Chapter 2

The months of January and February 1864 were spent in heartache and disappointment. With the new fall of currency, prices soared again. Beef, pork and butter cost thirty-five dollars a pound, flour fourteen hundred dollars a barrel, soda one hundred dollars a pound, tea five hundred dollars a pound. Newspapers were filled with scathing articles about speculators. Never was Rhett Butler more hated, now that he had sold his ships and was openly involved in food speculation.

Normally Scarlett would have been miserable and bitter with her worn clothes, but she was too heartbroken and confused to pay more than a passing glance to her clothing. In the sleets and storms of March, Melanie announced that she was going to have a baby, head ducked in embarrassment, a pleased blush in her pale cheeks. Scarlett had been combing her head, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. "Dear God," she said, after Melanie had left the room, sensing Scarlett's shock. So Ashley had . . . that night. No wonder he looked so guilty. A wave of hatred took over her mind at the thought-she had been so miserable, and for him? Generally, she tried not to think about Ashley, so as not to wallow completely into sadness, but now, instead of the expected sadness she felt only anger, at herself and him.

"Well," she thought resignedly, "good for them. They are made for each other after all." Then she remembered Melly's expression, and smiled to herself. "Melly looks so happy," she thought fondly, "I must not let anything happen to her-weak and silly as she is." Brave Melly, who could stand up to Mrs. Merriweather and Mrs. Elsing's bullying, who would stammer out her opinions, citing them as Ashley' to Scarlett, some respect had sprung up in her mind for Melanie Wilkes; further reinforced by the fact that she was the only person in Atlanta who was not hypocritical—except Rhett. Her contempt for Ashley and long conversations with Rhett had, gradually exposed all of Atlanta society's little hypocrisies. In Atlanta society's everyday denial, cowardly conformism and hypocrisies she only saw Ashley's lies and weaknesses, qualities which repulsed her utterly because they reminded her too much of Ashley and made her wonder why she liked him in the first place.

Of course, Melly could still be rather silly, and, of course, Scarlett paid heed to her flaws more than the wealth of good qualities she possessed in her pale, thin frame.

It seemed that happiness in Atlanta couldn't last, and the atmosphere in Aunt Pitty's house soon changed from happiness to worry. A telegram came, from Ashley's body servant, Mose.

"I have looked everywhere and I can't find him. Must I come home?"

Hastily rising from breakfast, the three women made their way to the telegraph Ashley's colonel, but on entering it they found a telegram from the very same man they wanted to contact, bearing those few words which would begin a flurry of uncertainty and fear in the household. It said, "Regret to inform you Major Wilkes missing since scouting expedition three days ago. Will keep you informed."

Pale faced Melly, shaken and careworn with all the work she was doing, had supported Aunt Pitty throughout the carriage ride. She was crying quietly in her handkerchief, while Melanie gently comforted her, tears flowing down her own face. Somehow, Scarlett found herself embracing Melly, even with the faint contempt she felt at her selflessness. Melanie was strong, and Scarlett had a grudging respect for her strength in the face of weakness she saw all around, which she hated.

The first reports appearing on the casualty lists were 'Missing-believed killed.' Melanie telegraphed Colonel Sloan a dozen times until he explained that Ashley was believed missing after a scouting expedition. There had been a skirmish along the Yankee lines and Mose had searched for a body, but had found none. Melanie, strangely calm now, telegraphed him money and instructions to come home.

When "Missing—believed captured" appeared on the casualty lists, joy and hope reanimated the sad household. Melanie could hardly be dragged away from the telegraph office and she met every train hoping for letters. She was sick now, her pregnancy making itself felt in many unpleasant ways, but she refused to obey Dr. Meade's commands and stay in bed. A feverish energy possessed her and would not let her be still; and at night, long after Scarlett had gone to bed, she could hear her walking the floor in the next room.

One afternoon, she came home supported by Rhett Butler, having fainted at the telegraph office. "Scarlett," he had asked abruptly, "is Mrs. Wilkes going to have a baby?"

"What-how?"

"Oh come on, don't be prudish, why do you think I am asking you and not her? It's true, isn't it?" he asked impatiently.

"Yes," she said.

