Author's Note:
thank you for all of the reviews, and no I don't think that this particular idea has been explored-at least in nothing I've read, and I've read most of them, I think. I was super excited to see some dear friends review, and lovely to have you join me if you haven't read any of my writing before. I think I started back in early 2008, and for a period, quite a prolific writer. My life has changed a lot since then, and not so much. I'm currently chasing little ones again, so writing is an escape, which I wish I could find a little more of-at least an escape from cocomelon. The first three chapters are very much within the confines of the original story, much of the dialog and happenings are the same. So if it sounds like mm wrote it, she probably did. Thanks for reading, and I hope that you enjoy. I've already shared this on another site, but wanted to share here too. As on the other site, I've only got up to chapter four posted, so after I get caught up, chapters might slow down. But I do have other treats in store, so heads up. I've found several new stories that I've really enjoyed or currently am enjoying. Can't wait for an update in shift in the trajectory!
So scarlett was out after dark because in the original she was out after dark. My favorite thing to write is to take one thing to change and leave everything else the same as much as it can. I just like to play with the idea from what that one thing can snowball into.
I dedicate this chapter to all of the dear writers and readers who've been around for so long. Hopefully you will be inspired as I have been!
Chapter Three
"Hark!" interrupted Archie softly. "Set, Ma'm. Thar's horses."
Melanie sank into a chair, picked up one of Ashley's shirts and, bowing her head over it, unconsciously began to tear the frills into small ribbons.
The sound of hooves grew louder as horses trotted up to the house. There was the jangling of bits and the strain of leather and the sound of voices. As the hooves stopped in front of the house, one voice rose above the others in a command and the listeners heard feet going through the side yard toward the back porch. They felt that a thousand eyes looked at them through the unshaded front window and the three women, with fear in their hearts, bent their heads and plied their needles.
As the harsh rapid knocking sounded at the door, Melanie's small, strained face took on a new expression, the bland blank look of a poker player bluffing a game with only two deuces. "Archie, open the door," she said quietly.
Slipping his knife into his boot top and loosening the pistol in his trouser band, Archie stumped over to the door and flung it open. Pitty gave a little squeak, like a mouse caught in a trap, as she saw massed in the doorway, a Yankee captain and a squad of bluecoats. But the others said nothing.
"Good evening, I'm Captain Jaffery. And, which of you ladies is Mrs. Wilkes?"
"I am Mrs. Wilkes," answered Melanie, rising and for all her smallness, dignity flowed from her. "And to what do I owe this intrusion?"
The eyes of the captain flickered quickly about the room, resting for an instant on each face, passing quickly from their faces to the table and the hat rack as though looking for signs of male occupancy.
"I should like to speak to Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Kennedy, if you please."
"They are not here," said Melanie, a chill in her soft voice. "Mr. Kennedy is out looking for his wife who has not returned home, and my husband is helping him."
"Are you sure?"
"Don't you question Miz Wilkes' word," said Archie, his beard bristling.
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wilkes. I meant no disrespect. If you give me your word, I will not search the house."
"You have my word. But search if you like. Mr. Wiles went with Mr. Kennedy to meet downtown at Mr. Kennedy's store. They were forming a search party for our dear Scarlett, as your soldiers have not been able to find her."
"They are not at the store. There was no meeting tonight," answered the captain grimly. "We will wait outside until they return."
"Shouldn't you be using your resources to search for Scar… Mrs. Kennedy? Is that not a better use for your man power than waiting here to watch over three harmless ladies as they sew?"
"I apologize, Miz Wilkes, but I have no choice in the matter." He bowed briefly and went out, closing the door behind him. Those in the house heard a sharp order, muffled by the wind: "Surround the house. A man at each window and door." There was a tramping of feet. Melanie sat down and with a hand that did not tremble reached for a book on the table. It was a ragged copy of Les Miserables, that book which caught the fancy of the Confederate soldiers. They had read it by camp-fire light and took some grim pleasure in calling it "Lee's Miserables." She opened it at the middle and began to read in a clear monotonous voice.
"Sew," commanded Archie in a hoarse whisper and the three women, nerved by Melanie's cool voice, picked up their sewing and bowed their heads.
