LONG Note: (Skip at your pleasure, or read at your leisure.)

I edited all the other chapters. I wanted to collapse chapters 4 and 5 into one. But I didn't because I think that would mess with reviews for chapters. They should have been the same chapter all along. Many of the reviewers have commented on Scarlett's seemingly contradictory self. I think she was a big mess of contradictions: from her face to her background to her behavior to her intelligence. GWTW is made up of long, lengthy passages of perceptive musings that end with a line about Scarlett "hearing and seeing and living" in these things, without really understanding them. Still, she managed to be aware of them on some level, even if she was unable to fully grasp them.

With that said, I did take out a few lines and paragraphs that I intended to be more narrative in nature and not really from her own mind. Thanks to your insightful reviews, I realized I had put them in too hastily. (I re-pasted one in this chapter because it fit better.) I left in most of the thoughts about Rebekkah, though. I don't think Scarlett was overly intuitive about that. In here, it went along the same lines as her knowledge of 'low women,' as one reviewer pointed out.

Another reviewer thought Rhett knows her too well already? I was thinking: hey, he did already meet her parents and spend a night in her house. It's amazing how much you learn about a person when you meet their family and stay the night in their childhood home, add that little bit to the fact that Rhett's an excellent poker player and didn't take his eyes off her at the barbecue and…well…

And most importantly, in my version verses the original: I'm hoping on a different outcome. :)

Sorry this update took so long to get to. Thanks for the prods. Thanks for the reviews.

Chapter 7

The next few days passed away much in the same timeless, oppressive haze as that first full day in Charleston. Every morning, Rebekkah towed Scarlett all around town. Their walks never lasted as long as that first endless march and Rebekkah would periodically ask Scarlett how she was fairing, or without asking, sense her fatigue and slow her tireless feet down to grant Scarlett's soul and soles some rest. As they strolled by monuments or sat underneath palm trees, Rebekkah would ceaselessly talk in that low, refined accent about families Scarlett doubted she would ever meet and regale her with tales of traditions Scarlett doubted she would ever want to participate in. Unwittingly, though, the trickle of knowledge sunk through Scarlett's thick, uninterested brain. By the third day, the sounds of these family names and the glimpses of their faces became as familiar as the rub of the cobblestones against Scarlett's heels or the smell of the maritime fauna in the breeze—or the tingle of the sun as it scalded her pale cheeks.

Scarlett didn't once ask why these daily promenades were so important, more vital than even the health of her skin. She thought that would betray her as weak. And so she held back the torrent of complaints that would occasionally froth up, choosing to only mentally mope and moan. Marshalling all of her superficial graces, she minced and jingled throughout the mossy streets, frequently cursing but never guessing at the reason behind the two-woman caravan. Unanalytical she couldn't have guessed right if she had ventured a try. She couldn't know the frail sympathies that were sprouting up in the hardened hearts of the Charleston matrons as they surreptitiously watched her; clueless to the whispered conversations that the sight of her pretty, heat-kissed face stirred up behind the seemingly sealed shut doors, the quiet rush of chatter around sewing circles and newly-organized wartime committees that could potentially lead to her absolution.

Scarlett could not hear the low roar of the turning of the tide for her acceptance into an impregnable society, but Rebekkah did. She knew. She noticed how not only the old men would stop and tip their hats at Scarlett, but how once or twice their wives would covertly glance at her, pucker their thin lips and infinitesimally shake their heads in disapproval. Her keen ears could hear their thoughts, read their predictable minds, how that poor child was being dragged about town, her scoundrel husband abandoning the dear all day long without even bothering to buy her a proper sun bonnet or parasol, how the sins of the husband should not be passed onto the wife, especially such a stunningly fair, young girl.

