Hello everyone :)
Thank you all so much for your reviews and thoughts. It's great pleasure to read them!
I'm posting a new chapter, which would have been ready a bit earlier if your author hadn't fallen asleep on the couch last night while editing, with phone in hands, haha:))
Not an easy chapter, there are some notes after the text, but they are not required reading.
Enjoy reading!:)
I own nothing in regard to GWTW.
P. S. This chapter has a flashback reference to my story "To let him go" :)
Chapter 11.
The day of their fight, Rhett had wandered around his hotel room angry and sullen, drinking glass after glass and smoking constantly. He was so angry at her, at himself, at the whole horrible situation. He didn't know who was the man she was travelling to the mill with. Or rather, he knew his name, but what was going on between them he didn't know. What was happening now or what had happened before the war. What plans he had for HIS woman.
He had seen how tenderly the man had held Scarlett, how she had allowed herself to cry in front of him. He had seen how gently he had wiped the tears from her face and how she had kissed him on the cheek and laughed. Remembering how awkwardly their kiss had ended, Rhett felt angry again and poured himself another shot of whiskey.
Analyzing the conversation, by the second day, Rhett wanted to shoot himself for what he'd said to her in a fit of anger and despair. He'd insulted her, practically called her a 'whore'. "Is that any way to talk to the woman you love?" At these thoughts he threw a glass of whiskey and it shattered, flying across the room and into the stone fireplace.
On the third day he cleaned himself up, ate breakfast for the first time in days, drank strong coffee and, inwardly shuddered, headed for the sawmill. To apologize for his rudeness. To cancel the damn deal. To ask for her hand.
But arriving on his black horse, Rhett found only a scowling Tom in his office. To his questioning glance at Scarlett's desk and the barely audible question, "Where's...?" he only shook his head negatively and replied, "I haven't seen her in three days."
Tom came to their house in the mornings these days, but neither Scarlett nor India would go out, and he went to the sawmill alone. He didn't dare to come in himself, it was the first time he had seen Scarlett in such a depressed state that day and he had no right to interfere.
Rhett took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, turning away to the window as Tom continued, "I took her home that day, in case you were worried about her safety."
"Thank you," Rhett replied without turning his head.
"Rhett," Tom called out to him.
"Hmm?"
"Go to her. Come on, don't waste any time here," he said seriously and Rhett turned around, looked him hard in the eye and with a nod, walked out of the office.
Twenty minutes later he was on Peachtree Street, standing on a familiar porch in front of a familiar door, clutching his hat to his chest, trying to hide his racing heart.
He counted the seconds, "One... two... three... four... I'll say it straight away, 'I'm sorry Scarlett'... five... six... seven... Why does it take so long to open..."
He had already reached out his hand to the wooden door to knock again when the door opened and Uncle Peter's sad face showed, and next to him was Wade. Rhett thought he heard the boy ask, "Is that Mummy, Uncle Peter?" but when he saw him, Wade smiled broadly and Rhett, as usual, bent down and took him gently in his arms. Uncle Peter frowned at them but said nothing, and Rhett, after barely saying to Wade, "Hello, big boy," turned to Uncle Peter and asked, "Can I talk to Scarl... I mean, Mrs Hamilton?"
Uncle Peter pointed silently toward the living room, and Rhett put Wade down gently and went quickly into the room.
But, he found only there Aunt Pitty sitting by the window over her embroidery. In fact, the needle and thread lay untouched, and she was just sitting there, staring absently out the window.
Rhett coughed and Mrs Pittypat stirred, turned to him and smiled weakly, "Oh, it's you Captain Butler..." She wanted to get up, but he walked quickly over to her and sat down uninvited in a nearby chair, clutching his hat in his hands.
"Miss Pitty," he began gravely, "may I speak to Scarlett?"
Seeing that the old lady reached for her handkerchief and put it to her eyes, only repeating, "Ah poor Scarlett... Poor child... All alone..."
Rhett swallowed convulsively and his palms sweating, he asked nervously, raising his voice, "What is it, Miss Pitty, answer me! Has something happened to Scarlett? Is someone ill?"
Miss Pitty sobbed and replied, "Ah, Captain Butler, it's Mr O'Hara... He's had an accident, he fell off his horse... Ah... There was no way to save him. Scarlett has gone to Tara..."
