Two young ladies sat prettily on the Butler porch with porcelain teacups in hand, their maiden skirts billowing around their legs as the sun basked a healthy glow on each of their fair faces. The older girl's silky black hair was tucked under a rose-colored bonnet, which was lined with intricate white lace trim threaded with ribbon and a row of peach ruffles, sparingly decorated with small white flowers that had been freshly picked from the garden. A satin bow was tied just under her chin to fit that square jaw and accentuated those pouty lips that peeked out from the warm, sun-cast shadows of her face. Besides her, her companion sat in a duplicate manner, poised yet demure, and was more than a decades-worth her junior—a child eager to adopt the ways of a lady. Her ivory frock was much simpler compared to the other, with tiered short sleeves and a wide-pleated bust that gathered into a full skirt before stopping at the ankle (which only made clear her young age). Feeling the heat, the little one shifted her legs and the liquid in her cup threatened to spill out, causing an irritated glance to be sent her way.
"Be careful. You mustn't move around like so unless you want that drink to end up in your lap."
The child nodded eagerly and fixed her stature, carefully bringing the rim of the cup to her lips. It warmed Scarlett's heart in a way, how little Rosemary was so trying to be like her, which appeased her feminine pride and reassured her that she was indeed, despite all, a great lady. More for her own selfishness than a genuine desire to help the girl, she stepped easily into the mentor role and the two girls have been stuck together since.
She delighted in her new distraction, teaching Rosemary the ways of a Southern belle—feigned docility, gentle veneers, and all—much to Rhett's perplexed amusement, who often remarked on how his 'darling sister' would not be 'catching a husband anytime soon'.
"It doesn't hurt to start early," she had replied.
"I suppose not, but were it anyone else, I wouldn't stand for it."
She straightened her spine, insulted by what she perceived to be some veiled attack on her character.
"What is it that you're trying to say?"
"That by the end, like you, Rosemary will still have a mind of her own," he said, though, in her eyes, the careless shrug of his shoulders diminished the value of his words and wiped away any trace of his admiration for her, written off as just another one of his cryptic, moody utterances.
Not only did it swell her ego, but she could also feel that comforting presence of Ellen beside her as she demonstrated each calculated flirt and flounce that had been ingrained, though not believed, in her nimble body. Yet, with every fulfilling pull towards this idolatry, came a push in the other direction for all of this was exactly that—calculation. The revelation frightened her, knowing that there may be some truth in Rhett's declarations that she was no lady after all. Of course, what she didn't know, is that not only did her student take note of her teachings, but of her passion too, which was poorly concealed in their casual arrangements, and contrary to her intentions, the girl was learning, not to be a lady, but to be like her, who seemed but rather not be.
Rosemary put the teacup down on the porch floor and tilted her head, the black curls bouncing around her face.
"Why do I have to do all of this?"
Scarlett sneered. "Because that's the way things are."
"Why?"
She huffed and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Girls must do silly things to catch a husband."
A loud laugh startled them both and as they turned to the door, there stood Rhett with a devilish smirk, a hand placed upon the holster of his gun, the metal gleaming dangerously under the light.
"Indeed, Miss O'Hara? Pray, what sort of silliness are teaching to my sister?"
A wrinkle appeared between her brows, her rosy lips forming a frown. "Must you always be so vile?"
He grinned. "I think you like me because I'm vile."
Before she could spew hateful things and say otherwise, he turned to his sister and said, "Mother is looking for you."
The dutiful girl nodded and ran off inside, though her spot did not remain vacant for long for she saw his long legs stretch out upon the steps beside her, the blue-blooded face unsettling her from the corner of her eye.
"What do you want?" she quite rudely asked.
His brow arched, the corner of his lips lifting with merriment.
"Is it now prohibited to enjoy the pleasures of my own home? Must you be so conceited to assume everything involves you?"
