Hey everyone, I really would be interested in knowing if people actually like this story, because the hit counter says you're reading it. I'm not a comment whore but basically no feedbackno updates. So it's up to you, or else I'll just post it elsewhere. shrugs
Also, happy birthday to Scarlett O'Hara herself. Vivien Leigh would be 93 today. I'm sad she's dead, there's really not anyone like her these days.
The first faint rays of sunlight were filtering through the dilapidated drapes of the bedroom window when Rhett was roused from his sleep. In his groggy state of mind he was at first confused with his surroundings, and by the strange weight on his chest. But the events of the past night came rushing back swiftly when he looked down and saw Scarlett's serene sleeping face nestled in the juncture of his shoulder and neck, and her arm draped over his torso.
"God," he whispered, the sound barely making its way into the room. How could he leave her? Why had he decided to go join the army in the first place? His initial thoughts on the matter could not be found in the recesses of his memory, but he knew he had made the choice and therefore had to honor it. Yet this moment in the twilight between darkness and sunrise was something Rhett wanted to keep with him, for he knew perfectly well that this could be the last time he ever laid eyes on Scarlett O'Hara. She did not stir when he moved to better face her and so he lay there next to her, drinking in her features, committing them to memory, and with a feather-light touch, he ran the tips of his fingers down her shoulder and around to her back, leaning in slightly to brush his lips against hers. At was this movement that caused Scarlett to fidget in her sleep and a muffled moan escaped her lips, signaling to Rhett that she could potentially wake any moment, and also his time for departure.
Ever so carefully, he rolled to his back and took Scarlett's left hand in his, dislodging it from his side, and then, making as little noise as possible, he slipped out of the soft bed and began gathering his clothing on the floor. I did not take him long to dress, and when he had finished, he surveyed the room once more before locking his eyes on Scarlett, much as he had the previous night when he had wandered into her room via the light of the moon. This time, he cut his adulation short for he knew he must take his leave before anyone else woke up, and with one last glance at the woman he knew he would not easily be able to forget, he turned and walked out of the room, making sure to creep lightly down the stairs in order to remain unseen.
Outside the predawn air was a bit chilly despite it being the middle of summer, but he breathed in deeply in order to help clear his mind. If there was any guilt about the events that took place during the night, he refused to let it get to him. At the present moment, he knew he had to focus on what to do next and how to go about doing it. He had heard from sources before they fled the city the night before that Sherman's troops were dangerously close to Atlanta and he knew the Confederate forces could not hold the city. They would be falling back toward Savannah, he knew this; it was only a matter of days. But he had heard another bit of information, courtesy of being acquainted with disreputable people, that General Hood's army was on the march north toward Tennessee. If he was lucky, he may find them on the road not far from Tara, and surely, despite his late entrance into the Army, they would not turn him down; not with his artillery skills and West Point credentials. So it was decided, then.
Rhett stopped in the drive for a moment to check his remaining pistol (Scarlett was left in possession of the other one) and make sure it was loaded. It would do no good to face a straggler of any kind in the woods without ammunition, he decided. Then, snapping the barrel back into the body of his gun, he continued. As he rounded the turn at the rock and fence where, unbeknownst to him, Scarlett used to wait for her Pa to come home form Twelve Oaks when she was small, he took one last look at the white façade of the once gallant plantation house. Scarlett would survive, he reasoned. She could do anything she set her mind to and that was one of the reasons he cared for her so much. Though he had not admitted to himself that he loved her, to walk away as he was doing was not as easy as he thought it would have been. Finally, with a seeming great effort, he drew his eyes from the house and turned the bend to the main road, leaving Scarlett behind him and allowing the blazing red sun of that August morning guide his path down the crimson road to face whatever was in store for him.
------------------------------------------------------------
Scarlett felt the pressure of a hand shaking her shoulder. In the flimsy dreamland between light sleep and awakening, she thought it was Rhett, and she buried her face into her pillow. When a voice accompanied the movement, Scarlett's eyes slowly opened and she saw her mammy leaning over her, telling her she must awaken for there was much to do that day. Coming to attention, she glanced to her side and noticed that Rhett was gone, leaving only rumpled sheets and a fading imprint on the pillow next to her as a sign he had ever been there. A sudden panic washed over her as she remembered what had happened a few hours before, and she bit her lip to stifle a rising scream of frustration and disgust. However, she checked herself so as not to let Mammy see her inner dilemma.
"Mammy," She asked tiredly, "is Mr. Rhett still here?"
"No, child. He ain't sleep in dat bed Ah made up fo' him last night either."
