February 18,2023 - Hello my winter bunnies! Chapter 4 will be posted in the next few days, just an FYI. Cheers, misscyn
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Chapter 3
Scarlett stared back at her children. Still somewhat stupefied by sleep, she slowly noticed that the flames were growing higher outside the window, and the screeching, creaking telltale sound of metal and wood giving way resonated from down the track.
Ella coughed.
She snapped to the present. "Come now," She said hurriedly, setting Bonnie down. "We must leave here. Wade and Ella, put on your boots."
She secured Bonnie's shoes and her own, standing to tighten her corset, which .. wasn't there. The sides of her traveling dress were about to burst as a result. She stood confused. Rhett must have removed it as she slept but he would have had to push her skirts practically over her head to do so … no time to think about that at the moment.
The car started to lean and the table slid a few feet as the dishes on it clinked. A rat-tat-tat of something that sounded like gunfire, perhaps small explosions; where was Rhett?
She got them all dressed with coats, hats, mufflers, and gloves. A supper tray had been placed beside her seat and she regarded it longingly for a split second, then stuffed the roasted beef into the fragrant, buttery rolls and wrapped them with the linen napkins. She then laid the makeshift sandwiches on top of the items in her valise, along with an unopened bottle of whiskey and the box of cigars by Rhett's chair.
She raffled through his things for a few necessities to combine with her own, and shoved the children's belongings into one bag, along with the book Wade had been reading, Ella's doll, and Bonnie's stuffed rabbit. She pretended not to see Wade as he wrapped his new train, a miniature of the one they were in, around his waist and under his coat.
It felt like an hour, but all in all, it took less than twenty minutes. Still, no Rhett.
The smoke was getting thicker and they had to leave, with or without him.
She swung the door open and nearly collided with a broad chest.
"Come on," he said as if she'd been dawdling. He opened the safe by the door and grabbed the wad of cash and valuables inside.
"What about the baggage car?" She hated to ask.
"It's in the creek."
In the creek. They'd sent all the gifts ahead with Prissy but her luggage, the cashmere, the furs, skating costumes, and the evening gowns Rhett purchased for her in the city were in the baggage car.
"We have to get off now. I have a horse and wagon waiting down the track but someone could grab it any minute." The floor rocked back and forth as he picked up Bonnie and Ella. Scarlett grabbed Wade's hand.
"A horse and wagon," she repeated stupidly. "Why can't we just walk to the next station?"
He looked up, slightly peeved. Well, how did he expect her to have any knowledge when she'd been stuck in this car?
"We can't. The train hit a piling and the bridge is on fire. It's all burning and there are at least seven cars filled with oil. It's going down."
He pulled them all out into the walkway of the car and set the girls down. Fifty feet ahead a shouting, jostling crowd of people were trying to cram themselves out the only visible door at the same time, hysteria and panic in the air. The other direction was a twisted blur, blocked by debris.
"Wait here a minute," Rhett directed before stepping back inside the compartment. Before the door shut completely Scarlett saw him grab a hold of the large window casing, rear back for momentum, and then lift his legs, kicking through the glass with his dark varnished boots.
Bonnie screamed and Ella wailed at the sound of glass shattering from inside.
There was more sound of glass breaking and then Rhett swung open the door so they could enter. He brushed the last bits of glass and wood off the frame away and threw all the cushions and pillows on the ground outside the train, then motioned unceremoniously for Scarlett to go first.
She looked beyond the flames to the dark water, the submerged locomotive, and yet another frenzied mass of people milling about before tossing the bags on the pillows.
The train leaned, making it to her advantage momentarily. Rhett picked her up with no warning, hung out the window, and dropped her to the ground. She landed on her feet and held her arms up for her daughters. Wade was last and then Rhett.
"Run," he said as soon as his feet hit the gravel, grabbing the children's bag and both Ella and Bonnie.
And they did, all together as much as they could although his long legs took him and the girls farther, faster. Scarlett and Wade, hands locked, followed as close behind as they could manage.