Rebekkah heard and saw it all because it was what she had planned to hear and see, what she had skillfully intended for them to observe and condemn. Each and every morning stroll, she languidly chatted, and Scarlett languidly listened. She kept quiet about her plans, though, as quiet as she kept about everything, and while she would not share her thoughts with Scarlett, she was fascinated by Rhett's bride, fascinated that she seemed unaware and uncaring of her impact on her environment. Under the sun and eaves of the Charleston skyline, Rebekkah silently studied the wild docility of the girl that flounced beside her, Scarlett's hips sashaying to an unknown, illicit beat and her green eyes betraying her careless attitude. And when Rebekkah wordlessly cared for the girl after their strategic outings, stripping off the stockings spotted with the blood of broken blisters or unloosening the binds of the painfully cinched corset, without eliciting so much as a whinny of complaint, she wondered what she would do with this child when this child inevitably bucked too hard and broke free—especially if Rhett was gone.

Still onshore and Rhett was already gone more often than he was around. Rebekkah didn't like it, but she didn't speak her mind. Silence had saved her from many a heartache and many a hurt. And so her lips remained closed and her eyes open, her fascination warring with her fear of the untamed wife that Rhett had chosen; a wife who was as dense about her surroundings as she was about her husband.

Not that Scarlett had much opportunity to study him.

Over the span of these few sluggish days, Rhett came and went at all hours. Twice he was gone before Scarlett woke up and returned just as she was climbing into bed. Another time he woke her up with the dawn, nuzzling her neck and tickling her toes, and then forced her to eat with him—an early breakfast for her and a late supper for him. A couple times he loped in with the twilight, his bronze skin perfectly blending in with the shadows of the golden dusk. Only a few days had passed, but no pattern or predictability stuck out to Scarlett of when or if her husband would come back to the hotel. He never gave her straight answers on what exactly he was doing or when exactly he would be leaving. She never knew when to expect him, and so within two days, she stopped asking him most things and stopped expecting him at all.

One day, when the sun was high and hot in the sky, Rhett surprisingly strolled into their room during the afternoon. It was a sweltering, sweaty day, the kind when the balmy sea air has thickened into blanket of steam and not even the insects buzz in the stagnant wind. Scarlett was fanning herself in front of the balcony, dozing in the humid heat, and didn't realize it was her husband instead of Rebekkah until Rhett snatched the rice-paper fan from her hand and poured a bucket of icy sea water over her. Impulsively she screamed and stood up, spluttering the water from her mouth and whisking it from off her face. He laughed at her, making some jab about cats hating baths, but as the chill of the sea melted the fever from her skin, she didn't care about his prank or his joke. She swiped the lingering droplets from her eyes and sighing, asked if he had brought anymore. The puckish leer on his lips snarled into a much more devilish and subtler grin. The bucket went flying across the room and, grabbing her around the waist, Rhett pulled her into a kiss.

The kiss was wet and salty, and through the dampness of her dress Scarlett could more easily feel the heat of Rhett's body on her skin. His lips skidded down her neck and his hands sleeked down her skirts. He picked her up by her legs and carried her over to their bed. In a faint murmur she cried that it was the middle of the day, that he hadn't locked the door, and that it just wasn't proper. His response was to cover her mouth with another kiss. That stirring in her abdomen swirled. Her body surged with life. Rhett began removing the layers between them. And Scarlett opened herself up to experiencing once more the only thing that she had come to expect and could predict from her husband—his passion.

That daybreak when he had fallen asleep had been the only time he had come back to the hotel and given her more than an hour's pause before he would reach out for her, press her into him, and as she was falling into that known and unknown abyss, fall on top of her. Sometimes he would be as swift and sharp as a bullet. Other times he would be slow and meticulous as a blade. He would laugh and play one minute, teasing her to the point of distraction, and then whisper sweet nothings into her ear and tenderly caress her, the next. No matter how many times it was repeated, it was never the same. He was never the same. But Scarlett was.

His passion had hollowed out a hunger in her gut, an aching, constant wanting. It was as though he had unlocked something inside her, something he was never meant to unlock, but something he was always bound to discover. He was a man of unvarnished lusts and sensual appetites, but instead of shrinking from his fleshy fervor, she had risen to it, grappling and grasping at it. Every time he abruptly yanked her into his arms or seductively drew her toward him, every moment of his skin on her skin and his lips on her lips, cracked open that emptiness that only his continuing and constant touch could fill. But then he would leave, again, and she would try to forget it and move on as a lady should—wondering as she rose up from the daze of his love, if it had happened at all. And she would wonder that, slowly chew on it, even as she fought to ignore it, until Rhett came back, and her hunger would return.

