Thanks to everyone who has hung in there with this story. I promise, it will not go unfinished. Here goes another chapter.
Chapter 8 - Charleston
Scarlett made herself comfortable in her Aunt Eulalie's home just as she had done in Pittypat Hamilton's home in Atlanta. That is to say that she was as comfortable as she could possibly be in Charleston where her freedom was nearly as restricted as it was at Tara. She certainly did not enjoy the independence that she had grown accustomed to in Atlanta, nor did she have a friend her own age to share her daily life, an aspect of life that in retrospect she now surely missed. Where once she dismissed Melanie as a ninny, she now realized that in the last few weeks she had established an alliance with her once-time rival that was just beginning to bud into a friendship—a friendship, which was now noticeably absent in her life.
In the week that she had been in Charleston, Scarlett's Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie had dragged her to virtually every sewing circle, hospital committee meeting and fundraiser that was scheduled in the city. Scarlett was grateful for their introductions because on the second day of her visit, she was introduced to Eleanor Butler, Rhett's mother, and his sister, Rosemary. She had gladly tagged along thereafter to any ladies get-together where the Mrs. Butler was likely to appear with her young daughter in tow, hoping that by sticking close to them she would either see or hear something of Rhett's whereabouts.
It wasn't until nearly an entire week had passed of long, insufferable committee meetings that were as dull as schoolwork that it dawned on Scarlett that she wasn't likely to learn anything from Mrs. Butler. Rhett wasn't received, so he wouldn't be likely to surprise his mother at her sewing circle, nor was Mrs. Butler inclined to talk about her son before her straight laced audience that certainly didn't approve of him anymore than his father did.
Scarlett was itching to get a glimpse of Rhett's father, but that wasn't to be either. Word was that he was at Dunmore Landing, the Butler family rice plantation, which was up the river.
Scarlett enjoyed Mrs. Butler's company and thought her a very nice lady, who bore a striking resemblance in facial expressions and mannerisms to her own mother. She also learned that he had a little sister, Rosemary, who was about Careen's age and had just put up her hair and lowered her skirts, although she had few beaux as there was none to be had.
One evening Scarlett brought up the subject of Rhett while dining with her aunts and was shocked at their reaction.
"You mustn't even mention his name, my dear Scarlett. He isn't received," stated Pauline matter-of-factly.
Eulalie turned to Scarlett and her face turned red with indignation. "My dear, don't even breathe his name. No, dearie, he is a blackguard, a man not to be trusted. He is the son of my best friend and I'm sure Eleanor is so ashamed at all he has done. My heart breaks for her but even so, I cannot have his name mentioned in this house." Her voice quivered with anger but when seeing Scarlett's shocked face, she softened, "And by you, dear, such a sweet, young innocent. I hope that you never have to lay eyes on the scoundrel. He is a cad of the highest order. Now, I don't want to waste another moment speaking of such a person."
As Scarlett lay in bed that evening in Eulalie's great home with a high walled garden on the Battery, sleep would not come. She stared at the ceiling thinking that the odds of Rhett courting her here in Charleston were probably slimmer than if she had stayed at Tara under her mother's watchful eye. However, she still held out hope that she could find him and at least get word to him someway—somehow. She knew she couldn't stay here indefinitely. Sooner or later, Eulalie or Pauline were bound to communicate with her mother or vice-versa. Fortunately for Scarlett, her aunts were poor correspondents and rarely wrote to her mother. Moreover, with all the activity at Tara with making it produce to support the war effort, Ellen had very little time to write to her sisters. To stall the inevitable, Scarlett drafted a letter to her mother telling her activities in Atlanta and happenings with the war and nursing. She dated the letter and took it to the Charleston depot and asked a woman boarding the next train to Atlanta to post the letter on her behalf when she arrived at the depot.
She took her time heading back Eulalie's home since she had the whole day before her. To pass the time when she wasn't committee-bound, Scarlett daydreamed about meeting up with Rhett. To that end, under the guise of needing some fresh air and exercise, she would often excuse herself every afternoon for an hour to take a walk. Where she walked, her aunts never quite knew. They assumed she was strolling around their home and the neighboring homes on the Battery. And, to some degree, she was. However, her afternoon walks often lead her much further a field than they would have wanted her to venture. She would walk throughout the Battery, often strolling slowly in front of the Butler mansion, imagining what it was like for Rhett to grow up there. She would walk leisurely through White Point Gardens and stare out toward Fort Sumter, which was a dot on the horizon, wondering if Rhett was out there navigating the blockade. But most daring of all, she would wander down by the docks where the blockaders unloaded their booty, desperately scanning the crowds for some sign of Rhett.
No one knew where she went on these afternoons and they would be horrified if they did know, for an unmarried girl did not venture alone to these places, particularly not when the town was swarming with strangers from out-of-town that no one knew. It simply wasn't safe. Why anything could happen! Or, so the ladies said whenever more than one met on the street.
