Hello my dears,
Here I am again, with a very long chapter for you, quite a roller-coaster as you will see, and I hope you will like it and find it worth the terrible wait I almost separate it in two chapters, but felt it worked better as it was, for continuity's sake.
Wishing you a good read 3
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By the first of January 1864, Ashley could not delay his return any longer, and Melanie wondered idly how he could have managed to stay so long, though suspected he would not have stayed that long had he not thought she was still to be conquered, a task which required at least a bit of his attention.
And attentive he had been, as much as a gentleman could be. Scarlett had avoided looking at her when he came to her side, but she felt her disapproval. At least, when she wasn't trying to pamper her youngest sister, to the point that the poor one had no other choice but to accept accompanying her to Mexico.
However, Scarlett had left a few days after Christmas Eve with Carreen and Wade, and she missed her bullying.
Mexico would be good to her, and to Carreen, Melanie decided. She had long suspected that Frank Kennedy's attentions had had a terrible effect on the girl but had not dared to say anything about it.
Perhaps would it also be a chance for renewals for Scarlett and her captain. She dearly hoped it. There were two persons with a child that loved each other so much, knew each other for so long, but failed so much at understanding one another... And, with them now, a young woman, so reserved and timid, who needed to see the world.
Yes, perhaps it was the way.
And now, for Melanie, the path seemed clear and all too familiar, she reflected with a quiet feeling of melancholy, as she stood at the station, waiting for Ashley to take his train and leave.
Aunt Pitty had not accompanied her, pretexting to be so very upset by his departure, and had quite vigorously called for Uncle Peter to stay by her side. Sneakily leaving her alone, as he asked her to accompany him.
This was something she would have preferred not to suffer, but here she was.
Ashley's hair glinted silver in the growing sunlight, and she reflected she once saw a boy with red gold hair, and he had laughed with her, teased her…
If she refused Ashley now, what would be left for her? A life of being considered a child, of acting like a child like her Aunt Pitty? No, she would not bear it! Everything but it. So, there was no other way.
And yet, it felt as if she was back to the very beginning, a timid little girl/
However now her heart had changed, and that made all the difference.
As he took her hand so very gentlemanly, it came to Melanie that she felt a sense of feminine resignation. Her heart was slow in its beats, though fond as it was its nature to be. He was her cousin, and she knew him. She knew if they lived together, day after day would be the same. She would tend to him, love his children, and make a quiet home despite the war, and all the things it would change in their lives. He would look at her with the same fondness he did now. Look at her unlike… unlike…
She paused.
No. Not if .
When, she forced herself to think. When.
"When this cruel war is over," she forced herself to say. "Yes, I shall be your wife."
Ashley smiled, but she could not see the reflection of it in the gray. He bowed over her hand, as a gentleman should.
"Thank you for giving me something to hope."
She nodded but felt petrified. His hope was her burden. She, who had known the sheer connection of a love deeply cherished, chosen of her own accord, and with her lover's affection up until the very end demonstrated to herself and the world, would never feel more than gratitude for not being left alone. She would have a family and cherish them. Gone was to be the dream of passion. This was her fate, and she accepted it, with a hint of sadness for what could have been. However, she would never let it show.
Her heart gave a painful pound.
This time, he kissed her with the tip of his mouth on hers, an attempt at a romantic kiss. She startled.
His lips were dry like papers. He smelled of dust, like a book long forgotten on the shelves, a past long gone. Her nose tickled, aching for something else. But what? What? She could not remember. She should not remember.
What shall I do?
He kissed her, and she did not feel as a wife.
He looked at her with gray, and she wanted blue.
She breathed in. No, she shouldn't think it.
She was at ease. She was in a familiar space. She knew his fears and his faults, understood him better than anyone else. As a girl, she had built herself around him, up until… up until…
Dearest, sweetest Melanie…
She closed her eyes, feeling them well up with tears. She would not think about it. Not think about that dream she had had, that hand reaching for her, these eyes she saw pleading for her through the veil…
What shall I do?