How long Melanie read beneath that circle of watching eyes, they never knew but it seemed hours. Yet something in the cool soft voice reading the sorrows of Jean Valjean steadied them, kept them from leaping to their feet and screaming.
With the house surrounded by soldiers, Frank and Ashley couldn't come home and get money and clothes without being captured. And probably every house up and down the street had a similar guard of Yankees, so they could not apply to friends for aid. Even now they might be riding wildly through the night, bound for Texas. But most frustrating of all was that no one seemed to really be looking for Scarlett. She was a young woman, and a mother, but catching these men was more important to them.
The only hope for the situation was Rhett—perhaps Rhett had reached them in time. Rhett would not give up until Scarlett had been found. And for the men's sake Rhett always had plenty of cash in his pocket. Perhaps he would lend them enough to see them through. Would Rhett bother himself about Ashley's safety? Melanie doubted that he was too concerned if Scarlett was in peril. Captain Butler loved her to distraction.
After a long time Melanie's voice faltered, trailed off and was silent. She turned her head toward the window and stared as though no Yankee soldier stared back from behind the glass. The others raised their heads, caught by her listening pose, and they too listened.
There was a sound of horses' feet and of singing, deadened by the closed windows and doors, borne away by the wind but still recognizable. It was the most hated and hateful of all songs, the song about Sherman's men "Marching through Georgia" and Rhett Butler was singing it.
Hardly had he finished the first lines when two other voices, drunken voices, assailed him, enraged foolish voices that stumbled over words and blurred them together. There was a quick command from Captain Jaffery on the front porch and the rapid tramp of feet. But even before these sounds arose, the ladies looked at one another stunned. For the drunken voices expostulating with Rhett were those of Ashley and Hugh Elsing.
Voices rose louder on the front walk, Captain Jaffery's curt and questioning, Hugh's shrill with foolish laughter, Rhett's deep and reckless and Ashley's queer, unreal, shouting: "What the hell! What the hell!"
Melanie rose and, with her, Archie rose. They heard the captain's sharp voice: "These two men are under arrest." And Archie's hand closed over his pistol butt.
"No," whispered Melanie firmly. "No. Leave it to me." There was a strength in her bearing as a gentle and timid soul nerved by circumstances to the caution and fury of a tigress. She threw the front door open.
"Bring him in, Captain Butler," she called in a clear tone that bit with venom. "I suppose you've gotten him intoxicated again. Bring him in."
From the dark windy walk, the Yankee captain spoke: "I'm sorry, Mrs. Wilkes, but your husband and Mr. Elsing are under arrest."
"Arrest? For what? For drunkenness? If everyone in Atlanta was arrested for drunkenness, the whole Yankee garrison would be in jail continually. Well, bring him in, Captain Butler—that is, if you can walk yourself."
It was clear to the three ladies that neither Rhett nor Ashley was drunk. Yet here was Melanie, usually so gentle and refined, screaming like a shrew and in front of Yankees too, that both of them were too drunk to walk.
There was a short mumbled argument, punctuated with curses, and uncertain feet ascended the stairs. In the doorway appeared Ashley, white faced, his head lolling, his bright hair tousled, his long body wrapped from neck to knees in Rhett's black cape. Hugh Elsing and Rhett, none too steady on their feet, supported him on either side and it was obvious he would have fallen to the floor but for their aid. Behind them came the Yankee captain, his face a study of mingled suspicion and amusement. He stood in the open doorway with his men peering curiously over his shoulders and the cold wind swept the house.
Pittypat, frightened, puzzled, glanced at Melanie and back to the sagging Ashley and then half-comprehension came to her. She was witnessing a play, a desperate play on which lives hinged. She knew she was not part of it nor was India but the others were and they were tossing cues to one another like actors in an oft-rehearsed drama. She understood only half but she understood enough to keep silent.
"Put him in the chair," cried Melanie indignantly. "And you, Captain Butler, leave this house immediately! How dare you show your face here after getting him in this condition again! Were you even looking for Scarlett? She's still missing, and you men chose to instead drunkenly carouse !"
The two men eased Ashley into a rocker and Rhett, swaying, caught hold of the back of the chair to steady himself and addressed the captain with pain in his voice.
