"I held my breath as we do sometimes to stop time when something wonderful has touched us..." ― Mary Oliver
"So," Rhett said, "where were we?"
Fixing her intently with his eyes, his stance was confident, and Scarlett forced herself to appear equally poised although she felt like a jellyfish washed up on the beach, deprived of its ability to sting an unwanted intruder.
When she did not answer immediately, annoyed by his improper reference to what they had been doing earlier, he chuckled and motioned in the direction of the dining room.
"Now that our benevolent guest has taken her leave, would you care to join me for a brandy, Scarlett?"
"In broad daylight? Don't be ridiculous, Rhett." She snapped, only realizing what her assertion implied when she could not take it back anymore. Damn him. Damn him to hell.
Rhett smiled knowingly. Brushing a non-existent grain of dust from the lapel of his perfectly tailored suit, he observed, "When has that ever been in bad taste?"
Scarlett pressed her lips together, unwilling to discuss her drinking habits with him. It was painful enough to think about it, for she knew Ellen would surely turn in her grave if she knew her daughter was drinking, alone and in secret. Scarlett did not want to think about it. She did not want to think about it at all. And anyway, it was none of Rhett's business, was it? She had been wanting to talk to him, but if he was going to be hateful, she wouldn't bother. She wouldn't stand here and let him insult her.
"I don't feel like having a drink, Rhett," she informed him very rather bluntly. "So if you'll excuse me now, I've got important things to do."
She made as if to walk past him but he blocked her escape with his body without actually touching her. She expected some imperious command, or perhaps a biting remark with regard to her cowardice, and quickly searched her brain for a possible retort.
But to her surprise Rhett simply offered, "Alright then. A cup of coffee? And Cook, I've been told, has made your favorite cake. Come now, you don't want to miss up on that."
She looked up into his dark eyes glistening with good humor, like those of a naughty child, and some of her annoyance drained away. He hadn't joked like this in a long, long time, and for some reason she clutched at this straw with sudden eagerness. Perhaps he was going to be civil after all. And she so badly wanted to laugh at something again, to feel something other than resentment and confusion, even if only for a little while.
"Well, if you insist." She said finally, offering a reluctant smile.
"I insist." He replied, holding out his arm to her.
They walked back towards the dining room together, Rhett with his head lifted proudly in the air, seemingly in control of the situation and at ease with himself, Scarlett a little more pensive. She wasn't quite sure what to make of the funny mood that had come over him, but nevertheless this unreadable but jaunty dandy before her pleased her a lot more than the offhand, cool stranger she had become used to living with since Bonnie's birth.
He called for the maid to bring them some coffee and cake before he proceeded to seat Scarlett in one of the massive chairs at the table.
Once they were both seated, she eyed him a bit wearily. She had no inkling as to what to say to him - there were so many questions to ask she did not quite know where to begin. What did it mean, that encounter on the porch? Do you feel something for me? Anything? He seemed willing to make the first move, though, and she was glad of it.
"Mrs. Wilkes seemed happy today," he observed calmly.
"Oh yes," Scarlett hastened to agree. "She's very excited about the party."
She made herself speak, while all she could think of was Melanie's assertion that Rhett loved Bonnie so much because she reminded him of her, Scarlett. Did he truly love her? And if so, how could it be that he had hidden it from her for so long? She yearned to know, but she could not just blurt it out, could she, and run the risk of making a complete fool of herself?
"Of course," said Rhett, taking a sip of his coffee. In spite of his earlier sentiments he was not drinking brandy after all, which Scarlett thought was a polite gesture. She was not keen on smelling that stuff, a reminder of her failure.
"The big party." He continued, his expression unreadable. "I wonder what it will be like."
Scarlett silently prayed he would not bring up Ashley, for the last thing she wanted to do was talk about Ashley right now. Not yet. She said nothing, waiting for Rhett to speak up again.
"I understand you'll be helping Miss Melly with some last-minute preparations tomorrow." He said.
She gave a short nod. "Yes. I'll go there tomorrow at noon. Although I'm not quite sure what I could possibly do, what with Melly having organized everything so well already." She knew she was rambling, but what else was there to say? She did not know what he wanted to hear from her. Why did he care anyway? Surely there were more important things to talk about than that damned party...
