Hello everyone, and thank you for your precious support and patience !
Here's chapter 13.
Good reading!
PS: still not owning Gone with the Wind, nor any book, song or piece of culture mentioned though...
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Eyes right ahead, Scarlett made her way into the crowd. Alone. She walked slowly, but with determination. On her mind were still singing the notes her father had played in the afternoon, and the delicious sensation of warm arms around her, making her feel safe.
Grand-père Robillard raised his arm for her, and she took it. His dark eyes glinted in appreciation, and she nodded. He smirked.
He wanted to be entertained, and she would provide it. She knew what she had to do.
Her mind rejoiced at the tricks she played and was about to play that night.
But her heart remained backstage, wondering about the thin thread she had been dancing on.
.
Late May 1860, Twelve Oaks
Spring was a time when the County liked to gather immensely, caught between the frisky and humid winter months, and the hot, heady ones of the summer, where one had to take refuge in the freshest place possible.
The Season, with its balls and receptions was over for now, and Grand-père's guardianship of her was on a break as she got from him a few months of respite for the summer.
Finally, free time, without the pressure of the city life of Charleston and Savannah, without the strict and sober education of the Academy, which she left with better results than everyone would have thought.
The men were gone hunting, and no doubt soon enough would come back with their bloody trophies. The Tarleton twins first, most certainly, and Scarlett, half laying on the sofa, prepared herself to flatter them, in Twelve Oaks' pastel boudoir, though she could not see the activity as something enjoyable.
Why, a lady ought never to dirty her hands, nor see such thing, she thought, and in one other life, she might have actually thought it with more conviction. Or maybe not, knowing how much India might have sweated over the preparation of the reception, and was certainly still making her orders around the big house.
But at least at the moment, Scarlett would have had a bit more concern for propriety if she wasn't having her hand lavishly licked by a scratching and insistent little tongue.
"Ash, stop it," She hushed.
Ash was a golden cocker spaniel, clumsy of feet, and short of stature, with surprisingly clear blue eyes, that went almost grey. Rhett had given him to her after his last travel to London. She could still remember his intolerable smirk as he replied to her demanding what was his name.
Ashley.
She almost laughed at it, but the name was already stuck in the pet's head, and he wouldn't answer to any other, or maybe a shortened version of it.
Yet, unlike his namesake, the dog was slightly lacking in manners, and as sticky as warmed sugar. The worst was when something scared him or excited him, for he would growl, bite and roll quite pathetically in the nearest bush possible.
No, decidedly, dogs were dumb.
She sighed. She did not know why Rhett was so mean to Ashley. It wasn't as if he was jealous of him. That, she was sure of it. She really tried hard to, but he seemed immune to such emotion.
To her regret.
The dog whined for her attention, and she patted his head absent-mindedly.
"You shouldn't let him lick you like that, girl," Grandma Fontaine pursed her lips in dismay, looking down from her comfortable armchair at the nuisance. "He might become greedy, and then you'll be stuck with him. And all the diseases and dirt he can bring!"
"Well, I think he's adorable," Randa cooed at her side. "If you don't want it, Scarlett, I will have him."
"In your dreams," Scarlett took him in her arms, and kissed him on the snout to prove her point. "He's mine. And I thought you preferred cats."
"I'm allowed to change my mind."
"Dogs are like men, and cats like women," Grandma said suddenly with an air of wisdom that almost made Scarlett laugh. "Cats soft yet with claws hidden in their paws. Dogs unsubtle yet loyal. They're always fighting, though they might need each other to maintain peace."
Well, that's foolish, Scarlett thought. Rhett is more like a panther, dark and dangerous, yet under an infuriating calm air she could not break.
"Then, if they are so different, why put them together?" Randa snorted. "To each one their corner, that's what I say, and all would be better."
"Because they're complementary, and in a way very much similar. When they want to be. And because the order of things demands it. The strong goes with the strong, and the weak with the weak, and all is well in the best of worlds."
"How about a weak man in love with a strong woman?" Scarlett jested. "Sometimes it happens."
"Lord pities them both!" Grandma Fontaine snorted. "They'd be miserable both, He'd let her do everything she wants and wouldn't be able to protect her. She wouldn't be able to respect him. At least if she was aware of her strength..."
"Well, if there's love..."
A soft, tender voice raised from an unnoticed corner.
