Hello everyone!
Is it too late to wish you the very best for 2023? Nonetheless, I do, and I hope to find you well (and forgiving. I'm here on my knees). Thank you for your support. Know that even if I do not always have the time to reply, I think of you, of the comments I receive, and with that the days seem brighter.
Alright, I've had to cut this chapter in two, as it was far too long, and there wasn't really that continuity that made me think "ok, I'll keep the chapter whole". Here, I thought it drew attention to the parallel I wanted to make, which would perhaps have not been as accentuated if I had kept it whole, with a certain someone sometimes taking all the stage for himself (and he certainly will next chapter, the crude thing).
Two sisters, two brothers. And two different resolutions. And somehow, I had the song 'Flowers" by Miley Cyrus coming to my mind as I wrote it.
Next part is almost done, and I will post it during the week.
As always, I hope you will like it!
Love you all,
Elise
PS: I still do not own Gone With the Wind and its characters, nor Jane Eyre.
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July 20th
Dismissing the piece of paper and pen with a humored push, Scarlett raised from the desk and tried to forget it.
There was a sort of growing urgency in Grandpa's last letter, that even jokes and the tenderness could not hide. In fact, Scarlett reflected, she wouldn't have thought of this had there not been the previous one. The seed had been sowed then, and it grew on a soil that was willingly infertile, like a bad weed she could not get rid of.
She tried not to think about it. Instead, she was quarrelling with him, refusing childishly his claim about this being her second wish, and adding she did intend to be spoiled, and not deprived as he seemed to wish her to be.
That was unfair and clearly immature, and she knew it. But somehow she kept it that way, hoping the dreadfull feeling would go away.
She needed a new purpose. Quickly.
She swallowed and gathered her hands at the end of her bodice, knitting them so she wouldn't be tempted to raise them in a moment of temper.
She would not think about it. In fact, she had more pressing things to think of.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she tucked back any loose strands, took a quick look at Wade's little feather bed, the little boy smiling quietly in his sleep, and squared her shoulders.
She could do it. In fact, it was a talk long overdue! She could not let this continue!
Taking pain to be discreet, she walked cautiously and opened the door of her room. It gave out a little creak. She stood still, her heart skipping a beat for a moment. However, the boy did not stir.
Thank God, Wade was still sleeping. And a good thing he was, with that rufus he had made that night!
It was as if the two men in her life had concerted to drive her crazy that night.
She shook her head. No, she would not think of Rhett as her man. And Wade was only a little boy!
A devilish little boy. With dangerous claws. He had scratched her in his anger.
Angry yes, but very unwilling to let her go.
As if he was punishing her for something!
Had someone been there, and she in a quieter state, she would have certainly realized her son's violent gestures had had more to do with her own violent state of mind as she went back to her room, her heart stomping painfully in her chest. That and the fact that she did not quite smell as herself, Rhett's scent adding a layer to her own as tight as had been his embrace.
But tired as she was, she preferred to think it was his own bad nature, a bad nature that had all to do with his own devilish father.
Needless to say, she was a little angry with him, and intended he would not have sweets when he woke up. He was already too spoiled.
She went down the stairs, still careful and alert, flinching of even the light fluttering of her skirt on the steps. But no call for her came. As the last one came, her shoulders relaxed, and she sighed. Her feet drove her to the living room, where she could hear Cheyenne's hesitant voice, breaking on words with Melanie's encouragement.
Scarlett went on, intrigued, until she could see both women seated on the couch, heads tilted on a book. A Bible, from Cheyenne's words.
What was going on?
She frowned and called, signaling her presence.
"Melanie? What are you doing with Cheyenne?"
Both heads turned sharply toward her, the book falling with a surprised thud.
Cheyenne's eyes widened up quickly, and Scarlett was utterly dumbfounded by the brief look of sheer pain and fear that lurked in these grey eyes, as if she had kicked her viciously. It disappeared swiftly, followed by a bland gaze, almost disinterested. She felt a sharp sting of shame, though she reflected she needed not to, for it was quite a simple question, and she did not even remember saying any cruel thing to the girl.
It was so unfair that she, Scarlett, had to be looked at like that for this kind of triviality!