"It's good to see you appreciate of Miss Melly's efforts." Rhett said ambiguously.
"I told you," Scarlett retorted, bristling, "I have been... wrong about her. I know now that I love her."
It felt odd to confess to such a thing in broad daylight, sitting at a coffee table. But he always made her say things others would never get out of her – at any given time of day.
He smiled at her words. "That is wonderful."
"It's the truth."
"Indeed," he concurred. But there was no malice in his eyes.
And suddenly Scarlett understood. Understood that he did not mean to berate her but was happy for her. Many times in the past he had admonished her for her ill treatment of her sister-in-law, and justly so. She had never understood his reasons, not until now. No she saw clearly that he had been wanting for her to realize that Melanie was her friend and ally, a true and loyal companion worthy of her love.
She felt a sudden warmth and gratitude surge through her. It was like the old days again, when she had felt more understood by Rhett than by any other creature living. She recalled that sometimes it had seemed as to her as if he were the only person in the world who thought and felt like her, and the only one who accepted her the way she was. And now, too, he was being kind, complimenting her for her change of heart, even if he did not say it in so many words. How nice he could be if he wanted to! How patient and how smart. For he had known – or at least hoped, she figured – that she would come around one of these days.
Offering one of her rare genuine smiles, she tugged heartily into the massive piece of Black Forest cake he had put on a plate and handed to her. She had not really had much of an appetite over the past two days, but now she found she could eat with real pleasure. Rhett smiled back, drinking his coffee in a relaxed fashion. In this comfortable silence, disturbed only by the scraping of Scarlett's fork on the delicate china, they sat for a moment or two.
Then Rhett asked, "So what will you do, over at Miss Melly's place, I wonder, if everything is already set?" He smiled softly at her as she ate. "Taste the sweets?"
She stopped chewing to answer him, oblivious to the deeper meaning of his words. "Oh, I'm not too sure. Arrange pillows? Hold Aunt Pitty's smelling salts?" She did not know what had come over her, but she felt like jesting. But then another thought came up. "It won't be fun anyway. After all, India will be there, watching me like a cat would a mouse hole."
Her face fell at that notion. She had no desire to see India Wilkes. No desire at all. But this time it was not only because she generally despised her, but because she knew now that India had always been justified in hating her for her foolish pursuit of her brother. Scarlett was ready to face the error of her ways, but she was not sure she was willing to do penance under that woman's lashless, gleeful eyes.
She looked at Rhett. He look patiently back.
"And does she still have reason to watch you like a cat would a mouse hole, Scarlett?" He asked, repeating her words.
There was something curious and eager swinging in his voice, and for a moment she was perplex, but when she realized what he was referring to her heart sped up. Now, this was more interesting. Much more interesting than talking about preparations for a party. He's referring to Ashley, I know it! She thought vehemently. He does care, or else he would not ask, I'm sure of it.
But when she made as if to meet his eyes coyly, and inquire flirtatiously as to where his question tended, she found to her surprise that she did not want to play coy. It did not appeal to her as much as it once had to play the simpering fool in front of a man, especially Rhett, who knew her inside out. And she did not have an answer, anyway.
Did India still have reason to watch her suspiciously? What did she, Scarlett, feel for Ashley, now that she knew who he really was? What he was capable of? Now that she knew that he loved Melly, not her? Did she still love him, yearn for him as she had in the past? But when she searched her mind, trying to conjure up his image before her eyes, trying to feel excited and warm at the thought of him, there was nothing, nothing but hurt pride and the sting of a bitter memory.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "Oh Rhett, I just don't know. But I don't think... things will ever be the same again."
He took in a sharp breath, looking relieved, and she watched his chest move as he released it, not comprehending what she saw. His eyes bored deeply into hers, and she met them, reluctant yet unable to look away.
"Why is it so hard, Rhett?" She blurted out before she could change her mind.
"What do you mean?"
She stood up hastily, the fork loudly hitting the plate. Walking over to the fireplace, she laid a hand on the mantel, steadying herself.
"I mean – why do I not know for sure … what I feel?"