"Melanie... I had not seen you there," Grandma Fontaine's features softened as she looked at the girl who was sitting by the windowsill with a book, which looked a little too much like 'Sense and Sensibility'. "Sweet Melly. If all goes well, you will never have to ponder on it. You are a gentle, soft woman, the kind everyone wants to protect. You'll always find happiness wherever there is some to find. Now, would you please go find Cook for my tea and biscuits, dear?"
As she raised, Scarlett took time to examine her better, remembering that girl she had stumbled across at the Academy.
It seemed here she seemed as revered, the raven-haired girl noted with insidious envy. Though she could not see why.
She was a plain girl with a mousy air about her. Light brown hair and downcast brown eyes, though very bright eyes now that she could see them more clearly as they raised to look at Grandma Fontaine for a moment. A bit like candlelight, in fact, on a wet autumn day. But though she was supposed to be one year older than Scarlett, she seemed smaller and younger, barely more than twelve.
And how sober and prudish she seemed! Why, it seemed as if she had never done nor seen anything aside what was proper in ladies' books.
Scarlett bet she might even blush at that.
"Of course."
Putting her book on the mahogany table, Melanie Hamilton raised silently, her step so light it seemed she was made of air. No affectation in her demarche, no elaborate pose, her walk was straight and clear, like the closing of velvet curtains.
"These talks aren't for her ears," Grandma mumbled.
"And why not?" Randa said.
"Because it suits me she doesn't hear of it. There are only a few innocents in this world, and the innocents are a light to it, a hope that can become strength to those who despair. Why would anyone want to shut them down?"
" Maybe because it can be a cruel and vain thing to hope," Scarlett could not help but slip.
"Or maybe because some want that light for their own," Grandma quipped.
Scarlett pursed her lips, but said nothing. She took her fan and flutter it with irritation as she looked away.
"What about no man at all?" Randa intervened to appease the tension.
"In a world built by men? That's as bad as being with a fool," Grandma let out a sharp laugh. "Those who wrote the rules would not like it. And you might not like it as well. You are young, Randa, and odd. But one day, I'll bet you will change your mind."
"And certainly marry one Rhett Butler," Randa jested, winking at Scarlett.
"Lord! What an idea! He's not one to get married!" The old woman snorted, laying back with a bang on her armchair. "Though you'd be wrong about that. That man is like weed. No matter how many times you think you got rid off it, it'd come back."
"How inconvenient."
Her mouth pursed even more, Scarlett frowned, her lids almost hurting with how hard she squeezed them. But upset as she was, it did not faze her. She turned her chin up, her hands clenching over one another as she straightened.
"I think it's a great quality. A man who would rise to any occasion, and survive..."
Eyes turned to her, and she realized she may have talked louder than she should have.
"My dear, you should take caution. You are easily baited," The old woman said softly, but firmly, before chastening those who dared linger too much in their gaze. Especially Cathleen and Honey, who had been prattling about beaus. "Turn away, you fools, there's nothing to see." Her body trembled from the weight of a sigh as she turned back to the two girls seated in front of her. "Poor lambs. I wouldn't want any of you with that man, with you being as young as you are. He'd be more than you can chew. Too much trouble, that man."
"So I've heard."
She let out a little smile.
"But you're trouble as well, aren't you?"
Scarlett's chin lifted.
"Too much for him," Said she proudly as she raised. "I'm going out. I need some fresh air."
She could not bear any more words that would hurt her. Words that were the truth, and that she could not entirely deny.
Ash whined, yet followed her obediently.
She wandered through the rose garden, dismayed at not understanding the beauty of it, yet aware of it. It was too still, too perfect for her, and she felt inadequate in such a landscape. Her fingers grazed the soft petals, all white and pure, yet lingered on the sharp thorns, until it bled.
A deep, vibrant red. She stared at it, fascinated, and smeared it on the white.
There. That was how it should be. She put her finger on her mouth, satisfied.
"No, Ma'am, please...!"
Jumping, Scarlett turned her head in direction of the cry. Her feet dragged her without she thought much of it, and Ash barked after her, until she finally reached the scene.
Here, near the servants' corners, India Wilkes was quarreling with someone. Scarlett inched closer.
"I told you not to come back!"
"But, Ma'am... My mother... Mist' Wilkes said she be taken care..."
A girl. A mulatto, from the thick almost silver hair on her light brown skin, and a face with thin features. Visibly younger than India and Honey, perhaps the same age as Careen, she was tall and delicate, with the beauty that lacked so much in the two other girls, yet with marks of similarities that took the breath away.
