Hello everyone, and thank you so much for your concern. It touches me, to have that much people enquiring about me, and I wanted you to know it.
Here's the next chapter. I hope you will enjoy it. There is the Bazaar. Some things change, others don't. Let's look into it...
Good reading!
16/11/21: Edit made. Some mistakes were corrected, some sentences added.
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…
...
"I'll shoot him! I will!" A boy shouted, his voice full of injustice and wrath.
"Oh, Rhett, you're making it too big of an affair... Come to me now, be a good boy. There, there... ." Came a soft voice, soft and faraway as a memory. For a moment, the boy struggled at his mother's voice, before finally taking begrudgingly his place by her side. Ten years old, he must have been, but strong and tall for his age, for he was almost as tall as the lady beside him. "And then, it's your fault as well.. If only you could control your temper more... You wouldn't have such problems with your father. What does it give you, if you're right, and he's wrong? If he's right and you're wrong? One has to bend eventually."
"So should I be the one to bend, is that what you say?"
In the delicate mist of the past, Mrs. Butler shook her head.
"You sound so much like him..."
The boy protested.
"I'm not! He had done it, Mother! Not I! He... He said it was to teach me..."
She sighed a long time.
"Just like you wanted to teach him. You freed that boy when you had no right to," He was about to intervene, yet she held out her hand. "I know, he had been gifted to you. But you should have known better than to defy your father and free him right in front of his friends. You're just like him. Men in the Butler family tend to know everything, and their role in society must most certainly be to teach , not to learn. Always, they have to prove they're not like their ancestors..."
"But did that boy have to be whipped in front of my eyes for him to make a point?"
"Would it have proved anything to you if it had been hidden?"
"So this was for me..." The boy's fists clenched; "This is what he's trying to tell me. He means to break me, because I'm not like him. Because I don't want to be him."
"Would it be so hard?" The lady said softly. "Your father is a respected gentleman."
"I won't! I won't! I can't look into his eyes, and pretend nothing happened, that he did not do what I saw him do!"
"It's a pickaninny, Rhett. Their skin is tougher than ours. They have to know their place. Just as you have to learn yours."
She sighed, weary, and held him close to her bosom. Softly, she caressed his hair, and he listened with the outrage of a child who doesn't want to look like his parent.
"Do I? Do they?" He raged. "If they're tougher, you say, why is it that we rule and not they ?"
"Because we have to guide them. They have childish instincts. But even children can destroy everything if they're not corrected enough. Else, they might become uppity and unbearable."
He looked up, for suddenly her grip was stronger, and was surprised by the fear in her eyes.
Mother had never been afraid. Not even in front of Father. And yet, now, it pulled on her brows and made her clear eyes wide by the upper side.
His childish mind could not comprehend it, that one would say something, and yet feel something else. So, it took another direction, the most obvious one.
"Why do you stay with him, Mother?" He asked instead.
She stayed for a moment silent, and blinked, as if slowly awakening from a terrible nightmare. But how could she say it? How could a child even begin to understand the complexity of life, of feelings and duties?
For a moment, the young boy looked up at her, and the vacancy in his mother's gaze frightened him. It seemed as if she was not with him anymore.
"Love is the true slavery," she whispered. "Once the other knows it, there's no turning back. You give him the power to whip you to death. And you smile through it, because at least you're with your beloved, and you're his wife, and he will never be able to take it from you, not if he's a true gentleman. He provides, and you live. And if he starves, you starve with him, because that's how things ought to be done."
He pressed his hand on her, willing to make her come back. She blinked, then lowered her eyes to his grip, and her face was placid, as still as the water of a lake on a calm day.
"Oh, but I said such silly things," She said with a sweet, empty smile. "A lady's duty is to her husband. Always. And your father has his moments. Everyone don't call him a true gentleman for nothing. You'll see when you get older." She uttered slowly, just like when he was little. "Everyone has a duty to fulfill. Yours is to be the gentleman we are all expecting you to become."
More than a decade after, Rhett was afraid he never cared for that part; he reflected as he prepared for the Bazaar. He certainly looked the part, he noted with satisfaction as he looked at himself on the mirror. But he would never be it. Blood was too hot, and eye too sharp. No, that wasn't for him.
No, he had never shot his father for what he had done. Yet, the anger had grown cold, until he became resolved never again, he'd try to be a good boy. Instead, he would be a very bad one.
….
…
…
Atlanta, May 15th 1862
One week. One week since Scarlett set her sights to Atlanta, meeting all the Atlantean old Guard and their silly war of charities into which she had been joyfully enrolled, before discovering she would not have to just sew a few pillowcases.
Of course, it had its good points. At least, she liked the city. It was so vibrant and lively! She swore it was like the center of the world at the moment, with all the coming and going. It felt as if she was right where she needed to be, and for once, that thought was comforting.
Charles still protected her from up there, it seemed, for she learned he had left her properties and a half of the house of Miss Sarah Jane Hamilton, nicknamed Aunt Pittypat, with Melanie. Her debt was increasing.
Nonetheless, it was still one very boring week and she wondered for a moment if it wouldn't have been better to have accepted Randa's olive branch of a sojourn in the Tarleton's.
Perhaps next time. This hadn't been decided.
If she had to be honest, the offense had been forgiven already. But she felt flattered by the letters of excuses, and wanted to see just how much that friendship was important.
Well, it was always good to be desired, she thought.
Yet, she couldn't deny she missed Randa's odd ways and humor. Melly was sweet, but that sweetness, associated with her natural shyness and seriousness over important things seemed to prevent her from being funny, and Scarlett terribly needed it.
At least, she had Wade, she corrected herself. But Wade could be so very infuriating!
