, you do make quite the pretty picture when you are angry." He pondered for a moment before smiling lazily. "I do believe it's those green eyes of yours."
Her mouth curved into an 'o' shape and mollified, she nearly forgot that she was meant to be angry at him at all. Seeing this, and her sparkling eyes that were just previously aflame, he chuckled fondly and shook his head.
"Ah… appeal to vanity and all is forgiven," he uttered and though recited without a trace of mockery, it was easy to imagine it as such and she huffed, turning her pointed nose up to the sky. He laughed and the carefree sound melted the tension between them.
Her aunts' silent protests against her joining the picnic were no match for the childish insistence of the youngest Butler girl (and the coy flippancy of the eldest O'Hara daughter). If Eleanor was bothered by the sudden addition, she did not show it, rather, she seemed quite pleased with Scarlett's vivacious presence. Her dark eyes twinkled as a small smile lifted the corners of her lips like she knew a secret that hadn't yet been disclosed. Unaware of the reason behind the smile, Scarlett still perked up at the sight of it, for it was greatly rewarding to feel approved by this woman, one who seemed so much like her mother.
'Oh, Mother!' she thought sadly. Before her mind could treacherously wander back to the dreadful circumstances of war, Rhett was there to distract her from it all, and he began telling her the most scandalous things about those they passed by in the carriage. His mother had chastised him at first, but she could not hide her amusement at her eldest son's silliness. He was the favorite child and being the favorite herself, she could tell.
"That's Mrs. Taylor," he whispered in her ear, with the distance between them just barely enough to be considered respectable. "They say that she and her husband share separate beds because she has been in love with another man since she was sixteen."
Scarlett gasped.
"Separate beds! Fiddle-dee-dee!" she admonished, conveniently forgetting the churlish way she banished Charles Hamilton to a measly bedside chair on their wedding night. He laughed and his eyes danced as he searched for another unfortunate subject.
His finger singled out an old, middle-aged man. "And there is Thomas Harding. He…"
She blushed as the shocking words fell from his lips. "Oh!"
"Oh, indeed, Miss O'Hara!"
Quickly recovering, she quipped, "Why, Rhett Butler, I didn't know you were such a gossiping pea-hen!"
The two burst into a fit of laughter and Mrs. Butler could not contain a gentle smile, one full of hope and affection. Rosemary frowned, feeling left out of all the gaiety.
"What's so funny? Tell me!"
Rhett's mouth twisted into a piratical grin. "Dear sister, it would be improper to utter such words in a lady's presence."
Scarlett bristled, "You… you," though struggling to string together colorful insults in front of a certain esteemed woman. The words never came, and she sat back into the seat, her cheeks red. The man beside her watched amusedly as her anger slowly subsided and a sultry smile lifted the corners of her lips, imprinting a delicate dimple on her cheek. Following her gaze, he spotted the passing matrons and young ladies of Charleston looking their way, peaked with envy-ladened curiosity.
"How does it feel, Scarlett? All of Charleston thinks you've caught the most eligible bachelor the city had to offer. Just look at the contempt in all those faces."
"You think mighty high of yourself! When I talked to some of the ladies at the barbeque, they certainly did not feel that way!" she said haughtily, feeling triumphant. But, of course, he was always one step ahead and his face was eager, searching for something.
"Well, that merely proves my point. Somehow I made myself the topic of your conversation."
"What is your point, exactly? The others approached me! I certainly did not bring it up."
His black eyes gleamed as if he were closer to the discovery. "And why did they approach you?"
She gave a coquettish little smile. "They were kind enough to tell me how inhospitable and unkind you were. And did I forget to mention the strange aversion to marriage?" Of course, Scarlett understood why he wouldn't dare marry any of them. They were not good enough for him, but as she thought about it a bit more, her idea of the woman that would tame the ill-reputed Rhett Butler was indiscernible. Did such a woman even exist? For a second, Belle Watling came to mind and her body was so repulsed by the idea that she flinched. No, she pondered bitterly. This man would never be tied down by any woman.
"You seem a bit mad about that idea. Dare I presume, you wished to win my hand in marriage?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I don't think I'll live to see the day where you bend down on one knee."
"Yes, perhaps if you die a tragic, premature death," he said blithely, and she gasped. His mother shot him a look and he shrugged.
"Rhett! How could you say such a thing?" Scarlett declared.
"Have I offended your sensibilities?" His tone was rather sour. "Or is me being a married man so inconceivable to you?"
'If only you'd see the way you turned out!' she wished to retort. How he could act so sorely about this subject was beyond her, for he was the self-proclaimed 'not a marrying man'. How fickle of him, to play the wronged party!
"The way you talk, it sounds as if you truly wish to be married."
His jaw tightened and she peered at the hardness in his face. He looked to be biting his tongue lest he revealed something he did not wish, nor cared, to do. Whatever it was, she could not guess what it could be and it annoyed her so.
"Oh, all of this marriage talk bores me!" she whined. "Now, tell me Rhett, this Mr. Harding fellow…"
He blinked before plastering a wry grin on his face.