Could it be?
Scarlett blinked. No, that couldn't be.
"Get out, wench, get out!" India cried as she took hold of a whip, and suddenly Scarlett realized a man was at the girl's side. No, not any man. It was Aren, who had been sent by Pork to take care of the ladies of the family's clothes. "Your mother got her freedom, and yours too, great good you make of it, so you don't have to harass us anymore! This is a proper house, and I won't have you and your lies, and your insanities lurking around!"
Scarlett gasped, paralyzed, and she stared, wanting to close her eyes to the violence of it, yet unable to. She knew she should have done something, but she couldn't. It was like a void filled her, and she could not get out.
This is the world I live in, She thought. This is what is expected. I should not interfere...
The whip crashed on Aren's forearm as he interposed himself between the lady and her victim, and it bled red against his brown skin. Scarlett felt her blood boil, and made her presence known.
No. She could not just accept that.
"Stop it! That's my father's man you're whipping!"
The whip fell from India's hand as she realized she had a witness, and it cracked on the soil with a mean strike. Its tip landed near her mule.
Scarlett glared and took a hold of it.
The eldest of the Wilkes girls seemed to compose herself, her figure straightening. She was paled though, then red, and at that moment, Scarlett knew it was the first time it had happened, a break in a lady's armor that had gone too far. She seemed surprised by her own violence, but all questioning seemed to leave her as she faced Scarlett.
"You should better look at your darky! He's insolent," India scolded. "Take him!"
"I will. But she goes with me too," Scarlett said impulsively. "She's mine too."
Grey eyes widened in shock, such as the dark ones of Aren and the girl he was protecting, and Scarlett felt almost outrage at their surprise, when seconds before she would not have thought of doing anything.
India was the first to recover, the veins in her neck seeming about to explode.
"She is no one's..."
"Then I lay first that claim.," Scarlett declared. "You said she's free, so she can be claimed. Now, get out. No lady should be seen disheveled as you are. That's a shame."
"Don't interfere..." India scowled, before crying as her eyes caught something horrifying. "Aah! Get your dog out of my roses!"
Scarlett let out a mean little smile. She did not gaze to the spectacle, for she knew what had happened.
The dog, frightened by the noises, had been making his own mess, to the expenses of the flowers.
"You should be pleased, India. I've heard that's the way dogs treat pretty things. They roll against it, sometimes mark it. But of course, he wouldn't do that to you. You don't have to worry about that."
The grey eyes of the Wilkes, with almost non-existent lashes, grew red at this, reenforcing her likeness to rabbits.
"Oh! You'll regret it! I'll tell your mother, Scarlett O'Hara!"
The younger girl could not help but let out a slow snicker as India went back inside, though her heart stung still with the almost usual anxiety of disquieting Mother.
She bit her lips, frowned, before turning to Aren and the young mulatto he had been protecting.
"I be not tanking you for dat," Aren said stubbornly as he met her eyes.
"Why, if it's like that, I don't want your thanks!" Scarlett huffed. "Why, and I wanted to make it right to you, when you saved me once!"
He blinked, before grinning mischievously.
"Well... if it be because of dat, den I done tink dere's a difference 'tween a few whippin' and the savin' of a laife. You is still owin' me."
She could not help but laugh. "Why, you insolent creature!"
Her gaze turned to the newcomer, and she was tempted to sigh.
Well, now what was she going to do?
All of her good behaviors, ruined in a moment. India was an important part of the hen. And now, she made a true enemy of her, not just a rival.
But did it matter, if another war was coming? She asked herself.
Rhett had told it so, and she believed in it, for she knew he would not lie about such a thing.
"Miz Scarlett..."
She sighed. To her surprise, her voice grew softer as she talked to the girl.
"You're free to go. I said I claimed you, but it isn't to be so," No one should be claimed against their will, Rhett once said, and in the heat and entirety of the moment, she realized it could apply in this situation. "Go find Pansy. I think you know the way."
But the girl took a step forward, still pleading.
"But... Miz, de reason why I gone here... My moder be sick, Miz, and I thought Mist' Wilk's..."
"Then bring her with you," Scarlett rolled her eyes, irritated, listening halfway, then stopping. Pa would whip her if she was so lacking in her hospitality. "You'll be taken care of."
Bright brown eyes glinted towards her.
