From the messages he received during the reception, two of them were the least bit urgent, Rhett soon realized, but it did not mean they were not important.
These two came from his mother.
.
My dear Rhett, My dear son.
Oh, for you to be married ! Such a happy new ! How glad I am ! How sad I am !
You do know the saying, that absence makes the heart fonder, and so you will excuse me this show of sentimentality.
Treat her well. That is to say, love her well. A young bride needs love like a flower needs water, especially, as I've heard, if she is a young mother. Young mothers feel more deeply during the first years, and what they go through during it makes them for the long run.
Respect her. If her own husband does not respect her, who will ? You have to set the example.
She is a young woman, Rhett. Never forget it. Don't expect her to know from the first what you want to do. She will make mistakes. She will hurt you, no matter if she wants it or not. It is up to you to be the one to compromise and help her.
If you chose her, it means she has at least the hint of a fierce heart like yours, and fierceness cannot always be in a marriage. You are the older of the two. You are responsible for her happiness, and yours as well. It is a blessing, and it is a curse as well. Don't drag her in a game only you know the rules of. I know your games, Rhett, and they never end well.
Men in this family too often repeat the same mistakes over and over again. They cut things, thinking they'll never be bothered again, however it always grow back again. They also tend to want too many things from those that are close to them, without giving much of themselves first. You are better than that. From all of my children, you are the cleverest. I expect you to know better.
But maybe adding my expectation is the sure way for you to fail me, isn't it ? I've expected many things of you, when I should have known better. You always were so contrarious when one expects you to do something. So let me rephrase it. I love you, my son. Prove me right or prove me wrong. It is your life, and that of the woman you love you're bound to ruin if you do not take care.
Sometimes, loving means you have to risk being destroyed by the very ones you care about. It means allowing another to rule your thoughts, your life, even if only a moment. Are you ready for it ? I hope you are. No one deserves to be loved with resentment and reluctance. It is a whip that keeps lashing.
Your father is sick, Rhett. It is a slow, insidious sickness that he stubbornly tries to hide, especially since your brother's disappearance, but I know he is. I've heard it from his doctor. You have nothing to prove to him, but all the reasons in the world to make peace. And with it, I want to see you. It is too long for a mother's heart not to see her son.
Give my letter to your Scarlett. I shall not be able to meet her yet, but I shall at least be glad to know she at least got something from me.
I beg you, take it as the well-meaning gesture that it is. I don't want you to become what you hate.
All of my love,
Eleanor Butler
.
"Far too late for that, Mother," he grumbled as he reread it. "Far, far too late."
His collar was slightly wrinkled, opened in an eagerness to relieve the pressure on his neck.
There was another letter indeed, far longer than his, and he felt no remorse as he opened it and impatiently read it all, line after line.
.
Welcome to the family, Mrs. Butler,
It is an uneasy thing, to get to know someone through a first letter. I hope you will excuse the length and see its necessity.
This is quite a strange family that you find yourself coming into, but I wanted you to find in a time of darkness a note of kindness.
I give you my first born. He is a fiercely stubborn, clever one. One day, yours will marry, and you will know how hard it is. To see a boy grow to be a man, to be powerless to stop it. To discover you will never have enough power to protect him from the world.
Rhett is strong and cunning, but I believe you know that. What I don't know is if you've been allowed to see when you grew into a woman, that he has a heart, a heart full of love, that he will undoubtedly want anyone more than fifteen to forget.
You must not forget. For your own sake, and his as well. Know that he never learnt how to forgive, nor how to apologize. His resentment, once set, begins as a thorn on the foot, then ends up being quite a thorny path if one does not take care.
Love him, Scarlett. Love him even if it hurts, for he will hurt you if he ever doubts you. And he will, whether or not you give him a reason to. His heart is not one to be hurt by petty words, however it bleeds strongly when in fear. And he has always been a frightful boy, my frightful boy, no matter how he appears to be fearless. It is a hard task I give you, I know that. Rhett is a Butler, and has learnt from the best to hide that he cares. Sometimes he might even think he does not. You have to remind him.
If you find it hard, love him for my sake. Love him because you know how a mother's heart is.
You have to keep that truth in mind : Rhett's heart is fully yours. He wouldn't have married you if it was not. My son never goes half way, even if he does not tell you. If you are now his wife, it is because he loves you, and wants the world with you. Else he would never have proposed it at all, no matter the threat. It is your shield, and it is your weapon as well.
Never use it as a weapon, Scarlett. So many people do that mistake. But it can only end in sorrow. It is a choice, Scarlett. His heart is at your feet. You can either take it, or crush it. Crush it, and you will regret it. He will make you regret. Take care of it, cherish it until the shadows of his fears disappear, and then you'll see that he would move heaven and earth for you and those you care about. Be his enemy, and you'll see that same force of love would be bound to ruin you.
If you've read to this point, I do believe you care for him. How do you cherish him, when he doesn't seem to want it ? You might say. Let me share a mother's secret. After all, he was my son long before he was your husband. I know his heart, before manhood gave him that hard, thorny shell that pricks anyone that tries to touch it too closely. I know beneath it, there is a treasure of tenderness that is waiting anxiously to be released.
From a mother to another, I trust you with this. I trust you with his weaknesses, his Achilles' talon.
The first thing you need to know is this : kindness makes him wary, Scarlett. He won't accept it, for he perceives it as a way to cheat him, or as pity, which he would never accept. More than that, he dislikes it, for he feels it as a debt imposed on him. But tenderness, genuine signs that he is needed… it makes him melt. This is the secret. A soft touch. A genuine plead to stay, to be true with him… It unsettles him like no other.