"Oh yes, where was I…"
Eleanor watched the two veer away from the subject, terribly amused.
Scarlett sipped absently at her lemonade, reveling in the idyllic scenery that surrounded her for a moment. Rosemary giggled cheerfully as Rhett pushed her on her perched wooden swing and she shrilled 'Higher! Higher!' though her protestations were mostly unheard. His cravat was long gone and draped across a branch and his jet-black hair was messy, only making him look rakish, yet oddly enough, more handsome. Surely, she must be going crazy for thinking of indecent things. He caught her eye and grinned devilishly, and how charming it was, but she heated up and drew her attention back to her sugar-coated fruit tart.
"Scarlett dear, did you know I had many young gentlemen inquiring about who our visitor from Georgia was? It is completely understandable, for you are such a lively, beautiful girl. I'm sure you have many beaux back home, don't you?"
The girl brightened up at the comment and much to a certain man's dismay, she smiled prettily and responded with a resounding, "Yes, Mrs. Butler."
"Are you particularly fond of any of them?"
She paused, taken aback by the bluntness of the question and she wondered for a moment if it were proper, but surely Eleanor wouldn't have asked if it were otherwise, she reasoned. Her mouth parted to answer 'no', but suddenly she remembered Ashley and she sputtered a bit, her cheeks growing warm.
"I-uh… No…"
Ashley! How could her treacherous mind have forgotten Ashley! Had she not been so flustered, she would have noticed the two Butlers straighten their backs, suddenly alert. She didn't know it, but her face softened in a manner that only highlighted the falsehood of her answer. Her cheeks were stained a light pink and her green eyes sparkled like emeralds, and it was a look Rhett recalled from their walk, the look that had since intoxicated him. His frown merely grew at the thought.
"Why'd you stop?" the little girl chimed in, staring up at her older brother who had ceased his pushing. His face was tainted with an emotion foreign to her, yet scaring her, nonetheless. She hopped off the swing seat and curled herself into her mother's lap, resorting to entertaining herself with mindless babbling. Eleanor stroked her hair unthinkingly, biting her lip in a bothered way, though her guest never did notice.
Instead, her mind was (quite unwillingly!) taken away from the honorable Mr. Wilkes as she watched Rhett walk off without a word, only to begin to skip stones on the surface of the lake. As he did so, his shirt clung to his body in such a way that made her blush and if she were a true lady, she would have looked away. But she simply could not do it, and she cursed his shoulders for they were, truly, too heavy for gentility. Something had to be the matter with her! With all her might, she tried to conjure the image of her beloved Ashley once more, but the soft blonde warped into jet-black and if she could, she would have screamed.
After a few moments, she collected herself, and tore her gaze away, squeezing her eyes shut, and leaned her head against the trunk of a tree. She must think about it later. It only took but a few seconds for the rippling water and quiet babbles of Rosemary to lull her into a pleasant, much-needed sleep.
The grim Atlanta air carried a looming cloak of defeat. It was heavy and humid, not much better than the dreadful house, and she cautiously opened her eyes to the dim, lonely light of the night post that served little in its purpose of lighting the barren streets. Realizing where she was, Scarlett jolted upwards and stumbled into the house, her ears straining to pick out something from the abundance of silence. The absence of chaos, of hardship, of noise—it rattled her beyond belief, this sound of a broken civilization.
Unwanted images of the Yankees entered her mind: men in blue ransacking the homes with their rabid ways, tearing apart furniture, knocking over delicate porcelain, uncaring for the lives who had nothing to do with this stupid war in the first place. They ravaged, raided, and destroyed and alas, left her with this silence, this nothingness that proved the death of the Confederacy. But, she was stubborn, and she clung to the hope that she'd find Melly and Wade asleep somewhere, alive and well.
Her fingers laid limp on the doorknob, her body stiff with trepidation, and she took one last breath before baring open Pandora's Box. The stench of illness hit her before her eyes processed Melly's still form sprawled on the untidy bed. It was evening and a sickly amber hue faintly lit the room, shining just enough for her to make out the pallor of the woman who she had long forsaken as her enemy. How she hated her for taking Ashley from her, that woman so unlike herself, who lacked so much that should make Ashley want her.
At that moment, however, her habits of raging jealousy were forgotten, and she only felt a gnawing ache from within. Melly was dead and she did not know why she felt so grim, so broken. Before she thought she would be happy, for it meant that Ashley and her were both free to bring their forbidden romance to fruition, but no, she was bereft. Perhaps she liked Melly more than she cared to admit. But it was too late for such realizations as she stared at the lifeless figure before her.
She couldn't bear to look anymore. She had to get to Tara.
But what if the same fate greeted her there?
Oh, she grumbled, then she would have the bear it just the same! But how? Where else could she turn to now? She was about to cry out until she heard the faintest of whispers, one that felt as if it was produced from the confines of her own mind. It was distant, far-off, and enticing. The voice was calling her name in a distinct drawl, a voice that said her name like no other.