"Tank ye, Miz," The girl said. "Tank ye so..."
"Yes, yes, now go! And take Ash home! He's not fit for society," Scarlett waved her off begrudgingly, caught between the guilty pleasure of having one so totally thankful, and the embarrassment of one that is caught doing one thing which was contrary to the image she wanted to spread.
Even if it felt right.
Why, she felt exactly like Pa!
She giggled as the girl was led back by Aren and a reluctant Ash that fought the leash, to Tara.
She did not really think of the consequences, nor at the persons she defended.
Later, maybe, she would think of it. But all that mattered now was the satisfaction of having her way against one she disliked so very much.
Well, at least it irked India so! That would serve her right!
With a last stamp of the foot, she marked her right and huffed. Suddenly, more words came to her, more flamboyant, and she craved to say them to India.
Until her eyes met grey ones through the glass of one window. Then, the drawing of curtains.
"Ashley..." She whispered in recognition.
Swiftly, with the instinct of a predator sniffing a vulnerability on its prey, she made her way to the library and sought him, not really knowing why she did so, but with the need of doing it.
He was leaning on his desk, a book open in front of him. Yet, his head was heavy on his hands, and she doubted he was in a state to read anything. Slowly, his gaze met her, like a child whose wrong had been discovered.
He sighed sorrowfully.
"Scarlett... So you've seen it. You've seen my father's shame..."
She went still, dumbfounded.
"Shame?"
"Yes. A stain among the beauty, that will never go away."
She did not understand it. Stain? Beauty? To her mind, it was as if he was talking of a sullied handkerchief, and she was tempted to say such things were meant to be of use, thus to be soiled.
His hand raised a little, as if to take hers, but he seems to decide against it.
"Please... You have to promise you'll never tell anyone about it."
She looked at him closely and saw a young man with the same pleading, melancholic eyes as her cocker Spaniel's.
Why, I could almost be tempted to pet him! She realized with amusement, before frowning.
He would never look in the same direction as she. But she did not want him to look in the same direction. Maybe for one crucial moment, but certainly not the rest of their lives.
The Wilkes name was honorable and linked to culture and gentility, their house close to Tara. In it, she could find some security, and freedom, for she knew her will could exceed Ashley's.
No matter what Grandma said. What need had she of protection if she were free and comfortable, and able to provide for her own?
She had once turned down on him because his admiration was not enough for her, and he would not help her get the one she loved. But Rhett wasn't one to be got. At least, not by any means she could think of. For now.
Yet, Ashley could be useful, in a way...
She put her light hand on his, her eyes glinting with newfound interest.
"Fiddle-dee-dee! What stain is there?" She purred. "It's so quiet there. So... beautiful."
She did not say any promise, but it was better than that in Ashley's eyes. He would have felt indebted by her vow to keep the secret.
She smiled a silly smile, her head tilted slightly on the right, and eyes fluttering.
'If you can't get it, you'll have to create it', Grand-père once said. 'But never stay on one thing, dear girl. You'll always need to find another issue if it fails.'
That was an idea. She could not entirely grasp it, but some of its sense was clear to her.
She leaned in.
"Now, dear Ashley, would you read something to me?"
He nodded, and opened his book, with the relief of a man having escaped a nightmare. His lips drew drowsy smile. His eyes lost focus, and he allowed himself to dream, while she watched over him in silence.
Rhett said she wouldn't know what to make of him if she had him. But now she knew.
Yes, she could live with that. She just had to persuade herself she could. And anyway, it could be only one card up her sleeve.
Yet, her heart was boiling at the idea.
….
June 1860, Clayton County
Summer grew hot, red and dusky in the Georgian County as Rhett waited, irritated, on a bench facing the limits between Tara and Twelve Oaks, pleasantly shadowed by a thick oak tree. The wind blew too slightly to be refreshing, and only managed to dissipate the dust until the air felt even more suffocating.
Scarlett should have been home long ago. How long could a ride over the County go on, actually? Certainly not until dusk.
His ears were alert to each sound, and he focused even more as he heard the sound of horseshoes trotting on the dry long grass. A white stain on the red, becoming bigger and bigger, until it took the shape of a horse, led by a tall young man, and mounted by one slip of a girl clad in green riding clothes.
Rhett stayed still and listened, staying hidden in the shadows.
Oh, the tender intimacy of two young lovers, not yet in the biblical sense, warbling before sunset... He wondered cynically.
