Chapter 3 – Getting Acquainted

Rhett headed out the front door and ambled down the porch steps. The sun had just set and the sky was a mixture of pink, red, yellow and orange, bright colors that provided the light he needed to seek the mysterious girl that he believed was out here somewhere. Since he first laid his eyes on Scarlett O'Hara that evening, he found that he could think of little else. Something about her struck him at his core. He wasn't foolish enough to believe in love at first sight, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not deny that something drew him to her that he couldn't fight and frankly, he didn't even care to. So, he sought her out by moonlight. Since she left the house, he had kept an eye on the front foyer in case she returned; she didn't or at least, he didn't catch sight of her. He realized she might have snuck in the back door again. Perhaps she was out in the moonlight with a beau, but he didn't think that was the case either. So, he meandered down the drive, looking to his left and right until he stopped in his tracks at the sight before him. He found Scarlett sitting on a swing that hung from one of the branches of an enormous oak tree, one of many actually that lined the driveway leading to Tara. He approached her stealthy, watching her swing ever so slowly, obviously lost in her thoughts. She leaned back then, nearly laying flat across the swing, and gazed up to the heavens, looking as if she relished the breeze in her hair, the cool air caressing her face and the freedom of flight. She drank in the darkness and the stars, swinging back and forth with total abandon.

"What a surprise to find you here," he said softly as he walked up to her.

She wasn't startled, but turned to look at him as if she was expecting him at this appointed time. "Surprise? Why the only surprise is that you escaped from my father's little celebration this early and sober. That's amazing. Usually, his drinking sojourns last well into the wee hours." She was sitting upright in the swing, then wavering languorously and leaning backwards occasionally, as she held tight to the heavy ropes.

"I don't know if I deserve any credit. It was really all Mr. Kennedy's doing actually." Rhett sat down on a nearby rock and initiated a conversation as though he had known her for years.

"Frank? What did he do?"

"Well, he raised his glass with us in a toast, threw back your father's aged whiskey with a quick flick of the wrist and immediately dropped to the floor," Rhett explained blandly as he idly removed a cigar from his jacket pocket.

"What? Are you telling me that Frank passed out?" Scarlett was so startled she sat upright and put her feet on the ground, stopping her movement.

"I believe that would be the technically correct way of putting it, yes," Rhett said, crossing his legs and lighting a match on the bottom of his boot.

"Was Suellen there?"

"The last I saw her, she was kneeling on the floor fanning poor Frank. It was at that point, I suggested to your father that we make it an early evening in light of the festivities tomorrow."

Scarlett didn't know this man so she tried to suppress the laughter that was bubbling to her lips, but all she had to do was imagine her sister kneeling beside old Frank and she exploded with giggles. Rhett blew out a puff of smoke and smiled back at her, enjoying the pretty, carefree picture she made and he couldn't help but chuckle, too.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she finally was able to squeak out. "Frank is your friend."

"Don't be sorry. Frank Kennedy is a business associate that I met last evening, nothing more. I know little of him or him of me, but I was there and the scene was quite amusing, if I do say so myself. So tell me about this barbeque tomorrow." He captured his bended knee in his two hands and leaned back, enjoying the company of this charming young woman and suddenly he was glad that he would be staying the night and attending the barbeque tomorrow.

"Oh, it will be wonderful. There will be plenty to eat, plenty to drink, the utmost in hospitality. Twelve Oaks is famous throughout the county for its hospitality, thanks to John Wilkes."

"Hmm, and how does the esteemed Ashley Wilkes, who was mentioned at dinner, fit into the puzzle?"

"He's John Wilkes' son. Mr. Wilkes is a widower. He has a son, Ashley, and two daughters, India and Honey."

"Ah, yes…I heard mention of Honey earlier."

"Oh, really? From who?"

"Nevermind, it was nothing. So this Ashley is to announce his engagement tomorrow to a, what was her name?"

"Melanie Hamilton."

"Yes, that's it. Your sister seemed to think there is something between you two…Which reminds me, where are your redheaded beaux?"

"Oh, Stuart and Brent? They left through the back door right after supper. They have to devise a way to explain their expulsion from school to their mother. I wouldn't put it past her to take a whip to them."

"They didn't strike me as the smartest whips in the shed."