Sometimes she wanted to ask him if it meant he loved her, for surely a man couldn't do that with a woman and not love her, but Scarlett figured he would just laugh at her if she asked him, or pat her on the head with that devil-me look in his eye. During those rare occasions of quiet between them, while he would hold her flush against his bare chest, she almost did ask him, and then the she would think of what she imagined other wives would do and how other ladies would act, and her lips would press together before she had even taken in a breath. Sick in the heart with longing for Tara and Ellen, she instinctively held on more ferociously to what she believed she ought to be and what she feared she never would become. And so even in those infrequent moments, when she remembered to ask him and wanted to ask, she never could.

~Souffle~

Scarlett had been in Charleston for exactly one week when she received her first visitor. It was the day after Rhett's unexpected afternoon visit. The weather was cooler than the previous day, the fog of humidity had broken earlier in the morning and dumped fresh rain onto the earth. When Scarlett saw the door unlatch, her breath hitched in anticipation, and then, the hinges creaked and the door swung wide open and Rebekkah walked in, with Scarlett's Aunt Eulalie on her heels. Scarlett's anticipation immediately crumbled into suspicion. As desperate as she was for some real companionship, she couldn't think of a single good reason why her aunt would suddenly break her code of silence and breach through enemy lines, with the enemy still at large. Rhett had made it clear that neither of her aunts would make her any overtures until after he had left the country.

Eulalie only nodded her greeting, and Scarlett coldly nodded back. Rebekkah disappeared back out into the hall, and Scarlett wished she could leave with her. Unmoving, she lounged on her favorite perch beside the open balcony doors and silently watched her aunt tiptoe across the expansive hotel room.

Eulalie's shriveled hands were curled up in nervous disgust and her critical gaze was taking in the whole of the scene. Despite the coolness of the afternoon, a sheen of rosy sweat still glistened on her slack face and supple arms. Not very kindly, Scarlett thought she looked like a deflated sow dressed up in black silk. Since Scarlett could remember, she had always worn the same dreary variations of widow's garb, though her husband had been dead for years. She was at least ten years older than Ellen, her flaxen hair and disturbingly clear eyes so different from Scarlett's mother that Scarlett wondered for the hundredth time in her life how the two sisters were related at all.

Eulalie sat down on the edge of the chair across from Scarlett, as though resting too far back into the cushion would soil her for good. Scarlett wasn't about to open the conversation or falsely gush about how grateful she was that her aunt had deigned to call on her.

"Afternoon Scarlett," her aunt said shortly. "This is a pleasant room. You must have a fine view of the bay."

"Would you like to take a look from the balcony, or are you afraid somebody will notice you're visiting someone who isn't received, auntie?"

Scarlett asked this in a sickly, sweet voice, adding a bit of her father's Irish brogue for good measure. Her aunts had always thought she was the child of a mésaliance and she was fed up with holding back her tongue and playing nice. Eulalie swelled in affront.

"How you can say such things to me—have you any idea the risk I have taken upon myself in calling on you today?"

"Don't bother doing me any favors. I'm managing just fine without your graces."

"And you would do a heap better if you learned to manage your tongue, Scarlett. You are ignorant of the endangerment your marriage has had on my reputation and your Aunt Pauline and Uncle Carey's reputation amongst our friends, not to mention the potential damage your thoughtless elopement might inflict on your sisters' ability to marry into an upstanding family."

"My sisters—"

"Your sisters," Eulalie swiftly broke in, her face growing redder by the syllable, "will likely have to be shipped off to some forsaken corner of our glorious new nation in order to find themselves a husband. Now you have lived in the wilds of North Georgia for far too long, and apparently, so has my sweet, woebegone sister. She has been away from civilized folk for so many years she has forgotten what is expected of a Robillard of Savannah. Now I did not come here to hear any lip from you, Scarlett, or to have you blow your airs in my face. I came as family and as a wishful protector."