"When?" asked Rhett in a hoarse voice and Miss Pitty answered, "Three days ago, she arrived early from the sawmill, said she felt ill, poor girl... And in the afternoon the Fontaine boys came, Tony was in town and was on his way back, but Alex came riding straight from the county, their grandfather is a doctor there... Poor child, I don't think she's ever been so pale, but she packed up and went with them, and I could hardly persuade her to leave Wade behind. He's too young to attend the funeral... Ah... I feel sick with this talk... Where are my smelling salts?" she said to herself, and began to look for them in the folds of her dress.
Rhett closed his eyes for a moment with worry and pain for beloved woman, then jumped up from his chair, nodded quickly and, not noticing Miss Pittie's surprised look, walked out of the room, and in a moment she heard the slam of the door and the clatter of the horse's hooves.
Scarlett sat by a large tree, gazing far ahead at the horizon, oblivious to the blue sky, the bright green grass and the red land she loved so much. Her horse grazed nearby, nibbling at the April grass and occasionally glancing at her mistress, who sat still, wrapped in a shabby man woollen jacket.
It was morning, she had returned to Tara two days ago to bury her father. The father, she had loved with all her heart and for whom she had been a little girl. The father, she had lost when her mother died, but had dreamed of bringing back. Now the dreams were gone, giving way to emptiness.
Scarlett sat there, feeling the warmth of her father's jacket, the faint scent of him, and replayed the events of the last few days in her mind.
On Tuesday, after her fight with Rhett, Tom took her to Peachtree Street. They were silent all the way, Scarlett feeling cold, her hands trembling and one palm still burning from the slap. Tom looked at her but said nothing, and she was deeply grateful for his silence. It seemed to her that if she began to speak, the tears, she had so carefully held back, would not stop. She felt such humiliation and resentment.
He had promised not to mention the deal and he hadn't kept his promise. In fact, he'd practically told her she was a whore in his eyes, and that humiliated her even more.
"I won't think about it now. I can't," she repeated to herself the whole way. When she arrived, she gently put hand on Tom's shoulder, whispered "thank you", and, without looking at him, quickly climbed out of the buggy and walked towards the house.
She remembered coming home, hastily kissing her son, who was playing in the parlour with India and Aunt Pitty, telling them she felt ill, and going up to her room under the anxious and questioning eyes of her relatives.
She had many questions in her mind as she paced her bedroom trying to calm herself.
But after a few hours, it didn't matter.
Scarlett remembered that she had decided to lie down and try to get some sleep, but a knock on the door downstairs and a noise in the living room distracted her. She heard a familiar male voice, brushed her hair and came down. The Fontaine brothers were standing in the living room, Tony holding Wade, who walked confidently towards him, and Alex clutching his hat, a little dishevelled, as if in a hurry. Scarlett came down to them and smiled weakly, but met their sad gaze.
The rest was a blur. Alex said something about a horse and her father. Then there was Aunt Pitty fainting in the living room, India rushing to bring her to her senses, Prissy taking Wade into the kitchen. Tony was hugging her and saying something...
She barely felt Tony's hug and the awkward words of condolence from Alex and India. Scarlett stood staring, very pale, almost unable to hear anything around her. Her eyes had lost all colour from shock and she could barely feel her breath.
But she had to act and, pulling herself together and promising herself that she would think about it later, Scarlett quickly agreed to Tony and Alex's offer to go with them and get to Tara before dark.
India, Suellen and Frank would arrive in time for the funeral tomorrow. Scarlett looked around for Wade, but the insistent babbling of Aunt Pitty, who had recovered from her fainting spell, sounded convincing, and after a quick kiss to her son, she left with the Fontaine brothers.
Scarlett hardly remembered the way, she generally felt as if she were watching herself from the sidelines. Her favourite tactic was to just keep moving forward, doing something to keep from going mad.
Arriving at Tara, Scarlett found Melanie crying, her younger sister silent with grief, Will and Ashley looking at her with bitterness, Mammy and Dilsey afraid to approach her. Pork, furtively wiping away his tears...
All were afraid to approach her, except Melanie, who hugged her tightly, whispered words of condolence, and she only replied weakly, "It's all right, Melly... I'm okay..."