"They just aren't cut out for learning what's in books. Not everyone is. That doesn't mean they are any less of a person. They both have the kindest hearts and—and—"

"Forgive me, I meant no offense. You're absolutely right, Miss O'Hara, not everyone is cut out to earn an advanced degree and climb the ladder of academia. But you'd think that after being expelled from, how many universities did you say, no matter how ignorant they are, someone would pick up on that clue by now."

"You are pretty high and mighty, aren't you, sir?"

"Don't ruffle your feathers. I simply say what I think and something tells me that you are quite similar. So, now back to my question: Is your sister correct in her assumption? Do you carry a torch for Mr. Ashley Wilkes?" He didn't know why he was pursuing this line of questioning; it shouldn't really be of any consequence to him either way. Tomorrow evening he'd be heading back to Charleston and he would never see her again. Nevertheless, he hung on her answer.

"He was a beau of mine, yes, just like Stuart and Brent." She felt an odd little pang in her heart when she unconsciously used the past tense to describe her relationship with Ashley. Wasn't he still her beau? Didn't she want him to be her fiancé and not Melanie's?

"So do you make it a habit to collect beaux from all around the county and now you're seeking to extend your reach?" He was scrutinizing her face now, relying on what was left of the streaks lining the evening sky and the moonlight to illuminate her features.

"Oh, you make it sound so nasty. No, I don't but, but—"

"So, he was a beau. He must have been the one that got away, hmmm? So it must bother you that he is going to marry someone else."

"It doesn't bother me, it is just that—that—"

"Pray, tell, Miss O'Hara," he said, hanging on her response.

"It just came as a surprise, that's all." She didn't know what else to say and moreover, she couldn't quite describe what she felt. This afternoon when she heard the news, she was devastated by the revelation, but now, it didn't seem to tear at her heart the way it did earlier.

"Ah, so it does bother you. Well, that will certainly make the day more interesting tomorrow," he added with a smirk. "Oh, I owe you a debt of gratitude for so artfully weaving the topic of conversation at supper away from the war."

"Oh, you don't have to thank me. If I hear anyone mention war just one more time, I think I'll scream," said Scarlett, pushing off on the swing again.

"I take it you and I have different opinions on why the topic needed to be changed."

"I don't know about that," she said, ignoring his implication, "but I do know that all this war talk is spoiling every party this spring. I get so bored with it all. I take it you're not bored with all the war talk—"

"Correct, Miss O'Hara, that's not why I was grateful you changed the subject—"

"You just think we're going to get licked and you were afraid that you'd end up making a scene and spoiling supper this evening," she said, cutting him off.

"Well, aren't you intuitive. Is this an acquired skill or a natural born talent? But you're right. Now are you sure I won't offend your sensibilities? If not, I'll talk frankly."

"No, you won't offend me." She stopped swinging again, intrigued by this man who didn't seem to take affront at her dismissing all the talk of war. In fact, he seemed to have similar ideas in that he wasn't shouting, "For the Cause! For the Cause! States Rights by God!" like her father did day and night, night and day.

"Good. Well, then you're right. The Yankees have everything going for them, whereas, us Southerners, we think cotton is king and nothing can befall us. We're all wrong. The politicians are feeding the populace a bunch of pretty speeches that sound good, but mean absolutely nothing and the people are gullible enough to believe them and they are sucked in to think the war is some just and holy cause. Most of the ills of the world were caused by war. It is not glorious. It is all about dirt, dysentery and death. Nothing more."

"You don't mean we're going to get licked?"

"Pardon me, is that what I just implied?" he asked innocently, his hand on his heart.

"Stop making fun of me. What you just said scares me," said Scarlett, alarm written all over her face.

"You should be scared. Everyone else should be scared, too, but they're not. That is what makes this a pitiful situation. But, let's speak of something more pleasant, shall we?" He spoke so blithely, so calmly of the devastation to come and his prediction, which made sense even to Scarlett, scared her out of her wits.

"Yes, please. What business do you have with Frank Kennedy?" She was ever so glad to change the subject.

"The same business I have with your father. I'm purchasing some rather large supplies of cotton. I have some contacts with the textile mills in England that I'll be selling it to."

"I see." Scarlett had always taken an interest in the cotton produced at Tara, she loved seeing what Tara—a piece of land that her father had acquired with sheer tenacity and a bit of luck—could produce if nurtured. She loved Tara as nothing else and it made her proud to think that someone came here to purchase its bounty.

"Do you? There are many women who feign interest in business only to flatter a man's ego. Relatively few actually do have a head for business. Which category do you fall into?"