She knew she shouldn't think it. She knew people looked at her very curiously when they saw her with her boy, and how she was talking to him. Even Aunt Pittypat had once said with her pitiful voice that it was unseemly, to talk to a baby as if he was a man already, and that she should give him more to Cheyenne.
But she couldn't help it. There, she would see his eyes, so alike Rhett, and she wanted to keep him as much as she could, and make sure he stayed right where he belonged. Cherished with her and her own. This was why she chose Cheyenne instead of Prissy for her travel to Atlanta, Mammy being obviously out of the question for all of her caring of Mother. Though, she would have liked to be able to ask her so many questions. She had to content herself.
With Cheyenne at least, she could be sure she would not drop him.
One day, Scarlett would be able to understand properly motherhood, she swore. One day. But every day passed, and she felt she wasn't a good enough mother to Wade, that he deserved so much more, and that was maybe why he was so serious a baby, always looking at her as if he was unsure of her abilities. His slanted dark eyes would stare at her and lips would purse, so very severe a judge, and she would wait for his verdict with surprising anxiety, with a little simpering maybe that would make him laugh. And oh, how she loved that laugh!
But a good mother was not someone to laugh at, wasn't she?
The thought came and went with another, and made her want to cry, so she tried to dismiss it as soon as it entered her head.
It was either too much, or too little, and every time, people looked at her, and she swore they were thinking it too.
But no, she would not abase herself with the usual and silly baby talk. Not her! Not even for Wade!
"Oh, won't you smile at me?" She pouted as she laid on the tiny garden of the house with her son and Cheyenne, willing to take advantage of the sun. "There, smile to your Ma..."
"Brrr..."
He frowned and pursed his lips so much that saliva bubbled down his red pulpous lips.
"Oh, that's enough!" She snapped, taking a napkin to wipe it, ignoring Cheyenne's gesture to it. "Well, little mister, what are you on about, this time? Does the setting not please you? Has the food not been good enough?"
He bubbled harder.
She cursed.
"You're quite a difficult baby, Wade Hampton."
And he seemed to agree with it, letting out a wild burst of laughter that made him seem as if he was laughing at her. Once again. She snorted, eyeing him fondly, but still a bit unsurely.
"You really are your father's son," She caressed his cheek. "So troublesome."
He leaned on her, and her heart warmed as his dark eyes bored into her with a brightness that meant love, and she fell right into it.
Until he looked behind her and pointed at a flash of red hair coming from behind the fences.
"Ga."
For a moment, Scarlett stood still, and felt prepared to curse at the world. Her nostrils flared at the threat and eyes narrowed, dark and quarrelsome. Her hands touched Wade, as if for protection, and she put him back very softly on the cradle.
That woman. It was that woman that Rhett had come to see so many times. That woman she had seen the first time she arrived in Atlanta to get to Aunt Pitty's house.
Belle Watling. The Bad Woman.
And it seemed the woman had noticed her, for suddenly she was going away.
"Cheyenne?" She called, the enemy still in sight. "Could you keep Wade for a moment? There's something I need to do."
She knew she shouldn't do this. But she needed to make sure of something.
There, very swiftly, she jumped to her feet and walked towards the retreating woman, catching her between her claws before she became unreachable from her side of the fence.
The flesh of the arm was very tender where she caught her, and she felt the wince of the woman as she turned around, her painted face bearing an indifferent expression that was too studiously put to be natural.
"You." She snarled.
That 'you' was a threat by itself, an insult by itself. No word was enough to qualify her as the younger girl eyed her up and down. The plumb and gaudily dressed body startled, blue eyes for a moment raising in fear until they narrowed and blinked at least once.
"Oh. You're the girl Rhett had fun with," The woman seemed to dismiss her, and Scarlett flushed in outrage. "I been wonderin' what made ye that familiar. Still lurking around the corners, I see..."
Well, she wasn't the one that had been watched!
"Why, you..." She hissed, before recovering. "I thought I had seen you before, lurking around the corners. Too many times. Such hair... I was curious."
Blue eyes looked down, then up, this time not hiding their defiance.
"So, the lady fulfilled her curiosity?"
Scarlett's shoulders relaxed as she examined her face.
"Very much so. But I'm disappointed. The last time I'd seen you, you looked taller. And prouder." She nodded, and the words relieved her. Passed her primary jealousy and concern came a little feeling of pity, and the impression of having wasted her time. That woman had been looking at her. But not because she wanted to show her superiority. Else, she would have acted very differently. No, she had felt the threat. Good. "Goodnight, madam."
"Wait..." Belle called with a croaky voice. "You have a son, don't you?"
"Yes," She looked back one last time. "Wade Hampton."
"His entire name?"
She laughed meanly at the pathetic raise of the madam's voice. No. No pity needed. She was not that good of a person.
….
...
Atlanta, July 4th, 1862
It was as the two McLures were prevented from going that finally it seemed boredom was bound to end for Scarlett, who very much insisted that Melly and herself kept their booth of the Bazaar in their stead.
To be sure, it was obvious that Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Elsing, eminent persons of the society of Atlanta, had never thought of her going, but going, she did, and with the pleasure to see their appalled faces as she looked at them innocently and said that they needed to show their support in every way possible.
It proved difficult to leave Wade. But it was difficult also to be locked down in the house when there seemed to be at least something exciting happening, and Scarlett was as much a woman and a girl that she was a mother. Energy bubbled from her and begged to be let out in a storm of dances and flirts.
And that baby was too independent for his own good. Really, sometimes, she swore even Mammy would not understand it!
Of course, she would have preferred not to hear Mrs. Merriwether's little remark over Rhett's travels back and forth for hoop skirts and lace rather than for supplies. Her heart ached at hearing his name mentioned, and she was tempted to scream at these old peahens that of course, he wouldn't provide supplies for a cause he did not believe in! Of course, he would provide silly things, for silly things were the safest, and most certainly the easiest to buy and sell.