"Aren't these fine soldiers searching for Scarlett? And what a fine thanks I get, isn't it? For keeping the police from getting him and bringing him home and him yelling and trying to claw me!"
"And you, Hugh Elsing, I'm ashamed of you! What will your poor mother say? Drunk and out with a—a Yankee-loving Scallawag like Captain Butler! And, oh, Mr. Wilkes, how could you do such a thing?"
"Melly, I ain't so very drunk," mumbled Ashley, and with the words fell forward and lay face down on the table, his head buried in his arms.
"Archie, take him to his room and put him to bed—as usual," ordered Melanie. "Aunt Pitty, please run and fix the bed and oo- oh," she suddenly burst into tears. "Oh, how could he? After he promised!"
Archie already had his arm under Ashley's shoulder and Pitty, frightened and uncertain, was on her feet when the captain interposed. "Don't touch him. He's under arrest. Sergeant!"
As the sergeant stepped into the room, his rifle at trail, Rhett, evidently trying to steady himself, put a hand on the captain's arm and, with difficulty, focused his eyes. "Tom, what are you arresting him for? He ain't so very drunk. I've seen him drunker. I've seen you drunker, and you've seen me a whole lot drunker than that."
"Drunk be damned," cried the captain. "He can lie in the gutter for all I care. I'm no policeman. He and Mr. Elsing are under arrest for complicity in a Klan raid at Shantytown tonight. Two men were killed: one black and one white. Mr. Wilkes was the ringleader in it. And Mrs. Kennedy was not found." He seemed to toss on that last line as an after thought.
He shook his head, as if to shake off the thought of Scarlett's absence. "Tonight?" Rhett began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he sat down on the sofa and put his head in his hands. "Not tonight, Tom," he said when he could speak. "These two have been with me tonight—ever since eight o'clock when they were supposed to be meeting."
"With you, Rhett? But—" A frown came over the captain's forehead and he looked uncertainly at the snoring Ashley and his weeping wife. "But—where were you?"
"I don't like to say," and Rhett shot a look of drunken cunning at Melanie.
"You'd better say!"
"Let's go out on the porch and I'll tell you where we were."
"You'll tell me now."
"Hate to say it in front of ladies. If you ladies'll step out of the room—"
"I won't go," cried Melanie, dabbing angrily at her eyes with her handkerchief. "I have a right to know. Where was my husband?"
Rhett sighed in resignation,"At Belle Watling's sporting house," said Rhett, looking abashed. "He was there and Hugh and Frank Kennedy and Dr. Meade and—and a whole lot of them. Had a party. Big party. Champagne. Girls—"
"At—at Belle Watling's?" Melanie's voice rose until it cracked with such pain that all eyes turned frightenedly to her. Her hand went clutching at her bosom and, before Archie could catch her, she had fainted. Then a hubbub ensued, Archie picking her up, India running to the kitchen for water, Pitty fanning her and slapping her wrists, while Hugh Elsing shouted over and over: "Now you've done it! Now you've done it!"
"Now it'll be all over town," said Rhett savagely. "I hope you're satisfied, Tom. There won't be a wife in Atlanta who'll speak to her husband tomorrow."
"Rhett, I had no idea—" Though the chill wind was blowing through the open door on his back, the captain was perspiring. "Look here! You take an oath they were at—er—at Belle's?"
"Hell, yes," growled Rhett. "Go ask Belle herself if you don't believe me. Now, let me carry Mrs. Wilkes to her room. Give her to me, Archie. Yes, I can carry her. Nothing like a brisk wind to sober me up. Miss Pitty, go ahead with a lamp."
He took Melanie's limp body from Archie's arms with ease.
"You get Mr. Wilkes to bed, Archie. I don't want to ever lay eyes or hands on him again after this night."
Pitty's hand trembled so that the lamp was a menace to the safety of the house but she held it and trotted ahead toward the dark bedroom. Archie, with a grunt, got an arm under Ashley and raised him.
"But—I've got to arrest these men!"
Rhett turned in the dim hallway. "Arrest them in the morning then. They can't run away in this condition—and I never knew before that it was illegal to get drunk in a sporting house. Good God, Tom, there are fifty witnesses to prove they were at Belle's."