It was odd, perhaps, to ask her own husband such a question with regard to her feelings for another man, but what choice did she have? Only Rhett could provide answers to the questions plaguing her. At the same time resentment rose within her, for she did not want to think about Ashley. He had betrayed her, he did not love her, and he was not worth it. But for some reason or other he kept invading her thoughts. Strangely enough, though, it was not hurt or yearning that tugged at her heart whenever she thought of him, but something else, something that made her feel incomplete and helpless and clueless. And she did not like feeling that way.
A silence fell. The carefree, good mood seemed to have drained away all of a sudden, and Scarlett regretted its loss.
"To know your own mind and heart requires complete honesty, Scarlett," Rhett said eventually. "It means growing up, and letting go of things that may have played a role in your past but can never be part of your future. It means facing some bitter truths, and considering what is right in front of you."
"I don't know what you mean," she said, automatically memorizing his words but somehow unable to grasp what they implied. What is right in front of you? What did that even mean?
"No?" He drawled in response. "Well, no matter. I know it's hard, but you will get there, Scarlett. Trust me. You will get there. And soon, I hope."
His voice was suddenly changed, something ardent had crept into it, and she shivered slightly. Somehow the room's atmosphere had changed again, and now it was not doubt or sadness that seemed to hang in the air but something else, something decidedly more pleasant yet equally serious. She had always noticed that when she was in the same room with Rhett, the very air around them seemed to carry certain moods, certain feelings, promises, perhaps.
"Hope?" She parroted, her back still turned to him. "What is it that you hope for, Rhett?" She asked uncharacteristically.
She heard him get up from his chair and walk towards her. Absentmindedly, she noted that the clock on the mantelpiece had stopped. Rhett stopped right behind her.
"I told you, my dear," he noted calmly. "For you to open your eyes and face what is obvious. But I am patient man."
He was making no sense, but she did not bother to inquire. His proximity made her nervous; she could feel his breath on her neck. How they had moved on from smiling and eating Black Forest cake to this moment, she did not know.
The air was so thick one might have cut it with a knife, and not unlike earlier, on the porch, Scarlett felt some kind of connection between them. She could not quite place that connection, but it vaguely reminded her of his lips on hers.
He was very close, and she held her breath. Suddenly, and slowly, he put his hands on her waist, and then she could feel his mustache tickling her sensitive skin as he laid his head on her left shoulder and pressed a soft, moist kiss to her neck.
A shiver like ice ran through her body, melting into a warm pool in her belly. She let him turn her around to face him, and looked up at him through thick black lashes. It was exactly as it had been on the porch earlier, before Mammy's voice had cut through the heavy silence, and for the first time she admitted to herself that she wanted Rhett, wanted him to press his mouth down on her parted lips, wanted him to make her forget, wanted to drown in the ecstasy of being close to him.
She understood him not, but she understood herself a little better with regard to him. His touch brought relief, his nearness was thrilling, his tall muscular body pressed against hers was like an antidote to the dullness of everyday life, to the bitterness of reality. But she knew it was still wrong to go about things like this, for soon a time would come when she would have to face the bitterness of reality, and she hated the thought of learning things about Rhett that would hurt her instead of making her happy. Still, in spite of herself, she wrapped her arms around his neck – it came naturally to her – and she let herself be held by him, for no one could hold her quite like he could.
All of a sudden he was indeed kissing her, and all coherent thoughts vanished from her mind as she closed her eyes. His lips brushed softly against hers, his mustache tickling her sensitive skin. He slid one hand behind her neck, the other around her waist, and she clung to him, as limp as a rag doll in his arms. They just stood there, kissing, and it felt glorious. But after a while, when he moved his lips down to her throat and neck and she could think a little more clearly, she remembered her initial goal.
This was not as she had planned it. She needed to speak with him! She could not let him overpower her again in this fashion, without having accomplished anything. Without having learned anything with regard to his feelings for her, or what he thought of Ashley now, or even why he consorted with the likes of Belle Watling. He had admitted to his dealings with that creature yesterday, on the landing, and Scarlett was not particularly keen on learning the details of the whole nasty affair. But still she could not help thinking that she needed to know more.
"Rhett, Rhett," she murmured in between kisses. "I need to talk to you."
He chuckled as he pulled his head back a little. "Talk?"
"Yes," she said, trying to push him away.