"I don't need any protection," Scarlett grumbled. Eulalie's reference to Ellen had stung Scarlett and whipped some of the wind out of her. No one need remind her how horrified her mother had looked the minute she had realized who Rhett was and why he was at Tara.

"Of course you do," Eulalie said tartly, settling into the chair some and petting down her heavy skirts. "Everyone needs protection, especially you."

"Why? Has the war started already?"

"No, but your," her aunt paused and looked like she was choking on her own saliva, before she spat out, "your husband is leaving you very soon, likely by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Scarlett asked, startled by the information. "How do you know that?"

Eulalie cocked her head to the side and frowned. There was suddenly a hint of kindness in her flat voice. "Oh, dear, I know this is all so new and frightening to you, and I can see how affected you are by his cruelty. I just don't know how your mother thought disavowing the engagement would have been worse for your reputation—you are much too pretty and brash to have turned out like poor Louisa Plimpton."

Scarlett felt puzzled and slightly ashamed by her aunt's sudden change in tone, as always mystified when people attributed thoughts and emotions to her that were not her own. Her mother hadn't fought to keep the engagement intact, she had. Again, her aunt misread her confusion.

"Oh, no. I thought even you had heard about his, uh, buggy ride experience. You have, haven't you?"

Scarlett's interest was immediately spiked by the promise of gossip, gossip about Rhett no less. Oh, if she learned things about him that he didn't want her to know, she might finally stand toe-to-toe with him when they argued and be able to give him a dose of his own mind-reading, mortifying medicine.

"Yes." Scarlett said, leaning forward a little. "Louisa Plimpton was the girl he ruined?"

"Don't look so delighted, Scarlett. It isn't becoming, but yes, she was." Eulalie fanned herself with her hand and hesitatingly went on, "You are married now, so I don't have to worry about your maidenly delicacy as much, still. I had hoped to discuss other matters with you, but this should be talked about before anything else happens. To know is better than to wonder. I don't know what version of the story you heard, but I will tell you it as I know it—and as his mother's my closest friend, I know it better than most. The final act of rebellion that your…husband…did before his father justly threw him out has left its mark on all of Charleston, and one family especially. The Plimptons were a very good, old family, been around these parts for ages, they even have some kin in Savannah that I knew growing up. Well, when Rhett was kicked out of West Point, he came home as brazen and unbothered about it as can be, laughing about the fact that Rockwell had to come home with him—"

"Rockwell?"

"My child—don't you know anything? Rockwell's your brother now, and even if he is estranged you ought to know his name. Goodness, please tell me you know the other Butler family members' names!"

Scarlett sheepishly shook her head and Eulalie puffed up with wonder.

"It's worse than I imagined! You mean to tell me you don't know your new kin's names? Gracious!" Eulalie clucked her tongue in disapproval and began listing off, "Your father-in-law's name is Kingsley, then there's of course, his wife and my friend, Eleanor, and then, Rockwell, married to Helena Spade, and their two children—Bobby and baby Lydia. Eleanor's youngest child and Rhett's youngest sibling is a girl, Rosemary. She's Carreen's age and is still at home. Honestly, I knew Rhett was inattentive to your needs, but this is outrageous."

Scarlett digested this information as best she could, and trying to sound polite, prodded her aunt to continue on with her story, for once not bored by some one else's past and certainly not opposed to blackening her husband up a bit.

"Rhett can be so difficult, and distant," she said. "Oh, Aunt 'Lalie, what did he do to that Plimpton girl? How does it have something to do with his brother, with my brother, Rockwell?"