Melanie only blinked and smiled, visibly unbothered, perhaps unaware. She let out a little laugh, dismissing her own silliness as she reached for the book, to put it on the nearby table. Nothing could truly be clear on that placid face, Scarlett reflected as she stared, her lids slightly narrowing in suspicion, except her pleasure in seeing her.
However, Melly liked seeing anyone, so even that could be put to question.
"Oh, I'm helping her. She's been so helpful, and she seemed to want to improve her reading so… you don't mind, don't you?"
Scarlett cocked a brow. A surge of vexation, fed by her previous apprehension, growled in her belly. Her lips pursed and shoulders shrugged in irritation.
"Why would I mind? Such a silly question."
Why would she care about Cheyenne improving her reading, was certainly more accurate. It did not concern her at all. She did not even know she was reading!
The picture of a book falling came to her mind, a nagging memory that she did know Cheyenne was reading, and that was certainly not the Bible. She could not even be dishonest with herself, and that she failed so and actually tried only amplified her dismay.
It did seem strange to her to hear Cheyenne's voice uttering the Lord's words. Not that it was unseemly. No, it was something more than that, she thought.
The darkies from home prayed the same prayers as the family. They were family, Scarlett rectified. They did so with pride, their voice solemn and serious. But the people on the field… What was their belief?
It was the first time she was asking herself that question, and it felt so terrible admitting she did not know when she had always thought of the people of Tara as part of herself. A granted part, or was it?
She remembered songs. Songs from home, with a language she could not quite understand. Songs to mourn, songs for joy, songs for hope.
When was the last time she heard them? It seemed so long ago.
Perhaps when she was a little girl. When she was a wild little thing, and nothing definite was being expected of her, other than being a good little girl.
Vexation faded away, replaced by a more insidious enemy. Longing.
Pa had said she had changed. Yes, she had. Changed in a way she had never really taken time to reflect on, but did regret it somehow. She had changed because she had wanted to be loved. By Mother, by Rhett.
Only Pa perhaps had loved her for herself. Him and Grand-Pere. Or did he? Did he love her as herself, or as the mirror of the one he had lost?
She was being unfair, perhaps. But he had no right to press her so, and for such a little thing! And such a silly thing!
She would not think about it. Pa. Pa had never asked anything of her.
She missed him. The pang of longing stand sharply and she held her breath.
Cheyenne had never belonged to both sides, she thought. Her lips never moved for prayer, though she still lowered her head respectfully. She worked in the house, but did not stay. Only when she had come to Atlanta, Scarlett realized, there had been a proximity that could not be avoided.
She was a free woman, and what was called a mulatto: neither completely black nor white. Being free, she was accordingly paid for her work. Pa considered her as his daughter's whim, a whim that as always he indulged.
So could she still be considered one of her people? Never one of her people had ever had, even briefly, that look of pain when seeing her.
So where did she belong?
"Scarlett?"
She blinked. Cheyenne was gone, and Melanie's worried eyes were on her. Scarlett shook her head. That was not what she came for. She cleared her throat.
"Melanie. I need to talk to you."
Melanie raised suddenly, feeling the change in the air. Her little body tensed like a tended string. Her voice came rapidly, as if catching a breath would make her fall. She tried to smile.
"If it's about Mr. Butler, I swear, I didn't know..."
"God's nightgown!" Melanie startled, the smile fading. Of course, she knew! This was not the first time.
And after that outburst, she was already soft as butter, her mouth trembling and hands reaching for her. Scarlett sighed. She could cry and roar, Melanie would always plead for her friendship, would try to soothe as she would a child, Scarlett realized. But perhaps if she explained calmly... If she tried to be the better person, to be firm... She breathed in her anger, tried to smother it. The lingering fumes almost made her hiccup, but she stood still, until she was sure her voice was composed. "I just want to ask you to stop. Definitely. This cannot go on."
"It's just… I can't bear to see you unhappy!" She cried. "And I know you are, for sometimes you are…
"I am what ?"
"Distracted. A bit sad. Irritated… I understand!" Melly waved her hands in defense. "But most of all sad. You're not meant to be so sad, and it does break my heart to see you so!"
Scarlett furrowed her brow.
There were too many people telling her who she was meant to be.
But who did she want to be?