Rhett Butler. Of course! He was strong and smart and could take her out of there, to Tara.
"Prissy? Prissy!" She called out. There was no answer and she looked out, startled by the unannounced presence of the girl in the scarcely lit hallway. In her hand was a withered magnolia and her dark fingers plucked at the ashy petals.
"Are you deaf? Why are you standing there like a ninny? Did you not hear me?"
She had expected a squeamish, flighty reply, but to her consternation, Prissy merely turned her head and faced her with dark, emotionless eyes.
"Yas, Miss Scarlett?"
They stood at odds with one another, and it took a moment for her to recover from her shock.
"I need you to go to the Atlanta Hotel and get Captain Butler. Tell him that we're leaving, and we need his help."
The blank look remained, and this unnerved her already frayed nerves.
"Well? Are you going to move now, or will I have to take a strap to you?" She wished to say this with more conviction, but her voice trembled at the sudden lack of deference.
"Ah doan know no Cap'n Butler, Miss Scarlett."
"What sort of nonsense is that? Who doesn't know Rhett Butler? Go now, you mindless girl!"
"Ah doan know no Cap'n Butler. Dere's no man lak dat in Atlanta, Miss Scarlett."
Soundless words fell from her lips, demoralized by the scathing honesty in the girl's reply. No Rhett? It simply could not be. She would not believe it. But, as she stepped forward, it was as if the world had shifted, and she fell to the floor which seemed to swallow her whole. She was no longer in Aunt Pitty's house but in the same crimson abyss that had entrapped her in the mist and smoke that swirled together in some suffocating concoction. She couldn't breathe and all of her seemingly endless supply of strength had been sucked from her body, and she knew for a second how Melanie's last moments had felt.
She whimpered out, before succumbing to the sweet relief of unconsciousness.
"Scarlett… Scarlett!" The voice called.
She groaned, her throat hoarse, as the wind cooled her tear-stained cheeks. Opening her eyes, she saw his face as he looked down at her, close enough to see the blatant concern etched into his features. She hadn't noticed until he removed it, but his hand had been on her shoulder, kneading it soothingly to bring her out of the nightmare.
"What's wrong, honey?"
The endearment was awkward and stiff in his speech as if his tongue was unused to it, yet the mere inclusion of it astounded her and she looked back to him, her eyes graced with the same softness as before.
"I—" she began, yet could not articulate the complexity of the dream, of her circumstance, into words. She shook her head and buried her face into her palm. "Oh, you wouldn't understand."
"No, I don't, but seeing that you had uttered my name in your sleep, it would interest me to know."
Her face blanched. Was he simply goading her?
"You were mistaken," she said, harsher than she had intended, but he did not seem affected. She waited for a mocking jab or teasing remark to leave his insolent mouth. It did not come, however, and instead, his hand reached for her own and squeezed briefly, invigorating her senses tenfold. This was not proper at all, but he was being so nice…
"Oh, Rhett…" she whispered, and he kneeled, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
"Tell me about it," he drawled, voice smooth as molasses, a comfort to her ears.
"It was awful… the Yankees came to Atlanta and destroyed everything."
He was puzzled but continued his comforting gestures upon her fingers. "The Yankees have no reason to hurt you."
She felt a tinge of irritation seep into her melancholy. Why, he must think she was mad! The gears churned in her head as she frantically searched how to give a reasonable explanation on the impossible, and unfathomable situation she found herself in. It was a wonder she had managed at all, for it was a given that she possessed an uncreative mind, though it was severely outmatched by her penchant for self-preservation.
The veneer of a Southern belle came naturally as a defense—her dark, fluttering lashes contrasting with the vibrant tint of her pouted lips.
"No, Rhett, in my dream we were at war with the Yankees. It was awful and they were in Atlanta and Melly," she hadn't meant to, but she choked in remembrance but continued on, "Melly died."
Both of his hands soon clutched her own. "Who is Melly?" he asked kindly.
"She was like a sister to me." As she said it, she was astonished herself by how the intended lie was so clearly the truth. She was a better sister than Suellen ever was to her, that's for certain.
He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself, and they wallowed in a period of silence before he chose to speak.
"You called for me. Why?"
He almost looks eager for the answer, she noticed, bemused. "Yes," she murmured, reluctantly. "In this, er, dream, you were a Captain."
A gentle smile graced his lips. "An attractive profession, I must say."
"Very profitable, as well," Scarlett added, with a slight smirk. His brow quirked up.
"Ah, so is it my indecent gains that you so desire?"
"Don't be so coarse," and panicked, she added quickly: "I don't want to speak of it anymore."
There was a thoughtful look on his face as Eleanor and Rosemary returned from their little stroll and with an affection she didn't expect of him, he caressed her knuckles before drawing back.
"Mother, is it time to go back?"
She peeked up at her to see if Eleanor had seen the quiet, though somewhat illicit, moment of intimacy between them and meeting such knowing eyes, her cheeks flushed. With Rhett acting so tender, she no longer knew what to think of him.
Perhaps she never really knew him at all.