"... How can I ever thank you, Ashley?" The sweet voice of the girl whispered to the young gentleman. "... A true knight in shining armor..."
"To a delightful maiden in distress."
Oh, the maiden was in distress alright, Rhett thought darkly. But no more than the lad.
"Are you going to demand a kiss?" There, a hint of tease colored the tone of the vixen, and Rhett could easily imagine the air of coquetry on her face, her eyes glinting in the night and little mouth half open in invitation.
Oh, certainly not.
"Oh, I wouldn't presume..."
Good boy. Don't presume too much...
Rhett cleared his throat.
"A lovely scene, isn't it?" He observed with a smirk, though the air suddenly seemed to chill.
It seemed to show, for the young lad paled drastically.
As for Scarlett... SHe barely offered him a look, and he swore she rolled her eyes.
"Drop the girl here, boy," He said, gesturing to the bench. "She and I will talk, before I take her back to her father."
Baffled, the blond gentleman opened his mouth, then closed it. One look at Scarlett, who nodded softly, and his chest swelled like a cock's before he went down to fight.
"She… She hurt her ankle, sir."
Rhett was almost amused.
"Of course, she did, that's why you had to drag her like that. You can go now. The wolf will not eat the lamb now. Not if there's no dog to bark in its ears."
For a time, the dull grey eyes seemed to spark with a brilliance that wasn't his, and for a time, the pale young man made him think that all vampires were not scary or terribly seductive, with a dark halo surrounding them. They took also the forms of familiar and seemingly inoffensive figures, inspiring trust and a deep sense of security.
For that spark was Scarlett's, and to have some of it on that young man was a terrible thing. All of his instincts screamed about such infamy.
"You're despicable," Said the boy.
Rhett measured his worth as he stood his ground, but it seemed the gentleman wasn't up to the part yet.
"And you're still going to let her to me," His smirk grew dangerous. "Now go, before I show my teeth."
As if as a last show of defiance, Ashley Wilkes took his time to settle Scarlett on the bench, his hands lingering on the turn of her skirt, and whispering something that looked like a reassurance that he would defend her no matter what.
Ha! As if he could!
And then he turned, and she looked at him leaving on his white horse, pensive, her hands joined demurely on the delicate muslin of her dress.
Still, she would not look at him, and Rhett could not bear it anymore.
"Are you that foolish?" He hissed, taking her by the arm so that she faced him. . "Do you want to marry him?"
"That's an idea!" She jeered, glaring and raising her arms in emphasis, and he did not like how it sounded on her. "And why not? He's a gentleman. He's nice."
He stared at her, then realized. No, the boy was no vampire. She was the one to fill him with strength.
Somehow, that seemed worst.
The minx.
"And trapping is the best way to happy marriage, it is known."
"Mother of God, what do you know of marriage?" She hissed back. "It is up for me to choose."
"I know because I've known fools trying to do so, and I'll tell you, this is no way to a man's heart," She froze, and he went on, more softly. "What about his choice? Does it ever matter to you?"
She was like a cornered little animal, threatening to scratch him. But she knew he was right.
"He is the one to bring me back here in his arms. Not everything is my fault. It is his choice too."
"Just because he is a fool that cannot tell you no doesn't mean you have to be as well!"
"Ashley isn't…"
"If you continue like that, you might not get the choice. Reputations had been ruined by less. If anyone had seen you…"
"You're one to talk about reputations!" She snickered with a bitterness that surprised him. "Are you going to tell Pa?"
"No."
"Then, there's no problem." She straightened on that little bench, her chest puffing up in righteous indignation. "I'm a woman…"
He rolled his eyes.
"You are a child. Go to sleep."
"I'm not sleepy. I'm a woman and I'll make my own mistakes and you cannot stop me!"
"Beware of what you wish for." He growled. "Do you know what men could do to you? Do you even know how their mind works?"
He examined her, so defiant, yet so young...
"No, you don't. You can't even imagine…"
And all the men around her that could take advantage...
And that Ashley that could take advantage...
His fist clenched, his blood boiled.
She was so light as he took her by the waist and swung her across his knees.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" She cried.
"What I should have done from the beginning. Every naughty girl needs a good spanking."
His hand was ready too, and his mind as well. There was no stopping him as she was lain on his knees like that and still continued to defy him.
Green eyes darkened and sparked, absinth that he drank from with a fury to get drunk. But instead of subsiding, the fury only grew.
