Chapter 2: The jail

Oh, he would definitely kiss her now, she thought, and a rush of triumph surged through her. Followed by a sudden feeling of thrill, as she remembered their last kiss. His full lips insistent and hard on her mouth, his arms all around her back and her shoulders, the hard muscles of his thighs against her body. She had felt hot and cold and shaky and, for a moment, the prospect of him kissing her again left her weak and trembling. But he did not kiss her. Disappointed she opened her eyes enough to take a quick look at him. His head was now bent and before she could wonder about it, her hands were in his hands and he was kissing them, first the one then the other. And then he turned her hands over, palms facing up, to kiss them too and suddenly he took a sharp breath. She looked down and saw with horror what had become of her once soft tender hands. Tanned from the sun and freckled, her nails broken, heavy callouses on the cushions of the palms. And on top of everything, a half-healed blister on her thumb and the red scar from burning herself last month, ugly and glaring.

"This game is over," she thought and her shoulders shrugged.

The reality in front of them spoke volumes of her treacherous scheme and she knew, with a cold finality, that there was no point in trying to deny it. He didn't raise his head. He held her palms open, staring at them for what seemed like forever, his thumbs running over her callouses time and again. And she didn't wrench them away. When he finally looked back at her, his brows were up and his eyes gleaming.

"So everything is going very nicely at Tara and you make enough money to go vising, do you? What have you been doing with your hands? These aren't the hands of a lady."

And with that he let them drop on her lap. She could protest, claim that she went riding without her gloves or something similar, but he would see right through it. Suddenly, she felt so very tired of these theatrics, dressed up and acting careless and joyous, when she was anything but that.

"I can tell you the truth if you care to hear it," she sighed. She stared back at him, resignation written all over her face, and his hard expression softened a bit. A sharp nod was all she got.

"After you left us," her voice hard and accusing made him flinch, "I drove through the night trying to get as close to Rough and Ready as possible. But it wasn't easy. The road was a mess, full of ruts and boulders and deep gullies in either side of it. The wagon slipped into them more times than I remember and Prissy and I had to push the wheels out over and over again. And there were soldiers everywhere and every now and then I had to drive the wagon into meadows and woods until it was safe to proceed again. And when we neared Rough and Ready there were campfires ahead and I had to circle at least a full mile through plowed fields. I was lost and terrified and didn't know where we were until finally, I found the small wagon path I was looking for. But the horse refused to move any further, so we hid and spent the night there."

A shiver ran down her spine as that horrible night replayed in her head.

"The horse was so wasted the next morning that it took us a whole day to drive fifteen miles. We didn't meet a single living soul to help us. Every house I knew was burned to the ground, dead men and dead animals everywhere I looked. When we reached Tara at last, still standing and unharmed, I thought the worst part was over. But it wasn't."

Her voice grew unsteady and her hands were shaky and she tried to knit them together to make them stop, but failed miserably. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked again and again to push them back. She couldn't look at him –the man who had left her to face the end of her world alone– she just couldn't. At that moment, his large hands appeared out of nowhere and rested upon hers. And something about his touch was soothing and reassuring and gave her the strength she needed to say the next words out loud.

"Mother had died the day before and my sisters were still sick with typhoid. From the one hundred darkies Tara used to have before the War, only three remained. Mammy, Pork and his wife Dilcey. And Pa…" she took a deep breath, "Pa was... still is only a shell of his former self. Mother's death was too much for him and most of the days he doesn't even remember that she is gone."

"I'm so sorry, Scarlett."

His voice vibrated with sincerity and emotion. Startled she jerked her head up. Former anger over her behavior apparently forgotten, his eyes now bore only sadness and kindness. She remembered the last time he was like this, gentle and kind; the night Atlanta fell and he was there to save them. For he did save them, didn't he? Even though he ended up leaving.

"Why was Tara spared?" he asked.

"The Yankees used it as their headquarters," she explained. "Apart from that, they took everything else. Food, living stock, money. And what they couldn't take or had no use for, they burned. One hundred and fifty dollars' worth of cotton they turned it into ashes. That no-good horse of yours died during that night and I couldn't go about the country to see if any of our friends were still around. We ate anything we could find –fruit, vegetables from the neighboring houses and games from Pork's futile attempts to hunt. Until we found a horse," she paused uncertain of whether to proceed.

Only Melly and Will knew about the deserter, but Rhett was looking at her, patient and understanding, and she knew she could tell him anything. He wouldn't judge. He never had.