They passed a line of men trying to right one car so the passengers could disembark. Upper and working class alike in shirtsleeves despite the cold, their faces streaked with dirt and coal dust. A group of railroad employees, engineers included, were frantically unhooking cars and pushing them back on the tracks to avoid catching fire.
They arrived at a line of cars that still looked stable and crossed a coupling in between two. Scarlett could barely see a horse and wagon waiting down the track as they hurried to it.
"Did you steal it?" She viewed the farm wagon dubiously. The chestnut quarter horse looked alright and the structure appeared sturdy enough, but someone had been hauling dirt–she hoped it was dirt–and hay in the bed.
"No," Rhett said curtly, spreading a feed sack over the mess. "I wish I had. I had to pay ten times its worth to convince the farmer to give it up."
Scarlett placed her bag in the back and dropped Wade's hand to embark. The boy immediately grabbed her skirt.
Startled, she glanced down, about to chastise him for such a childish gesture, and he eight, nearly nine years old, when the expression on his face halted her, so very tense and terrified.
He hadn't spoken since she'd woken, she thought, and that was all it took for the memories to come flooding back and she was there, right there, back to the day Atlanta fell, that night she never wanted to live again, with all the smoke and explosions and falling wood, the mayhem, and pandemonium, the fear.
A fresh clarity dawned and she knew that she'd been fighting against this very thing for so long, forever, and that no outrageously fine house or mountain of frippery, no new fair-weather friends nor all Rhett's money could stop it, because it lived inside her; and as of this moment, she knew it lived inside Wade as well.
"Scarlett," Rhett said, the impatience apparent in his voice. She just then noticed the cuts on his forehead and hands. "We have to go."
Wade dropped his hand from her skirt.
She climbed into the wagon beside the driver's seat, followed by the children in the back. Rhett jumped in the seat and slapped the reins.
They headed away from the train, on a barely-cleared path toward the mountains that rose like a wall on either side.
"Is the creek frozen? Perhaps we could walk across—"
"It is not," he answered briefly. "People are drowning in it as we speak. I would have stolen a boat if there had been any in sight.
"The farmer who sold me this grand conveyance crossed the bridge right before the wreck. He claimed there's a logging trail going up the mountain up on the right, and not too far past where the trail ends there's a cabin the loggers use in good weather. Two-three hours depending on the conditions. We'll head there and spend the night."
The snow continued to fall but not as thickly as before. After about twenty minutes they found the logging trail and commenced, the mountain closing in on them on either side.
The smell of burning oil and wood lingered in the air, and flames illuminated the sky. It was after ten in the evening, Scarlett guessed, although she had no real clue.
She turned and awkwardly fussed with the children, not used to the practice at all, but experiencing a vague instinct that it was necessary. She reached back and made sure they were still tucked in tight together, muttering soothing words and inwardly cursing the lack of a nursemaid as she did so.
The girls stopped whimpering but Wade remained silent.
They rode further in silence for a few minutes before Rhett stopped the wagon.
"Get down," he said. "I need to talk to you alone."
She jumped down and followed him to a clearing out of earshot. A sense of déjà vu and foreboding flooded her being with every step.
He pulled one of the two pistols from his waistband and half the cash from his jacket pocket and handed them both to her.
"In case you cross paths with another refugee from the wreck, an old bushwacker or ne'er do well mountaineer, you can bribe your way out. Or shoot. Doesn't matter to me. Your prerogative, my dear, although I think wolves and cougars are most likely the bigger threat."
She looked from the pistol and money back to him, dimly comprehending his meaning, and at the same time wishing that she did not.
"What?"
"It's not that long until the end of the trail, a couple of miles or so. I'll catch up."
"Why do you have to catch up?"
"Looters," he said grimly. "The cars carrying federal gold and food are still intact."
"Correct me if I am wrong," she said in a deceptively calm tone that she did not feel. "But the last time I checked you were not employed by any government, much less the railroad."