Ashley took her into his arms, moved by what he considered her deep affection for him, and in her mind…
What shall I do?
Dearest, sweetest Melanie, what shall I do?
"Do as honor bind you," she whispered, and the words had the taste of ashes.
Why had it that taste? Wasn't it supposed to be good, to be worthy of pride?
Oh, what did it mean, actually? What was the meaning of it all?
Ashley gave her a drowsy, slow smile.
"Sweet Melanie," He said it as he would say 'silly goose. "What should I be, without honor? There is no other way for me, for us."
The words cut her heart sharply like a death sentence. She gasped.
Her gaze raised, and she looked at him.
His eyes were of a sad gray. Gray, not deep blue.
She pressed her lips together and embraced him back, trying to turn something she already knew in her heart to be true into another, the right thing to feel.
For, in his arms, she felt as a sister.
However, what was right, in fact? What was wrong?
In another world, perhaps she would have thought differently, she knew this. In another world, she would be grateful to have him choosing her to be his wife, he who could choose many others. She would have gladly been the receptacle of his suffering, sympathizing with his plea more than anyone else in the world. Perhaps she would have felt a chosen above women and been so humbled by it she would have had the need to repay that choice with unending faith and kindness for those who were not chosen like her. She would have felt like she was in a fairytale, and he was her prince. And if that prince was not perfect, well… in the gray days, she would still remember the tale of it, the promised happily ever after. She would take joy in their children. This was the price of the dream, she would think.
But this was not this world.
"Don't cry," he murmured, and his voice seemed like an echo of a past long gone. He sighed. " I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more ."
She froze. Her eyes opened, and she was almost surprised to realize the words made her terrifyingly, horridly… angry.
And Ashley kept looking at her, a look that she knew wasn't entirely on her , and she knew he was thinking…
"I had always wanted to know what it feels, to be able to say those words…"
In her mind, Scarlett was screaming that she was a fool.
So, she cried harder. Harder but silently, like a good lady should, barely letting any loud whimper leave her mouth. Cried so much under that restrain it took all strength from her, and slowly, so very slowly… her world faded to darkness.
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There were times when Hetty did not want to open her eyes. And why would she want it? She knew what she would meet. Disapprovals in their eyes, in their words…
It was just a little mistake, she wanted to say. Just a little mistake. I've been good, I've always been good.
But the fact that she had always been good only seem to make it worse. Her whole goods were reduced to this point, and she did not know what to do. She had always followed the path of reason, until her heart sent her into the unknown. Now, she was lost.
Now all her friends, those that had told her about their wishes for wild romances, had turned their noses at her for having wanted to make it true, and she was left bitter over their hypocrisy.
She was alone. A still form among the unrest, glowered at when remembered it was there.
And then there was this man, that people wanted to impose on her.
Eugenio's friend .
She sniffed.
If that rascal could ever have a friend, he who had no heart.
That… Edward Goldin. A familiar, though not so closely, name that had lurked in the darkness like a fleeting light, and now was an aberration for her. A man that had been invited to share the meager festivities, a quietly welcomed, yet not quite welcome guest at the Tarleton's usually rambunctious festivities.
She had not looked at him. She did not want him to find any opening, despite Randa's attempts.
The traitor. She had thought she was on her side.
This man, she was determined to hate. Hetty, having been deceived once, was not about to be twice. Not with someone so close to the one who abandoned her.
They perhaps were no brothers, but it was even worse. Two people could not be friends without having some similarities.
What did that make of her? She tried not to think of it. She was already too many things; she dared not add any adjectives to the long list of it.
Once, she had been true and pure. She had been the most patient one, the gentlest one. Now, she was none of it, she knew. She was laying on her own ruins, wondering how to repair it all.
Who she was, she dared not think about it yet. She felt the answers would be the end of her, and she so desperately wanted to live.