They were all so dull with that war. As if they could win it!
Scarlett did not understand it at all. Or at least, she understood the importance of the pride of a nation, of beliefs, but not the exaltation of it;
Even Melly was singing with the others, and an unshakable faith was drawn on her face. Just like the others. And all she, Scarlett, could feel was that intense boredom coming again, and the irritation at being so close to entertainment without being able to enjoy it properly.
With some self-reflection, she admitted she would have been better if she had been either a wife or a girl. Wives and girls had their own activities, their own group. Widows were supposed to stay at home, and there seemed to be a general rule of every lady to make her feel as if indeed she shouldn't be there. Of dances and flirts, she had nothing at all.
Oh, if only Rhett was there to make her laugh! If only he would dismiss all these people and make her dance! She so wanted to dance, and to enjoy the music!
She could see him so clear now, his tall and powerful silhouette appearing in the crowd, so much taller than the officers, looking for her. Suddenly all thought of the world around them would go away. It could all go to hell, and she wouldn't have cared, for he was there by her side, all dashing in his black suit, though she was tempted to call and tease him that he was too foppishly groomed for a tall and strong man. The words tickled her tongue.
It was just like a dream, a dream of him coming to her and telling her she was the one he loved, and that he would never ever leave her side again.
Don't forget too fast, my heart, she willed herself to. Don't go to him just yet. Not even in dream.
Yet, it was too late, just as the sting of reality was clearing the blurry edges of her mind.
The way his muscles rolled through that fabric, like a panther about to pounce, and how it thrilled her to the core; that, she would never be able to say to him. That , she kept it too herself, until the words, unuttered, dried in her throat.
"You're here..." Was the only thing she could say.
He gave her a warm smile.
"I've wandered around, prepared to be bored to death, and here I meet an inviting smile and sparkling eyes," He said softly, and it felt like a breath of fresh air after so many times fussing around old bodies. "Why, hello to you too, Scarlett. How do you do?... Let your old friend feed his weary eyes on you, won't you?" He took her gloved hand and spinned her around, and she could not help but laugh, with a giddy feeling. "Charming, as I remembered. Though..." He leaned on her, narrowed his eye on her still form. "There's a change in you."
She froze; her hand slipped from his, the feeling of warmth disappearing with the loss of his touch. Please God, she thought. Give me time... Let him not know about Wade...
She took a step back. He was too close. In one jump, she could be in his arms, and embrace him as she did when she was a child. Her skirt was not touching him, and she could have barely reached him with her outstretched arm, and yet it felt like she was smothered in his presence, his warmth intoxicating her to lure her into a feeling of false security.
For false security it was. She had seen him how he had started toward her, lethal like an Indian on the hunt. Her head was screaming not to be a fool, not to be his fool. Yet, her heart was begging to be caught again.
She put her hands behind her back, hoping that he would not notice they were trembling. He leaned on the counter, his eyes darkening and a corner of his mouth turning up.
"Is it Mrs. Ashley Wilkes, now?"
"Mrs. Charles Hamilton," Her shoulders fell in relief. They were avoiding the obvious, the pain of their separation, and she felt grateful for it.
"Even better." His eyes twinkled.
She pouted.
"You know it already, don't you? You just mean to pester me."
"I knew it." He nodded, and his eyes examined her from hair to toes, with an ironic smile that chilled as much as his scrutiny was making her all hot and tangy. "And from your new get-up, that poor boy is dead, isn't he? I would offer you condolences, but something tell me you're not that displeased."
Her head jerked up to the words, her brow wrinkling in dismay.
"Oh! You dare..."
"Your eyes throw daggers at me. How they glint in their anger... You cared? Surprising. Have you grown a tender woman's heart? For that boy?"
"So these are the first words you say to me? I suffered greatly, if you must know!"
And as she said so, so came back the memories of the boy she married because he was the one to get away, and anger flared in her heart.
His eyes softened.
"Yes, I see. It's a great loss. And yet, you're here."
She fidgeted, caught between wrath and consciousness of the eyes around them. Why did he so want to expose her in front of everyone?
"They needed people on the booth..."
"It doesn't suit you to hide behind false pretenses," He dismissed it, and his hand, lazily laid on the counter, was too close to her elbow. "You wanted to dance. You wanted to live. Not that I blame you, no. You're too lively to stay locked forever."
He leaned toward her ear, a pleasant smile on his face. Finger touched the fabric of her sleeve. "Even with that dreadful crêpe."
Her head shook for a moment, as if unsure if she should say no or yes, and shoulders went up as she pursed her lips and stared at him, at this fond smile, and that look on his face, that seemed as though he was happy to see her, more than happy.
The tension released, and suddenly relief came. He had always known how to read her so well, and suddenly she remembered that part of why she loved him that much was that she could be herself with him. He was not one to think her too sensitive and foolish to face the truth. He even praised her for that.
Her shoulders swayed for a moment as she stood, unsure if she should let him know he had won already.
"Fine. Perhaps. Are you happy now to know you're right?"
For a moment, his mouth went down, his eyes darker.
"It's a matter of fact. Not willing to go through the suttee, Scarlett?"
"Settee?"
He laughed and she whirled around in wrath. Yet, his hand touched her elbow and she froze.
"I forgot your education did not include it. Or if it had, you wouldn't have listened to it, would you? That's quite a displeasant topic."
"I'm used to displeasant things. Am I not talking to you?"
"My, do you scratch! That's more like it," He chuckled softly, and his delight shone on his eyes, making her blush in repressed pleasure. "Suttee is a Hindu ritual. When a man dies he is burned, and his wife has the high duty to follow him on the funeral pyre."
"That's horrid."
"Very much so."
"And the others are watching it?"