"I could go on about your short-sightedness but surely you understand my opinion of it by this point in time," he said breezily, as if they were discussing the weather on Aunt Pittyt's front porch—but the weather, in this instance, was a most pressing issue, the irony not lost on Scarlett.
He shrugged when she didn't reply and started to turn away. She grabbed his arm, furious and all but sputtering.
"You can't go. I need you. I need your body." This gave him pause and he turned around again, both eyebrows raised.
"For warmth, you vulgar creature, it's getting colder and you know how frigid it gets here, the children aren't used to it still."
He ignored her and made a move to leave again. She tightened her grip on his arm.
"There's something the matter with Wade." She hated sounding desperate, hated begging anyone at all, but the situation with her son warranted it.
That stopped him. He looked at her questioningly.
"He hasn't spoken since before we left the train."
Rhett walked back to the wagon. She followed and heard him address Wade in a low voice, the respectful, warm and reassuring voice he always used with children and Melly, the voice that she missed, the one that never failed to make the world seem right.
She watched his face and Wade's as he spoke and she wished she could make out the words so she would feel better too, just hearing them, even if they weren't directed at her.
He reached inside his pocket and removed his favorite pocket knife, and handed it to the boy with a few more words. Wade nodded and upon prompting, offered a quiet thanks.
Scarlett took a deep breath. Rhett stepped back and spoke louder.
"I'll be back," he said.
Oh, so he hadn't changed his plans. Her mind and heart reeled with the blow.
"Go with your mother on a snowy ride and I'll catch up with you all. Wade, you ride up front in my place. Girls, give your best beau a kiss." He offered his cheek to Bonnie and then presented it to Ella, who readily complied.
He helped Wade up front and Scarlett noticed with relief that the boy looked a mite better. Her mind cleared and with it, her path.
"Hold on like a good little man," she said as she handed him the reins, grabbed the pistol from beside her on the seat, and jumped down to scurry after a quickly-moving Rhett.
"Get back in the wagon, Scarlett."
He made a motion as if to head down the trail.
The click of the hammer spur as she pulled it back rang out against the silent trees.
"I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to do that just yet."
Rhett turned around wearily.
"Scarlett, there's no time for games."
"You'll not walk away from me and mine this night, Rhett Butler."
"Get back in the wagon, Scarlett," he repeated. "You have to drive on up the road."
"I know very well what I have to do." She lifted her lip in derision. "And I understand a thing or two about the nature of men, despite your opinion to the contrary. Just as Charles went to war and Frank joined the Klan and you left me on a road very similar to this one not that many years ago. You want to go down there where it's exciting because God knows you love excitement, to get in the frenzy and the muck of it." She rewrapped her fingers around the butt of the pistol before continuing.
"You thrive on chaos and commotion, don't you think I know anything about you at all? It's your element, for the love of all that is holy. Well, that's too bad, because I'm standing in your way."
"Scarlett," his tone held a warning, yet more than a little amusement. "Think of someone besides yourself for once."
"Oh, I am thinking of someone besides myself, three someones, and you. We're not going to freeze on this trail and they're not going to dig the bodies of me and my family out of the side of this mountain at the first thaw. There are forty men down there helping so you won't be missed. You get in the wagon. I'd hate to have to shoot you in the gut."
She adjusted her stance and steadied the gun with her left hand. Always hold a gun like you mean it, Katie Scarlett, even when you don't.
"I will be back. I would never leave Bonnie."
Probably he wouldn't leave Bonnie. Oh, who was she kidding? He'd take Bonnie with him if it was safe to do so.
"I can't take that chance."
"One hour Scarlett, I will come back, I swear it." A gentle, understanding note pervaded his words; totally against his nature, at least concerning her. Scarlett's shoulders relaxed despite her best efforts.
A whimper from the wagon and the remaining fight went out of her. She lowered the pistol. She could hardly shoot Rhett in front of her children, no matter how much she thought he deserved it.