She waited on the stairs, looking at the sun descending, and wondering when it would stop being such a sorrowful sight. A little breeze grazed her cheek, refreshing it, and it alleviated a little bit the suffocating sensation of being a disabled mare about to be sold.
She closed her eyes. She should not have come back.
She wanted to ride away from here. To feel the wind in her hair as she left it all behind. Once again.
Ha, as if it had worked the first time, she cynically dismissed it.
The hair on her nape tickled with the awareness of being watched, until the irritation was more than she could bear.
"You should know it is not proper to stare at a lady thus, when she is all alone and unprotected," she snapped.
"My apologies. I did not mean to be rude," Was replied to her. A manly voice, that actually seemed ill-at-ease to be surprised like this. She frowned, but did not look back.
"Oh, you are. But now that you are here, why don't you show yourself?"
Hesitant footsteps informed her he was coming to her, and she shifted closer to the white rail. Through her clear lashes, she examined him critically and found him average in every way. Average build, average height, average hair, cut very short... In the light they faced, that averageness was an insult, after everything she lived.
She supposed he had nice eyes. But these eyes held no particular spark, no mischief.
They were just sad little things.
He greeted her awkwardly.
"My name is Edward Goldin. Eugenio was my friend..."
She was tempted to roll her eyes.
"I know who you are," she said pointedly. "And I know why you came."
His shoulders relaxed. He gave her a relieved smile, the fool.
She had to cut it.
"Oh, don't look at me like a fool. You came for nothing. I know your kind, and I won't accept anything from you."
He had the audacity to look offended.
"My kind?"
She nodded bitterly.
"Yes, of course. I know your sort. Men from vulgar places, trying to take advantage on vulnerable ladies…"
"With all respect, my lady, you do not look vulnerable at all."
The audacity... Her cheeks flushed in anger.
"Well, you did try with Melanie Hamilton, and that did not work! Lucky girl, she escaped, and everything will still go according to plans, and she will soon be Mrs. Wilkes! Lucky girl, indeed!"
He tensed, she had hit the nail, it seemed. Good. For a moment, she thought he wanted to kill her, or perhaps more incredibly, kill himself. Yet, she was not afraid.
Some men seemed dangerous, even without doing anything to warrant his. But this man… he could kill someone in front of her that she would not be afraid of him.
"Don't…"
Nonetheless, it only made her want to relent again and again.
"Yes, she escaped! And I will, too! Marrying me won't give you the money of the T…" she blurted out.
"I have no care for your money," he cut her just as abruptly. "I have more of it than your family has, right now."
She blinked.
"Then why did you come…"
His shoulders fell in defeat.
"Because honor binds me."
It left her dumbfounded for a minute. Then, she laughed. Cruelly.
She sneered. "Honor! What a fine word for a Cracker, and the friend of a good for nothing traitor!"
"That is all that is left for me," he replied, and his tone was so final that it shut her fire. "I can understand your anger, your insults towards me. But if you think that Eugenio is anything like that, then perhaps you are not the woman my friend loved."
"He had no heart at all."
"Have you? I am beginning to think you don't."
Her bravado swiftly faltered, faced to this harsh declaration she could not honestly deny.
"I don't want to be this person."
She did not know why she felt she had to defend herself like this to him, why she even cared.
But visibly, she did.
He sighed, visibly tired and frustrated. "Sometimes, we are led to become people we don't want to be. Believe me, I want to marry you as much as you want to. However, sometimes, it is not about what one wants, but one must do."
This intrigued her.
She wanted to believe in genuineness. In anyone's genuineness. However, she had to protect her heart. It had already been so many times disappointed.
"So... you've for the child." She said finally.
She could not help the resentment from ringing in her voice. It made her wince.
"I did. This troubles you."
"He was in a good family," She retorted.
I don't want to be a mother, she thought. I don't want to look at it. I can't look at it. I can't look at it and see him .
For a moment, he did not talk, and it unnerved her.
"He is my friend's son. He has his eyes," he finally said with a smile. "The family who was taking care of him was brave, you had chosen well, but they could barely hold on."