He peered closely into her eyes as if they could tell him something her words could not. "Alright then," he said eventually, stepping away from her and arranging his clothes with a nonchalant expression.
"Let's go to my room, then," he said suddenly, "and talk." He stressed the last word with one eyebrow raised and his eyes very dark, but Scarlett was oblivious to it.
Still reeling from his kisses, sure she must look a fright with her hair messy and her dress wrinkled at her waist, she did not know what he was up to. Go to his room? She almost giggled at the idea – she had not set foot in his room in what felt like an eternity. For a moment she wanted to decline, not sure she could trust him. But perhaps what he suggested was best, lest a servant should come in and see the two of them like this. It just ain't fittin', Mammy's words echoed in her mind, it just ain't fittin'.
Still frowning, she nodded at him. "Alright then. Cook or someone else can clean up here. Where is Mammy, anyway?"
Rhett seemed a little surprised at her compliance, but he quickly recovered and held out his arm to her.
"She's with Wade and Ella, I presume," he said. "Don't worry about it, Scarlett, someone will clean up after us, I'm sure. They're probably spying on us, anyway." He added with a saucy grin.
"Hm," Scarlett replied sheepishly, unsettled by his dark, penetrating gaze and his unseemly reference to what they had been doing, confused also by his seeming eagerness.
"Let's go, Scarlett," Rhett smoothed over the moment, and she let him walk her out of the room.
They climbed the extravagant staircase in silence, and Rhett could not believe his luck. Was this really happening? Had she really agreed to accompany him to his room? He was not quite sure why he had not offered to go to her own room instead, but perhaps he had not been ready to enter the sanctuary yet. Or perhaps he had not wanted her to think he meant to intrude on her privacy.
Anyway, it did not really matter. She was here with him, holding his arm, letting him take her to a place much more private than the dining room. To talk, as she had put it. But he was hoping for more. Did she know what was on his mind? Was the same thing on her mind? But no, it could not be. She was not such a woman yet, one who thought beyond kissing and sweet, innocent desire, even though she had been married thrice.
He knew she wanted him, had felt it in her touch as he kissed her and held her close. It was just that she did not quite seem to know what it was exactly that she wanted, both physically and emotionally. He knew something inside her had changed and was still changing with regard to him; he knew she was beginning to see that he might mean more to her than she had ever thought possible. He knew she was close to realizing that she did not love her wooden-headed gentleman after all – she had admitted as much."Nothing will ever be the same again..."
No, things would certainly never be the same again, especially not if he managed to get from her what he wanted this afternoon. It was selfish to an extent, to lure her away from the dining room and into his own under the pretense of wanting to talk to her. Well, it was not that he did not want to talk to her. He did. But there was a time for all things. Sometimes actions spoke louder than words, and his desire for her was so great he felt that if he could only show her with his body how much he cared for her, then everything would be easier. She was a passionate creature after all, and perhaps she would understand the language of his body more than actual speech.
For there had been a searching look in her eyes ever since he had greeted her on the porch, a look he could not quite place. What was she looking for in his gaze, what was the question she so desperately wanted him to answer? Well, he was hoping to answer it, even if not in the way she expected him to. If she was looking for something, if she wanted something from him, then he was willing to give it to her, here, at this very hour. Still, he was not only a patient man, he was also a man of many means, and there were more ways to "talk" than just one. He would willingly show her.
All he needed to do now was act carefully, thoughtfully, or he would spook her like some wild, untamed filly, and she would slip from his eager grasp. He could not let that happen.
Rhett opened the door to his room and walked in. Scarlett hesitated on the threshold for a fleeting moment, but then, telling herself not to be a coward, she stepped over it and entered Rhett's room. Moving slowly over the thickly carpeted floor, she carefully took in her surroundings as if she had never done so before.
The room was furnished with exquisite, heavy mahogany furniture. To the right of the door was a beautiful desk with some papers, books as well as an ashtray lying on it. Over the fireplace on the right side of the room hung a massive mirror, and at the far end of the room, between the two great windows, there was a heavy dresser. Some more books, two lamps and several other small items had been placed on its polished surface. On the room's left side was a great bed with quality linen of an egg-shell shade that matched the color of the light curtains in front of the windows.