"Just go." She jerked her head in his direction. "And know if you don't get back in an hour, you needn't bother. I'll find you, come spring. And it won't end well for you when I do."
She squared her shoulders; turned around and fairly marched to the wagon, climbed up, took the reins, and proceeded to drive away. She hoped he saw what he was doing to them all, hoped he watched her brood watching him, but she didn't look back to find out.
The mood of the wagon was somber. The children should be asleep, but they weren't. How to lessen their worries? What would Melly do?
"Come on chickens," she said with false gaiety, sounding wildly incongruous even to herself. "We'll sing Christmas songs to pass the time."
"Christmas is over, Mother," Wade stated quietly from beside her, and she said a quick prayer of thanks in her head at the sound.
"I know it is, but it feels like Christmas, doesn't it? And Christmas has the best and most songs that we all know together, so we'll sing them."
She started with simple, childlike tunes, dimpling and laughing and cajoling in between the lyrics, and soon her children joined her, their voices ringing out like tinkling bells in the night. Ella cuddled her little sister and helped her with the lyrics, and what Bonnie missed in accuracy she made up for in sheer volume.
As long as Scarlett could hear them sing, she knew they weren't frozen or in distress (and also it kept Ella and Bonnie from crying, a noise her nerves simply couldn't tolerate) so she relaxed minutely.
The songs soon ended but the children, buoyed by the situation, over-stimulated and way past their bedtime, chattered on about the adventure promised by Rhett and the beauty of the woods in the deep of the night, and she allowed them, lulled into a temporary sense of security by both her weariness and the steady movements of the horse.
It wasn't another thirty minutes before she heard a thundering movement behind them. She looked back to see a dark form bearing down against the night sky; she thought it was a large animal at first, running as if chased, its massive chest heaving and powerful legs beating the ground, the snow and dust flying up as if under a stallion's hooves.
As it drew closer she recognized his shape and trademark hat right before he shouted her name.
She pulled to a stop. Rhett caught up and tossed two large burlap sacks from his shoulders into the back of the wagon. He had three neatly-rolled bundles tied with ropes around his neck.
He lifted the half-asleep Wade into the bed. Taking yet another knife from his pocket, he cut the ropes and shook out the thick blankets. Covering the children with two and taking the third with him, he seated himself beside her, tucking it in around both their knees and feet.
"What's in the sacks?"
"Food. Ham, salt pork, apples and greens, and a few other things. Whatever I could grab that hadn't been burned or ruined when it rolled to the ground. There may not be anything at the cabin."
"I thought you were going to shoot the looters, not join them."
"I would have shot them if they'd tried to stop me."
"Well, I might have been more sympathetic to your cause if you had just explained you were going back for provisions," she all but snapped. "Even though it was stupid and extremely ill-advised."
"You underestimate me; I was a Confederate soldier if you recall. I know how to—what is the term Sherman used when he stole from the good people at home? Ah, yes." A flinty smile here. "Forage."
"Again, a little information would have been appreciated."
He wrinkled his brow in mock consternation. "Where would the sport have been in that?"
Sport? He's completely insane, that's the problem, it explains everything. Why haven't I realized it before?
"Surely your little gentleman has illustrated for you how discretion is the better part of valor. It fits your, er, mutual agreement so well." He snapped the reins and the horse began to move. "Besides, I told Wade."
Scarlett managed to ignore the barbed Ashley reference and keep her temper under control, but barely. He told Wade, did he?
Rhett sighed. "You needn't assume the worst concerning my motives all the time, Scarlett. You were exhausted from the trip and pretty much passed out from all the skating and whatnot. I figured if I managed to get your Irish up—which is by far the simplest task I've accomplished today, really, you should work on that—then your anger would have been enough to keep you going and from worrying too much about the bleakness of the situation for a while."
He punctuated his words with a flash of white teeth here. " Didn't count on you using the pistol against me, however."