Very few had asked her the question, and for her, it was the most important one. She sighed.
"I'm not like you, Melly. Marrying won't be the solution to my happiness. In fact, I don't want to marry at all."
Melanie raised widened eyes, like that of a howl being surprised by a torch's light during nighttime.
"But… every woman wants to be married!"
Her raven-haired friend shook her head wearily.
"I don't. Melly, this is not the first time we talk about this, and I'm tired. I've married your brother, and he was kind, never tried to impose on me. But not every man is like that."
"Oh… you mean…" Melly flustered suddenly. "Oh, I understand…"
She visibly misunderstood,
"Melanie, you goose," Scarlett could not help the fondness from lurking behind the harsh word. "No you don't."
She stared at the girl in front of her, so close to be married, so shy and demure, filled with ideas of romance that clashed with her own, and it came to her suddenly that it was what she had learned as well, what she would have believed as well had she had been raised without any insistence she knew about world's realities.
She would never have had Melly's way of always focusing on the good to soften the blow, and faith that the situation could be solved by someone else's intervention. As others had solved things for her, she had tried to do so with Scarlett, she realized. But it did not work like that. Scarlett knew that. Had she been raised with the same beliefs as Melly, she would have been an ignorant and bitter little thing, she thought, always waiting and wanting, always found wanting.
Knowing that, she could not be angry for long at her. It was useless, as kicking a puppy.
For once, she was glad of that change. And though perhaps she was still found wanting by others, she did not care.
For so long it seemed you've been many things, learning from many people, but me.
Yes, she had changed in the way, but these changes were not necessarily all bad. Some definitely were, she thought, but she could not do anything for that now. So perhaps that was not what she should focus on.
Who do I want to be? She wondered idly. The question had been asked so many times, and she still hadn't a very definite answer. It was far easier to think about what she did not want to be.
She did not want to be a girl one would laugh at. She'd rather be the one to laugh. But she did not want to be cruel either. She did not want to be looked at by anyone like Cheyenne did her.
And most of all, she did not want to live with anger and ressentiment. If there was something she was not meant to feel, she decided it was that.
As for Pa... Well, he had been right, and she had known that when he uttered it. She had been many things, and yet, in that, she had denied a part of herself, and that had been that of her father. That wild part in her, joyous and rambunctious, just loving life without a care.
"I know marriage comes with… with…" Melanie went on stammering, unaware of her train of thought. her cheeks rosy her fingers nervous. "I know about the wife's duty, and it is said to be very… unpleasant."
Scarlett stared, blinked, caught between a light suspicion thar Melanie might try to distract her from expressing her anger, and second-hand embarrassment over the genuine nervousness of her friend, and the evident apprehension she had of the subject.
Have I ever been so prude?
Well, something told her she could have been more of that. She should have been.
If it hadn't been for Rhett's crudeness, who would tease her each time the feeling came to her.
A little blush rushed to her cheeks, a contagion from Melanie's deep red fluster.
She put her hands on her hips, her eyes following the trail of a fly to quiet the dreadful anxiety that was spreading. For once, she was conscious of her own bursting energy that was part of her charms, but which now was like a wave coming back at her with a force she was not prepared to face.
Energy with her had always been better spent than thought of, and she was very much tempted to run from it, from this very shameful situation.
"Well, it's not always unpleasant," she muttered begrudgingly, and as she thought of it, the heat dried her throat. No, not very. Not at all.
Her ears warmed, and she wondered if the last part was only in her thoughts. But Melly seeemed not to have heard.
She sighed. Honor was safe.
"I have to admit…," Melanie said softly, breaking her train of thought. "I'm a bit afraid. No one really dared to talk to me about it."
She was widening absentmindedly a hole on her woolen shawl, her thumb pushing slightly, coming back with more force as the subject seemed to take place in her mind.
Of course. To whom could she ask about it? No mother, no father, and it was certainly quite undecent to ask her belated brother. Uncle Henry? He would certainly be too ill-at-ease and irritated to have to condescend to such thing. Uncle Peter? The idea seemed quite bizarre, as he had made himself the guardian of his misses'innocence.
As for Aunt Pitty, she would faint before one would begin to ask it. Or perhaps she would lift wide innocent eyes and say a silly thing that would be very far from the true thing.