"So, you managed to persuade them?"
"I told them once the war is over, they could come and see him, and that I'll make sure they had a good future. They needed money, and I am glad I could provide some for them."
"How… gentlemanly of you," she said, still skeptical. "And I suppose you will say you will love me for his sake."
His shoulders tensed.
"I don't love you," He blurted out. "And I never will."
She startled. He sighed.
"And you do not love me. I am not the one you had chosen," he said simply. "And you were not mine." There was a little hint of pain in his eyes as he said this. "No, I am no gentleman, but I want to try to be a good man to you, and I do believe we can be friends. Here and now, I want to promise you that I shall never judge you and will always be honest with you. After all, we have Eugenio and this little child in common. He would have wanted it…"
"I am no mother," she blurted.
"I do not ask you to be."
She shook her head violently.
"Yes, you do! All of you do, and judge me, but I can't!"
"I do not ask you to," he repeated. "The only thing I want you to accept is my help."
He paused and looked at her.
"I don't believe you ever knew him. Eugenio."
"I knew him enough," She scoffed.
He nodded, unfazed.
"Perhaps did you not have the time. Eugenio had always seemed frivolous and fleeting when it came to his affections, but I've always known when they ran deep. And he loved you ," she felt something within her shatter. "I saw him before he went to war. Such anger he showed me, such despair… I believe he wanted to come back to you, but did not know how. He would have come back to you. I cannot bring him back to you. But I can help you and the child. You are not to be alone."
It cut deep, paper cuts, yet hitting the nail, taking her breath away. She turned her head, to hide the mist in her eyes.
"I am sorry," she said once it was cleared. "I should not have insulted you."
He shrugged. "I have been called far worse."
"And… I should not have talked about Melanie like that… it was cruel."
His tension came back, tight on his jaw. "Yes, you shouldn't have. I suppose… I suppose it was meant to be, he breathed out, and she could see how hard it was for him to say so. I hope he deserves her. That he will... that she will always feel loved and cherished."
She looked at him curiously. He shook his head. His tone was forced as he changed subject and turned once again to her.
"My mother… I believe that is what killed her in the end. Her separation from all that she held dear. Her family. The land of her birth. She eloped, you know?"
His mouth twitched in an attempt at a smile he could not entirely draw. She looked at his twined fingers, and their tightness was all the proof to her that he was genuinely tortured by the thought of their previous conversation.
So, he had been truly in love with Melanie, then…
She stayed silent. He let out a deep breath, his hands fidgeting at his sides.
"I know who I am. I know I do not come from any impeccable lineage. But these are difficult times, and we seldom have the choice. If I can avoid the same thing happening to you… I believe I will actually have my purpose as a man. We can be partners in this… peculiar situation."
He stared at her, and his eyes seemed suddenly deep, friendly and compassionate. Though still so very pained.
"You don't have to be alone."
This was the breaking point. It hit deep in her core, revealing all of her untold fears, and soothing them with a hope she knew she wanted to follow, but could not just yet.
She gulped.
"You have no idea how it makes me feel, to hear it…"
He gave her a little, gentle smile.
"I believe I do. Eugenio could always entice people to do what he wanted in the end. And to delegate things to others as well," he admitted. "Why would it be so strange that he managed somehow to send me to protect you?"
"Like some kind of guardian angel?" She could not help but tease.
He chuckled. "I suppose this image is difficult to put on him. He was many things, and certainly deserved more the horns that the halo. However that was part of his charms, and I never knew anyone who could refuse him. At least, until you."
"I fled nonetheless," She pointed out.
"But you tortured him. He needed that... He... would have needed that," he gulped. "It should never have happened like that. But now that it did... Why should you have to live alone with the consequences? How should it be right?"
She laughed, then cried. There, finally, there was someone who could understand ! Someone who did not expect anything from her!
A friend.
The feeling gave her so much relief that she dared not ask the right questions, lest the hope faded.