It was obvious to everyone in Tara that Scarlett was not okay.
The day of the funeral was a warm, pleasant April day, when nature, finally awake after the winter, seemed to show all its beauty at once. Soft sunshine, birds chirping, a light breeze, the scent of flowers... And the moist red soil that Scarlett held in her hands.
She stood there, listening to Ashley, who decided to say a few words about her father. Suellen was crying, Frank embracing her. Pale India beside Melly and Carreen. The Tarletons, the Fontaines, the servants... Scarlett stood alone, apart. Or rather, she wasn't alone, for she felt Will's presence behind her. He was silent, but she knew that wherever she went, he was there.
When the official part of the funeral was over, there were prayers, condolences, there was a small lunch after.
Scarlett dreaded the new night. She had not slept much the night before and now she was afraid that the clatter of the earth against the coffin lid would haunt her in the dark. She spent the whole of the second night by a candle, and fell asleep in a chair at dawn.
On the third morning she found herself alone in the living room, holding a Bible that Carreen had given her for some reason. The house was quiet, the servants were talking in the kitchen, the sisters had gone down to the river with Mr Kennedy and Ashley. Will was outside somewhere.
Melanie was pacing alone, like a sentry, past her sister-in-law, looking at her with anxious eyes.
Scarlett was not crying, her eyes had been dry during the funeral and that worried Melanie.
Finally she sat down with her on the sofa, took the Book from her hands and Scarlett looked at her blankly, muttered, "Melly... Pa's gone... It doesn't make any sense..."
"Scarlett, Darling, you haven't slept for two nights, you need to rest... I know all about it..."
But Scarlett suddenly stopped her and asked, looking intently into her sister-in-law's eyes, "Melly, why did Pa die? Where did he go alone on his horse? None of you have told me the details..."
Melanie looked away and remained silent.
Then Scarlett said with the intonation of an offended child, "Melanie Wilkes, if you don't tell me the whole truth right now, I'll never speak to you again!"
Melanie sighed heavily, then nervously smoothed out the creases in her black dress and told her, that Jonas Wilkerson had been stalking Gerald ever since Scarlett had moved to town. "He bothered him a lot when he went for walks, saying nasty things about you, about being in Atlanta... Oh, Scarlett, don't make me repeat those awful things... Anyway, Ashley and Will tried to talk some sense into him, but the man wouldn't let it go, it was like he was enjoying it. That was some kind of revenge, Darling, because you paid the taxes for Tara.
Oh... Tuesday morning after breakfast he turned up again and said something to Mr O'Hara while he was out by the river with Pork," Melanie paused and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, "Then Mr O'Hara came up here, and while we were talking in the parlour, he went out quickly, took a horse from the stable, and rode off in the direction of that rascal's house. But at the first hedge, the horse stopped, and you know the rest, My Dear... I'm sorry..." Melanie finished and hugged her stunned sister-in-law.
She didn't notice Melanie's comforting embrace, her brain was working feverishly, she suddenly broke the hug and clenched her hands into fists.
"Bastard! Bastard! I'll kill him!" she shouted, jumping up quickly from the couch and running into the hallway, pulling a gun from under the floorboards and reaching for the doorknob when she felt someone grab her elbow.
She turned to see Melanie looking at her pleadingly and whispering, "Please, Scarlett... No..."
Scarlett looked at her hand and said clearly, "Let me go now, Melanie Wilkes!"
"No!" she heard a firm voice say in reply.
"I've killed before, you know..." Scarlett began and Melanie cut her off, "I know! And that's why I'm not letting you go. No, Scarlett!" she said firmly.
Then she looked deeply into her green eyes, reached out and took the gun firmly in her hand, adding more gently, "We'll find a way to get back at him, Darling. We will!"
Scarlett suddenly dropped her arms wearily and Melanie, putting the gun on the floor, hugged her tightly and whispered, "You have my word, Scarlett. Yes."
That's how Scarlett found herself here, under the tree, that April morning after the funeral. She couldn't bear to stay at home, every corner reminded her of her father, so she left Melanie alone, got on her horse and rode to the secret place.
It was "their" tree with the twins, not far from their estate. As children they'd even carved their initials into it, but it hadn't been without problems. Brent cut his finger so badly that she and Stuart were terrified.