Her grip tightened on the handle of the fragile china and she hastily put it down, the porcelain clattering against the wood, as she turned to show the becoming streak of anger that was plain on her face. The sight made his eyes dance, though she did not notice as he took in every ravishing detail, from the stubborn square jaw to her tempting pink lips.
"I'd thank you to go enjoy your stupid pleasures elsewhere."
His mouth burst into a full-out grin, and he leaned in mischievously, thawing her annoyance into thinly veiled curiosity.
"Speaking of taking pleasures elsewhere, you have graciously reminded me of what I came to ask you."
The scandalous implication in his statement was lost on her for she was too busy wondering about the possibilities of his request. Her eyes sparkled—perhaps he would take her dancing!
"Oh, Rhett, what is it?"
"Tell me, how good are you on horseback?"
"Why, my Pa would say I'm a better horsewoman than any of my beaux!" she bragged, her chin tilting up proudly.
The admission visibly pleased him and so he stood before he revealed any unwanted feelings of boyish adoration. Temporarily, his focus was not on her, and she took the moment to truly look at him. He wore a white dress shirt, the negligence of press made clear by how the sleeves flowed loosely in the breeze, and a gray collared waistcoat, though the accompanying jacket that would have made him properly dressed was, conveniently, nowhere to be seen. His long legs were clad in tan trousers that were tucked into black polished riding boots, his figure astonishing her with its sheer amount of vitality, so different from the other men she had known. He looked back to her suddenly, catching her wandering gaze, and smiled with conceit—plus something else, that was strangely akin to gleeful triumph.
"Better than all the county boys, you say? Such a bold statement requires proof!" he declared, lending out a hand. "Come, we shall put it to the test."
Still embarrassed from being caught, she mechanically replied, "It's not proper. I don't even have a riding habit."
"Oh, Scarlett, you disappoint me. Does that trifling fact truly bother you?"
"No, but I'm supposed to mind…" she trailed off, for she truly wanted to but, dear god, she had just been showing Rosemary how to be a lady! Though (despite all her inner turmoil) the elasticity of her conscience was slowly easing its way through her already loose obedience to propriety.
"Your mother would not approve of it," she finished, lamely.
He shrugged and put on his wide-brimmed hat, which cast a sharp, angular shadow across the plane of his swarthy face. It was such a careless action that managed to simultaneously provoke her ire and garner her respect.
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," he teased, without even sparing her a glance. "Are you scared that I'll take some liberties?"
"Great balls of fire, you're trying to compromise me!"
A loud, obnoxious laugh left his lips and he nearly doubled over. Oh, the absolute gall of the man!
"Do stop laughing," she hissed.
"Scarlett," he began and wiped a mock tear from his eye. "If I truly wanted to compromise you, first of all, I would need not respect you. And even so, I wouldn't take such great pains in dragging you off to some remote place in the middle of the woods. I would do so right here, on these very steps."
"Please stop speaking, it only grows more horrid by the second."
"Now, now, Scarlett. I assure you; my intentions are completely honorable. Don't let worthless virtues cloud your judgment, I know that you wish to go. Just say yes."
Her feline eyes looked away from the ground and to his face, seeing the genuine honesty in that kindred black gaze. More than that, there was an intensity to his request, as if it meant more than he let on, and this elusive yearning drew her into him.
"Yes," she said softly and took his hand.
She watched him mount the black-maned beast with wide eyes, though with a gradation of annoyance, still in shock over how that ill-bred man had set her up.
"Rhett," she called out and he gave her a casual glance, though he was unable to hide his amusement.
"Yes?"
"This is not a side-saddle."
He chuckled. "And?"
"You varmint!" she exclaimed. "What if someone sees me?"
"So, the actual act of riding astride doesn't bother you, just the judgment of others?" he inquired. His horse trotted beside her until his towering body draped her in shadow, though her furious eyes still caught rays of scattered sunlight.
"How is this matter any different from your choice of inappropriate dress? I'm sure when you were in that green frock of yours, you didn't give a fig about who saw you."