Don't play his games, for he will always lead you to impasses. Be the little tease that makes him smile when his mouth goes down. Be the soothing fingers when his brows frown and he seems so dark. When he's quietly harsh, his eyes glinting meanly, ignore him and wait. If you do not answer back, he will falter on his own, and you will see what hides beneath. See the hurt and the hope behind his jeer, the fear behind his coldness. Don't let him go, for then he will felt unloved and abandoned, and he will want to make you feel every bit as much. Take him in your arms, Scarlett. Ask him to stay. You may find it a difficult task, for it takes a lot on one's pride. However if you know him for so long… I know you will be capable of this.
A mother learns to know what works for her boy. Even if it comes sometimes far too late. It was for me, and that, Rhett may never forgive me entirely for it. I shall regret it always. But it needn't be the case for you.
All my dearest hopes are with you, daughter. If you manage it, if you manage to make the shadows in his heart fade, you might even succeed in bringing him back to the people who love him, and wait for him anxiously.
For this is my wish. For you to bring him home to us. To make peace, and let others make peace with him before it is too late to hope for reconciliation. Time tends to deepen the gulf between people, and when it is too far gone, I fear no apology could ever bridge it.
It is women's role to bring people together. That's what I learned, and that is what I expect you to do.
In you, I share this wish, and I hope you will carry it.
All of my best wishes,
Eleanor Butler
.
He sighed. Oh, for all of the times she could have meddled, his mother had to choose this moment !
He kept the letter. It would not serve them. Not now, not ever. He certainly did not want Scarlett's pretty nose on it.
It would be a disaster.
He leaned above the basin, his entire being heavy with nervous energy.
Scarlett was waiting. All alone in that room he had paid for.
He drew a sharp breath. His hands trembled a little as they went through the water. It was cold on his burning skin, and he shivered, throwing it to his face and rubbing to clear his head from any parasite thought.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he gave himself a wry smile. It would not do to appear a nervous wreck in front of Scarlett.
It was dark when he finally entered the hotel room and was welcomed by the scent of magnolia flowers, just as he had wanted it to be. He took a moment to appreciate it and stepped further into the room. Some candles had blown out, and the few that remained gave the room an intimate, so tender glow.
Would that she was as tender!
His shoes clapped on the parquet, but she did not stir. He could see her curled-up form on the bed, a hint of dark hair against the white sheets.
Scarlett had fallen asleep, as if by surprise. How endearing.
He caressed the straying tendril of hair from her face, and the tender cheek beneath.
His very own Snow White, her lips begging to be awakened.
He could wake her softly with kisses, but she would be alarmed by the change. He did not want to appear too eager.
He doubted also any word he'd have from her brought by lust would be a truthful one.
Instead, he nudged her shoulder. Once, twice.
She groaned and turned, her eyes still unfocused.
"Oh," she said. "It is you."
"Indeed," he replied. "It is me. Hello, wife. Are you well-rested?"
She looked at him for a moment, blinked, her eyes turning acid as the haze of sleep faltered.
"Goodnight Mr. Butler." She turned the other way.
He let out a short laugh.
"What a welcome. You do not ask me where I've been?"
"I know where you've been," she mumbled after a time, under the thin quilt.
Ah, jealousy, jealousy... Or was it?
"Ah. I suppose you are still angry."
"What do you think?" She found herself replying to him, rising to his bait like a cobra to its charmer. She did not dare turn, no, not yet. The blanket softly fell down over her back, revealing a river of black silk on snowy skin and the thin, delicate laces of her shift. Should he touch that back, and he knew she would jump and scratch him. "You left me alone at that reception. What did you say again? Once trust is lost, only a fool would forgive. You are the one that taught me that. You've been a good teacher."
"I certainly did not teach you softness," he retorted, and the bed winced under his weight.
"You can't teach something you do not have. But you taught me not to be blind."
"And I did fail at that as well, it seems," he sighed.
She turned back, and here was her error. For Rhett was already leaning over her, and in the half-darkness of their barely lit room, she felt overwhelmed by this massive shape of pure strength that was about to eat her out.
This was not the Rhett that was bathing in moonlight and cotton, tender, almost vulnerable, whose caresses on her body had been a slowly consuming flame, making her forget any pain she could have felt.
Nor the Rhett she had met at the hotel, who she angrily claimed, and who claimed her just the same.
These Rhett, she had never been afraid of them. They had never made her fear herself.
"What do you see?" he whispered to her. "What could you possibly see?"
This Rhett was something different, and she was not quite sure what to make of him. He seemed like a dark panther, up to devour her. His hands would almost trap her to the bed, if she did not take care, if she just chose not to move, to stay that way.
"You're drunk," She tried to say it on a dismissing way, but it was quickly betrayed by her breathlessness.
"Oh, I may have a little brick in my hat, but not enough to be incapacitated if the need appears, I can assure you."
Her heart pounded in her ears.
He smelled of whiskey and danger, and that danger was dripping over him like a wave, sending thrills to her spine. His forehead rested for a moment on hers as he breathed her out, and she refrained a whimper. His scent overflowed her, so dark and rich and earthy. His lips were half opened, as if to have a better taste of her. Beads of perspiration slowly fell between her breasts, somehow tantalizing. She pressed her legs together, but her own vulnerability was all too obvious. In her, the hunger grew, one she could not satiate.