"I'm getting to that, Scarlett," her aunt sighed, digging through her memories. "Now, Rhett came home and wasted no time in finding and cavorting with the worst sorts of people, drinking and gambling and shaming his entire family. I'd only just married Harrison, but Eleanor and I had already become fast friends—sometimes it's just like that with people—and she confided in me things she dared not tell another soul. Well, Rockwell attempted to curb his older brother's enthusiasm for, shall we say, less than savory entertainments. He and his best friend, Eldon Plimpton, yes, Eldon Plimpton was Louisa's older brother and Rhett's younger brother's best friend, they would foolishly fish Rhett out of the pits he enjoyed passing so much of his time in, clean him off, and make him go to the types of activities that a gentleman's son ought to attend. It was just around the time when Rockwell got engaged to Helena that they all went on a day trip to have a picnic. At some point, Rhett and Louisa were left alone and the two went off together in one of the smaller buggies—and for all afternoon they were missing. Now, that night, when they finally came back on foot, Rhett claimed a broken buggy wheel had hindered them and that he hadn't touched Louisa. However, the girl was quiet as wood about the whole affair, and what few but those in the families know, her clothes were damp and torn on her return. Eldon saw his sister's wet dèshabille and demanded that Rhett marry her. I'm sure you know the story from there—Rhett refused, and the foolhardy Eldon pressed the point. He was a terrible shot, and everybody knew Rhett had been able to shoot the eye of a jay in flight since he was seven years old. Well, they dueled. Rockwell acted as Eldon's second, and I don't think he's said two words to his brother since Eldon's death. I tried to be there for Eleanor, but that was when Harrison fell sick, God rest his soul. We mourned together after a few months, only she couldn't openly mourn as I could for my husband. Oh, that boy broke his mother's heart."

Scarlett sat in silence for a moment, no longer as titillated with interest as before. It was so much more tragic than the silly, bland version she had heard from Cathleen Calvert about a month ago. Now the victims had names and the villain a face—her husband's. Although, in her pity, swirled a stream of contempt. If Rhett had compromised her, she wouldn't have let him abandon her and kill her brother. She would have had the gumption to stand up for herself and her family. And kill the scoundrel herself if push came to shove—even if it came to a duel. Stupid brother and foolish sister! From nowhere, her imagination whirred with the picture of a gruesome, romantic suicide by a willowy girl. She'd never read a novel for pleasure, but Suellen constantly did, and after finishing one, would harp on and cry for days about the fictional girls who threw themselves off cliffs or poisoned themselves because their reputations were ruined and the men they loved gone. Scarlett hadn't put much stock into the possibility that such ridiculous fools existed, but now she wasn't so sure.

"What…what did happen to Louisa then?" she asked warily.

Eulalie looked her full in the face and bluntly said, "A worse fate than I ever thought possible."

"She died?"

"What?" her aunt cried. "What? No, goodness Scarlett! No, she had to marry a Yankee. She's in Boston—Boston of all places, last I knew. Have you heard a Bostonian accent? They speak like cattle with marbles in their mouths. And her parents had to flee to the reaches of the Everglades. How ghastly."

Scarlett snorted, a little disappointed and a little relieved by the drop in climax. Eulalie swiped the sweat from her brow and pursed her lips. She flicked her clear eyes about the hotel room once more and they darkened with displeasure.

"I did not come here to feed your taste for scandal, Scarlett. I just thought you ought to know the worst of the man you so hastily married, particularly since he is less than forthcoming with you. But I have let too long pass by without discussing the purpose of my visit. I hope your husband did inform you of my generous offer to house you when he departs?" She stopped and looked as if she was anticipating some comment of gratitude from Scarlett but found her niece would only nod tepidly at her. "Very well," Eulalie continued on, "as he will leave tomorrow, I won't expect you to arrive until the day after that. There will be strict guidelines about your conduct, and you must be on your best behavior. No more of your sass. No more of what I will call your country disregard for manners. You may bring Rebekkah with you—my cook loves her help in the kitchen. And I would never complain about eating her pies. But, and let me make this clear, absolutely no more morning walks about town."

Scarlett had been thinking of other things, while Eulalie had enumerated all of the things she wasn't supposed to do if she were to stay with her, which Scarlett wasn't entirely sure she wanted to do in the first place, but that last invective surprised her out of her stupor.

"No more walks? Who told you—"

"My dear, no one told me. Every one, including me, has seen you trotting all around town, from the Battery down to the beach. And in this uncommonly hot spring weather! Why I thought Rebekkah had more sense than to expose your tender skin to this kind of abuse. Oh no, I know people are talking about it, and don't you worry, they do not blame you, they blame your negligent husband. I mean, my word Scarlett, have you seen your tan lately? And your freckles? What is he aiming at? To make you ugly so no man will be tempted to steal his bride while he gallivants about on that dingy sloop of his?"