"They most certainly do."
She shuddered.
"Thank God we're not in India."
"Oh, but the pyre is of a different nature."
"Don't I know it. Though I'd rather be alive than be burned to death."
He chuckled. "No doubt you would. To have it litterally is quite a difficult thing to escape from. Though I could still save you."
"Would you, now?" She teased.
"If the idea pleases me. Saving a young woman in distress sounds like a lot of fun."
She went still for a moment, before shaking her head. Fun...
She eyed him suspiciously.
"I could have gathered it by myself, you know."
He put his hand up in defense, his eyes merry.
"Of course, of course."
They looked at each other and suddenly laughter came, with eyes meeting and dancing.
He was so close, and now she felt the burn of his presence, and the sweet temptation of his warm breath. Million words could have gone through her head, but what she felt was so primal that there was only one way she felt would have been enough to express it. And yet, million kisses wouldn't have been enough.
"I'm glad you did not burn, Scarlett." He said softly.
She looked away.
"Not yet," She whispered, terribly conscious of the matrons staring at them in such a disapproving way. "If the wife doesn't, she and her own become a social outcast, don't they?"
"The good ladies would be enraged, and it would be a merry hell," His black brow arched. "But, as I said, I could save you."
Like you did when I needed you the most?
"No, thank you," She said sharply, bowing her head to end the conversation. "You may not need it, but I do."
The seams of her gloves scratched her tight fists, and she wondered if it bled.
"Do you, now ?" He whispered as she turned away.
She returned to the cases at the back and called for Melly to help her with the boxes.
There, before she could say more, a roll of drums echoed in the room, followed by many calls to hush, and Dr. Meade appeared on the platform. She listened with one ear, until finally she realized he was asking for charity, and that a grinning little man had appeared with a big basket to collect the offerings.
Great balls of fire, she thought. She hadn't thought of that. She had been too caught up with everything to care that it might happen.
A sudden anxiety came to her as she saw the basket approaching, and chains and other trinkets being thrown in it, greedy eyes looking who sacrificed the most, and who didn't.
She felt relief in not having worn her grandmother's earbobs. At least, that would be saved. But what could she give, so that she would not be judged? The only thing she had on her was Charles' ring... But she couldn't, could she?
She met Rhett's mocking eyes and scowled.
No, she would not just do as everyone else did. She would be the embodiment of it!
She tried to take it off, but it seemed to stick for a moment, and the little man was about to turn to Melly.
Oh no, he wouldn't!
"Here, take it," She called in a clear and strong voice. "I'll honor better my husband's memory in giving it up for the cause he died for than in keeping it. For Charles Hamilton!"
There, finally, it slided down her finger and she gave her ring with a defiant gaze sent at everyone's way, ignoring Rhett as he laughed in his drink. Yet, it had worked on many others, who now raised their glasses at her in approval, and repeated his name.
Not Rhett, no. He only mouthed in her direction something that looked a little too much like "Independence Day".
"Well said, Mrs. Hamilton!" The man with the basket said with admiration.
"Oh, my darling, you're right!" Melly cried, her warm eyes shining with love, and anxiously fumbled over her gown, until her hand caught the sharp edge of the only breloque she allowed herself to wear tonight. "Oh, but... I only have this brooch. My mother's..."
She looked at it, then lifted her head, resolute.
"Melly, don't..."
It was too late. The basket was already gone. And Rhett was approaching.
She saw he was trying to get back at her again, but she made sure he would not, by ostensibly turning away. He stared at her, dismayed, and said a few words to Melly, before turning back as Dr. Meade continued.
"I can't bear to see him," Scarlett said as he was called and praised.
Nevertheless, he flushed in unwilling pride as he bowed so elegantly.
"Oh, Scarlett. You don't think it," Melly answered with a chuckle.
"Oh, I very much do!"
"If only you could talk to him..."
"We've talked enough."
"Oh, Scarlett!"
"Don't 'oh, Scarlett', me, Melanie Hamilton!" Her voice raised in protest. "I think it, and I swear I don't want to see him again. He's been horrid!"
Horridly attractive and innerving for her soul.
Melly looked at her with a fond, too knowing smile. Scarlett waved her hand, begrudgingly amused by the connivence in her eyes, but also very much irritated.
"Oh, hush!" She whispered quickly, before turning back, happy to have a distraction. "Dr. Meade is about to make another announcement."
And indeed, the poor old man was still struggling to raise his voice and making himself heard in the mess.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to propose a surprise – an innovation that may shock some of you, but I ask you to remember that it is done for the hospital and for the benefit of our boys lying there."
At the look exchanged between the doctor and Melly before he continued and presented one very scandalous game of bargain on the leading of the first reel, Scarlett's mind reeled, before she let out a little snicker.
That, for a surprise!
"Oh, Melly, you sneaky thing!" Scarlett exclaimed, patting her friend on the shoulder. "This is your doing! You haven't told me this! When did you think of this?"
Melly flustered. "At the beginning, when I've heard that... Well, I hesitated. For a moment, it felt quite romantic and good for the Cause as well, but... Don't you think it's a bit like a slave auct..."
She could not finish her sentence. Her name had been called, and she raised her head in disbelief as she saw who had bid for her. And Scarlett as well, though another feeling swiftly took its place.
"Fifty dollars for Miss Hamilton," Rhett repeated with the flat slow drawl of the Charlestonian.
The girl's eyes widened, and she blinked like an adorable little owl, before turning to Scarlett.
"Me?" The girl whispered, looking so very lost. "Why me ?"
"Go on," Scarlett mouthed, though something in her wanted to throw her sash at Rhett and make Melly trip so that she would have to stay seated the whole night. Her eyes glinted in threat, and Melanie stood unsure for a moment, until an impatient purse of her friend's lips made her reconsider. She turned and joined Rhett Butler.