No, she thought. She could not. She would lose. She could not let herself be seduced like… like…
His fingers caressed her cheekbone, slowly following the curve. Her lids fluttered. Her toes curled. She could see his eyes narrowing, and he stopped, before the caress continued, soft, insistent.
"Who were you waiting for, then ?," He continued, as if it was only a matter of politeness, and she was left dumbfounded between the way he talked, and the tantalizing way he continued to graze her skin, this time following the curve of her jaw, to her chin. With gentle force, his finger drew her chin forward, forcing her to look at him. "Certainly not your husband, I believe?"
"I was not..." Her lips opened in a sharp intake of breath.
"Who then makes your cheeks go so red, and your eyes like a fevered dream? One could drown in these eyes, despite their apparent clearness. First friendship, kinship even, then love… or so you said."
No, no, she could not… she shook her head violently. Not that easily. She needed to… she needed to…
What did she need to do, actually?
"No?" He murmured.
He drew back slightly. His shadow covered her like a blanket. However, she felt cold now.
He stared at her triumphantly as she looked back, anguished by the loss.
"Then anger. Beautiful, boiling anger. But never nothing, no, never. And you did not answer my question, when we played that game. You try, but I know you. Whether you love me or not, you're not indifferent to me. Are you, my dear?"
She closed her mouth, pressing her lips together. She felt the moisture in her eyes, and they seemed so wide she feared she would not be able to close them again. They ached, nonetheless she could not help but look, look at this powerful figure in front of her, her, so little and weak at the moment!
But what could she see? What could she see? Only darkness, with touches of light on the hard lines of his face, on his body, and his eyes a bottomless pit, gleaming at her with raw intensity. She could lose herself to that darkness, she knew it. She could let herself be devoured by it and delight in it. But she would never be herself again.
She flinched as the tip of his fingers grazed her arm. Her heart froze in her chest, she could almost taste the blood it withheld.
She would be his. She would be his creature, clinging to him for life.
Oh, would he stop teasing her? She would die if he didn't… if he didn't…!
"You tremble," he whispered, and she could almost feel the shadow of his fingers on her skin.
Her hand clenched.
"If I tremble, it's because I'm rightfully angry," she hissed, trying to gather the rest of her force in the remembrance. However, her eyes closed, anxious for the touch. Her cheeks flushed.
Yes, yes… she had to remember…
All theirs words… all theirs looks… how they had pitied her! And he… he who had left her to them, had left her for who knew where… how dare he come to her as if nothing had ever happened? How dare he?
Bring him home, lass…
That's it, that's what she had to do…
She breathed out, pursed her lips, trying to draw some calmness back into her mind. She needed to tread carefully... Not to give herself too easily. If she failed... She would fail Pa as well.
If she could not ask him directly… if he always had to go back to that woman… as he had just proven it to her just then... then...
"But… I could be pleasant," she sputtered. "If…"
"Now that is what every man wants to have on his wedding night," he cut it, and his mouth went down. The distance increased for a moment, leaving her shivering. "A wife wanting to negotiate on her charms. Now, do cease this nonsense. It won't make me do what you so obviously want me to do.."
She lifted her eyes on him and scowled, feeling the venom of outrage spread wildly in her blood as he seemed to sneer at her. She wanted to hit him.
"There it is, the anger again," He said more pleasantly. "You've already proven to me that your anger can find quite a satisfying release. So, this leads to my question. Would you ever consider that while you're beautifully, rightfully angry at me, you also want me? And not just for that thing, no matter what it is, you want to ask me? After all, am I not quite a very desirable man, even despite my obvious means? "
This felt like a basin of cold water over her body.
"Want you? Want you?" She repeated dumbly.
"Both feelings can be quite compatible, you know. Anger at me for tricking you and leaving you alone to the wolves, anger at yourself because you still want me but cannot bear to admit it because of your ill-turned pride – and I do want you too, by the way, if it should ease your pain-…"
His fingers were now teasing shadows over her cheeks again. She had to fight herself from leaning in, leaning to the warm caress and give in a sigh of abandon. The words turned in her mind, almost meaningless. Her body felt so heavy, so fragile, and he was a pillar of strength.
"Ill-turned pride? You wanting me should ease my pain?"
He gave her a jeering smile.
"Why, of course. Wouldn't it have been easier to us all if, once and for all, you could just admit to it, and say clearly 'I want you, Rhett', instead of making it difficult for the both of us?"
And as he said these words, the trigger was set, unstoppable. She felt it snap, a cord in her that rippled for wrath.
She quickly jumped out of the bed.
No, no, she would not let him win! Not ever! Not after that terrible, terrible humiliation! It was the last straw of his many misbehaviors, and she would not tolerate it. She could not!
Her eyes darted back on him, blazing with fury. She slapped him.
And from the hurt from her nails, she may have scratched him. It pleased something very primal in her, something that wanted to keep fighting.
So she did.
"No, I won't! I'm tired of your schemes, your plots, your lies! Life can never be easy with you, you lying, cold-hearted cheater !" She roared. "They were right, all of them, preventing against you! You're no gentleman, nor even a good man! You're... a disgusting satyr, who from the beginning, intended to shape me as his thing, to use me ill !"
He took a step back, climbing swiftly out of the bed, and she almost thought she had caught him off guard. His hand went to his cheek, and she almost had the satisfaction to see the clear outline of the mark.
"Oh, not disgusting, certainly..."
She jumped on it.
"Yes, an old satyr, so disgusting , I said it! You corrupt everything you touch, and I won't have you... I won't have you..."