Fearing that Mammy would sense something was amiss in this situation, Scarlett thought of a flimsy lie, and with her eyes focused on the bed sheets she muttered, "He must have fallen asleep in the chair in Ma's office and left before morning." He was a bastard for leaving as he did, she thought to herself, but she refused to think about it now. What was done was done and she couldn't take it back; she didn't even want to think about it. More pressing matters were on her mind.
Mammy helped her dress into the same calicoes she was wearing when she arrived home last night. After a scarce breakfast—how could she survive on such little food?—Scarlett decided that her first chore would be to survey the damage done to the house and the property. Then she would check on her sisters to see how, or if they were recovering from their sickness, and then…then they would have to bury her mother. The thought of Ellen's starch white face, laying covered in a black shroud by the fire the night before, Scarlett felt sick to her stomach and she forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat so that her tears would not show.
Outside the sun was making its way higher into the sky as Scarlett trudged down the porch stairs. In front of her she could see the sparse patches of dead grass which had once been the luscious green front lawn, and in the dirt at her feet she saw a pair of boot footprints. They could have been any Yankee's, or perhaps her father's, but for a moment she envisioned Rhett as he must have been earlier that morning, walking away to war, and she briefly wondered if she might find him on the road if she dared to follow the trail. Quickly she shook her head in order to snap out of that thought. Of course she wouldn't follow him, and she did not want to think of him at all; not of him rescuing her, not of his voice soothing her in the night, not of him touching her bare skin. No! Her mind shouted, she could not think of that right now.
Slowly she made her way around to the back of the house, noting in her mind the vast expanse of burnt land that would have to be replanted and replenished, the many broken and boarded windows that would need new panes before winter, the slave quarters that would have to be rebuilt if they ever intended to operate a working plantation again, and most of all, the general change that had settled over the once vibrant house. This was the place she had been born and raised in and it saddened her beyond belief that something her father had so loved and urged her to cherish as well looked so aged and damaged. She would fix it; she just had to! But how she would manage to do that seemed like reaching for the sky. They had no money, only the bonds her father had told her he saved the night before. Ad what good were Confederate bonds to anyone these days?
She did not know how long she stood there, out in the middle of what was once a vegetable garden, but as the sun rose higher and she began to sweat in the heat, she knew she needed to move forward. She would round up the remaining servants, and when her sisters were well again, they would help too. They would work the fields; do whatever they could to bring in some sort of income. It was the only way they would get by, she reasoned. They would start tomorrow.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was late afternoon when the neighbors started to arrive for Ellen O'Hara's funeral. The heat was stagnant and the katydids were humming in the swamp bottom, the crisp leaves that had already began to fall from the trees in the first signs of Autumn blew at the feet of the pallbearers as they carried the crude oak coffin down the front porch and out to the cemetery. There was Mrs. Tarleton, Cathleen Calvert, the Wilkes sisters, all of the people from the county who were not off at war and could make the journey turned up to pay their respects to Scarlett's mother.
Scarlett herself stood with her arm through Gerald's by the foot of the open grave. Suellen and Careen were still in bed, too weak to make it down stairs. It is better this way, she thought. She could barely stand the tears from the guests and did not think she could handle hysterics from her sisters. They could not get a priest from Jonesborough, and so one of the neighbors agreed to read the sermon. It pained her that this was the best they could do for a woman who had meant so much for so many, and who had always been so elegant in her ways. As the sermon was read, she felt her father shiver and she looked up to see his face in profile as tears poured from his pale blue eyes and Scarlett felt a great wave of sadness wash over her at the thought that despite her father's delusion, he somehow knew that this was real and that he would never see his wife again. Laying her tired head on Gerald's shoulder, Scarlett wished she could take away his pain if only for a little while. It was the first unselfish thought she had had in a long time, though she did not realize it.
When the service was over and the fresh mound of dirt had been placed over the grave and the guests had gone back in the night to where they had come from, Scarlett finally made her way up the stairs to her room. She did not feel like eating anything, and though she was hungry, she dismissed the feeling. As soon as she was undressed, she collapsed on the bed and finally let her emotions run free. As she sobbed into her pillow, she thought of her mother, but Ellen was not the frontrunner in her thoughts. It was Rhett. How she hated him for leaving her as he did. She could have used his support at the funeral as he had supported her the night before. She cried harder at the revulsion boiling in her for being so wanton and loose with him. She felt like a whore, and he probably thought her so. But contending with her anger was the memory of how his hands felt on her, how she had melted under his kisses and how he had cradled her in his arms and told her he loved her. How could he have said that and then left…without even saying goodbye? She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her teeth on the fabric of her pillow, letting out a muffled sob. When she had cried away all of her energy and sleep began to take over, the last thought that entered Scarlett's mind was that no one must ever know what had transpired between she and Rhett, and she prayed she was not with child. If it was hatred that kept thoughts of Rhett at bay, then hate him she would.