Melanie raised hopeful eyes on her. Scarlett froze.
Oh no! She was going to ask her!
"Is it that painful?"
Her !
Of all people!
"Oh, Scarlett, from the look on your face it seems awful!" Melanie cried. "Please, be honest! I have to know!"
She pursed her lips, before giving in with a sigh, taking her place on the couch.
Well, she had no choice, after all. She was the most experienced.
Thinking it even worsened her fluster, and she replied begrudgingly.
"It's… not. Well, perhaps at first. But… when it's with the one you love, and that he wants you… I don't know, it feels… right. And good. You look at him, and for once, he is completely, utterly yours, and you don't have to share him. For once, you feel there's no secret between the both of you, for everything has been laid bare, and there are only the both of you in the light…"
And then you woke up, to find yourself alone in the darkness, knowing you'll wait for something that might never come.
But not anymore.
"Scarlett…"
Yes, he wanted her. Pictures of them came to her mind, reminding her of his caresses, of his kisses. She would be a fool not to see it.
But he was the kind of man to want women. She clenched her fists. Not just one. Living with him would be a nightmare, knowing that.
Not to mention she did not need him. Not at all.
And she was not to be afraid by him and his threats.
Somehow, despite his faults, she could not believe he would do that.
She did not want to think about it!
She waved her hand dismissively.
"If I am sad now, it shall pass. After all, you did say I'm not meant to be sad," she attempted to jest, before sobering. "But, for once, I want there to be only me, my friends, and Wade, with no other persons telling me what I should do. And no husband. Not even Rhett. No, especially not Rhett."
Her eyes followed the tension of her knitted fingers. She frowned, trying to find the right words to say.
"I think… I think I want. No, not just want. I need to be… just Scarlett, you know? Not just another one of these women who love Rhett. I am more than that. My world does not revolve around him. I don't know if that makes sense…"
Her mind unsharpened to express complex self-reflections, Scarlett found herself struggling with the words.
"You don't trust Captain Butler with your heart," Came Melanie's clear voice, now devoid of any plea. "But more than that... You want to be your own person, a force to be reckoned with on your own, and to choose your own destiny without the influence of people telling you what you should do."
Scarlett's eyes widened and she quickly turned her head.
"Yes. Yes, that's it."
Something alit on Melanie's face.
"You are so amazing, Scarlett."
Well, I am. Appeased and pleased by the flattery, Scarlett shrugged without any thought of attempting an appearance of modesty.
"I don't know how you do, you…"
A wave of the hand stopped the littany. Scarlett rolled her eyes, yet a corner of her lips lift.
"La, that's just too much flattery, even for me. I'm still angry with you."
"I'm sorry," Melly swiftly said. "Darling, if you knew how sorry I am…"
Scarlett pointed her finger willfully, but could not help her smile.
"I do hope you are sorry, and be sure to express it to me often. But mostly, do think more of your own future marriage, rather than dreaming of mine. You do know it is the one truly happening, don't you ?"
Melanie laughed.
…
…
On the same day
"That is my wife ," said he. "Such is the sole conjugal embrace I am ever to know — such are the endearments which are to solace my leisure hours! And this is what I wished to have" (laying his hand on my shoulder): "this young girl, who stands so grave and quiet at the mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon, I wanted her just as a change after that fierce ragout. Wood and Briggs, look at the difference! Compare these clear eyes with the red balls yonder — this face with that mask — this form with that bulk; then judge me, priest of the gospel and man of the law, and remember with what judgment ye judge ye shall be judged! Off with you now. I must... I must... "
.
Her heart thumping excitedly, Suellen flustered and closed the book abruptly.
Oh, she had been too daring in choosing that book! A daring fool!
What would he think of her?
Summoning her courage, she lifted her eyes to him and hoped, hoped that he would not remark on it, that he would, that he would... Oh, she did not know!
Ever since her talk with Scarlett, everything seemed so unclear, when it had seemed all simple before! And now, she could not help but think...
Oh, but she should not think it!
But Ross Butler was not looking at her. He was looking at the window, far away, with a bitter stare that befuddled her as much as it gave her hope.
Perhaps, perhaps...