It was a masculine room, yet utterly stylish, quite like Rhett himself. It was almost indecent, unnatural that the room of a man should look like this. While he, too, seemed to like heavy and dark furniture, Rhett's room miraculously retained an air of lightness and elegance where Scarlett's own, she reluctantly had to admit, was more flamboyant and perhaps a little more gaudy. Still stylish of course, she assured herself, but maybe not as unobtrusive and well-ordered as Rhett's.
While Rhett poured himself a glass of water, Scarlett absentmindedly ran a hand over the surface of his desk and breathed in deeply. A comforting smell of tobacco and cologne and something else, something entirely masculine, hung in the air, comforting her. In fact, the whole room somehow pleased her, reminding her of all that Rhett embodied – masculinity, wealth, elegance, comfort and elusiveness.
"This room is like you," she said before she could stop herself. Had she really just said that out loud?
Taking a sip from his drink, Rhett laughed lightly. "Oh?"
"Yes, well...," she squirmed under his dark gaze. "It's – it's –"
He put the glass down and started walking around the desk until he was standing next to her.
"Charming?" He offered with a smile that really was rather charming, but she refused to let it get to her. Or at least tried not to. "Impressive?" He added with a more conceited grin.
"I think snobbish is the word I was looking for," Scarlett said haughtily, removing her hand from the desk and inspecting her fingers to see if there was any dust on them, which of course there wasn't. She raised an eyebrow, but Rhett simply laughed.
"Well, Scarlett," he said suddenly, coming even closer. "What did you want to talk about?"
She looked up at him, and again she felt that strange desire to have him kiss her, to fling herself into his arms and let him have his way with her. He was much too close.
Rather hastily she moved a few paces away from him until she was standing next to the bed, of all places.
He followed her, and before she knew it that strange tension was in the air again, and she forgot what she had came here to do and say, unable to focus on anything but his hands that now circled her waist as he leaned into her from behind.
"Rhett – " She began halfheartedly.
"Shh," he murmured, and, gently turning her around to face him, as he had in the dining room, pressed his lips to hers.
What happened immediately afterwards she would be able to recall only dimly in later years, although she would always be able to remember the outcome in exquisite detail.
They kissed for a few heartbeats, and then somehow the next moment she found herself pinned underneath him on the massive bed, his weight feeling strangely good on top of her. And then, in the minutes and hours that followed, somehow everything outside this room seemed to fade away: the children, the house, Mammy, the servants, Melanie, Ashley, the Old Guard, Atlanta, even the world itself, until nothing was left but this room and herself and Rhett, and a pleasure the likes of which she had never known.
Prior to that day, she had never guessed that such a thing as the one that happened that afternoon could even exist. It was surreal and frightening in its beauty, exciting in its novelty. And Rhett! Rhett was kind and infinitely gentle, more so than she had ever thought him capable of being.
He touched her tenderly, guiding her where she felt unsure, holding her when she trembled at the new-found pleasure. But he was passionate, too, so very passionate. They had slept together before, of course, but never like this. It was unsettling. It was sinful. And so very wonderful.
On the whole, it turned out to be the most disturbing and glorious afternoon of her life.
When it was all over she lay spent in his arms, her left left hand resting gingerly on his chest. She did not know what to say. But when he bent down to kiss her, his tongue probing her mouth, she did not object. There was something utterly exciting to being held like this by a man, to cling to him and recall what had just transpired between them. She blushed at the indecency of it all, but at the same time she felt safe and at ease in his embrace. He was so muscular and all man, and his raw power comforted her.
He kissed the tip of her nose, and she searched his eyes. He truly did have handsome eyes. Her heart beating a little faster all of a sudden, she remembered how those eyes had looked at her when he... well, when he had done certain things no lady should think about at this time of day. Or ever, for that matter. Right now Rhett's eyes were very dark, sparkling with something she could not quite put her finger on. But she did not care. He was smiling, and relaxed, and he looked happy. And so she figured that he was as happy as she was in that moment. There was a companionable silence and a closeness between them that made her feel drowsy and good.