"I killed a Yankee, Rhett. I took his horse and his money and buried him in the garden," she said in one breath.

"Of course you did." Did he actually sound proud? "You did what you must to protect your folks. That's what people at War do. "

She smiled faintly and he smiled back.

"Go on," he urged.

"Well, I found out that the Fontaines and the Tarlettons and the Calverts haven't left. Their houses were off the main road and they were spared as well. They shared everything they had with us, and things took a turn for the better. We picked up what cotton was left on the fields and for the first time in months I was a bit more optimistic. And then Sherman came. Cathleen warned us and we managed to hide food and animals in the swarms and the woods and when they finally arrived, it was just me with Wade and Beau in the house. They burned the cotton again and almost burned the house too, but Melly and I managed to put the fire out before it spread through the kitchen to the rest of the building. Fortunately, that was the last we saw of those damned Yankees. The rest of the winter was hard, but we got through it. By spring the War was finally over," she let out a long sigh. "And now you know what I did with my hands."

His thumbs were on her palms again, gently caressing the callouses, then the blister, then the burn. Then he brought them to his mouth and kissed every proof of the hardships she went through. And much like that night so long ago in Aunt Pitty's porch, something vital and electric rushed from him to her at his touch. And along with it, the want to run her fingers through his hair and feel his lips upon hers.

"I was wrong," he said, his mustache tickling her skin. "These are the hands of a lady."

Heat rose rapidly to her cheeks in the face of such a momentous praise and from the one man she least expected it.

"Thank you," she murmured timidly.

He let go of her hands and she couldn't help a sting of disappointment from losing their warmth.

"Now, let's get down to the reason behind your visit to my humble cell today," he lounged back into his chair. "From what I understand you want something from me and you want it badly enough that you put on quite a show. I'll give you that, Scarlett, you almost had me."

He wasn't angry anymore or hurt. In fact, he looked rather amused and she took heart. Maybe not everything was lost yet. Maybe she could save Tara after all.

"I need your help, Rhett," she offered earnestly.

"Is it money?"

She nodded. "We paid the taxes on time, but then they did an assessment on Tara and it run sky high and they said I need to pay lots more."

"How much more?"

"Three hundred dollars. And I have to find that money, Rhett. That white trash Wilkerson, Pa's old overseer, came by the other day. He married Emmie Slattery, the wench that killed my mother. And he threatened me that he would buy Tara when we get sold out for taxes. And I can't let Tara go, Rhett. I can't. I won't. Not when there is still a breath left in my body. Will you, please, lend me the money?"

"Was I the first man that came to your mind?" he teased.

"As a matter of fact, you were," she smiled, relieved for the lighter atmosphere between them. "Because, let's face it, Rhett. I don't know any wealthy people nowadays."

"So, it's my money you thought about, not my charm," his hand went on his heart. "I'm deeply wounded, my dear."

"Oh, do be serious," she laughed. "You know it's true. I don't know a single person in the county that isn't poor and, since I came here last night, all I hear is how the War brought everyone to their knees and they barely make ends meet. And Ashley cannot help–"

"So, Mr. Wilkes survived the War," he cut her off, his face blank in the blink of a second. "And he is currently living in Tara."

"Why, yes of course. His wife and child are there and Twelve Oaks are completely burned. Where was he supposed to go?"

"Yet, you forgot to mention it."

"I didn't think it was relevant. He only came back a few months ago."

"I see," he stated. "And you say he cannot help you? Why is that?"

"Haven't you heard a word I said?" she was beginning to lose her temper. They had more important things at hand than Ashley. "He has nothing, Rhett. Nothing at all. And if I have to be honest, he really isn't good for anything anyway."

"He doesn't help around Tara?" his eyes gleamed strangely.

"He does as much as he can, but he isn't made for that kind of work."

"Neither were you."

"Well, yes, I wasn't, but when I had to, I did. There wasn't much of a choice for me. Nine people depended on me, Rhett. Nine. Three sick women, a toddler and a baby among them. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to feed nine people, when there isn't enough food for two? It was a matter of survival. I didn't have the luxury to hide behind my well-breeding."

"While he can?"

"No, not exactly. It isn't his breeding he worries about."

"What is?"

"Reality. That's what he said when I asked him for help. That he is afraid of life becoming too real for him. And some other nonsense about how he had dreamed of spending the rest of his days happily buried in Twelve Oaks, but then the War killed his world," she made a dismissive gesture. "As if the rest of us wanted to starve and freeze and struggle to survive every single day."