"A wife in the attic..." He said quietly. "How terrible it must be. For her."
Oh, so that was what he was thinking of? Her shoulders fell in slight disappointment.
"He had no other choice." She defended vigorously.
"He had the choice to say no. It is cruelty to continue in such a way, to lock her in his own home, while he wanders around, tormented and lost."
She pondered it.
"I haven't thought about it this way," She forced herself to say. "But now that I think of it, I… pity him."
"Pity him, would you?" He let out a sharp laugh. "Yes, he is quite pitiable indeed. To let himself be trapped into such a nightmare, and allow others to be trapped with him as well, all because he couldn't say no. So very pathetic."
He was not talking only about Mr. Rochester, Suellen thought excitedly. He was talking about himself!
"I would say tragic. Yes, it's very tragic."
He did not seem to have heard her.
"Oh, but if he could have said no…!"
"Then, he wouldn't have met Jane."
He wouldn't have met her. Yes, it was a point she had pondered on, but now she knew it had been inevitable.
But perhaps... Perhaps, if he could...
No, she would not think about it.
He paused. His clear eyes raised up, and bore into her in such an intense way she felt like they were piercing her.
Her lids lowered as she attempted to calm herself.
She wanted to find something to say, something interesting and clever that would light up his expression. She unknitted her fingers, feeling the scratch on her fourth one.
Never with Frank had she ever wanted to sound clever and interesting. He had never asked that of her. No, he liked her sweet and demure.
Sweet, demure and silly .
Ross Butler stared at her fingers, eyes on her ring, and she blushed. She wanted to hide it, or better, to throw it by the window.
"Do you love him?" He asked suddenly, inquisitive, but with that inquisitiveness of someone who was used to ask swiftly and loud, for fear one would interrupt him. Suellen opened her mouth, the color raising to her cheeks, and he softened. "Your betrothed."
She squirmed.
"I shall not answer to that!"
She had not talked to him for a long time, she knew that. But as surely as she knew she had been avoiding him, as surely she knew he had not really noticed it, from the contented smile he always sent her way.
"Then, I suppose it's a 'no'". He sighed as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, only for another to come put its whole weight on them. She saw the darkness turn to light, only for the darkness to come back again."I suppose it's common enough, that one does not marry for love."
She knew she had to say something in defense of Frank, but her voice weakened in the end as she searched for the right quality, and ashamed to find that the first thing she thought of was that he was the richest owner of the county.
She could not say that to Ross Butler. Not ever. He would find her mercenary.
"He is… kind," She offered timidly.
Yes, Frank was kind. She could not take it from him. He was kind as any old man could be kind, with a condescending indulgence that made her feel like a silly little girl. And she had wanted to be that, she realized. Someone spoiled and silly, that would be indulged by others without anything else being expected of her.
But that did not seem to reassure him, quite the contrary.
A grimace contortioned his handsome features.
But it must have been his wound. How he suffered so! She wished she could give him more than just talk, but since that day he had sent for her, a deep surprise that had thrilled her with the excitement of having her own secret, he had never asked for more.
"I'm... I'm happy that your marriage is not so," It pained her to say it. Yet, she knew it. She had always known it. "Like Mr. Rochester and that woman, I mean!"
"All unhappy marriages aren't such just because of the madness of one."
Her heart skipped a beat.
"But, surely, you love your wife?"
He shook his head.
"I respect her. But I cannot love her. And she does not, though kind, she is. I know she tried, and always did her duty. But sometimes the heart cannot be swayed."
Her heart pounded swiftly as she proceeded his words.
He did not love his wife?
There was a guilty little pleasure in hearing these words, one that Mother would certainly disapprove of. And yet it felt so good!
He continued. He had never talked as much, she reflected, but ever since he had told her about his family's history after she told her own, it had changed. It had changed, and she found she liked it. She liked it very much. She liked it even more when she realized she could have a part in soothing him. Because somehow, in soothing him, it was soothing her. She did not quite understand why, but it did.
Oh, if he could talk forever!
"It was a marriage of convenience. A marriage decided by my father and hers, because an alliance such as ours could only be good and noble. I was quiet and dutiful, she was quiet and dutiful. Any thought of future happiness should not be out of the question, I suppose. Though I doubt my father really thought of that..."