It tumbled from her lips like vomit, and she couldn't stop, she couldn't stop. If she stopped, she would fall down, an empty shell. Oh, he would only be too happy if she fell! Ha! She would not let him! It prickled her tongue and stabbed her eyes with the remembrance of all that had been said, all that had been done. Her eyes burned with violence. Her eyes burned with her heart.
Yet her heart saw nothing but its own misery, and the outrage of others' words still ringing into her mind. Her heart was too bleeding to see anything else but her own wounds.
"Alright, you've won, you've made me your wife, but I won't be your whore ! I'll be damned if I ever let you touch me again! Just the thought…" she thought of all the women he had touched, and perhaps had this very night before her and it made her sick. "It disgusts me! You can go to Halifax if I care ! I don't want… I don't want.."
"No, you do not want me, that is quite obvious," he said wryly. "Are you done talking?"
She stopped, trembling, and for a moment, she wondered what she had said. Then, swiftly, the words settled in, and the rightful wrath they brought when uttered faded away like mist.
Instead, she was cold.
God, she did not think any of this! Why had she said it?
She paled as she looked at him, so cold, so… was it disdain that made him turn away his gaze so? It felt as if suddenly he could not bear to look at her. Her hands gripped the quilt in anguish.
Rhett had never avoided her gaze so, and to see him do it was as if suddenly the sun was hidden by clouds, and she was left in the cold.
"I am certainly not one to force a woman, especially when others will certainly be more appreciative. You don't want me? Well, I certainly don't want you now. I'll leave you to your lonely bed."
"You… Don't you dare turn away from me! Or I…"
"Or what?" He retorted, and his cold, cold voice was like a whip to her ears. "You have nothing that would make me want to stay."
He went to the threshold, stopped, his hand barely grazing the delicate porcelain handle, and turned back to her with a jeering smile.
"Oh, and another thing, my dear. I had almost forgotten, eager as I was for your… charms," he bowed mockingly. "I had not wanted to use my win so early, but it seems this is too much of a kindness for you. My first will is this : we are getting out of the state. As soon as you finished parading yourself as a…er, happy newlywed – I expect a little bit after Christmas, we wouldn't want Ashley Wilkes and your other former beaus, well, the few still alive, mind you, to miss the show, don't we ? – then we're gone."
She straightened, alert like a cat.
"What ? What ? Why ?"
Why was he talking about Ashley ?
His face was hard and malicious, but beneath the malice, there was something… she was sure there was.
He wanted to see it for himself, she thought. But why ? Why, if he did not care for her love ? Why would it matter ?
"You're hateful ! You would separate me from my friends ? From my family ?"
He stopped. Then, his expression went bland.
"This is the thing to do, and you know it," he said, his cold eyes giving her a chill. "If you do not value your safety, that is fine by me, but you should value our son's."
Oh, she could shoot him !
He bowed, and with this, he went, leaving her fuming with her anger. She took the first thing she could, an unfortunate vase of Chinese porcelain and screamed her wrath out as she threw it with all the strength she could.
"Oh, damn it! Not again!"
However, still, it had indeed happened again, and she was left cursing, alone, in that dark room.
Suddenly, it felt like the end of a game she had but barely been aware, she realized now, they had been playing, but now felt she had lost quite a lot in the way.
Oh, she knew she had triggered him. She had been so nervous and jealous, so full of everything that had happened, everything that had been said, and he so contrarious! She couldn't help it. It had been greater than her, a quick and easy, too easy trigger, like these automats she had once seen in Grand-Père Robillard's house. But he had cut it all short in one strike.
And now he wanted them to leave…
Oh, but she had known it, hadn't she? What Cheyenne had told her… wasn't it happening?
She breathed in. No, she could not think of it now. It had all happened so fast, perhaps… perhaps…
But the ending to that thought did not come.
.
.
.
By the morning light, she slipped in his room, light of feet and gracious, a picture of loveliness.
She tucked herself under his arm, placed her beloved head where she belonged, on his heart. Her eyes glimmered in longing, precious jewels, as she whispered:
"Oh darling! I'm so lonely without you." He heard her murmur. "I love you so. Please forgive me. I didn't mean anything I say. You know I didn't. Forgive me."
"No, beloved" and there, he wanted to say ""Forgive me ." But the words would not leave his mouth. They were the lump on his throat, and he choked on it.
She sighed.
"You cannot help it, my poor love. This is just who you are…"
It echoed queerly in the room.
This is just who you are…
Rhett opened his eyes in a curse, then sighed in dismay. Of course, it was just a dream. She would never come to him in such a way, it was his sick mind leading him astray.
He was true to his words. He left her to her bed, never once attempting to claim any marital rights he had.
(And she was very frustrated by that. Worse than that, she did not even know where he was sleeping.)
And somewhere else, Rhett was drinking miserably, his body hunching on a garish velvet sofa, thinking about the wife he had gained, but could not even touch. He was drinking, and he was thinking, and that strange mixture weighted on his head like a nightmare he could not get out of.
By wanting to keep her, he had closed the door of her heart. By caging her, he had built his own prison. Now, he had only himself to blame. He knew it would come. He thought he could handle it, but how wrong he was!
He had been stupid to think it could so easily be settled, that he could bet on a single moment…
And when he remembered her, in her thin shift of linen, her eyes burning with hatred... God, how could she be so desirable, while still managing to turn his world upside down? How was it possible that he wanted her even more, wanted her even though she had hurt him so?
He disgusted her. He had seen it, plainly written in her face. The sight was a terrible blow.
Hatred was one thing. It was close to love. Disgust was another.