Left alone, Scarlett stared at them, at the dance, the lovely Dixie ringing at her ears. How it would have been sweet to dance on it, to show everyone she was still alive and worthy!
But no. It wouldn't be. Rhett had meant to infuriate her, no doubt, and now she could only look.
He was dancing with Melly, and when he began to talk, that silly girl glowed and smile as if she loved him. The way he was holding her close was sickening. So very sickening.
"Hello Scarlett," The voice of Mrs. Meade surprised her in her thoughts. "How's your little boy?"
She blinked, before nodding softly. Her heart gripped at the mention of her son, and she felt bad for not having thought of him.
"Good, thank you."
"It must have been hard to leave him."
"Very."
"For his sake, you should take care of your reputation."
"Is it in danger?"
The insufferable woman touched her hand with what seemed to be pity, and she wanted to take it back swiftly.
"No, dear, not really. But it can be shattered very quickly."
"Especially with that man," Mrs. Merriwether intervened, her eyes glaring toward Rhett's direction. "Dear girl, you'd better stay right where you are."
The pyre, Scarlett thought. Indeed, he had been right.
She nodded back again.
"I thank you for your advice."
"It was kindly meant."
"Of course."
And so, it was the thing that made them go, with the satisfaction of a duty well-done, that of having informed the one who wanted to make mischiefs the consequences of her actions; and perhaps even the eagerness to see that one break it.
She pursed her lips and frowned, considering everything as the music ended for a break, and refreshments were brought on. Considered it until she felt Rhett's shadow on her, and had to bear his satisfied expression as he leaned once again at her counter. Her fingers gripped the pillowcases she had helped to sew, the nails so hard on it that it could have pierced the delicate fabric.
"Oh, Scarlett... Disappointed your old playmate did not make you dance? A little jealous, maybe?" His eyes danced in merriment and she was tempted to scratch him. Oh, this was all a game to him! "Wait a little, my dear, your time will come. The night isn't over. You're too impatient."
She scowled.
"I don't want to dance. I'm a widow. It's unseemly. And if you're so old, I'm not sure you'd be able to keep up."
His eyes danced.
"I'll make you dance."
With horror and anticipation, she saw him make his way on the stage, becoming the master of it to the bewildered eyes of the one who should have been it.
"Dr. Meade, I'd like to make an announcement," he declared with a very solemn, very silky voice. Oh, she thought, did he have to be so loud? "I fear I've been remiss in my duty, as another lady should have been bid on."
"That's... generous of you," Dr. Meade looked on, surprised. "And which lady would you bide on?"
"Mrs. Charles Hamilton. $150 in gold."
The poor man's head reeled in stupefaction. She glared at Rhett from all her might, but her heart and eyes had already betrayed her. She wanted so much to dance!
"She's in mourning, Captain Butler. It is not to be considered."
"I consider it."
"She would not..."
"Make it double and I will!..." Scarlett stopped; looked around to the blank stares, bewildered that such an exclamation should come to her mouth, before raising her voice higher and stamping her foot on the ground. "For our beloved Cause!"
This gained a few cheers from the crowd, though they were a handful to be disbelieving as they saw her make her way toward the infamous blockade-runner, who was smirking as if he had never been so entertained and joined her with the gracious stride of a feline.
He bowed to her and she curtsied, and the music began. And there again, his hand caught hers, and she felt the bitter irony that her tiny hand could fit so well in his big one. She held her breath for a moment, until she could not hold back the feeling anymore.
"That last part was unnecessary. We both know you care nothing for it, my darling little hypocrite."
"So do you. So are you." She retorted. "What a Valliant blockade runner."
"Well, it gives me quite the money," He grinned.
"Of course, it does," She rolled her eyes. "How much?"
"That's quite an unladylike thing to ask. Tsk, tsk, my dear, you barely lasted a minute."
"I'll be a lady when I'll be in a gentleman's company," She huffed. "So, whose money is it? Southerners'? Yankees'?"
He let out a loud bark of laughter, sharp and short, and she reddened under the scrutiny of others. She had almost forgotten about them.
Oh, she had quite the bite, more than he remembered. She certainly had trained during his absence, that little shrew of his.
But now she was here to take, and he knew how to tame her.
"Does it truly matter?"
"One should not question where your loyalties are, of course."
"Don't get your fur ruffled, Scarlett. My loyalties go to me and mine."
"And who are yours?"
He let out a smile.
"Wouldn't you like to know? Isn't it obvious?"
She turned her head with a disdainful expression on her face and lowered eyes. From one corner of her eyes, she saw the old magpies looking at them with the eagerness of crows eyeing a piece of meat.
"No. No, I don't." She cut. "I know already."
"Do you, now?" He seemed to hesitate, his head turning so slightly to see her face, and arms pressing her to look up. She could feel the intensity of his gaze bore on her cheek, and it felt like a deep concern. "How's... How's things going on in Tara?"
"Fine enough..." She answered sharply, before faltering. Saying 'without you' wouldn't have been true, and she certainly did not think so. Her head bowed under her secret. She bit her lips, before softening her tone. "You should see Pa. He... hasn't been herself since you're gone."
He paused.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," He straightened. "Our last meeting did not end well."
She looked up, surprised.
"Why?"
"Can't you guess?"
She struggled with the information. Had her father driven Rhett away? Suddenly, she found herself searching through her memories, and it wasn't looking good.
"But that's inconsequent," Rhett said nonchalantly, and in seconds, a mischievous grin came to his face. "So, do you... what are your words? 'need it' now that it might be gone?"
Her eyes flashed.
No. Rhett had been the one to drive himself away. As he always had.
It did not matter. No, it did not. It was all in the past, and she had to stay rooted to the present.