"It must have been so difficult for you," Suellen softly intervened. "To do your best, to have your life decided for you, and still, it's not enough."
He looked at her strangely.
"Such words..." His insistent gaze made her shiver. "Yes, it is. But I suppose we all have to abide to certain conditions to be loved."
She did not know what to say. There was a tension in this discussion she was ill-at-ease with.
"Conditions… some would say expectations. 'we have great expectations for you'. 'It is what is expected of you, of a man of the Butler family'. Sometimes, it is said, sometimes it is implied. I still don't know what is worst, but it's a trap of the same kind," He mused. "And I've lived in the trap for so long, I don't know how to get out of it. And Rhett will always be outside it, smiling at my chains while he's free roaming."
He fell back to his pillow as the third person in the room, that little black boy following his every move with his big eyes made a gesture to go help him, only to be dismissed.
Ross smiled tentatively at her.
"God, I envied him. I still do, in some way."
Why would he? He so perfect and noble?
But she had not the time to ask him. He continued.
"Did you know my mother was a romantic? She used to love stories about love and bravery, and the fight of right and wrong leading to a happy ending."
That's me, she thought eagerly.
Yet, there was a very irritating part of her mind telling her it looked more like Carreen.
Whatever, she was a romantic at heart too. She wanted things to be good and beautiful, and very chivalrous, so that was the same thing.
"She makes me think of you. A sweet nature, aiming to be good to others. Yet I wouldn't want you to have the same fate."
She leaned in, curious, her eyes seeking him out. Oh, would that she knew everything about him! It seemed for her she could, would at some point, yet there was still something here that was stopping them, and she hated it. It seemed to her they could truly understand one another, if only, if only...
Oh, she didn't know! And that was the worst thing.
His lips opened, and she waited, anxious for his words, for they were always music to her ears.
First you saw love as a cat
It scratched, on your heart sat,
Yet caress it, and it purrs
So soft are its furs
Then you see love as a bird
Singing the prettiest song you've ever heard
You keep it jealously in a cage,
For, else, 'twould make the world ablaze
You hide the key,
Throw it away in the sea,
And you wait, wait for the pretty bird to sing
The same song so perfectly you know
For your heart to be healed now
Sing, pretty bird, sing, you say.
But its voice just fades away.
The little bird does not sing
Does not soothe your feeling.
So one day you rage and rage,
Into both your hands take the cage,
And break it to pieces, oh, your jealous heart!
Triumph rings once
Oh, but just once.
Then you realize
What's in front of your eyes.
Gone is the little delight
And fled the frightened cat
.
He smiled, and she waited for his explanation.
"I know each word, and yet there are times when I don't really know what it means. "
"This is a sad poem," She tried as it would not come.
He nodded.
"It is. I suppose we all search for something perfect, something predictable by its immutability. I never really knew if she was talking about Father at that time. It seems so… unproper, when he is the picture of propriety. Could it be about another man? No, I can't think it. Our mother was always dutiful and shy, and she loved Father. But she loved Rhett too, from the first time she saw him. And I was… so very jealous, for she never spent that much time thinking about my own name. At least I don't think she did. God, that makes me sound quite petty, aren't I?"
He turned a derisive face to her. For a moment, he looked like his brother, and she wondered for a moment if she looked like Scarlett when she envied her. But the thought was brief as she remembered all Scarlett's wrongs. No, she and Ross Butler were better than that.
She raised in defense.
"Oh, no!" She protested. "Your name is lovely!"
"Certainly not as Rhett Knightley Butler. That's what she insisted, in her tender heart, for my brother to be called. She wanted him to be a man that respected women and helped them grow by wise advice. A man who knew how to listen and comfort. A true gentleman, she would say.
"Well, my father has other expectations, another vision of what a gentleman was. And as always, his vision prevailed. Though I'm not sure about the middle name. It always seemed to me that with their great pride of the name, my father and Rhett made it King. Which would certainly be the first agreement between them. How ironic.
"Rhett… Rhett destroyed any expectation one would express to him, any mention of duty and honor. My brother could never bear one would impose him conditions, and my father lived by them. Yet… its strange, because Rhett does have conditions of his own. In a way, they are similar, but such likeness doesn't bind then closer, quite the contrary. They were bound to hurt themselves."