"It is entirely different!" she replied obstinately but found some hidden truth in his words.
"No, it's not, and don't deny it just to be contrarian. You've defied what's proper on multiple occasions since you've been in Charleston—many times without my bad influence. It would be easier to accept that you might be just as ill-mannered as I am, Scarlett. Do you really care for what people say?"
"No… But—"
"Ah, no buts. You have admitted that you don't care, and that is one step in the right direction. Now, get on or you'll fall behind."
Before she could reply he took off laughing and she let out an unladylike shriek, scrambling on her brown mare, her skirt hiking up to her lily-white ankles and exposing the frills and lace of her petticoat. Her bonnet jerked off her head from the sudden movement and hung along her back, her cheeks aflame with growing exhilaration that overpowered any lingering remnants of vexation. All semblance of decency forgotten, she pulled at the reins and raced after him, her giggles loud and carefree as the wind tousled her hair and skirts. She felt, for the first time, a rejuvenating liberation, the sort that satisfied her lusty passions for gaiety, indulgence, and fun.
"You're too slow, Rhett Butler!" she yelled happily as she overtook him, missing the unchecked look of awe on his young face, one that, if she saw, would have made clear his feelings for her.
What had been an updo in the morning was no more as each curl fell from the messy coiffure, trailing down her back, with some strands sticking to her face from perspiration. Up ahead, she spotted the meandering curve of the river and halted, throwing her hands up in the air in triumph with a childlike cheer. Seconds later, the sounds of horseshoes could be heard, along with his breathy laughter.
"Let the horses rest for a moment," he said as he swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted. He approached, his brows raised at the sight of her slender ankle shrouded in lace, though she was sure there was a ghost of a smile on his face. Without warning, strong hands held her by the waist, the warmth searing through all layers of fabric, and lifted her effortlessly to the ground. He looked down at her with troubled eyes and the grip on her body remained a second too long before he abruptly turned and sat down on the bank of the river. Silently, she sat beside him—the hem of her skirt caressing his hand—and began picking wildflowers for her windblown bonnet.
They stayed like that for a few minutes before she felt his hand on her own and she grew excited, knowing what was to come. Taking advantage of their isolation, her beaus would always take a petty kiss or two before declaring their love, and Rhett Butler of all people, in love! It was an unlikely concept, but not at all unwelcome for she so wanted to hear him say those words to her, though she failed to rationalize the genuine yearning behind her anticipation.
"Scarlett," he drawled, her name never sounding sweeter.
"Yes?"
She coquettishly tilted her head, meeting his gaze, though was surprised by the unabashed desire that was laid on display. She bit her lip, though she was uncertain whether it was purposeful, and as she feared her loss of control, the grip on her fingers tightened.
"I've been thinking about that dream you had… about me being a Captain."
Her lips curled down in a frown, displeased that he was not trying to kiss her yet. The nearly nonsensical change in topic, along with the stark contrast of his warm hands with his serious speech made her head spin, her perplexing headiness mingling with the irritation from his ambiguity.
"What are you going on about?"
He paused while tenderly rubbing her knuckle. "I'm going to leave this dismal place, Scarlett."
"Leave!" she cried out, jerking her hand away from his grasp. "Don't be foolish, where would you go?"
He looked at her with searching eyes. "Texas, New York… any place really."
"The North is full of Yankees! And, oh, why would you leave? Haven't you got any sense?"
"Perhaps I don't, but, my God, this way of life does nothing but suck the life and reason right out of you. You must feel it too, don't you? What joy is there to find in appealing to some old crow's sensibilities? Why must we go along mindlessly when there are so much more desirable things to do?"
"One cannot just simply stop and leave everything behind!" she exasperated.
"Why not? What could possibly hold me down?"
She did not notice his searching eyes.
"Your mother, Rosemary! Lots of things!"
His bitter laugh rang in her ears. "I wish I could say family with some confidence, but alas you have forgotten about my father. Shall I enumerate his many grievances, or do you not have all day?"