She gave him her hand to shake. It was a New Year. A new leaf. A new hope.
"Let us be partners, then."
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January 5th, Matamoros
Just like that, the New Year had passed, almost unnoticed, with Scarlett feeling more like a package than a human being, transported carefully from places to places, without she having any say about it.
To be fair, she supposed Rhett had tried to make it enjoyable, if only for himself, as they stopped for two days at an inn for the New Year. A miserable New-Year, when the last one had seemed so full of hopes and promises.
They were to be hosted in one of Rhett's former friends from West Point's houses in the city, though the idea that one could ever be called "Rhett's friends" genuinely was laughable to Scarlett. Rhett did not have friends. He had people he could use.
This one was one of the Confederados that had taken "Emperor" Maximilian to the word and used his very generous offer (not entirely official though) to take land and propriety in the country. On a moment of naivety, she dared evoking her surprise at this, however, after a sharp laugh she perceived from Rhett as mocking her, he told her no emperor gave anything for free, and even these shelters could be nothing but temporary, as this one had not been called emperor for so long, and had not even set foot on the land yet. He was expected to come in a few months. Until then, all was unsure.
And even then, he added. But it was certainly a pleasant place to take shelter.
Scarlett nodded, however, her mind was too numb to take any reassurance from it. Wade was silently demanding her attention, insistently pulling at her skirts. Soon, he would call her name and begin to hit, so she drew him closer, the feeling of his body on her like an anchor reassuring her as much as it did him.
Suddenly Rhett stopped talking and frowned. She was puzzled by his sudden glower, but she supposed she must not have replied as he had wanted her to.
Well, she supposed neither of them could have what they wanted.
As Scarlett first lay a foot on that strange land, a feeling of pure revulsion came over her body. She shook her head, trying to get rid of it, but the more she tried, the more it took over her.
She almost fainted on the spot, but Rhett's hands on her arm shook her out of it, and she shook him out of her. There, her eyes shot daggers as she rubbed her skin to try to erase the feeling of it.
She was not to be weak in front of him! Not ever!
So, she pressed her lips and squared her shoulders, and kept walking and walking, ignoring Rhett's eyes on her.
The air here was thick, heavy, so unlike the Georgian's, and she felt herself having trouble just breathing. It pressed her too close, suffocating her.
She was unseeing as people came to greet her, with strange faces, strange voices, one shrill, quick like the chirping of a bird, the other low and calm like the quiet water of a lake. She supposed she greeted them, made the appropriate replies, vacant replies perhaps, rapidly dismissed as the effects of a long travel, but she would not remember it after that. She would not even remember their names until the third day, nor the peculiarities of their faces, which, after that, would surprise her as she realized they were not strange at all. But as for now, she felt at the same time out of her own body and sick in her stomach. If such sensations could co-exist.
Only when she arrived at her new room did she allow herself to break.
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The first days were most painful, as Rhett realized changing places did not mean any hopeful new leaf, and he did not quite know anymore what he had wanted this new leaf to be, whether it was her giving him her love, or him wearing out of his.
All he knew was that he had wanted to live with her, however now lived beside her, a life that could not be anything but half, and still it was much too full of things to love about her. Little quirks, endearing quirks. Infuriating quirks.
Now that they had settled into a semblance of a routine, they appeared to him as little certainties he begrudgingly clung to.
Her little restless hands, always occupied on something (His hands ached for them) The way her head tilted, and she bit her bottom lip when she was thinking of any problem to solve (He wanted to kiss it, to distract her of it. To have her snarl at him for making her lose her tracks. He wanted to make her loose her tracks) How luxuriantly her own body stretched when she stayed still for too long and thought no one was watching her, like a cat after a nap (how he wanted to draw her to him, the rare times he could witness it) The little, barely conscious shake of that head, so coquettish, that made her earbobs jingle and brought some light to her eyes…
His wife, his greatest treasure…. And his greatest torture as well.