"I'm going to scream," She hissed.
"I don't care."
"My father will kill you."
"Your father will agree with me and join the feast if he heard what you were trying to do."
She struggled. Vainly.
"Let go of me!"
"No."
"Please..."
"I don't please."
"Aaah!"
With a cry, she rolled forcefully down his legs and fell face down to the clay, and he was tempted to laugh as she raised, red all over her face and dress. Forgotten all anger, all jealousy! She was there, raising, proud and offended, her features blending with the red sky, the red clay, her eyes that green light he remembered seeing the first time he went back from his first sea travel, hoping …
But no. There was nothing to hope for. And just as hope, she was getting away from him.
He could have prevented her. He wanted to.
But he knew he shouldn't.
She was doubly the forbidden fruit, being a child, not to mention the child of one he respected very much.
He wondered for a moment if this attraction for her would fade if he had her, just like his fancy faded with other women. Yet, it seemed absurd when he realized it wasn't just her body he wanted.
It was her spirit as she faced him, disheveled. Her mind, sharp and flexible like his. A kindred soul.
She huffed and turned, and he was helpless...
And she winced, limping as she tried to continue her way. He blinked.
"Your ankle…"
She scowled.
"Everything I do isn't just pretend, Mr. Butler."
He gestured her back to the bench, his eyes gentle and concerned. She drew a sharp breath, her heart beating. His hand towards her, the setting sun glowed on his face, giving him the air of an Indian Prince.
"Come."
She nodded softly, and lightly, her fingers touched his palm. He closed his hand around it firmly, but not so tightly it would make her want to flee. He settled her on the bench, and kneeled before her.
She gasped as she felt him grasp her bruised foot, taking off the shoe slightly before her.
"I... The heel broke as I tried to run to the horse, and I fell," She flustered needlessly.
But he took no notice of it, and she watched him, fascinated, as he palped and examined the damage.
She knew she should have told him to stop, that it wasn't proper. But her pulse was deafening and she could not think. Could not think besides the sensation of his hand on her, the sparks raising up and down her body, and the tumultuous flood of her feelings. Little drops of perspiration slowly trickle down her back, and the hair at her nape was raising, cold against the hot Georgian sun.
And still she watched, gripping what she could grip, her nails torturous on the wood.
He massaged the tender articulation, supple and soft under his fingers, and he swore he felt her shudder at his touch, before relaxing. He was there, at her feet, and he could see the hint of darkness below her skirts, teased by the decorated lace of her pantalets.
In one movement, he could just grab her by the waist, and draw her body to his. He could claim what he so despairingly wanted to claim, and part these crimson lips with his, while his hands would wander as they wished, and discover her inch by inch.
In one movement, he could maybe destroy it all. Or she could laugh at him, and his beating heart, so easily lain at her feet, would be crumbled like dirt under her delicate toes.
Yet, his heart was no clay, to be destroyed and shaped again. It had been hardened years after years, but it felt powerless against such attack that was growing on the inside.
And her eyes... Her eyes would widen at the assault, and he feared what he might find there.
A thin line, that was what separated him from her. A thin line that seemed like his wits, slowly disappearing when she was there.
He stopped, his gaze down, to the giggling toes that teased his bended knee.
"Are you trying to compromise me, Mr. Butler?" Her sweet voice taunted him.
Oh, the delicious idea.
"Enough with your flirty ways. I'm not one of your beaus," He cut her out, almost vexed with the turn of his thoughts.
No, he would not cross it. He could not. For his sanity, he could not.
She let out a soft sigh, taking back her foot.
"No, you're not."
What was there in that sigh? Was it weariness?
Was it regret?
Was he so eager to find something in each of her gestures?
He scowled.
"Why, after everything we lived together, certainly, you must think of me as a kind of sibling…."
"Well… of course." She swore lightly, her eyes away, and fingers drumming on the bench. Her lips stretched in a mocking corner. "or, with your age, some kind of uncle or father!"
He stared, numb, stricken, then frowned. His eyes widened at the offense, and he felt the indignation puffing in his chest.
"By God, fa-… Well, sister, I do believe you're wasting away and should know what's best for you, and what's not. The young Wilkes is not."
"And what is?"
"That is not for me to decide."
"Fiddle-dee-dee, and that is for you to say what's not?"
He faltered.