"Then take care of her Scarlett. All this going about the office won't do her and the baby any good. I'll try to find Ashley's whereabouts from my associates in Washington, but by God, I won't raise a hand if she goes around worrying like this," he said seriously.

Why did Rhett care so much about Melly? She felt a pang of jealousy at the thought.

They never knew what strings he pulled, but somehow, the honey-tongued devil found out that Ashley was taken prisoner in Rock Island. At first, everyone was relieved but it was soon clear that his coming out of Rock Island was nearly as easy as Eurydice escaping Hades. For there he lay among diseased men with smallpox, measles and pneumonia, wounded and hungry. Three-fourths of the men who went there never came back; how was Ashley going to survive?

"Oh Captain Butler, surely, you could have him exchanged?" Melly had asked

"No exchanges. Mr. Lincoln was clear on that. Mrs. Wilkes, I-I hadn't told you before, but he had a chance to escape."

"Oh no!"

"The Yankees are recruiting men to fight the Indians. Any prisoner who would take the oath of allegiance and serve for two years will be sent West. But Mr. Wilkes refused."

"Oh, how could he?" Scarlett had asked, dumbfounded. "He could have taken the oath and come right back here." Thankfully, Melly didn't hear her, as she was trying to revive Aunt Pitty, who had fainted partly because of shock and partly because she hoped the infamous Rhett Butler would gallantly give her the smelling salts and admonish her to take care of her delicate health, remarking that her tender nerves ought not to be strained like this. But Rhett had been too busy grinning amusedly at Scarlett's blunt, almost careless dismissal of patriotism.

"Rhett, now tell me, if you were in Ashley's place, wouldn't you have taken the opportunity?"

"Of course."

"Then why didn't he?"

"Because he is a gentleman."

She had laughed a real laugh, after weeks and weeks of sorrow, even though his tone was rather contemptuous. Why, Rhett was so astute at times! That's exactly why he wouldn't come; because other Southerners would think it's wrong. But that didn't really make sense because he didn't really believe in the war, the only reason he was fighting it was because everyone else did. "People really are like sheep, like you say," she said slowly, realising it for the first time. She hadn't noticed the slightly surprised and admiring expression on Rhett's face.

Now she was sitting on the porch, thinking about Ashley's words, in a rare moment of reflection. She still didn't understand what they meant, but one thing was clear: Ashley didn't love her, not as much as she had loved him anyway. His words about society reminded her about similar things Rhett used to say, and she realised that it was all true. People were too restrained by silly rules and it prevented her from having fun. But surely, Ashley was nothing like Rhett? But he they both didn't believe in the war, both did not take the words of men like Dr Meade as the gospel and both, by their own words, were not gentlemen. Only, Rhett spoke his opinions freely and could not tolerate hypocrisy. He liked having fun, like her, while Ashley was a hypocrite, though he knew he was one. He was just cowardly, too cowardly to break away from the laws that he himself found suffocating. He was comfortable in his captivity, knowing he was a captive. And there was a certain weakness in such thought which repulsed Scarlett.

"Speak of the devil!" she thought, spotting Rhett's horse near the gate.

"Hello Scarlett. You look pale; you would positively glow in the moonlight-though I suppose you would faint rather ungracefully soon afterwards. Have you been eating less?" he asked, smirking.

"No, I am not pale and you are rude."

" 'Rude,' my dear, is a profound understatement. But never mind that, tell me, any food shortages at home?" he asked, looking concernedly at her appearance.

"No. Why are you asking? Aren't you among those profiteers starving Atlanta? Hypocrite!"

"Of course, as the dutiful son of our dear Southland, I must return all the love and care it gave me and do my duty to feed its men and women. Why wouldn't I? They abandoned me on the street with not a penny in my name. All this for what? For living comfortably in their pride, to reassure themselves that they are right in whatever they're doing and need not change their minds and of course, to maintain their reputation. Why be cruel to fellow humans for some silly reputation among stupid men of no real intellect and honour? Isn't that selfish, my dear? So of course, I must forget all of that, forget my mind and common sense, and humble myself to the delightful contradictions of society and go around shouting about our Glorious Cause like a seven-year-old child wanting attention from the adults of the house, and fawning over them for any crumb they throw at my direction. Surely, you don't think me that foolish? And I did try agreeing with their ignorant, overzealous opinions, because it was funny, but the moment I made my views known, they changed and threw me out of society once again. For the sole joy of being stubborn, wrong and opinionated. This South took all that was mine; now I shall do what I wish to be rich and have a good time."