"This is not funny at all. I don't see why you are making crude jokes."
"On the contrary, the whole thing is a complete and utter joke. But I can see you are not enjoying it, so I won't trouble you any further with this talk. Let's head back."
The man stood and walked away, leaving her speechless—unable to keep up with the fluctuation of his mood, which seemed to lack any sort of sensibility. There was a queer feeling that told her he had brought her there for a reason gone unmentioned, a greater purpose looming over them, but never to be borne. Whatever he had wanted, she detested this man in front of her, seeing the remnants of his older counterpart—dismissive and detached—treating her as a silly little thing and spewing nonsense she did not understand.
Galloping away, his figure grew smaller, yet not anymore distant than how she felt him be mere seconds ago when his hand had clutched her own. More forlorn than she had started, she climbed unto the horse and the wildflowers fell from her bonnet, though she cared for it no longer and trampled them as she followed.
When they neared the stables, she had expected him to drop off the animal and disappear without explanation (as he did many times before) but he waited for her to come nearer, his hat concealing any indication of what he truly felt. Unlike before, he helped her down briskly, without grace or care, and as soon as her slippers touched grass, he let go of her, as if she were nothing but an inconvenience. Just as she was about to scold him for his indifference, he delicately placed her bonnet back on her head, as lovers do, and if preceded by none of the behavior beforehand, she would've thought that he loved her.
"Rhett," she quietly whispered. "Are you really going to leave?"
His countenance softened though he said nothing as his hand lingered on the lacy brim of her hat before trailing down to touch the stray curls that framed her face. They remained at this stalemate that laid so haphazardly on the border of affection and desire, his hand so close, but not close enough, and she dared not plead him to take the first step.
Then, he took her chin between his fingers, and she knew what he had wanted to do. Her eyes fluttered shut, waiting for him, but rather than his warm lips, he pushed her away, and she gasped, as the unwanted sensations of cool air felt unnatural against her skin.
"Why—"
"Father."
Right away, she understood, and her eyes were now wide open, severely ill-prepared for a sight so far removed from that of her expectation. The last time she had seen Stephen Butler, he had been groomed and undeniably refined, appearing to be the upstanding Southern gentleman. His malicious words had not reconciled with that image the other night, but now, it was a grossly perfect match, the realization coming to Rhett as well, whose hands were now tightly gripping her arms. The pain of his grip was acute in comparison to her shock, which had stunned them both in place.
There he stood shamelessly, having just exited the stables with his dress shirt messily adorned and suspenders hanging limply to his sides, the wrinkles of the fabric only suggesting a mere fraction of his obvious exertion. She immediately looked away, scandalized, as she noticed the worst of his dishabille—the undone buttons of his trousers—and she felt dirty just from sight alone. In her hurry, she only caught a hazy amount of detail, from his wild hair to swollen lips, though did not fully comprehend the implication of his ill-attire, for she was still stuck on the initial observation and all its indecency.
The three of them stood in rigid silence, contrapuntal to the serenity of their surroundings, and she wished one of them would speak and break the suffocating atmosphere that was foreign for her, yet commonplace for these two men, neither of which she understood.
"You've outdone yourself, sir," Rhett spat out and though not directed at her, she still flinched and struggled from his grasp. He did not relent, his grasp unyielding, as if she anchored him from losing all self-control. His father did not reply immediately, letting the barb hang in the air, and when he did his voice was cool and dispassionate.
"Is it any different from what you are doing right now?"
His eyes were ablaze, and he truly meant his words when he said, "if it weren't for mother, I'd wring your neck for that."
The man smiled, but without humor. "Ah, there is that characteristic barbarity of yours. You've always had a propensity for violence, dear son."
He walked over to them in a careless manner, like a tyrannical king presiding over his realm—unbothered and confident in his power. Rhett put her to the side, and she feared that he would do the unthinkable and shoot his own blood.