She chose to ignore his question and carried through the conversation. "Mr. Butler, these mills in England, will you be selling them the cotton or do you hope to sell them the cotton?"

"You've given me your answer, thank you. Now, I'll return the favor. I hope to sell them the cotton."

"You're taking a pretty big risk then, hmmm? What kind of businessman are you? A smart one or a stupid one?"

"Neither, Miss O'Hara. I'm a gambler, pure and simple. I see a chance where I can make a killing whether it is in a card game or business; I analyze the situation and weigh the potential return versus the risk. In this situation, I feel that the risk is slight and well worth the effort I'm expending."

They sat for a moment in silence as Rhett blew lazy smoke rings in the air while Scarlett swayed back and forth on the swing. He took in the sight fully from the tips of her tiny green slippers to the top of her raven-haired head. She was petite, but curvaceous with a face that he found endlessly intriguing to watch. It was a face that demanded attention. A face that made anyone who passed her on the street turn around for a second look. It was perfection in its beauty, which was far from classic, but nevertheless eye-catching in its artful display of black brows and sooty lashes against the pale white skin, accented by pouty, red lips. But what he found so arresting was her eyes, which were a shade of green he had never seen before. Yes, she was a girl that a man could spend hours gazing at, and that was just her face. There was still so much more that he would have loved to explore that he should his head pensively when he remembered that upon meeting her he had mistaken her for a boy. Finally, it was Rhett who broke the quiet. "Now, let me ask you a question."

"I can't promise that I'll answer it Mr. Butler, but you're free to ask," she replied slyly with a smile that teased him with a glimpse of her dimples.

"Why were you riding today dressed like a street urchin?" He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees anxious to hear her response.

"Oh, don't you know the answer to that one?" This time it was her turn to laugh. "You know as well as I do that a girl just can't take off on a horse and ride like a man. No, if I wanted to ride, I would have to put on my proper black riding habit, my proper riding hat and my proper riding gloves. Then, I'd have to ride sidesaddle as is proper," she hissed, mimicking the stern schoolmarm that taught her etiquette at the Fayetteville Female Academy.

"And you're tired of being proper," Rhett prompted. He knew there was something in her demeanor that drew him to her and now he had confirmation of it. She was as restless and felt as confined as he did in their self-imprisoned Southern society, maybe more so.

"I don't know if it is that I'm tired of being proper, it is just that—Oh, I don't know…" Scarlett wanted to open up to him but she was at a loss as to how to explain how she felt. How could she possibly put into words what she was feeling? Moreover, she knew it wasn't acceptable to say such things to a complete stranger. He looked at her eagerly, obviously interested in what she had to say. It came as a surprise to her that he wasn't shocked. If truth were told, even the Tarleton twins would have been aghast at her admission and Ashley, why, he would find what she had just said abhorrent. Yet, here was this stranger sitting across from her and he wasn't chastising her and he didn't laugh at her. In fact, he didn't seem like a stranger at all. His eyes, so black, were warm and she thought she noticed a flame flickering in their depths and wondered curiously what it was.

"Why all the dirt and grime? Were you afraid of your parents or your mammy discovering your secret?"

It would feel good to unburden herself to someone and he wouldn't tell anyone, she was sure of it. "Pa wouldn't really care but Mother and Mammy, well, they wouldn't have liked it at all. My mother is a very great lady."

"I could tell. I remember her. Her sisters, your Aunts Pauline and Eulalie are my mother's dear friends in Charleston. I remember hearing of your mother from the three of them and of course, I believe I met her once, too, years ago."

"She has very high standards. She is the kindest, most wonderful mother anyone could ever ask for. She manages Tara, oversees just about everything and takes care of Pa and my sisters and me. She—"

"And she wouldn't like it if you went out riding astride?" he finished. It was a question, but it came out as a statement of fact.

Scarlett hesitated in answering. If she spoke the truth, it would be sacrilege to her mother yet she couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. "No, she wouldn't have liked it at all," she whispered, her eyes focused on her lap.

Rhett digested her words, looking down at the ground between his feet. What a shame! What a waste! This society they lived in repressed women to the point of sucking all the life out of them. In the south where women were revered for their beauty, their gaiety, their dainty ways and exquisite manners, many women walked through life as empty shells that at one time, in their girlhood, overflowed with promise, enthusiasm and passion. The rules of ladylike decorum weren't as strict up north, but nevertheless, even in Yankee territory, rules governing propriety still existed. He could not believe what a low premium society placed on a female naturalness, so women pretended to be happy, pretended to be interested, pretended to be restrained, pretended to live when in fact, most were dead inside. This girl was different. She was alive and vibrant, more so than any woman he had ever met. Would society douse the fire that he saw blazing in her emerald green eyes? He had just met this girl and yet he knew he couldn't let that happen, wouldn't let it happen before he had enjoyed more of her.