"There are always fifty witnesses to prove a Southerner was somewhere he wasn't," said the captain morosely. "You come with me, Mr. Elsing. I'll parole Mr. Wilkes on the word of—"
"I am Mr. Wilkes' sister. I will answer for his appearance," said India coldly. "Now, will you please go? You've caused enough trouble for one night."
"I regret it exceedingly." The captain bowed awkwardly. "I only hope they can prove their presence at the—er—Miss—Mrs. Watling's house. Will you tell your brother that he must appear before the provost marshal tomorrow morning for questioning?"
India bowed coldly and, putting her hand upon the door knob, intimated silently that his speedy retirement would be welcome. The captain and the sergeant backed out, Hugh Elsing with them, and she slammed the door behind them.
Then Rhett spoke to Archie "I need you to run errands."
Archie looked across the lamp at Rhett.
"I ain't takin' no orders from you," he said briefly, shifting his wad of tobacco to the other cheek.
"You do what he says," said Melanie sternly, "and do it quickly. Do everything Captain Butler says."
He gave his orders -"Take my horse...tied outside...ride like hell."
Archie mumbled some question and Rhett replied: "The old Sullivan plantation. You'll find the robes pushed up the biggest chimney. Burn them."
"Um," grunted Archie.
"And there's two—men in the cellar. Pack them over the horse as best you can and take them to that vacant lot behind Belle's—the one between her house and the railroad tracks. Be careful. If anyone sees you, you'll hang as well as the rest of us. Put them in that lot and put pistols near them—in their hands. Here—take mine." Rhett reached under his coat tails and produced two revolvers which Archie took and shoved into his waist band. "Fire one shot from each. It's got to appear like a plain case of shooting. You understand?"
Archie nodded as if he understood perfectly and an unwilling gleam of respect shone in his cold eye. Rhett seemed in perfect command of the situation Archie turned to go and then swung about and his one eye went questioningly to Rhett's face. "Him?"
"Yes."
Archie grunted and spat on the floor. "Hell to pay," he said as he stumped down the hall to the back door.
Melanie looked up like a good little soldier awaiting a command and so tense was the situation it did not occur to her that for the first time Rhett was calling her familiarly by the name which only family and old friends used. "I beg your pardon, I mean, Mrs. Wilkes..."
"Oh, Captain Butler, do not ask my pardon! I should feel honored if you called me 'Melly' without the Miss! I feel as though you were my—my brother or—or my cousin. How kind you are and how clever! How can I ever thank you enough?"
"Thank you," said Rhett and for a moment he looked almost embarrassed. "I should never presume so far, but Miss Melly," and his voice was apologetic , "I'm sorry I had to say that Mr. Wilkes was in Belle Watling's house. I'm sorry to have involved him and the others in such a—a— But I had to think fast when I rode away from here and that was the only plan that occurred to me. I knew my word would be accepted because I have so many friends among the Yankee officers. They do me the dubious honor of thinking me almost one of them because they know my—shall we call it my 'unpopularity'?—among my townsmen. And you see, I was playing poker in Belle's bar earlier in the evening. There are a dozen Yankee soldiers who can testify to that. And Belle and her girls will gladly lie themselves black in the face and say Mr. Wilkes and the others were—upstairs all evening. And the Yankees will believe them. Yankees are queer that way. It won't occur to them that women of—their profession are capable of intense loyalty or patriotism. The Yankees wouldn't take the word of a single nice Atlanta lady as to the whereabouts of the men who were supposed to be at the meeting tonight but they will take the word of—fancy ladies. And I think that between the word of honor of a Scallawag and a dozen fancy ladies, we may have a chance of getting the men off. At Belle's is where I learned of Scarlett's disappearance. As soon as this is taken care of, I will resume searching for her. The men weren't helping, and they failed at finding her. And the Yankee soldiers were absolutely worthless. She's out there somewhere, and I'm worried that she is injured. I need to find her. The Yankees certainly don't appear to be even trying."
And within a few moments, Rhett was once again out the door, leaving Melanie to take care of her injured husband, while he searched in the darkness for Scarlett.