Her aunt huffed this all out in one, exasperated breath, and Scarlett scowled at her. True, she hated the walks, hated them more and more with each progressive step, but she hadn't thought they were anything to comment on. How fussy was this prickly town? Yet that was not what truly bothered her, or brought back the annoyance that had faded while in the throes of discovering Rhett's sordid history.

"What do you mean he's making me ugly?"

"Don't be offended now. It's only what everyone is saying."

This did little to appease Scarlett's vanity and she stood up, suddenly raging mad. "Everyone? Everyone is saying I'm…I'm ugly?"

"Sit down, Scarlett," her aunt unflinchingly commanded. Eulalie had just been to her weekly sewing circle and had heard her niece's name bandied about with equal parts compassion and scorn, and had hurried over here directly thereafter, wanting to capitalize on that modicum of kindness as soon as possible. She wouldn't suffer through another meeting like the one previous, where it had been nothing but degradation. The time to act was now, before the goodwill had expired.

"I will not sit down," Scarlett refused. "I want to know what all your arrogant peahens are saying about me."

"That is abominably disrespectful of you. You will sit and listen. As I said earlier, you are wholly ignorant of the trouble you have caused. I haven't seen someone so stubbornly bound to a foolish idea and a renegade man since your mother wanted to run off with Phi—"

Eulalie instantly cut herself off, her hand trembling against her thin lips and her face bleached of color. Scarlett could only stare blankly back at her. What was Eulalie talking about? Her mother run off with someone? Her perfect, kind, ceaselessly selfless mother, who smelled of sachet and wore a tight, thick bun like a nun, run off with someone—with a renegade man? Her aunt must be joking or mad or forgetful.

"Scarlett," Eulalie breathed, gliding her hand from her mouth to her rocking bosom, "you will forget what I, in my anger, just said. I was talking foolishly. I…I need to leave you now, but I will wait for you to come—"

"No," Scarlett said, in a fog. "No. Who are you talking about? What are you saying?"

"I cannot…" Her aunt's voice trailed off at the fire in her niece's eyes.

"You already have. Who do you mean? My mother tried to run off…with someone other than my pa?"

Eulalie closed her eyes and took in a long breath, as she exhaled, she answered, "Your mother was in love with our cousin Philippe. He died in a barroom gun fight and she married your father shortly after."

"How shortly after?"

Eulalie looked up at her, and whispered, "Days."

The single word traveled slowly to Scarlett's ears, and even more slowly to her brain. It moved as if through wax. And then when it hit, it exploded in rapid succession all across her body. The last wall of her peace came crashing to the ground. Her being ached with sadness and surprise and she slid back down into the chair.

"Scarlett, Scarlett," her aunt called, kneeling on the floor in front of her, and Scarlett dazedly turned toward her. "You must never speak of this after today. I should not have mentioned it. Now I did not approve of your mother's marriage to your father, but he has been much better than…well, she has been very content with her choice and with the life she has led. She is completely devoted to your father and to you children."

Eulalie kept talking; kept repeating over and over her belief in Ellen's perfect happiness and how Scarlett must never, ever tell what she had learned today. As the eldest of the O'Hara daughters, she had always been the strongest, and the bravest, and the smartest in the ways of the world, she could not let one little secret destroy her own life. And she was married now, married to a worldly man like Rhett, surely she must know that marriages were not always about girlish romance or youthful dreams, but about commitment and common sense and curtailing sin. Or so Eulalie said over and over, until her pleas at last leaked into her niece's notice, and Scarlett numbly nodded back at her.

Eulalie quickly departed after that, leaving Scarlett as unmoving on her chair as she had been upon her entrance. The only motion in the room once her dress swished out the door was from the breeze as it twisted Scarlett's razor-straight hair into tendrils. That was the only movement in the room until Rhett came back several hours later.

Disclaimer: The views expressed by Eulalie on Boston and the Everglades are her opinions and do not represent my views. Boston is full wonderful history and people, and the Everglades is full of alligators and non-indigenous snakes. :)