"May I ask you a favor?"

"Hmmm."

"Would you go riding with me tomorrow morning?"

"Riding? But we have the barbeque tomorrow morning."

"Let's meet really early, say just before sunrise. What do you say?" His voice was silky and Scarlett felt a tingle of excitement in having attracted this handsome man.

"I don't know…"

"Come on, you can even wear that get-up you had on today if you're afraid that you'll get caught. Just skip the dirt and the stench. I'm sure we could both do without that."

"Well, all right." She threw him a bright smile and was rewarded with a smile just as dazzling from him. In fact, his smile threw her, which was odd since she was normally so confident in her charms. But this time, she realized that although he was undoubtedly attracted to her, the playing field wasn't the same as it was in her games of flirtation with the County boys. For the difference was just that. He was a man and they were boys. Moreover, she felt herself irrestibly drawn to him, which put her at a distinct disadvantage and she had the unnerving feeling that he knew it.

"Thank you. That gives me something to look forward to."

"Me, too," she admitted eagerly, momentarily forgetting her training to play coy with gentlemen, never revealing too much. Realizing she may have overstepped her bounds, her face grew passive and she spoke softly: "It's late, I should be getting back."

"Should?"

"I want to start back." She dimpled again for him at his jibe. "I have an early date tomorrow morning."

"Miss O'Hara, I'll tell you something. You're a girl of rare spirit. I don't presume to know the size of your ego, but I'll feed it anyway. There aren't many girls around like you."

"Why thank you, Mr. Butler. I appreciate the compliment."

"Can't we dispense with these formalities, Scarlett? You may call me Rhett."

The evening was quiet save for a medley of crickets that chatted quietly amongst themselves. The only other sound was the crunching of gravel as they made their way back up the driveway to the house. Rhett's voice was soft and drawling and he seemed to savor her name, letting it linger on his tongue, like he would a fine wine. This was not how her name sounded when her family called out to her, nor was it the way her many beaux whispered her name. To Scarlett's ear, his utterance seemed somehow quite intimate and a shiver ran down her spine. "My parents still address each other formally, Mr. Butler. But, I do want to thank you for your company and for walking me back to the house, but now, I'll bid you good night."

They had arrived at the front door and Rhett opened it for Scarlett to walk inside. "So, I'll see you at the stables the, at sunrise—Scarlett?"

"Yes, Mr. Butler."

"Good night, Scarlett."

"Good night, Mr. Butler."

"Oh, wait a minute!" They had walked into the front hall and no one appeared to be about. "Would you show me where I'm to stay for the night?"

"That's strange, I wonder where everyone is?" Scarlett murmured aloud as her eyes scanned the front parlor, office and dining rooms, before coming to rest again on Rhett standing at her side. "Of course, I'm not sure where they put your things. I guess we'll just have to nose around upstairs."

Scarlett had just started up the stairs with Rhett at her heels when a voice came out of the dark, startling them both. "Miss Scarlett!" shouted Mammy. "Wut you think you're doin' takin' a man upstairs? 'Ain't fittin' no it ain't!"

"Mammy, I'm merely showing Mr. Butler where he is to stay for the night. He is ready to retire and it appears no one is here to show him his quarters. Where is everyone?" Scarlett paused on the stairs and spoke to Mammy over the banister.

"Your ma is nursin' that poor white trash Emmy Slattery and your pa is settlin' accounts with the overseer. Miss Suellen and Miss Careen have retired for the evenin' and Mr. Kennedy, well, he…"

"Yes, I can imagine," finished Scarlett. "Where did Mother put Mr. Kennedy? What room has she reserved for Mr. Butler?"

"Mr. Kennedy is in de room at the top of de stairs and Mr. Butler's things are in de room next to his."

"Fine, Mammy, thank you. Then, I'll help Mr. Butler get settled." Scarlett started back up the stairs with Rhett one step behind her.

"No you ain't," Mammy called to her. "I don't care wut you say Miss Scarlett, it ain't fittin'. 'An where have you been all evenin'? Your ma was worried about you and when Mr. Butler went missin' we didn't know wut to think."