"Pa saved us then..." she thought with bitter smile, rubbing her dry and tired eyes with her palms and remembering her childhood.
She had been sitting there for a few hours now, it was time to go home. Getting up from the grass, Scarlett took her horse by the reins and walked quietly towards the house.
As she passed the Tarleton family cemetery, she noticed a familiar female silhouette. Scarlett stopped, tied her horse to a tree and walked towards the marble monuments the Tarletons had ordered for all their sons.
"Mrs Tarleton," Scarlett called softly to a thin, elderly woman in an unchanging black riding dress, who was brushing dust from one of the monuments. She looked up at her and smiled slightly.
Pale, with once bright red hair now touched with grey, her eyes looked a little tired and reddish, but they had not lost their warlike sparkle. At Gerald's funeral it had been Mrs Tarleton who had watched her closely, but she had remained silent.
"Scarlett," she said as she approached her, "I was sure the occasion would allow us to see each other alone, daughter. Come and sit down over there by the wooden fence, look, Mr Tarleton made that bench himself. It seems my husband has never held a tool in his hand, but..."
Mrs Tarleton spoke in her usual quick voice, and Scarlett had no time to contradict her.
They sat down, Scarlett adjusted the skirt of her black dress, tucked her father's old jacket around her shoulders and lowered her eyes to her hands.
Mrs Tarleton watched her every gesture and then asked quietly, "Why did you walk here, Scarlett?"
She looked up at her and said with a faint smile, "There is our 'secret place' from our childhood not far away. We used to come here with the twins, as children, to hide from punishment, from Mammy or you," Miss Beatrice grinned and Scarlett continued, "then as we were older, to chat and gossip. Today I felt like coming here alone," she finished quietly.
Mrs Tarleton nodded, then said with a smile, "I didn't understand this friendship of yours before, Scarlett, I thought you were messing with my boys' heads, but now I realize there was a connection between the three of you."
Scarlett just nodded. She didn't think of the twins often, for every such memory was painful. Such was the case with Ellen. She suspected it would be the same with Gerald.
Mrs Tarleton suddenly grinned and said jokingly, "I suppose one of them should have married you. Then you'd be living here and I'd have a grandchild."
Scarlett smiled bitterly at the memory of Gerald's speech and Miss Beatrice added, "Of course I'm joking, Dear... But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."
She held out her thin, skinny hand and took Scarlett's.
"I watched you all day at the cemetery yesterday. You didn't cry..."
Scarlett looked up at her in disbelief, wondering if this woman thought she wasn't grieving...
"Oh, Scarlett," Mrs Tarleton smiled, "before such a warlike fire in those eyes goes out, it can still be mended. Daughter, what I'm saying is that there's a lot of pain and bitterness in your soul right now and you need to let it out, not hold it in..."
Scarlett froze and lowered her eyes again. She didn't know how to let it out. Everything inside her hurt, she had already lost her sense of reality due to the lack of sleep and the physical pain mixed with the mental.
"I can't," she whispered.
Mrs Tarleton sighed bitterly and then said, "Neither can I, Dear. When my boys were gone..." and then she broke off, and for some time they sat in silence, interrupted only by the chirping of birds and the faint rustling of leaves.
Then Mrs Tarleton began to share her memories, pieces of the twins' letters from the front. Scarlett sat and listened with a bitter smile, her friends were incorrigible, and even in the army they managed to make a mess of things, getting one inappropriate duty after another from the commander.
Scarlett, too, told Miss Beatrice how mischievous they had been, how they had made a stash of sweets and fruit not far from their tree, how the twins had hidden in the stable at Tara from their mother's wrath ("What tricksters," said Mrs Tarleton, smiling).
Mrs Tarleton told of funny incidents on hunting trips with Gerald, or how once he had fallen off his horse while riding away from them, but had been all right, and he had taken her word to keep the strictest secrecy, lest "Mrs O'Hara should be upset".
They sat there together, two strong women, young and old, talking, trying to give each other a little of what was left of their loved ones - memories.
After talking to Mrs Tartleton, Scarlett returned home and went straight into the kitchen. She asked Dilsey and Mammy to leave her alone and tried to make sense of the whole conversation with this strong woman.