"You're so proud of yourself," She hissed. "Was it meant to punish me? That you bid on me second instead of first?"
"It had really infuriated you, hasn't it?" He grinned. She glared. "Yes, I see it had. So much that you forgot the begrudging sacrifice of yourself that you intended to make."
"I should have asked for the triple."
"You can when I bid for the next dance, and the next one after that."
"You'll do no such thing," She snapped. "You've played with Melly, and now you want to play with me."
"No," He said softly. "Now, I want to dance with you."
She shut her mouth. Anger faded when she tried to keep it on, but it was fleeing from her chest the moment she saw he told the truth. One, two, three, one two three, go the dance, and so did her heart, and it hurt to think. She wanted to enjoy it all, curl herself against him so that his warmth could soothe her, yet feared to close her eyes.
"And now, the scandalous Scarlett O'Hara is silent. Surprising..."
"You dance divinely..."
"That's true. But that isn't the reason why. What is it, Scarlett?"
She shook her head, unwilling to answer, and frustration escaped him in a sharp breath.
"Well, at least, I know the price of your mourning," He said idly. "Three hundred dollars."
"Fiddle-dee-dee, of course no."
Oh, why did he keep on wanting to fight? In the middle of such a beautiful waltz, when all she wanted was to forget it all to the sound of music, to the touch of his arms around her and the power of his masculine scent? She wanted to drop the weapons, and yet he kept teasing her with his sharp tongue.
"It is a matter of small vexation, I should say though," He continued. "I'm not used to make marriage proposals, but here to see that you were willing to marry anyone but me... My, Scarlett, you've hurt my feelings."
"How you do run on."
You have no feeling to spare, she was tempted to say. No feeling to make you stay.
"And yet, you came to me," The silk of his voice made her shiver. "Was it because you've heard I was a good lover?"
"You're unbearable!"
"Not that much, if you came to me," He relented. "So, how did you jump from your young Wilkes to me? Not that it's truly important, but I'm curious, about how your vision of me changed so suddenly that you would consider it. I would have thought you only saw me as a brother."
"People might hear."
"They only see you struggling. Don't," He said quietly, though his jaw gritted through restraint.
"Does it matter?" A nervous giggle escaped her, and it was a stab on her throat as she tried to refrain from crying. Why couldn't he leave it alone? Why did he have to bring it back when he had been the one leaving? Why? Why? "You had your fun , I had mine, and then you went away..."
His grip straightened on her, and for a moment, she struggled to breathe. She could not look up, no, would not.
"Fun? I suppose that's the word."
"That's your word, isn't it?" She replied quietly, and the bitterness stayed in her mouth. "you were happy to get away anyway, don't you lie."
"Was I? You'd be surprised."
"Would I?" Her head snapped back to him, and she cursed herself for that rush of feelings she couldn't keep in, that eagerness he could play on so recklessly. "In what way?"
"In what way would you like to be surprised?"
She sighed. Her shoulders fell. He would not give her the answer she wanted. He wanted her to beg for it, when she wasn't even sure what it was. "You haven't changed."
"A little. Though, my funny friend, I must admit the change from brother to lover, then to nothing at all was quite unsettling."
She shook her head, her mind buzzing hot and cold.
"How you twist it all! You've never been nothing at all!"
"Really?" And she heard the victory in his voice. "So that means in your little heart you've missed me?"
It made her smile, when she hadn't wanted to. The swiftness with which he could turn the situation around was dizzying, but it was in these moments, so endearing, that she felt she could understand him better, for he was like a boy that was claiming his prize, and she was happy that prize had anything to do with her.
"Oh, don't presume!"
"But I do. And you did, darling girl."
"I most certainly did not!" She persisted stubbornly. "You tire me, talking to me as a child. I'm a woman. Talk to me as you would a woman."
"I certainly see that," He looked at her with a strange air, and she wondered what he was thinking about. "You know, when you lie, your nostrils tend to dilate. Must be a family trait."
"Do I?" She asked, bewildered and horrified by it. He let out a roar of laughter. "Oh, you miserable! You great king of cads!"
"You've missed me," He let out what seemed a relieved burst of laughter as he turned with her, making her head spin. "And, for all that counts, I've missed you too. Even your vixenish ways."
She rested her head on his chest, dizzy.
"No, you did not," She said softly. "You said you would come back. You did not."
"You did not wait," He replied swiftly. "Not that I blame you. But I'm here now, am I not?"
"You did not miss me," She repeated stubbornly.
One beat. Two... Was his heart skipping like hers did? Oh, that infuriating man! How could he manage to make her his so easily, when she had been so determined?
"My dear Scarlett, you have no idea how much you've haunted me since we last met!" He said, and his tone was soft and drawling like a purr. "How the thought of you drove me to distraction as I looked for the shade of your eyes everywhere, even at the bottom of the sea. How I yearn for your presence and wish..."
"Stop it. You're ridiculous."
"There's a certain ridicule in it, indeed," He shrugged in affected powerlessness. "But, as you want me to talk to you as I would talk a woman, it's more poetic than 'well, now, beautiful female, you opened my eye to some kind of fun. Be mine again, and I swear I'll be more pleasant, and forget what I know.'"
"You would dare..."
"It's all in good fun , isn't it?"
"You're vile."
"And you're beautiful when you're rightfully outraged. Like an offended queen."
She sighed in dismay, the flattery doing its work. The expression of his eyes changed, and for a moment, she felt he regretted it. His fist gave a squeeze to her hand for a moment, and she had the strange thought that had it been alone, it would have taken refuge in his pocket.
"Now, what is that tune?" He said quietly.
"A pretty song. Though you might know it already, with all the people you know. It's a Yankee song," She hissed viciously. "They just changed the 'blue' part for 'grey'"
"Perhaps. What's its name?"