"Mammy, I was swinging in the front yard when Mr. Butler wandered outside after Mr. Kennedy's…er…mishap. That's all. Now, I won't hear anything else. With Mother and Pa detained, I'm head of the household and I will show Mr. Butler to his room. Heavens, Mammy! Where is your hospitality?"

"I don't care what you say, it ain't fittin', it just ain't fittin'," grumbled Mammy as she moved off down the hall, then stopped and watched Scarlett and Rhett continue up the stairs.

"I apologize, Mr. Butler," she said, then turning to him, she continued in a stage whisper. "You can see what I'm up against."

"Indeed I can. Hmmm, I suspect Mammy thinks I'm up to go good."

"That's might be true, but she also keeps me under lock and key."

"And me, here without a lock pick," Rhett said forlornly.

Choosing to ignore his last comment, Scarlett continued down the hall. "Here we are." Scarlett opened a door in the upstairs hallway and strode into a bedroom, lighting a lamp on the bedside table, which brought the room to life. The four-poster bed was made of cherry and was covered in a white, hand-crocheted bedspread. Her eyes fell on the bed and she froze in mid-thought. No maiden should be alone in a bedroom with a strange man—any man! Just why that should be, Scarlett did not really know. Her mother spoken to her on more than one occasion about what a man and a woman did in the marital bed. The images those talks had conjured up in Scarlett's mind were revolting. Having grown up on a farm, Scarlett was not ignorant of how animals mated and the thought that she'd have to submit to the same type of brutal treatment that she witnessed in the stables and in the pasture was disgusting, so when she thought of marriage, her dreams often went only as far as picking out her trousseau and enjoying the compliments and admiration of guests at the wedding reception where she was the center of attention. Now, she was in a bedroom with this man who was undeniably male. Had she been standing alongside Frank Kennedy, she wouldn't have given the situation a second thought, but she wasn't standing with Frank Kennedy. She was standing alongside a man, who in his stature, mannerisms, voice and scent was all male. He looked like a man of lusty appetites and Scarlett suddenly felt a tightening in her stomach. When she regained control of senses, she looked up, only to find Rhett staring at her intently with a grin on his face. In turn, she blushed a deep crimson and as her face reddened, she felt heat rushing up from her neckline and blowing onto her face as if she had just opened an oven door with a roaring fire.

She quickly averted her eyes without lingering on his and turned to indicate Rhett's valise that sat upon an orate trunk at the foot of the bed. "I see that your things have arrived from the Jonesboro Hotel," she said, silently cursing herself when she heard her voice quiver. "Here are some fresh towels and I'll send Rosa up with some water if you'd like."

"I'll be all set. Thank you, Scarlett—for everything." He said what any grateful traveler would say in appreciation for the accommodations, but the way he said it seemed to infer much more.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked as she moved to the door.

"Just your promise that you'll meet me in the morning at the stables." He held out his hand to take hers and when she withheld it, he reached for her hand that was hidden in her skirt and was going to give it a gentle kiss it, but stopped short. The moment their fingers touched, Rhett lost his train of thought as his heart started beating so powerfully he could hear his blood rushing through his veins. The touch did not leave Scarlett unfazed either for suddenly the balmy temperature of the April evening soared to levels typical of Georgia's hot and steamy August.

"Yes, that will be fine. Good night, Mr. Butler." Her voice was shaky and she disengaged her fingers from his.

"Good night, Scarlett."

When the door closed and Rhett was alone, he sank onto the bed. Scarlett was no more than eighteen years old, maybe younger, he guessed. Yet, she exuded a sensuality of which she undoubtedly was unaware. He snickered at himself for allowing this young thing to bewitch him as she had surely done and for a brief second, he pondered the wisdom of pursuing the relationship for a minute longer. She undoubtedly was a virgin who was raised to be married. Yet, she was also one to break the rules and with a little encouragement and a little effort, he realized he could bed her fairly easily. But then what? He had no intention of marrying the girl, but oh, how he wanted her, he sighed, as he pulled off his boots and lay down on the bed.

This little side trip to Clayton County may be profitable in more ways than one, thought Rhett Butler, as he folded his arms behind his head with a self-satisfied smile on his swarthy face. Scarlett knew her mind. She could make her own decisions and if he chose to pursue a dalliance tomorrow, who would it hurt? Either way, he'd be in Atlanta tomorrow night and on a train to Charleston shortly after that.