He had crossed the line, but not the one he had intended on crossing.
He was trapped in a hell of his own making.
.
.
.
The first days were cold as they settled in the hotel. Not because of the climate, which was tolerable, but because the coldness of a woman wanting to show her wrath had no end.
However the will though, Scarlett found quickly with dismay she was no woman to keep anger aflame. Especially in front of a an even colder man, who could also barely look at her.
If there was something Scarlett absolutely could not bear, it was silence.
After the first shock came the realization that there was no way out, and she had to make do. She was of a nature to seize the best of her situation and profit from it. She would prove it.
Words were like wind. She couldn't erase them, but that did not mean they had to ruin it all. Life had to be lived, and to look eternally at what had been done would not help her.
But how to recover from a storm ?
She had her own idea about it.
She would be the distant, yet attentive wife he did not deserve, and he would have to bear the weight of that attention, and feel ashamed for not loving her as she should be loved. She would make him look at her with bright, puppy eyes, and treat her so very delicately, making him feel like the boor he was, until he finally begged her to love him and forgive him for his despicable behavior toward her.
There was a certain excitement in her, and as much as she tried to tell herself she was just acting as a proper lady wife, just as her mother had, she could not deny the little apprehension and anticipated pleasure of him benefitting from her gentle care.
The idea pleased her greatly. It was a fantasy, she knew that, but she dearly needed this fantasy.
And perhaps she could persuade him out of this ridiculous idea of going elsewhere.
One problem remained though. How?
She had never been truly a wife. Had only known a few quarrels, and the end of it ending in peaceful compromise. Or at least, the other party letting her having her way. But the act of being a wife, of living with a man, caring for him, and make a house out of the place they elected to live… she only had Ellen's example, and all the little attentions, often unnoticed but so missed when they weren't there.
She kept Pa's arm close. It was no sense keeping it for herself, when it was intended for Rhett. She would give it to him once she got him in a good mood, and he gave up on that idea of leaving.
On this, she was determined, as she looked at the gun, her eyes as steel.
Carefully, she put it in its box, plotting in her mind and forgetting to unload it.
.
.
It was night when he came back, far after supper as he could not bear any other silent moment with her childishly ignoring him in favor of the boy until he managed to find a way out of this situation.
He was growing too ridiculously envious of his son for sanity.
He was prepared for a cold supper, alone and miserable.
Instead, he had the surprise to see her waiting quietly for him, all alone. He had a movement of surprise.
"Well, how do you do, wife ?"
"Quite well," she replied placidly, forcing her head to bow demurely. "How are you, husband ? Please, do take a seat"
"Well," he hesitated, intrigued, and complied automatically. What was going on with her?
He tried to guess it by examining her, but she seemed so despairingly tame he almost wondered if he had not entered another dimension entirely.
"You did not tell me where we would go," She asked, as if it was any mundane subject of conversation. "Once you decide that we have to leave, I mean."
"I am glad you ask," He tried to lighten it as much as he could. She was pleasant so far, he did not want to set her afire. At least, not yet. He still had in his heart and mind her distraught expression as she cried he would separate her from her friends and family and, as much as it was what he intended, the truth coming from her lips left him with a sour taste. "Mexico is where we should be headed. Great climate, Mexico. Lots of opportunities to amuse yourself."
Her eyes widened.
"Mexico? But I don't know anything about this country."
He cocked his brow.
"Have your lessons been lacking in that aspect? Well, as a matter of fact, I do, and it should be enough."
"I see," She seemed to consider it, nodding, until she went to seek something near the quiet fire.
To his surprise, she slowly went on to him, kneeling, and began to unlace his shoes.
He stayed still, befuddled, as he watched her, so soft, submissive. The light touch of her fingers on his foot was strangely erotic, but he reflected with irony he must be quite the starved man by then. They slipped the shoe with charming clumsiness, as he could see she was unused to such a task. A flow of tenderness came to him, soft and warm like her scent. He itched to bend and bury his nose in her hair, so tantalizingly teased in front of him in that matronly net. His fingers wanted to grasp it, tear it. Until his eyes realized what she had brought.
Had she just warmed up slippers for him?
"What is that ?" He asked in disbelief, taking one of the slippers in his hand.
She blinked, raising in defense.
"Well, your slippers. For your feet."
He looked at the slipper, as if still not believing it, then scowled. It fell on the floor haphazardly, treated like trash. Furiously, he arose, and she instinctively stepped back, letting him pace around her.
.
He was not pleased ? Scarlett blinked, for a moment flabbergasted, before swallowing her anxiety, leaving only a taste of bitterness in her mouth. Yet, for a moment, she had thought...
Of course, he would prove to be difficult!
He turned to her, scowling.
"I am no old man, Scarlett!"
She tugged herself closer, hands joined in front of herself and eyes down to try to prevent the flare of anger from exploding too quickly. The fire was drawing shadows on the carpet, she remarked, and his own was inching closer to her. She bit the inside of her mouth.
"I am merely doing my duty."
"Oh, yes, now you want to give me your empty duty!"
He drew back, and his jeer was the death of any self-control she could have.
He was mocking her? Did he think it was pleasant to kneel in front of a man and put him his slippers as if he were a child?
It did not come to her mind it was exactly that that made him mad.
Instead, her hand seized and gripped, determined to express her wrath.
"Here, take that, then!"
She threw him the other slipper. It hit him satisfyingly right on the chest.
She started, gripped by the sudden, thrilling excitement in her heart. She started to turn away, but he wouldn't let her.