"Did you tell him what you were about to do here?"

"What?" she cried incredulously. The mere thought of Ashley, or anyone for that matter, finding out about her plan was mortifying. "No, no. No one knows why I came to Atlanta. I told them I came to attend Fanny Elsing's wedding."

"Has it ever occurred to you that he should have known?" his voice was dangerously low and it was unnerving.

He was angry again and for the life of her she had no idea why.

"How was he supposed to know? I told you I didn't say anything to anyone," she protested.

"If he'd known you at all, he should have guessed that desperate as you are, you would try something stupid. He should have killed you before letting you come here. In fact, he should have killed to help you after everything you have done for his family. Shouldn't he?"

"He couldn't have stopped me, even if he knew," she said, but suddenly she realized what a big lie that was.

He could. Ashley was the only one she would have listened. The only one that could have changed her mind. It felt disloyal to think like that about him, but also very bitterly true. She looked up at Rhett, his eyes gawked at her, scrutinizing and waiting.

"Oh, you are impossible," she exasperated. "He should have known and he could have stopped me. Is that what you wanted to hear? Well, he didn't do any of these and he didn't help me either and there is no point talking about it anymore. What I care to know is if you can. Can you help me, Rhett? Can you?" desperation made her voice shaky.

"Yes, I can, Scarlett, and I will."

For a few seconds she stared back at him speechless. Had he just said yes? She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to be slipping out of her head. A wave of violent relief washed over her and, before she could stop them, tears welled up in her eyes and began to quickly flow down her face.

"Come here, silly," he scolded tenderly and somehow, she was on her feet and protectively secured in his strong arms.

She pressed her face on his broad chest, unable to hold back the sobs that raked through her body. He smelled of cigars and whiskey and horses. Heavy, masculine smells she always loved, for they talked of security and strength and vigor and they reminded her of Gerald. His mouth was on her hair, murmuring sweet nothings, and his hands caressed her back soothingly.

"There, stop crying now, darling. I don't have a handkerchief on me and you visibly need one. I'll hate it if you have to use my shirt. God knows, I don't carry a spare change of clothes around these days."

She laughed at that and he joined her.

"That's better," he pulled a few inches away and smiled down at her. "Are you fit to talk business now?"

She nodded eagerly. He didn't appear too willing to let her go just yet and she was fine with that.

"How long do we have before you need to give the money?"

"A couple of weeks, maybe more."

"That will do. Can you stay in Atlanta that long?"

"Yes. Aunt Pitty is thrilled to have me and Fanny's wedding is tonight. But, Rhett, how can you help me if you are locked up in here?"

"Let me worry about that," he winked ambiguously.

Through wet lashes she looked at him, that man who had turned from savior to abandoner and back to savior again, gratitude pouring out of her every pore.

"Thank you, Rhett. Thank you so very much. I will pay you back, I swear I will."

"One step at a time, Scarlett," he grinned. "Kick the wolf from the door of Tara first and then I'm certain we will find a mutually beneficial agreement to settle your debt. You haven't forgotten that I always get paid, have you?"

"Hush, you crude thing," she patted his chest and stepped away from his embrace, her dimples flickering playfully. "I really must go now, Rhett. Mammy doesn't know where I am and I'm afraid she will start knocking on every single door in Atlanta to find me if I am to be more late than I already am."

"The lady got what she came for and now she is abandoning me in my prison."

"I may come back tomorrow if you promise to behave," she teased.

"And if I don't?" his eyes shone in mirth.

"I may come back anyway. I have come to like your current living quarters."

"Satisfy my curiosity about one more thing before you go, Scarlett. Where did you find this dress?"

"This," she caressed her dress, "is made out of my mother's velvet curtains. And these," she pointed at her hat, "are the tail feathers of a rooster."

He burst into roaring laughter. "Scarlett O'Hara, you really are one of a kind."

She could still hear him laughing even after she went out of the firehouse. She couldn't wait to tell everyone that Tara was saved.

Another fateful crossroad for Rhett and Scarlett, one that could have changed their life forever. If only she had come clean, if only he hadn't let his anger get the better of him... I also added part of the conversation they had after her wedding with Frank. For me, it's one of their best interactions and probably the only time Rhett had spoken the truth, without any excess alcohol in his system! And my personal favorite! :-)

How do you find it? Share your thoughts with me, the more the merrier you make me!

Until next time, stay safe and take care! xxx