"What does it matter to you?"
"Suspicious, are you?"
"You mean to mock me."
"I mean to make you sing," He replied smoothly. "I admit I shouldn't have teased you so, when we just met again, and I'm afraid I got distracted by my... great concern for you. For it is a great concern, though you seem to doubt it. I would admit it wasn't my best move. But I want to enjoy the rest of this moment with you."
That was the closest thing to an apology she would get. She sighed.
"Please."
He whispered in her ear, and she felt the tickle of his mustache, his hot breath on her, making her hair bristle. She held on her breath, her lids fluttering as she was tempted to lean in and let him do what he liked of her.
Her voice trembled as she began to sing.
.
Dearest love do you remember,
When we first did meet,
How you told me that you loved me,
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh! How proud you stood before me,
In your suit of grey,
When you vow'd to me and country,
Ever to be true.
:
Weeping, sad and lonely,
Sighs and tears, how vain,
When this cruel war is over,
Praying! That we meet again.
..
"It's a silly song."
"Very silly," He agreed softly. "No life is a song, Scarlett. No knight, no glory and great causes."
"Don't I know it."
"So you admit it?"
"What?"
"You don't believe in the Cause," He declared confidently. "You danced with me because you wanted to. You're with me because you want to."
She looked down on the bright parquet, and their shadows were one as they whirled and whirled. She followed for a moment each contour, wondering when it would break again.
"I wanted to," She said, vanquished. "Now, I'm tired."
There was concern in his eyes as he finally examined her. Yet, his grip strengthened.
"You're pale, indeed. In a few seconds, you might cry. What would upset you so much in my arms?"
"You're holding me too close."
So close that she thought his lips would touch her cheek at any moment, and all of her resolve would be broken. She squared her shoulders and raised her head to put some distance between them. Yet, it was not enough. Or far too much.
"Not enough. There, it's all better now that it's said?" His eyes were a bottomless pit of darkness, raw and dangerous, inhabited by a mysterious creature that looked up with ferocious hunger. For a moment, the question was not if she should feed it, but what she should feed it with, so that he would come out to her. "You are a beautiful dancer, after all."
She let out a broken laugh. "You flatter me to distract me, don't you?"
"It works, doesn't it?"
"You know me too well."
The music stopped, and so did they. But he did not release her.
Her eyes were bright on him, a clear lake of emerald water, and he was tempted to sweep her off her feet, and drink on these red lips that were waiting for him. Long, it had been so long since the last time he had seen her!
His hands were on her waist, and she could feel his touch through the fabric, hard and hot, and she was burning, burning. And these eyes, raw with a powerful desire, swallowed her whole. Her chest felt too compressed in her corset. Her lids fluttered as she tried to take back her breath, take back any kind of lucidity that furiously escaped her now.
No. She should not feed it. Should not feed hope. That was the true danger.
"You should let me go." She whispered weakly. "If not for care of my saying it, for care of Pa who would not bear it."
He stared at her for a moment, and she had the feeling of facing a tiger wondering if it would be better to feast now or to wait. Her pulse sharpened, and she felt a little disappointed when he finally release her.
"Of course." He took her hand as if to kiss it, before raising his beautiful dark eyes on her, his grip for a moment insistent. "Until next time, Scarlett."
Her lips opened for a moment for all the words she wanted to say, yet she feared she had no more breath to tell them.
Until next time, then, she thought. Next time, I'll be stronger. Next time, I'll be prepared.
The body was weak, but the mind strong. She would not break!
The night did not end nearly enough. She pretexted a headache to go home swiftly, abandoning Melly to the feast. It was her people. She would know how to handle them.
But not Scarlett. Not tonight. She had done her part. Now, she just wanted to go home and rest with Wade.
She came back to the house in the next carriage and dismissed Cheyenne quickly, a burst of relief overcoming her as she entered the nursery.
Finally! Finally, she was home! Finally she could breathe!
All that she had restrained came out in a dizzy excitement she could not contain. All the joy, the anger, the apprehension, the thrill... All the things Rhett made her feel.
"Wade..." She whispered, taking his sleepy form in her arms and put her lips numerous times on his little face. "Oh, my beloved, my little man... I love you, don't you know? Don't ever leave me, I swear I would not be able to take it!"
The baby let out a cry of protest.
"Yes, I know, I know, I'm holding you too close... There, it's alright," She kissed him, and swayed slightly back and forth. "There, I'm calm, now. It's alright, it's alright..."
"Scarlett? Are you here?"
One raven-haired head raised to the sound of Melanie's excited call, and pouted at the obvious effect on her baby. Sometimes, she thought he was taking a deep pleasure in showing his mischiefs to her, and not to others.
Wade had fallen back to sleep. For some, it seemed so easy!
"Oh, Scarlett, I didn't know you were with Wade. Did I wake him up?"
She smiled bitterly.
"No."
"Oh, Scarlett, I have to tell you!" Melly cried softly, sparks of excitement in her warm eyes as she sat by her side. "Captain Butler is such a dear!"
"You've certainly seemed to have enjoyed dancing with him," She could not help but remark viciously.
"He gave me news of Edward. Telling me he hasn't forgotten about me and he wishes to see me soon! Look! He even transmitted a letter!"
"Oh..." Scarlett whispered, feeling utterly stupid.
With eager little moves of bird, Melly took a paper out of her sash.
"Look! How he illustrated my last letter! How beautiful!"
And indeed, on the paper, there was a beautiful drawing of a heart of gold tied with a ribbon that shaped letters on another.
It felt so silly and sweet she was almost tempted to throw up.
"'Darling, YOU are the one who carved my heart with yours in letters of gold.'" She read and rolled her eyes. "It seems like he's good with words, after all."