"Now that's more like it!"
He kissed her forcefully, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, and tasting her so greedily she could not help but moan. His arms were tight around her, and he bent her until her feet slipped, and she had to hold onto him.
She felt herself quiver beneath his strength, throbbing by each stroke against her body. Another moan escaped her, and her treacherous hands reached for him, dug into his hair to bring him closer, until suddenly the horrifying thought came to her.
He wanted her, as he would any whore.
And she… wanted him more than anything in the world. She wanted his strength, his power.
But more than that, she wanted him back. She wanted him by her side. Not against her.
"I hate you so much…" she cried softly, her voice broken, so tired she was of being betrayed by her own body when it came to him.
Why can't you love me?
He froze. His arm slipped away from her frame as he looked at her, as if slapped unaware.
There, her heart cried. I have touched him! He cares!
Then, his brow lowered, and his eyes became black with boiling rage.
"I wish I had never met you. God, if I could just turn back, and not pay attention to that pesky little brat, I would never have…"
She paled.
"How can you destroy so many things with so few words?" She whispered.
It seems to make his anger fade as he whispered back.
His voice was soft, ending with a wave of emotion that shook her.
"And you? How can you?"
He turned away.
Oh, don't you dare turn the fault on me, then turn away! She wanted to scream. Don't you dare say what you said, and leave! But instead, she only uttered.
"You can't… you can't.."
He couldn't... He couldn't...!
She wouldn't let him mock her and go away to who knew where!
Without a thought, her body led her to the box where her father's gun laid and gripped it with clumsy hands.
She wanted him afraid, just as she was.
She was about to call for him with her weak, too weak voice, when her finger ripped, and the shot rang.
He froze, his eyes going to the hole in the wall, as if not believing she could ever have done it.
"Did you just try to shoot me?"
She could not ever believe she could ever have done it. Her knees shook.
"Darling, you are such a lousy shot. Next time, try to aim right."
As he left, she swiftly put it back in the box, and once it was done, there her body fell and she cried.
The next week, she found a little gun on her bedtable, just the right size and weight for her delicate hands, and she shivered with the idea that he had slipped into her room while she slept, just to deliver it to her.
She couldn't make any sense of it. But her imagination, poor as it was, was overwhelmed by the possibility he might have stayed to look at her.
.
.
.
.
.
December 24th 1863
They all gathered at Miss Pittypat's to celebrate Christmas. The Butlers, Hamiltons and Wilkes (yes, even India, who had blissfully decided to ignore her). And even Frank Kennedy, who seemed very pleased by this arrangement, though it seemed it made Carreen, the poor one having to bear his conversation, quite ill-at-ease and dumb with shyness. As for herself, Scarlett found out she could barely endure the presence of two in particular, and it appeared to her Rhett was taking great pleasure in her discomfiture. She could not bear John Wilkes's condescension of her, as if she were a child that he was indulging, nor Honey's prattle.
Randa had gone back to Fairhill, the lucky one. She had not to endure such thing as several Wilkes displayed at the same time.
If only Cade Calvert had stayed! And she was still vexed not to have received any visit from Alex and Tony Fontaine.
Well, their loss, she thought as she stared at the people around her.
At one person in particular.
The primary novelty was Ashley's leave, and to her amazement, Scarlett found herself drawn to the young man more than she had ever been.
Intrigued, she tried for a moment to wonder what had changed. He certainly seemed stronger, sharper, more than he had ever been. But was it all? She listened, and his words actually managed to catch her interest without she having to force herself to. They were to the point, concise and precise, recalling his fights with captivating emotions, and to Scarlett's eyes, suddenly, he seemed so very captivating himself.
To Rhett's dismay, though he managed not to show it.
She realized it was silly. But at least, she could not be as silly as Miss Pittypat who seemed to fawn over him, and repeated his exploit with wonder, asking Melanie if she could ever believe it.
Scarlett sighed. A hero, that was what he seemed to be from these tales, and she had to admit that the way he talked made it seemed a tragedy was impeding, which added a thrill to it.
A hero... She wished she were one. If only to make Rhett bend and take her seriously.
As the plates of chicken were cleared, Scarlett recalled her conversation with Cheyenne in the morning. The young servant had been very perceptive, she had to admit it. She would need her, now that all hopes were lost on making Rhett change his mind. Nothing would ever shake Rhett, but perhaps she could find her own way...
She was lost in her thought when finally Frank Kennedy tried to attract her attention.
"Oh, Mrs. Butler! I came several times to take a walk with Miss Carreen, but your poor sister... she is so sick. "
She looked at him, not understanding. In truth, she had been wondering at Carreen's illness lately. Sometimes, the girl seemed to have too much nervous energy to be so.
"Miss Carreen," he said with a paternal condescension. "She is so delicate and kind. I am sure she is still recovering from… but it's best I don't talk about that unfortunate affair with your family…"
As it was indeed, Carreen had retired a few moments ago. Certainly recovering from the intense boredom, Scarlett meanly added.
She stared at him, and suddenly came the dreadful realization that the unfortunate Frank Kennedy had chosen to displace his affection from one O'Hara's sister to the other.
Frank Kennedy! With her baby sister!
"It is best, indeed," she seethed.
"I just hoped," He continued, blissfully unaware. "That as we all are hoping for any happy news" and there he stared so obviously toward Melanie and Ashley that Scarlett could not dismiss it. She blinked, and looked. Did it mean...? "That I might as well... But perhaps it is too early to talk about it."
"Far too early, indeed."