Aside from her daily treks out on Charleston's streets, the only thing keeping Scarlett sane was when she hid herself away in Aunt Eulalie attic. She discovered their attic when Aunt Eulalie had asked her to investigate their loom, which had long since been retired. It had been put out of commission years ago but now, given the times they lived in, Scarlett's aunts decided they needed to put the old loom back into service and wondered if it was still in working condition, which is why they sent Scarlett to the attic. After that day, Scarlett would go there whenever she could sneak away for even a few minutes. It gave her a place to think and that is where she headed now. High in the house, it provided a breathtaking view of Charleston's harbor and she could imagine all kinds of things, most of which involved Rhett and sent shivers down her spine and made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
On this particular afternoon, she arrived back home and finding it empty, she climbed the stairs to the attic and settled into the chair that she had pulled over to the window where she had a bird's eye view of the harbor. The sun was shining brightly but a tropical ocean breeze blew through the open window, which kept the attic cooler than it would be otherwise. Scarlett sat there for some time, lost in thought—all of a romantic nature. It was only when the breeze blew so strongly that it slammed shut the attic door, which Scarlett always kept discreetly cracked open so that she could be alerted to any sounds of anyone coming into the house. Scarlett jumped at the sound and went to investigate, finding everything in order, she was making her way back to the window when a sheet of paper sticking out from a crack in the bottom of an old trunk caught her eye.
Scarlett picked it up, mesmerized by the words on the page:
…My love, you are my heart and my soul. Being apart from you for even a moment, is unbearable, but to be stricken from your life, well, that is unfathomable.
I am not willing to give up all the joys in this life to adhere to society's rules. No, not I. Call me young, call me brash but that is how I feel. I am in love and nothing, nothing can stop us from being together. Do you hear? Nothing!
I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night…
My love for you, darling, is boundless. I miss your smile, the burning light in your eyes and your touch. I cannot bear this separation a moment longer. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel I must make plans in the event that the worst comes to be.
Scarlett held the faded paper in hands that shook. Who wrote this? The handwriting wasn't particularly masculine or feminine. Aunt Eulalie's husband had been dead since before the War and what Scarlett could remember of him from her childhood, wasn't very favorable. He was stodgy and embarrassingly shy. He barely said a word to anyone and only nodded now and again and smoked like a house afire. "He couldn't possibly be the one who wrote this letter," Scarlett mused aloud, nor did she think Eulalie had it in her to write it. "Could it be Aunt Pauline's letter?" she wondered. Aunt Pauline lived on a plantation up the river with her husband, Uncle Carey, a little old man, with a formal,
brittle courtesy and the absent air of one living in an older age. "Certainly, he couldn't have penned this letter." That left Scarlett to conclude that it was from her Aunt Pauline, who was certainly a romantic. She was always reading novels and gossiping about Charleston's matches and yes, even the mesalliances. Yet, Scarlett didn't feel confident that she penned the letter either. "I can't imagine her being that passionate about Uncle Carey!" She opened the trunk to search for the missing pages when she heard the front door bang closed downstairs and she deftly closed the trunk and, walking on tiptoe to avoid the squeaky floorboards, she made her way down the attic stairs and into the main upstairs hallway.
"Aunt Eulalie! Is that you?" Scarlett called.
"Why, yes, Scarlett dear. Are you ready to go to work at the hospital with me?"
* * *
Scarlett spent the greater part of that afternoon going through the motions of tending the wounded while ruminating on who wrote that passionate letter and to whom. The intrigue was almost more than Scarlett could bear and she lay awake that night wondering about the delicious possibilities. With no one's name claiming the letter, Scarlett could imagine that those words were Rhett's to her and it filled her with a wild anticipation. Over the past year, Scarlett's dreams of Rhett had only intensified. Initially, her feelings were fueled by her sorrow in his sudden departure from Twelve Oaks and then, his lack of any response through calls or letters. But in the more recent months, her romantic dreams burned brighter than ever based on two factors: the knowledge that he had written her and her mother's obstinacy that forbade Scarlett from associating with him.
Knowing that Rhett was interested and that her mother—and everyone for that matter—didn't want her to associate with him—made a possible alliance all that much more alluring.
So it was no surprise that the very next morning while she was surveying a bushel of turnips at the open air market on Meeting Street that her heart stopped when she felt a pair of eyes on her only to look up and find Rhett Butler staring at her from across the aisle. Black eyes met green and locked for an indeterminate time for everything seemed to stop—all motion, all sounds and Scarlett was only aware of the sound of her blood rushing through her ears and the loud, thundering beating of her heart. He didn't say a word, but tilted his head toward the corner—far away from the produce stands. In silent understanding, Scarlett set down her would-be purchases and casually looked to her left and right. Finding Eulalie in deep conversation with Eleanor Butler, Scarlett maneuvered over to her side and made her apologies, explaining that she didn't feel well and planned to return home. Too deep in conversation to take much notice, Eulalie simply nodded and Scarlett slipped away through the crowd.