"You need to cry, Scarlett. Dear, I didn't, when I heard about the boys and now I have a non-healing wound in my heart. I can't cry, you know? And I live every day with this dull ache in my chest. Scarlett, I don't want that for you, Daughter. You loved your father very much, and Mr O'Hara was always close to you... Go home, Honey..."
Scarlett took an onion from the bag in the corner and peeled it. Then another, and another, and another. The peeled onions lay on the table, she looked at them, sighed and picked up the yams and carrots, lying in the wooden box under the table. As she peeled them, she heard the door behind her open slightly. Without turning, she realized it was Will. For a second, her hands froze with the next vegetable she was peeling. A wooden-handled knife in one hand, a half peeled carrot in the other...
"Are you all right, Scarlett?" came his quiet voice from behind her.
"Yes, Will. I want to be alone."
Will just sighed, but silently closed the door behind him.
She stood in the little kitchen, at the table by the window, and peeled, peeled, peeled the vegetables. Her hands were doing mechanical work, her brain couldn't stop and her soul was empty.
She tried to think of her father, of their conversations, secrets, jokes, hugs. But every time she began to remember, her heart began to pound somewhere in her throat, her breathing quickened, she began to feel nauseous from some inner pain. So her thoughts turned elsewhere.
Worries about her son staying with her naive aunt, thoughts about the future, who would be left on the plantation, thoughts about the hated Wilkerson and her revenge, thoughts about work and how Tom was coping there...
Her hands froze at the thought of 'work'. Rhett... Thoughts of him and his horrible, vile words made her nervous as well, triggering the same defensive reaction. Trembling hands, rapid heartbeat, nausea from excitement and a dull ache in her chest.
It seemed to her that she was beginning to recognize him. It seemed to her that she really was his friend. It seemed that way. It seemed that he even liked her, though it was naive to think so, based on a few kisses he probably gave just as easily to the whores in the brothel. But being alone with him always made her feel free and safe. She knew that she could talk to him about anything and he would not judge her, only make jokes, and she knew that she would be in no danger with him, whether it was bad weather or the slanted male gaze that one of the customers had dared to give her. Oh, she saw the way Rhett's hands were clenched into fists and how hoarse his voice was.
She sighed heavily and switched off her thoughts of him, leaving only the pain in her soul.
Scarlett stood looking thoughtfully at the radish she had caught between the other vegetables. It didn't need peeling. "But something has to be peeled... Something has to be done... God... I'm going mad. Pa was always doing something. Always."
She heard the door creak again behind her.
"What do they all want with me?" was her first angry thought, but even anger was not enough and her body only responded with pain.
"Will," she said, wearily, not turning her head, "I told you I was fine..."
"Scarlett," she heard the familiar low, husky voice, and the knife fell out of her hand, clinking against the wooden tabletop.
Her breathing became more frequent and for some reason her eyes were watering from the voice. Slowly she turned and saw the worried and tender look of his eyes.
"Rhett..." he heard a soft whisper, in an instant he closed the distance between them and then resolutely put his arms around her, pulling her to him.
He covered his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair, barely whispering, "God, Scarlett..."
She smelled horses and tobacco and something else, something that reminded her of her father.
She would never hold her father again...
Scarlett hugged him tighter around the waist, trustingly burried herself in his waistcoat.
He whispered, "Baby... I'm so sorry..."
His soft, tender whisper, his scent, his embrace unlocked the spring in her mind and the pain burst out, breaking down all the walls and dams in her heart, flooding her soul and taking the form of hot tears that quickly soaked into the thin fabric of his waistcoat.
Rhett could feel her shoulders trembling, the fabric of his shirt growing damp under his waistcoat, and he pulled her closer to him, stroking her hair and whispering: "I'm here, Scarlett. I'm with you, baby."
Author's note*
I put off writing certain passages of this chapter until the last minute. I know why.
It's probably not going to interest a lot of people, but I'm going to share it with you and you don't have to read it, okay?
I know what it's like to lose a father. I was 26 when he died, quite suddenly. I think losing a parent is hard at any age. Especially if you were a "daddy's girl" (and I was).
At times like that, everything crumbles behind your shoulders and it's important to have someone to support you so you don't fall.
For Scarlett, that support is undoubtedly Rhett. Now he has the opportunity to show his strength and take care of the woman he loves.
Thank you for reading and I apologize if this is a bit personal.