She agreed with him, (though she'd hardly admit it!) and something in her own heart stirred against his suffering and understood his plight. The South did love its pride and honour more than people themselves. Let men and women suffer, be drained of life, but God-forbid their be pride broken, their ideas criticised and their sentiments mocked. Honour and respectability were more important than people. Rhett's father would forsake his own son for honour and respectability. Mocking and playful as he was, he probably didn't mean any real harm. He was the one who had informed Dr. Meade of his son's death. He had enquired after Ashley for Melanie, the only person who treated him well. He just hadn't wanted to marry a fool or curtail him freedom, and for this - to maintain his reputation and be comfortable in his hypocrisy - he had thrown a son out of his house.

A newfound respect for Rhett's courage and a vague sense of sadness for his childhood grew in her heart. But the moment was gone in an instant; she looked up to see him wiping his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. She remembered another one, soiled and smelly, filled with gold-coins and it swiftly replaced any other feeling.

"How could a decent man go to a whorehouse? No, he was just selfish and charming as a snake," she thought, disgusted. He hated hypocrisy, but he was a hypocrite himself. And she would hurt him where it hurt the most. How dare he pretend to care if she ate or not, the damned speculator? He might not feel obligated towards the South, but what had she done against him?

"But you're still a hypocrite to ask after my well-being-"

"No, I am not, my dear. Am I not making sure you have enough, despite the war?"

He had. He had come calling at Aunt Pitty's often to check the rations from the servants, and though nobody knew it, Scarlett had caught him once. She had been surprised and strangely touched at his behaviour, wondering why he did it. But he only replied to her enquiring face with a joke and she had dropped the subject.

She looked up at his face. There was a bit of concern in his face, his eyes scanning her figure and expression. And there was something else, a spark appearing in the black depths for the tiniest of moments before disappearing again. Scarlett was curious. He called often, brought gifts, teased her out of bad moods and yet, he visited bad women. She understood his anger for society, yet she didn't understand him. Did he love her, or did he not? Was he a devil, or perhaps there lay some softness beneath?

She hadn't realised that he was calling her.

"Woolgathering, my dear? What are you thinking so hard about?" he asked, grinning.

"Why didn't you marry that girl from the buggy accident? And did you really kill her brother?" she asked abruptly.

"My my, Scarlett, aren't we bold! But I'm glad you asked," he said, his grin widening, looking very amused.

"I didn't marry her because she was boring. And why should I marry a fool, just because the buggy wheel broke? I doubt if she would be happy with me anyway, why make both of our lives miserable for some silly rule that makes no sense? As for killing her brother-I had to, in self-defense. It is not my fault, the fool who couldn't shoot straight for the life of him and seemed rather belligerent, if you ask me. I had no intention of dying honourably and having my reputation for mischief - made with so much effort - to be whitewashed and my name cried over in my funeral. Being the handsome rake with the heart of gold who died honourably at the end sounds utterly unlike me, don't you think? I'd rather not have my reputation thus defiled, thank you very much." She laughed at this. It was too true, as Rhett's words often were.

"You know Rhett, I agree with you. Why shouldn't we have fun? But you're still so nasty and selfish and - vulgar. I can't quite decide."

"Why Scarlett," he said, bursting out into joyous laughter, "first you compliment me and then dash all my hopes. Pray tell me, why am I 'vulgar'? I cannot, of course, correct you on the nasty and selfish part- you find me 'nasty' because I can see through you and your tricks don't fool me, and am generally a monster of selfishness (at least I don't hide it), but vulgar? I don't quite think my rudeness is the only reason you pronounced the last epithet with so much venom."

"Oh hush! You aren't even ashamed! You're vulgar because you consort with bad women, and for all your prattling about 'fellow man', why, you quite forget the women," she said, her curiosity getting the better of her, a blush rising in her cheeks.