Her eyes were duller now, with a painful longing in them like the smoke of a just snuffed-out candle. With him, at least. The cruelty of it was that it should have made his love fade, but instead, it was just another shot to the heart each time he saw them. Another proof he loved her, and she did not. Worse, it made her miserable.
He could not make her smile, make her laugh, dance, sing… no matter how hard he had tried to set the conditions for it.
He had thought Elias' lover, Elena, a cheerful, fun-loving chit, though an extremely silly one, would be a friend with whom she could be young, and have fun, but she was even more withdrawn. He had thought Carreen and that servant's presence, would relieve her of the care of the boy, but she was even more set on him.
Only these two seemed to thrive, though Rhett had begun to have some doubt over Scarlett' younger sister. After some days on imposed rest by Scarlett who had much too gleefully taken over the role of nurse, the girl had one day rose, still pale, and she had begun to act quite out of her usual reserved demeanor. She smiled too widely, and at each party, she danced and laughed… he suspected it was to avoid Scarlett's unnecessary fussing, but instead of appeasing Scarlett, it had had the effect of making her more withdrawn, as if suddenly in ceasing her bully of the girl, his wife had lost her own spirit. Which wasn't possible. No one could ever make her lose that stubborn, restless spirit.
He hated it.
How many parties had he taken her to, and where she had stayed behind? How many gifts had he bought her?
There had been two pairs of creoles he had chosen for her, but she still had not opened them. The pile of presents grew on and on, a waste of love and devotion, but he could not help feeding it. They had the taste of all the tender words he wanted to say, but that would not leave his mouth. All the things he wanted to say, all the things he wanted to give… they laid disregarded on that table like offerings to a goddess.
When would she stop punishing him? When would the weight of her silence drop?
It did not surprise him she would only take that little gun he had offered her. This was another proof of the fierceness in her, and his heart cherished it as much as it feared it. Feared it not as much for himself as for herself, as he feared it would lead her astray.
She was a dangerous woman indeed, and he was a dangerous man.
She should be kissed, and often, and he knew how.
Such desirable qualities, and entirely wasted.
He hated the poor sap he was being, mourning for her love.
He hated the hard, terrible man he had to be with her.
However, he could not back down.
In this new war she made with him, this cold, cruel war, he was not to give any leeway.
Right now, his main problem was how she used the boy to avoid even looking at him, and all he could remember was the disgusted look on her face as she told him she would not have him.
He stared at her from the other side of the table, stared at the lovely portrait she made with their son, and wondered.
Wasn't I supposed to love you less?
Somehow, he just loved her harder. Achingly more so, for she was so close, his arms could catch her if he dared, and yet… yet he would not reach her.
He could order her as he wished, but he would get nothing more than the twisted satisfaction of seeing her bend to his will and being disgusted by him even more than she was.
Even more than he was.
He was what he did not want to be, and it was his own fault, her own fault, and the situation lingered, and he couldn't make a goddamn choice about it without worsening it.
There again, she was tilting her head on the side, and the adorable dimple dug into her cheek as she looked fondly at the boy.
A boy that was the spitting image of him, for God's sake! And she couldn't even bear to look at him !
How she lived with that contradiction, he didn't know. There was some relief to be found in it, but also a deep frustration.
"You're having that smile again," she said through gritted teeth, without looking at him.
"What smile?"
"That smile that tells me you're having a joke at my expense."
"Oh, believe me, love, the joke is very much on me."
She pursed her tempting lips and turned her head back.
"Humpf! You should have taken a pet, instead of marrying."
Ah. A reaction, a little irritation. He jumped on it, followed its track. His body leaned on to it, waiting.
"Oh, but I already have two," he mused. "A pretty little cat and its kitten, such a volatile little thing, with green eyes and bright black fur, that comes to scratch me once in a while."
Her eyes flashed for a moment at him like a reward.
"What are you on about?"