The first chance she got, she cornered Melanie in the kitchen, just as she was preparing to bring the white cake she and Rhett brought.
"Do you love Ashley, Melanie ?"
Melanie put it back, for a moment leaning against the counter, before affronting her.
"I don't want to be alone. And he needs someone to come home to."
"But do you love him ?" Scarlett insisted.
"I could."
"You could," she repeated. "Did you love your Mr. Goldin because you could ?"
"Don't say his name !" Her whispers were like cries as she drew closer, her face inches from Scarlett's, her eyes begging her to understand. "Oh, please, Scarlett, don't say his name ! Ashley... He offers me something to look up to! A home, a family... I might never have it if I don't..."
She breathed out, tried to regain composure, as Scarlett watched her. So, this was what troubled her friend? She feared being an old maid?
Was she so silly?
Melanie took her hand urgently.
"Scarlett… Would you still be my friend if I marry him ?"
"What a silly question ! Yes, Melanie, I am your friend, and shall always be. But you can't ask me to agree with you. "
Tears of relief came to Melly's eyes. Relief and intense weariness.
"I know."
Scarlett patted her hand a moment, then took her leave, unsettled by this conversation. She went outside to take a breath, ignoring Uncle Peter's obvious disapproval of her going to the street's side to wander around.
It was all so very stuffing here anyway, she reflected. What an idea to be in, when the night was so fresh and pleasant!
She walked around the house, trying to get rid of her uneasiness, barely seeing her surroundings, until suddenly she heard whispers from a dark, sheltered corner. Intrigued, she went closer.
Honey's back was on her, and she was talking to Mose. Too closely.
"Kiss me," She was saying.
Scarlett froze.
He squirmed as Honey went closer.
"But, Miz… Ah kain..."
"Kiss me, or I shall tell everyone you tried to touch me."
Scarlett guessed he did not comply, for Honey seemed to grow desperate. It gave her a sense of uneasiness, watching it all, that made her almost want to leave.
"You should be honored that I ask you !" She cried in a low, urging tone. "You did once, when I asked you! I… I know animals like you like white ladies, that you want… you want… You should want..."
As she could not bear the scene anymore, Scarlett called and, with it, the slave took the chance to leave, his head bowed as if to hide his face.
She watched him leave for a moment, then stared at Honey.
She could take advantage of it, she thought. Yes, she could…
Slowly whirling to her, Honey looked her up and down, defiant.
"What ?" Honey said calmly with the certainty of one that will never get caught. "Are you going to tell ?"
As if no one would ever believe her! Did that ninny think she could ever bully her into believing this?
Scarlett gave her a mean little smile.
"Why, I shall do what you would do…" she said silkily, walking up to her, until she felt her victim was about to step back. "But perhaps then I shall begin with India, as I am sure she would have strong opinions about it… not to mention that were this behavior known to any gentleman... Well, who would ever want to marry a piece of luggage like you?"
Honey paled. The glint in Scarlett's eye was now vicious.
"If I ever hear your prattle and mean actions about me and mine, of course. Do I make myself clear ?"
The girl nodded.
Satisfied, Scarlett turned back, letting her skirts slowly sweep around.
"Another thing, Honey ," she could not help herself from adding, her voice ringing. "Is it by taste, or by lack of choice of men to get your hand on, that you try to force someone that has no other choice, but to comply ?"
"Never mind," she tittered then, not letting the girl answer. "I don't care. You better go inside soon. People may wonder what you are doing."
The cruelty satisfied her for a moment, and she relished in it so that her darkened eyes and smiles drew attention as she entered the house again, and as she met Rhett's eyes, she had almost the childish compulsion to go and tell him, if only he could relish of it with her. Only he could relish of such things with her, and be proud with her at how she took advantage of it.
He straightened, alert as he saw her, and that feeling dissolved with sadness. Of course she could not tell him. They were not in such terms anymore.
She sat for a moment, listening to a song on the piano played by India and Melanie, until the awareness of Rhett's eyes on her was too much to bear. There, she went outside again, in the garden, this time, hoping not to see another shocking scene.
Unfortunately for her wish to be alone, she found with dismay Ashley had taken refuge in it as well, quietly sitting on the bench by the lindens.
"Ashley ?" She called, surprised.
"Scarlett…" he rose gallantly, his face lit as he appraised her. "I… I shall leave you alone."
"Do not be ridiculous, I shall not make you leave."
But still, he did not sit back, and already, his thoughts were away from her.
She stared at him, at that man stronger than the boy had been, at the dreamy eyes that had grown sharper, a sharpness she could not help but admire.
"You've changed."
He gave her a little smile.
"So have you. I wonder where is the young belle that asked me to read for her. "
This made her chuckle. "She never existed."
"I know," he replied back, as if to a pleasant game both of them the issue of. "But she was a pretty picture, wasn't she ?"
"Now… there is some kind of wisdom," he added.
She let out a frank laugh this time.
"Now, you mock me !"
He smiled, pleased.
"I wouldn't dare."
This Ashley, she could see with Melanie.
They sat together peacefully, two children from the Clayton County, staring at the sky and missing home.
Of course, he had to break it and disappoint her.
"If you knew how sorry I am for letting you like that… I should have…"
"I cannot hear it, Ashley."
"I understand. "
It was a soft, quiet night. The grasshoppers chirped joyfully, as if for a moment unaware there was any war. She closed her eyes, savoring it.
"I've heard what your father did. With the slaves. I approve, you know. He knew that it should be done."
She refrained from a tired sigh.