"You're a damn hypocrite."
"I am also your father." He clicked his tongue, diminishing them to the children that they were. "I suppose that is one trait you inherited. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I'll never be like you."
"Is that so?" he said mockingly. His gaze shifted to her, and she looked to him defiantly. There was a meticulousness in the way he analyzed her as if considering her for a particular purpose, though whatever it was, she knew she wanted no part of it.
He hummed and turned back to face his son, looking pleased.
"I'll be generous and pretend I did not see you trying to compromise one of our lovely Southern ladies for anyone to see. I expect you'll return the favor?"
"Don't count on it."
The callous man laughed and walked away, knowing he had won.
"Rhett—"
"Not now, Scarlett," he murmured, immediately mounting his horse. Taking off in the other direction, she watched the two men depart, yet they remained on the same plane, never to acknowledge how similar they truly were. On a whole different route, she saw the crying dark-faced figure fleeing from the stable, her hands lifting at her skirts, and she felt sickened, unaware of that wretched possibility that existed right under her nose. Even more so, she was repulsed, looking back towards that man, and realizing that he would leave the ordeal entirely unscathed.
For the first time, she understood what was truly unfair.
"Is he back?" Eleanor asked and she shook her head. The concern laced into the woman made her squirm uncomfortably, as she tried to forget the whole ghastly encounter, and distracted herself by petting the curls of the sleeping Rosemary. Now acquainted with this rotten aspect of life, she was unable to filter the horrifying thoughts that her father had somehow engaged in these horrid activities.
'No!', her conscious interjected. Her Pa would never do such a thing! He was nothing like that Butler man!
Trying to wipe such thoughts from her mind, she murmured, "He left on horseback and didn't say where he was headed."
"Mr. Butler said he seemed very angry."
She bit back a barb and lowered her face, unable to conceal her disgust.
"I do not know why that might be."
Eleanor paused.
"You know something."
Her voice trembled as she replied, "I do not."
It was as if she were lying to her own mother, a woman so dear and sweet, and completely undeserving of the offense. She was so sure that the affair would hurt Eleanor, not knowing that she had greatly underestimated the woman's perceptiveness. It was just that she sat so unassumingly that one would believe her to be ignorant.
"I am no old fool, Scarlett. I am aware of my husband's indiscretions."
The girl gasped. "So—you know?"
"That and many other things."
She had expected tears, mortification, or some sort of emotional torment, but not this stone-faced acceptance. Instead, her hands continued to move deftly upon her embroidery, unaffected by the brutal fact laid down before her feet.
"Do you not care?" she asked, utterly confused.
Her hand stalled mid-stitch and she put down the thread, her struggle to contain her emotion becoming more apparent.
"Not care? It is not a matter of caring. Whether you care or not, he will continue to stray. But, no I suppose I do not care anymore. The question, however, is do you care? Do you wish to walk away now that you have been made known to the filth of this household?"
"Why does it matter what I think of it? It's obscene and indecent and—"
"I know, child, but do not be led to think that you are unimportant here. You mustn't let my husband put you off from this family, because it needs you, more than you could possibly know."
They all spoke of things that made no sense to her, and seeing this incomprehension, Eleanor sighed and took Rosemary into her arms.
"Don't wait up. He's not coming home anytime soon."
She stood and paused as her husband came through the threshold, seeing him eye Scarlett, and silently realized that they were, for once, not at cross purposes. They exchanged a look, one tinged with accusation, the other respectfully detached, and she passed by clutching her daughter to her chest. Scarlett refused to notice him as he sat on the other side, looking dignified again, though much to her dismay, he began to speak.
"Mrs. Butler is right. You shouldn't wait for him."
"I'm not doing anything of the kind."
He chuckled and lit a cheroot, the wisps of smoke veiling his face. The friendly manner which he had adopted unsettled her and she wondered how Eleanor could have ever left her alone with this nasty man.