She went still. Scarlett, she thought. Scarlett was like that as well. She could not bear that one would tell her what to do.
"Can such people be happy?"
A wistful smile came to his lips.
"I don't know. I hope so."
"You love your brother."
"I do. I was taught not to, to be the complete opposite. 'Don't shame the family, not like he did'. But I do. And, somehow, I admire him for everything he is and that I can't be."
A bitterness glinted in his eyes as he said the next words.
"I… even my name is not totally mine."
"Don't! You made it yours! You're more than..." she cried, her heart jumping as her hand reached his. A tremor ran in his fingers, coming to her like electricity. She recoiled, her cheeks burning, and dug her nails on the fabric of her skirt. Head dropped as she cursed such gesture of feeling, that was unworthy of a lady betrothed to another. And yet…!
Her teeth bit on the tender flesh of the corner of her lip.
She had to think of something else.
Pressure relaxed as her gaze wandered, and she allowed herself an admission.
"I hope my sister will be happy. She is… I've always thought I hated her. However…"
Her heart skipped a beat as he continued her sentence.
"You are bound by blood, by family. Such bonds cannot be erased, no matter what we try to do. But that is also why Father is so angry. No matter what, he will never be rid of Rhett. But even if he were, I'm not sure he would find peace with it. Sometimes, love is so close to hatred…"
He seemed to know her thought before she even managed to say them.
How unfair, for she could not do it to him!
"It shouldn't be," She retorted with a fierceness that surprised even her. "In a perfect world, good and bad should be as easy to distinguish as love and hate. In a perfect world, we wouldn't have to choose before a life of comfort, and a life with love!"
Finding herself very ridiculous, she fell back to her chair. She felt distraught, her mind buzzing, heart tormented, not by her love this time, but by the past.
But looking at him, she knew he did not think her ridiculous. She relaxed and allowed herself to talk.
He had been so honest himself!
"My mother was a saint. IS," She corrected. "She always did her duty, even more than that. But Scarlett... Scarlett always took all her attention. And Scarlett, and this... I-… your brother... They came..."
Her hands gripped her skirt, fists clenched white, and she allowed herself to say what she thought.
"Is that the effect of these people? To destroy everything that is good and perfect?"
She was trembling.
"Or maybe I was wrong, and Mother never was perfect."
Oh, terrifying thing! But why couldn't she now stop talking, before it was too late?
"I knew she did not love our father. How could she? She was beautiful and elegant, and… I love him, but he is so boisterous and loud! And.. old," she blushed as he chuckled. "I love him, but that's true!"
"You are lucky. You seem surrounded by very loving people."
"Loving?" She stopped, a strange sense of calmness and familiarity washing over her. "Yes, I suppose so. Pa always made grand gestures. Especially to Scarlett. His favorite. Mother... cared about us in a different way."
Ross' eyes were so understanding she felt as if she was the one laying down while he listened.
"But it was not enough for you, was it?"
It would have been if not for Scarlett!
That was what she was tempted to say, but she refrained it. With him, she would see how petty it was.
And somehow, it was easy to admit it.
She allowed herself to smile.
"Scarlett… never really loved poetry. Never truly understood it, I think. She… always had that careless way about her..."
He smiled back.
"I think that what they destroy is the easy, pretty pictures one can make. No one is truly a saint every moment of their lives. So perhaps we should thank them for clearing it. Ironic, isn't it?"
"Perhaps."
A peal of laughter escaped them through the tears.
"Rhett and Scarlett… they live in our heads quite rent free, don't they?" he remarked with good humor.
"It's infuriating!"
Their laughter rang for a moment, falling like a wall finally coming down. He turned to her.
"And you, my dear, what do you really want?"
She stared, and turned her head.
What did she want?
Oh, that , could she say it?
"I am a lady, and I want all the comforts it should bring me. But I want to... love, be loved. Is it so much to ask?"
"It's a common wish," His pleasant drawl answered her. "But would it be enough for you?"
She flushed.
"And now, certainly, you despise me."
His hand caught her, making her jump. It went back to his side, but she still felt its warmth.