"You once told me you loved me. I would have thought that I was… part of the family somehow. That you would consider me as such, certainly." He laughed shortly. "I should have known it was only a little girl's talk."
He stopped his ministrations and drew back. Far away, a fox was screaming, a cry among the vibrant music of the cotton flowers dancing, rubbing against themselves
"Rhett..."
His chest heaved, then fell.
He was an old fool, indeed!
"Go to sleep, Scarlett. You know the way home. I'm sure no twisted ankle would stop you."
"No," She stated, and her voice was firm. "It is sunset soon. I want to see it," With an almost childish air, and energetic kick of the foot (the one that wasn't bruised), she gestured him back. "Come!"
He tried to ignore the call. He tried very hard to.
"I remember that day. That day when I told you I loved you."
Her voice trembled a little as she said it. He froze, as if shot through the heart.
"It wasn't my intent, you know," She continued softly. "to trap him by compromise."
He sighed wearily, and sat by her side.
"Then what is?"
"To make him fall in love with me."
And she was saying it so artlessly! She manipulated him, and she wasn't entirely aware she did.
"You are so naïve, Scarlett," He scolded, not sure if he were bitter over that foolishness, or the fact that it wasn't directed at him. "Some might say that's the biggest trap of all. One might never recover from it."
"No, it's not!" She cried in protest. "It's like... It's like a long adventure on the way home, just like one of those you told me... With many, many troubles," She snorted in amusement. "But also happy moments. But doubts... doubts just like earth shaking... And then I know... if I find home again, I know I will never be alone."
She really does love him, he realized with a torturous pang of the heart. She loves him like I would want her to love me.
He shook his head.
"You should not be alone in that kind of adventure. If he's truly worthy of you, he should be with you since the beginning of it."
"Well, I do have you at my side, don't I?" She teased. "And you are… part of the family. Somehow."
"Somehow." A hint of white teeth came glinting in the darkness.
"Somehow," She repeated with a smile.
She sighed once again, but this time it sounded like a happy purring as she leaned against his shoulder.
"I would have thought I had scared you," He said softly, appeased by her presence.
"You could never scare me," She dismissed it. "After all, aren't you like a brother to me?"
"Just as much you are a sister to me," He quipped, tempted to laugh at himself. Before composing himself. "You shouldn't…"
"Can't siblings do this?"
"Siblings can..." Said he, for a time hesitating.
"Then it's alright."
She closed her eyes et snuggled closer, her head lulling on his shoulder like a cat demanding more caresses.
He knew he should have said something. He knew he should have contradicted it. His bruised ego screamed it too, saying he did not want only part of her.
Yet, his bruised, selfish ego was also very much craving for the tender weight of her body against his, given without a care and the need of his declaration of love to her, that she could so easily dismiss.
He was in a in between he feared to leave, yet feared to stay. A in between he was aware of creating, and that was certainly the worst.
Let it be so, Scarlett thought. If only I can lean against him like that. I shall not have him, for he wouldn't have me as his wife. That, I know now. I shall not have him, but I shall make my way as I wish.
Yes, let it be so, she thought. If only the suffering of a romantic love not reciprocated can be soothed for a moment by his brotherly affection. She could feed on his crumbs, for they were love all the same.
But it wasn't the kind of love she craved. Crumbs couldn't feed her right.
She bit her lip, closed her eyes. The pungent smell of Tara's red clay tickled her nostrils, and it appeased her for a time.
Tara... Yes, she would still have Tara, if not the love she wanted. Tara was hers, as the firstborn, and whatever she would do, she would still have it.
And even if she had him, could she give up on Tara? He was not one to settle, she wasn't fool enough to think so after so many people told her so, and she saw the proofs of it herself.
His arm was around her, soothing, and his chin on her hair, and she swore she felt a kiss once.
He certainly did. Her hair smelt of clay and magnolia, and he was entranced by it.
His very own Galathea. Would that she was in love with him. But no, she was away now. Away, and yet so near.
But no, no Galathea. She had become something else entirely, and he realized he loved her all the more for it, for she was free and no one's creature, like him.
He looked at her, the tender lids that were used to flutter like butterfly's wings, with lashes tilted at the end, the turned-up nose that led to her half opened lips that trembled a little.
He let out a soft chuckle and gathered her against him more comfortably.
"Infuriating woman. You were sleepy after all."
Fools. The both of them, trapped as they were in a chase that might be all in vain.
And he feared it was only beginning.