At this he looked shocked, but then amusement returned to his eyes and he opened his mouth to say something, no doubt to make fun of her unladylike behaviour, but she interrupted him, saying, "Yes, I do know, and no, I shall not be embarrassed. Don't mock me for being unladylike, why shouldn't women know about such places when their husbands may very well be visiting them in the name of work? Aren't we supposed to take care of our husbands and keep them away from temptation? Then why pretend? Of course, be a good wife, but never interfere with their business, never dare presume to command them, even if God himself tells you to! It's bad enough that men ask women to put up with their-their disgusting . . . activities but to go to such-such places as well!" she finished passionately.

Rhett kissed her hand, something unexpectedly tender in his touch. What did his gestures mean?

"Indeed Scarlett, it is rather hypocritical, not to mention selfish, to pretend to be a gentleman and marry, only to deceive and, er, visit bad women as you term them, but I'm not married. Again, your accusations fall flat because I don't deceive anybody, but I do appreciate your rather passionate tirade against the fact that women aren't supposed to know such places exist. I dare say you're even curious?" he asked with a grin. "But no matter, of course you are, it is only natural. And as for me going to such places, well, my dear, it's business. I pay for a body; I get a body. A neat little deal with no inconvenience-on both sides." He smirked, and Scarlett felt disgusted, even though his reasoning made sense.

"You're crass and lowdown! Business!"

"Ah, so now you remember your morals. I was wondering. Yes Scarlett, business, without any deception. Better than men who deceive their innocent wives, don't you think? Better than men who marry women for their beauty and charms and pretty dimples, and get unsettled when they show any signs of having a head. Marriage for beauty should be a sham too, for under the guise of the holy, socially acceptable institute of marriage lies little more than a business deal to satisfy a man's lust in return for keeping the woman well-fed, respectable and rich. You don't believe me? Why do you think being pretty and foolish gets a husband? Because that is what most men want; to have their ego stroked and their lust fulfilled."

His face darkened as he spoke. There was a bitterness in his tone, under the sarcasm.

"That can't be true! Charlie-he loved me."

"He loved the facade you put on, Scarlett. You know it."

Scarlett was tired, her mind tired, her feelings too shocked to continue any further. Rhett had been right, yet so, so wrong. It all felt wrong to discuss all this with Rhett Butler. Her black and white mind wanted to see if Rhett was an ally, or he was just a tempting devil. And she couldn't decide. She didn't think of the possibility of him doing both- leading her to 'temptation', but setting her free, because she didn't know herself.

"Oh Rhett, let's stop talking about it."

"How did you know anyway?" he asked, eyes narrowed, searching.

"Know what?"

"About the my, er, debauched vices," he asked, with a devilish grin.

"Let go, Rhett. What do I care whom you associate with?"

There was a flash of disappointment in his eyes. Why was he disappointed? Didn't he make it clear that it was 'just business'. She might as well say it, she thought, it didn't matter. She could be herself with Rhett.

"Miss-Mrs. Watling gave it to Melly-for the hospital." The old jealousy returned, though she tried to quash the feeling. Her voice rose as she said, "It was wrapped in your handkerchief, soiled and filled with that disgusting perfume smell!" Why was she angry? It was his business, she didn't care! She even agreed with his reasoning and couldn't deny that he was allowed to have fun, she told herself. Then why did she feel so angry?

He was looking at her strangely, the searching gaze returning again. His eyes were eager and alert, though his tone was teasing as her asked her silkily, "And you kept it, I suppose?"

"No! I threw it into the stove to burn!" she said, unable to hide the anger any longer.

He grinned widely, his mood lightening. It was strange; Rhett's moods were so unpredictable; sometimes he'd get moody and quiet, even bitter, when Dr Meade talked about the war, sometimes he would be his jeering, mocking self or sometimes he would be inexplicably happy and start teasing her fondly. And sometimes, he would even appear gentle and thoughtful, like around Melly. And now, he was smiling at her.

"Well, I suppose I must leave. It's a bit late. Ah look, you aren't pale anymore! I bet you get bored around here with no sensible person to talk to."

"What makes you think you are sensible, Rhett Butler? Good-bye," she said, laughing at his theatrical expression of wounded vanity. Oh, he was such a devil! And how she'd love to be as courageous as him, the rest of the world be damned!

Edit: thanks for the reviews. Perhaps my interpretation of Ashley is odd, but I hope his mind and motives become clearer as the story progresses. Also, the spellings might be a bit different for American readers.