"No! In fact, I do respect you more. You are trying to choose for yourself what is good for you, but you're faced with a difficult choice. It just makes me wonder what would have happened had I dared to make my own choice."
He sighed. "But perhaps I would have chosen to do all the same... Who knows?"
His eyes went back to her in content.
"It is so easy to talk with you! The words flow quietly, like a calm river, and I can't stop it. I cannot thank you enough. You've been the only comfort I had since..."
"Oh, do not thank me!" Suellen intervened. "It was a pleasure, a real..."
She flustered, so very pleased by his confession, and yet wanting to impress him even more after hearing it.
"I mean, it was an honor to bring comfort to a gentleman."
"An honor..." At the word, something violent and passionate came to his face, a break from his usual composure. His eyes darkened, body fired with a vigorous energy that thrilled her as much as it terrified her. "Oh, Susan Elinor!"
She startled with a surprising delight, like the strings of a harp being handled by a talented musician.
Oh, no one had ever said her entire name! And in that way…!
He fell back.
"Elinor. Yes, it rhymes with honor. And yet, I have to disappoint you. Whatever claim I had of being a gentleman, it seems I have forfeited it..."
No, no, it could not be over now! Now that they were close to... Close to...
"Oh, no! You've been injured, still are! Surely, you cannot think you lost your right to call yourself such because you're not fighting! That's ridiculous !"
"Perhaps. But maybe I've lost the right to call myself that when..."
"When what?"
He turned his head, anguish marring his aristocratic features.
"Oh, I should never have called you!"
It hit her on the chest as doubt crept in.
"Have I displeased you?"
"Displeased me? God, no! You've been all grace and kindness... And I..."
"Does my presence distress you?"
His head snapped back to her, examining her closely, and for a moment, she could see the similitudes between the two brothers. However, surprisingly, she found she did not mind being watched in such a way by him.
"Distress? You've been a refuge that I had never hoped for. An ear, listening to me patiently, eyes watching over me with a tender sweetness, and a mind that seemed shaped in a similar mold as mine, and a heart... Distress? Yes, in a way, you do distress me like no other."
"Oh!"
She had to go. She could not stay here! All that happened... She had thought... But he didn't... of course he didn't! She had been such a fool! How could she...
" I… would not love thee, my dear, so much, had I not loved honor more."
She froze at the words. The hand shook once, just inches from the knob. Her body turned slowly, betraying the leap of hope her heart took as his voice rang in the room.
There was a wistful smile on his lips.
"My brother used to love that quote. He said he found it hilarious, and he would never let himself be abide by it. Why deny yourself something for the sake of such a little word as honor? If love was such a marvelous thing, it wouldn't need honor to prove it. He said he never had met someone who would make him want to be more than he was. Of course. He never had to prove anything, so I suppose he was not one to understand it."
He looked at her expectantly.
"But what is honor, in fact? I don't really know anymore..."
She faltered, her knees buckling as her heart seemed about to fall from her shivering lips.
"You mean..."
"I mean I love you," He said quietly, and as she looked back, stunned, something seemed to close. "And dear God, I love you so much that I cannot allow this to continue. For if it does, I might..." He stopped, shook his head. "I cannot give you what you deserve. You deserve more than to be a mistress, not to mention of one of such as myself. If I do love you as my heart tells me to do, I would stop being a gentleman. The gentleman you so admire." He said. "I shall not cheat on my wife. That would prove me disloyal, and I would never be worthy of you. Not to mention I wouldn't bear this for myself. But I shall love you from afar. I shall continue living, thinking about you, wishing you were mine, when you never will. And you, my dear, you will be happy, without me. That's what I should do."
The shadow of anguish waved back across his face.
"God, this is the hardest thing to do."
She bit her lip, but said nothing.
All she wanted to say, was that she did not mind. By his words, she realized she loved him more than honor. With him, slowly she was realizing she could be more than Scarlett's bitter sister. She could be all grown-up and dignified, understanding and with a soft wit.
This love, that he suggested was one of chivalry and courtesy, one she had once dreamed of. One she and her sisters had learned was the purest love, one every lady should aspire to.
Yet, was it enough?
Scarlett's words came back to her, and she left swiftly, as if running from a fire.