As the silence grew and she looked at him, all the same, and yet another at the same time, she reflected of all the things she'd done, all that made her change for who she was today. A deep longing came to her.
"We will never go back to the innocence of before, will we ? That time is gone," he said.
She did not answer. She knew he did not expect one. Instead, she turned her bright, fierce eyes on him, deciding on one question that would finally tell her what kind of man he was.
"Tell me, you who fight. Do you think it will ever end ?"
A hint of interest came to his dreamy eyes. He was intrigued by the seriousness of the woman that asked it.
"I don't know. But what I do know is that there is no turning back. Never again will our people will know peace and insouciance. Never will we be afforded a life without having to choose between two evils. But still… i want to hold on to that moment… for it to stay a little longer…"
Her eyes softened.
Oh, yes, to stay still in a moment, to forget… to live in a place in between, where she did not love, did not hate… she closed her eyes, trying to imagine it.
For a moment, she could almost see it. Could almost feel peace. But soon again, she gave up, the idea too faraway from her to grasp.
"Do you remember when you talked about that creature, that a man created and rejected ?" She finally asked.
"I do. "
"Do you still…" She murmured, for a moment hesitating. "Do you still know some parts of the text?"
He did and, finally at peace with the things that could have been, but never were, she listened attentively. There, in the quietness of the night, the words seemed to take another meaning.
.
Rhett looked, his heart aching. They were there, in comfortable harmony. His wife and her knight.
Scarlett was listening intently. He did not know what she listened to, what that little gentleman could say to captivate her so, but he despised them both for it, and himself for caring, for wanting to know.
It would have been better had she shot right. He wouldn't be in such a misery.
He turned away, decided to leave. But his feet wouldn't drag him away. So, he waited, deep in his own torturous thoughts.
"You do look like a Vulcain," standing there in the dark, Ashley Wilkes's voice surprised him.
"And you are sharper, Ashley Wilkes," he quipped, managing to keep his tone flippant and uncaring. "but not sharp enough to be a Mars. "
"Oh, I am deeply conscious that I can't. But Scarlett... She grew even prettier and softer…" he said with a forlorn gaze. A tender, sad smile came to his lips. "Little daughter from my county, running in the hills with wild hair... Then, charming that quiet, peaceful world… What will befall her, I wonder? All the memories, all the beauty of her..."
His jaw tensed.
"That was never any concern of yours, young lad."
The little gentleman straightened, as if slapped. Then, he nodded quietly.
"I know… "
His eyes studied him thoughtfully.
"You were right about the war… If you leave so, it means it is already all over, isn't it?"
"It was all over before it even began."
"Would there have been any other way?" He mused. "Never again will there be joy and peace, and quiet contemplation ?"
Rhett stared at that young man and felt a little pity . It was useless to fight with him, he realized. His kind would never survive the war, never truly. If he ever went through it, his whole being would be barely alive, barely held together by the people around him. War had merely made his blade shine a little brighter, but it was slowly breaking him to the bones, bits by bits.
"There shall never be a time like that for you again," he finally said. "War makes men, or unmakes them. It needs men to act, and you are too much in the past. You may not die, but you will never recover."
Ashley accepted slowly the answer. "I had the inkling I would not."
"Goodbye Captain Butler," he finally said.
Rhett sharply nodded, then turned back to the garden.
He approached his wife, for a moment admiring her, longing for her.
He could give up on her, easily demand an annulment. He could find a way out.
With any other woman, he would have taken it.
However, with Scarlett, it was like ripping his heart out of his chest. It was fate, and he couldn't escape it. Didn't want to escape it. Not when he saw her like that. Not when she had looked at him like she had, barely moments before.
She was bathed in moonlight, and seemed thinner, ethereal even under that light. If he tried to touch, perhaps would she fade …
" Arise, fair sun ," he mused. " and kill the envious moon… "
"Rhett ?" She gasped, surprised, her skirts whirling on the grass. He could see her squinting, as she tried to look at him better. "What are you doing, in the darkness?"
Well, she might even fade from him if he tried in the daylight, he reflected bitterly.
His thumbs in his pockets, he looked at her as she turned to him, finally approachable, that young wife of his, and noted the difference between the soft interest she had had for the young gentleman, and her own reaction to him.
At no point did they try to be closer to one another, yet that proximity was here, and it nagged him to death.
They stared at each other, then away. It was a prickling silence, filled to the brim with unease, like that of two strangers forced to live together, and having the surprise to realize once in a while they shared the same life. There was no lingering anger. All of that had burned down since that day she had tried to shoot him. Instead, there was a gulf they could not fill, slowly eating ground with each silence.
"We are going tomorrow," he finally said.
"Alright," she replied quietly, and he found out he did not like her quietness. "And we are taking Carreen."
He looked at her and saw that it was something he could not sway her. It would be more dangerous, but the real danger would be if he did not. That, he felt they would never recover. He nodded, vanquished.
"As you wish."
.
.
.
Somewhere in Mexico
The young woman has managed to prepare a feast for him, and he is happy. She is cunning, more cunning than him for domesticity, and he marvels at her resourcefulness. They complement one another. With her, conversations flow easy. Soul connects to soul. She makes him forget.
(Almost)
Any misunderstanding is swept under the carpet, dismissed. They never argue.
(Perhaps they should argue)
And then, they touch, and it is a stalemate.
.
.
.
There, they seemed to have reached the bottom of the bottom, and gave up on any past expectation.
They can only go up, don't you think?
For another character's part that will come soon, I do believe he would very much agree with this view ;)