"My, my, how stubborn you are. But it is exactly that stubbornness that brought my attention to you. You have impeccable timing, my dear, to show up on our front steps and relieve us of this burden."
"What are you saying?"
"I apologize," he drawled, not meaning a word. "Was I not frank enough? Well, fool as my son is, he probably has not told you a thing and as much as I would like to enlighten you, I'd say it is rather amusing to watch two youths skirt around the most obvious truths."
She scowled, unable to contain her frustration. "All you Butler men are like this, speaking in riddles!"
"Then allow me to offend your sensibilities for a moment," he cautioned, though he had offended them a long time ago. "What I am trying to say is that I'm quite willing to make a sacrifice of accepting a passel of peasant kin in exchange for a much more agreeable son. Or, to put it more aptly, I'm asking you to tame a beast."
His words processed through her brain, sifting through his insult-ridden offer with growing indignation, and her body rejected the idea, though superficially, as she sat upright on the porch swing.
"You want me to marry him! But you said you would forget what you saw earlier—"
"I have forgotten. This is an entirely different matter that is, conveniently, beneficial for every party involved."
"How is this beneficial for me in any way?! I shall never marry aga—ever!"
"Ah, I see you have some fanciful ideas that meddle with my cause," he uttered, frowning. "Your ignorance on the compatibility of the match astounds me and fittingly, it is becoming more like the tale of Venus and Mars. Are you familiar?"
"No, and I do not wish to be. It's probably another vile insult to humiliate me."
"It depends. Do you truly wish not to marry him?"
"Absolutely."
"So, are you saying you'd rather be his mistress? With two souls so alike, I see no other way this affair could go."
"How dare you!" she sputtered out. Again, that foul word had been in relation to her, piercing through all her ideals as a lady and diminishing her to something so low and wanton. The insult filled her with immeasurable rage, instilling within her the urge to hurl something to express such feeling which she was unable to put into concrete speech. She jerked up and onto her feet, her eyes searching wildly, her hands in fists, and those jade-green eyes aflame with hatred.
"You're a despicable man to ever suggest I'd engage in such a thing. I suspect you would, but I am not wretched like you! If only Charleston could see you for the scoundrel that you are, for you're no gentleman!"
"I thought we already established that earlier, but dear sweet child, no man could ever be a true gentleman. There is a monster of selfishness inside all of us that guarantees that. But we must keep up pretenses for the sake of stability, for our civilization to carry on smoothly. Eat the forbidden fruit if you so desire, but why flaunt the act and all its vulgarity? Do you understand my point?"
"No, but I do know that you're a white lily-livered coward and that I do not wish to be any part of your family!"
She grabbed her bonnet and chucked it at him, the wilted remains of flowers fluttering down as the garment landed pathetically at his feet. For a moment, he was shocked, until he processed her impertinence, and returned to cold indifference. All the airs and pretense he had put on to entice her into his outrageous plan were gone and he now looked upon her as if she were a nuisance.
"You have less sense than I thought to deny an outright invitation to become a Butler, though I should have expected it, for you cannot even make sense of your own affection for my son."
"You're wrong, I can't be in love with him, I love someone else."
"Hopeless girl," he sneered. "You're throwing away this opportunity with both hands and overcomplicating things that were made to be so easy."
Scarlett refused to listen any longer, her brain muddled with doubt and uncertainty, and she demanded (almost hysterically) for a carriage to take her back to her aunt's home. Simply anywhere, she pondered darkly, anywhere away from that house and all its deceit and tricks and secrets.
The man stoically requested her a ride and as she sat in the back seat, awaiting the driver, she saw Rhett walk up the front steps, stopping mid-way as he spotted his father on the porch. Eleanor walked through the door and doted on him, with Rosemary right behind, hugging her brother's leg despite all the mud and dirt. He knelt down and embraced her tight before she ran off into the arms of her Father.
If only she had been a mere observer, she would have believed that they were truly a family.
Author's Note: Esse quam videri means 'to be, rather than to seem.