He'd deliberatively withheld information, misrepresented his motives, and then blamed her faults for not understanding. Games. Always games, with Rhett. She fumed silently and was rewarded with nothing but a smirk in return.
"You might apply the same principle to me," she said after a while.
"And which principle might that be?"
"Not always assuming the worst."
He glanced her way. "You may be right about that." They traveled in peace for a moment.
"While we're discussing shooting," he broke the silence in that same tea-parlor tone from before, "the next time you decide it's a good idea to point a firearm at me, I suggest you go ahead and pull the trigger. It won't 'end well for you' otherwise."
"The next time you attempt to abandon me and the entirety of my offspring in a blizzard after a train wreck, I'll keep that in mind," she returned as tartly as she could.
"Come now, Scarlett," he had the nerve to tease. "It's hardly a blizzard."
"The night's not over," she replied, and neither of them realized what a premonition she'd just uttered.
He chuckled softly and snapped the reins, and they continued at a slow and plodding pace up the mountain trail.
OOOoooOOOooo
Fun Facts:
Discretion is the better part of valor—Shakespeare, of course. Rhett does love him some Bard. Courtesy of Sir John Falstaff in Henry IV, Part 1 Act V.
A bushwacker during the Civil War was somewhat equivalent to a modern-day draft dodger. These men hid in the mountains, swore allegiance to neither side, and often attacked soldiers for supplies and food. Bushwackers in the North saw no reason to fight against slavery because they 'didn't have a dog in that fight' and those in the South, usually of the working, and not the slave-owning class, felt about the same way.
Some of these men found they liked the lifestyle (and may have been afraid of prosecution) and remained in the mountains and 'bush' for years after the war.
There were still plenty of mountain lions (cougars) in the state of New York at the time of this story. Yet nowadays the Eastern Cougar is considered extinct—sometimes.
'The last confirmed records of the Eastern Cougar's existence were in 1938 in Maine. Though the US government states the species is extinct, hundreds of sightings are still reported on a daily basis, particularly after the 2011 sighting of an Eastern mountain lion in Greenwich, Conn.' - Blue Ridge Outdoors.
Here's the thing—I saw one myself crossing Mine Hole Gap about a mile from my home during the blizzard of '93. People argued with me good-naturedly for a while when I mentioned it on my local FB group—until a storied and respected member spied one on his large property about a year after the discussion began. Many old mountain folks claimed sightings as well, but people really believed this guy.
I know that sightings could be attributed to lore, but I also know what I saw and it was a hella big cat, bigger than a bobcat and with a damn long tail.
I felt totally vindicated when that lady hit the cougar with her car in Connecticut. Recently scientists have started to doubt whether the sub-species of 'eastern' ever existed; and that the 'western' cougars, 'eastern' cougars, and Florida panthers are all the same. It appears to be up in the air still.
There's Always a Train Wreck
When I started this story I had a bad case of winter blues and I was mired down in details on my other creative project. I wanted to force R&S to pull together and demonstrate their mutual survival skills. But how? A train wreck seemed the perfect vehicle (no pun intended) and at first, I thought I would have to work hard to find a train wreck near an eastern mountain in the winter of 1871. It took about thirty seconds, however, because I quickly found that trains wrecked all the time and STILL DO.
There's a train accident every 1.5 hours in the US, according to National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB). This includes minor derailments, equipment failures, etc. Not to mention drunken conductors looking at their cell phones and fools who can't keep their automobiles off the tracks. Still, food for thought. Explains those generous railroad retirement packages.
A/N - The next chapter is already underway but I have to work on the Force this week, so it may be two weeks, but maybe sooner. We'll see. A reviewer noted that Wade would be nearly nine, not eight, so I fixed it, thank you.
The same reviewer commented on how calm R&S are during the accident. Well, they are calm, because these two are badasses, IMO, and we really don't get to see that enough. It's the point of this story; hope you enjoy!
As always, I long to hear your thoughts and feelings. Peace, misscyn