Out of the blue she recalled their time in New Orleans together, where he had shown her what life with him could be like – carefree and frolicsome, exciting and never the same. Where he had given her warmth and happiness. And today, too, he had made her happy, gloriously happy, although she did not deserve it. He really could be mean sometimes and say terribly hurtful things, but today he had been the most generous and amiable of men. And before this kindness he was showing her, the patience and passion he was offering, Ashley's image receded to the very back of her mind, buried under a layer of new-found hope. She had never thought that Rhett, of all people, should be the one to help her in this difficult time, but here he was, holding her gently and kissing away her cares.
She still did not know what it meant. Whether he loved her, she could not tell, for he had not said anything of the sort. But she knew now that he must at least care for her, for why else would he make love to her like that? Why else would he be so gentle? Yes, she thought, he does care. And the knowledge was like balm to her wounds.
There were many questions still on her mind, both with regard to his feelings for her and to other, darker things that related mostly to Belle Watling and what Rhett did with other women of ill repute. The closer she got to him, the more the thought of his infidelity seemed to pain her. Did he touch those women as he had touched her this afternoon? What exactly did he feel for that Watling creature? It was too horrible to be borne, the idea that he should desire that woman more than her, Scarlett, or even love that illiterate whore more than he loved her. If Melanie was right and he loved her at all. She still thought it somewhat unlikely, but at least now it seemed more plausible than before all this had happened.
Yes, there were many questions she would have to ask Rhett in the near future. But right now she did not want to jeopardize the fragile peace between them, this new-found and wholly unexpected intimacy which she realized she had sorely missed. She remembered what she had told Ashley at the mills, "Don't you know what I've sacrificed?" And now, after this eye-opening experience, she knew more than ever that she had indeed sacrificed a lot when she had banished Rhett from her room. Although, of course, it had never been quite as nice as this before. This was something entirely new, something entirely precious and tender, like a newly healed wound still sensitive to the touch. For it was not just passion that had been stirred in her heart as he held her intimately, but something more, something that made her wish he would never let her go.
For some reason it suddenly felt as if she could let Ashley go, but never, never Rhett.
"Oh Rhett," she whispered, snaking her arm around his neck. "Hold me tight."
"My darling," he said, and drew her even closer to him, his chin coming to rest on top of her head. "I've got you."
She nestled close to him and fell asleep a couple of minutes later, wrapped in his arms.
Sometime during the night, the dream came at last.
The wasteland. Her falling over the edge, adrenaline shooting through her body, alerting her to the imminent danger of death.
Ashley's rejection. His cowardice.
She screamed, screamed endlessly until finally her unknown savior came and pulled her over, and into his strong arms. She clung to him, still terrified, but as he stroked her hair, some of her terror faded away.
"I've got you," he said. And this time she knew his voice.
A tremor ran through her body and he only held her closer, as if trying to shield her from the cold that had crept up from the abyss. Craning her neck she looked up at him, and this time the scene did not shift. He looked down at her and she could see his face, recognized his chiseled, handsome features and patient, dark eyes.
It was Rhett!
Rhett! Rhett who was strong and smart and able. Of course it was him. His hand had pulled her back, he alone had saved her and held her and calmed her fear. Never, never Ashley!
Even as the dream began to fade into a nameless nothingness, Scarlett cursed herself for a fool.
She awoke with a start, panting and covered in sweat.
In her sleep she had moved a bit away from Rhett, who was still soundly sleeping. As she strained her eyes to see his face in the dark, still shivering from the dream, she suddenly had the answer to the question whether she still felt something for Ashley.
Safety would never come from him. Neither would love, nor hope, nor happiness. He had never offered her anything but fondness and friendship and something she now recognized as blind desire for her body, and her body alone, never her heart, nor even less her soul. But she had been too much of a fool, too blinded by her vain hopes of love, to see clearly. Well, now she did see things as they were, and it was a realization long overdue.
He did not love her.
And she did not love him.
She felt no sorrow or remorse, no fear or amazement at the realization. It was the natural conclusion to what had transpired over the past two days. It did not hurt, although it should hurt. She should be desolate, brokenhearted, ready to scream at fate. She had relied upon this love for so long. It had upheld her through many dark places. Yet, there the truth was. Ashley did not love her, and she did not care because she did not love him either. Finally, in the stillness of the night, she was willing to accept this truth.
To know one's own mind and heart requires complete honesty, Scarlett, Rhett's words echoed in her mind. It means growing up, and letting go of things that may have played a role in your past but can never be part of your future.