"Oh, he teases me," Melly blushed. "He told me I had a heart of gold, and I said I hadn't, or it was rather a wooden one, for I felt as if he'd carved his name on it."
"Well, Melly, that's..." sickening, childish, and just a little bit charming in its idiocy... "Good."
"Oh, he's just using my words against me. How cruel of him, when it is I who long for him!"
How cruel of him, indeed, if what he had done was true.
"So are you going to tell him you love him more?" She shook her head, irritated to have to be the clearer-minded of the two. "Fiddle-dee-dee, that's a never-ending game you're playing."
"Never-ending..." Melly repeated with a silly smile. "Oh, Scarlett! I'm so happy I feel I can't breathe! Mr. Butler said... He said he was very happy with Edward because he proved a tremendous help with his eye for art, and that he suggested to pay him a house for him and I..."
"Very generous of him," Scarlett commented laconically. That help must have brought a lot.
"But Edward had refused. He said he wanted to be able to buy our house with his own money, that he did not accept charity."
There was such a hot pride in that praise.
Scarlett paused, and suddenly guilt like a wave came to her.
She had not said anything to Melly. Randa was right in that aspect. But how could she break her heart? Hers had already been, she knew the pain of it.
"Melly..."
"Scarlett?" Melly stared, perplexed. "What is it, sweet-heart? Is there something you want to tell me?"
Scarlett met these warm eyes, her mind considering what would happen if she shared what she knew. It stinged on her tongue, and deepened as she saw the innocence and concern on the girl's face.
She wavered.
"No. I don't," She sighed. Melly would not bear it. And yet... "Oh, in fact... Oh, Melly, I don't want you to be hurt!"
"My dear Scarlett! You're afraid I might get my heart broken if he dies? You're so sweet. But I have faith. He will come back to me. Just like your Captain Butler came back to you."
She shook her head, irritated for being misunderstood, irritated by Melly's naivety...
"He came back for money and adventure. Not for me."
"Oh, Scarlett..."
"And even if he had... No, I won't come to him, Melly. It's too late."
"It's never too late for love," Melly said softly. "Charles would have understood."
"And even if he had! Even if I could forget all that happened! You forget who wouldn't understand."
"Who?"
"Society." She said the word with a bite. "I'm a mother now, and my son's name is Hamilton. I can't expose him to that."
"Oh," Melly's eyes widened, then lowered in shame. "That's right. I'm sorry..."
"Don't!" She said, putting her head on her shoulder. "You're in love and you say foolish things. And that makes you dearer to me. More reachable."
"Silly Scarlett. I was always reachable," Melly soothed, relieved that her friend was not angry at her as her hand rubbed Scarlett's back tenderly. She leaned towards Wade, still asleep. "It's all going to be alright, baby Wade. I know your mama and papa will find a way."
Scarlett bit her lip.
I won't bend, She cried in her mind. He won't make me!
….
…
…
Tara, July 8th 1862
The news came after a few days from eager letters telling on and on about the very serious affair of one Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton, not only content to be present at an event she should have been invited to, but also making herself very conspicuous with one famous Rhett Butler, current blockade runner.
When he heard of it, Gerald O'Hara felt a surprising relief. As if the thing that had plagued his mind that last year had suddenly ceased to harass him. That was it, it was happening. The wait was over.
And then came anger.
"So, this is the time. I've dreaded this, waited for it. And now, this is how it is said? So many months, when I've lived nervous and jingly, expecting anyone to tell me he broke through the house and escaped with her, and now, what is it? He danced with her, stood too close to her? Not enough. Blamey, that's not enough! What is he waiting for? For me to kick his sorry arse so that he could make up his mind?"
"Mr. O'Hara!" Mrs. O'Hara cried in shock.
"I'll curse if I want to!" He shouted, before faltering as he saw her so pale. Suddenly, all seemed to fade, and he fell on the couch, feeling powerless.
Ellen O'Hara hesitated for a moment, before taking a step forward. She had to.
She knew her husband's temper, and she knew it fell as swiftly as it had raised, and as harmless as a lamb. Now, he was already regretting shouting.
"Mr. O'Hara. You need to do something," She insisted.
He waved his hands nervously at her.
"And what can I do, Ellen? I can't lock my own daughter forever. Yet... yet, it might be a solution. He'd like the obstacles, and perhaps that would force him to act..."
"Mr. O'Hara!, remember yourself!"
He froze and looked at her, and that's when she truly realized it. She had not reacted by the sound of her name. She had reacted to the idea. But now, the name called to her as if from the grave.
"It feels so strange... Telling your name." He said softly, and the misery in his eyes was pitiful as she looked at him. She felt a strange fondness at it. "I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Hara. Meant no disrespect."
"I know you didn't," She dismissed softly.
"I made ya use yar voice higher."
"In so many years. I think I can survive it."
Like I must survive many other things.
She rested her hands on his shoulders, fearing to fall if she did not lean on anything.
"Is that what we want for our daughter? A life with that man?"
"It's inevitable, Mrs. O'Hara. She loves him, and he loves her. Everything else would go arseways with these two," He cursed, before lowering his head and looking at her like a kicked puppy. "Sorry."
It bubbled in her belly, until she could not stop it. Her laughter flowed like a river, free and unstoppable, filled with so many things that she couldn't grasp it all. Tears came to her eyes.
He looked at her in wonder.
"You laughed."
She froze. What had come to her?
"Oh. Well, I better get to work. The Slatterys are waiting for me."
"You're working too much for them, Mrs. O'Hara. You'd tire yourself to death."
But she wasn't here anymore to hear, leaving him to his thoughts. He took a bottle of brandy, and poured himself a drink, ignoring Pork's disapproval. His finger tapped slightly on the glass. He emptied it in one gulp and let out a loud gasp.
"No... He will come to me. And he better comes on his knees!"