And finally, his words made sense. Her love for Ashley belonged to the past now, not the future. Whether she had ever truly loved him, she could not now decide. But she guessed not. Not really, anyway. It had been a dream – the foolish dream of a girl who knew nothing about the world, or men for that matter.
He never really existed at all, except in my imagination, she thought wearily. I loved something I made up. I made a pretty suit of clothes and fell in love with it. And when Ashley came riding along, so handsome, so different, I put that suit on him and made him wear it whether it fitted him or not. And I wouldn't see what he really was. I kept on loving the pretty clothes – and not him at all.
Now she could look back down the long years and see herself in green flowered dimity, standing in the sunshine at Tara, thrilled by the young horseman with his blond hair shining like a silver helmet. She could see so clearly now that he was only a childish fancy, no more important really than her spoiled desire for the aquamarine earbobs she had coaxed out of Gerald. For, once she owned the earbobs, they had lost their value, as everything except money lost its value once it was hers. And so he, too, would have become cheap if, in those first far-away days, she had ever had the satisfaction of refusing to marry him. If she had ever had him at her mercy, seen him grown passionate, importunate, jealous, sulky, pleading, like the other boys, the wild infatuation which had possessed her would have passed, blowing away as lightly as mist before sunshine and light wind when she met a new man.
Like so many people before her, she had wanted what she could not have, and so the years had passed, and if she had not seen him that night on her walk, things might as well have gone on like that, with her completely oblivious to the truth. She shivered at the thought.
Anyway, she knew the truth know, that she did not love Ashley – oh, never Ashley! There was no more warmth in him than in a marsh light, no more security than in quicksand. He could never pull her over the precipice, save her from the abyss lurking beneath her feet. For she realized now that an integral part of her "love" for him had been the hope that he would somehow save her, protect her, give her back some of the warmth of her glory days.
One night, long ago, she had stumbled to Tara only to find the world ended. At the end of the road to Tara, she had found security gone, all strength, all wisdom, all loving tenderness, all understanding gone – all those things which, embodied in Ellen, had been the bulwark of her girlhood. And, though she had won material safety since that night, in her dreams, not just this one but also the one in which she would run through the mist, she was still a frightened child, searching for the lost security of that lost world.
Growing up means facing some bitter truths, and considering what is right in front of you.
Ever since her mother's death she had been looking for a refuge, a haven, a person to keep her save. She had hoped, up until her nightly walk, that Ashley was that person. That hope was lost now, but it did not hurt. No, for with the realization that the man who had saved her in the dream was Rhett, came another realization, slow but exquisite like a sip of a good vintage – that perhaps it was Rhett to whom she might turn, that it was Rhett who was her refuge, her haven, her pillar of strength.
He was strong and passionate and brave, and while he may have turned her down on one or two desperate occasions, he had done so because there had been no other way. At all other times he had been there for her, silent, patient, kind. Like a fool, she had flattered herself that she drew her strength from herself alone, but now she knew she had been wrong, terribly, terribly wrong. For, like Melanie, Rhett had always been there, guiding her, helping her, never asking for anything in return. Yes, he had saved her often, in every way that a person could be saved, and for this she was thankful. She knew he must care for her, and she knew now she could turn to him, whenever she felt lonely or let down. She felt secure in the knowledge that he was her bulwark against the storms of life, and for the first time in her life she thought of him with a real tenderness.
Beyond these simple realizations her mind did not take her that night. She knew she did not love Ashley, and she knew that Rhett had saved her in her dream, and that this must mean something. She was but teetering on the brink of an even greater realization, but she was tired, and weary of contemplation, and her mind seemed to work more slowly as the night wore on.
Breathing a sigh, she buried her head in her pillow, her face turned in Rhett's direction. Dark was Atlanta's night, and heavy the silence around them, interrupted only by Rhett's even breathing and the occasional creaking of some or other piece of heavy furniture scattered across the room.
Tomorrow, she would think about what it all meant, and what she was to him, and he to her. Tomorrow. She would think about it tomorrow.
With this comforting thought, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Goodness, I know this has been a long time coming. Did you like it? I appreciate every review. Two more chapters to go, three at the most! We're getting there. Ashley's party is up next, I promise.