He raised and prowled toward her, only stopping when he was able to feel at least a bit of the warmth of her presence, a bit of her intoxicating perfume. He saw her body tense, a vixen preparing to pounce. His fingers reached for her cheek, but seldom touched it, and under that light caress, her eyes fluttered unwillingly, wanting to enjoy it.
He was daring her to.
"It is always surprising to me that one whose nature is so much alike a cat would deny herself what she so obviously needs," he murmured.
Her lips pursed, and she felt angry with herself for replying. Her eyes glared like two emeralds, went up and down with as much contempt she could manage, (and he very much appreciated the linger on his frame) as she snarled back like the wounded lioness she thought she was.
He was such a cad, disturbing her so! And if he did not consider her as much, well… then he was half a man she thought he was! She raised her chin, looked at him through her thick lashes, and said coldly:
"All cats are gone on times of war. There are only old men, women, children… and cowards."
It hurt more than it should have.
"Don't act as if your claws are still sharp," he said grimly, bowing in irony as he hid his clenched fists. "I do believe you managed to cut them quite on your own. Smile, then, for you are all of the three."
She stared at him with these terrible eyes, stared for a long time, and then her lips stretched across her cheeks, and the green faded, leaving only darkness.
"Mama!" her son demanded, imperious.
She turned back to the boy, and her mouth eased in a tender smile.
He left her to her misery. Or theirs, perhaps.
.
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However, his frustration only grew as she continued day after day to ignore him, and refused any entertainment for herself he tried to lure her in. Every party where she would now only urge her youngest sister to have fun, and stayed in the background, a still, distant figure when she should be dancing, and flirting. Every evening with their host and his lover where the latter tried to get her out of her reserve.
Elena. Quite a soft name for such a loud girl. Her voice was cheerful and energetic. Perhaps too much so. By the end of the week, Scarlett couldn't bear it, Rhett knew it.
By the end of the month, she pretended she was sick. Or that Wade was sick. It did not help that the woman had thrown an entire party for his birthday, which had been so loud and full of everything that even Rhett had to put a stop to it. There had been at least a twisted, brief, little gleam of satisfaction in her face at seeing how distraught their hostess was that her grand gift of a little suit for the boy had barely raised his interest, for he preferred much better the box where it had been contained, and which served him as quite a pleasant hiding place.
By the beginning of the second month, Elena was persuaded young Scarlett Butler was a fragile little lady, and that she needed intensive care from her own doctor. She kept pestering Rhett so much about it that he had to confront Scarlett, though he could not help the amused smile.
"Sick, Scarlett?"
At this moment, as she was occupied with the unnecessary grooming of a grumpy Wade, she did not understand his question. Her eyes flicked to him, perplexed.
"What are you on about?"
It made him laugh, and that was the end of the discussion. So, she dismissed it.
.
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It took a moment for Scarlett to realize Elena was Elias' mistress, not his wife, but when she learned it, she was furious with Rhett for not telling her.
"Have you heard of her story, Scarlett? Of theirs?" he asked her as she confronted him.
Her arms crossed.
"I care not, Rhett."
"Pity. I had thought you had at least a girl's heart, and would appreciate a good romance, not to mention the cheer of a girl close to you in age."
"You think… if you had any care for our reputation, you would not make us live with… a woman in her situation!"
At this, his eyebrow raised in irony, and he put aside the journal he had gloomily buried himself into, and which did not bring him any piece of good news, far from it.
"You little hypocrite. She is more of a wife to him than you are to me, if we are to talk of the definition of wifehood. To love, honor and obey. Wouldn't you agree, my pet?"
She left without a word, with only the sweep of her skirt in her wake.
"Only the truth hurts," he said quietly, but it left him no satisfaction. It sounded more like an excuse.
.
.
And after that, the hour when she retired seemed to get earlier and earlier.
And this evening was the example of it, as barely half an hour had passed after supper, and they gathered around a slow burning fire, its shadows flickering on the walls.
"I shall retire," she said quietly.
His eyes snapped to her, to that proper, too proper silhouette that sat demurely at his side, on the cream-colored loveseat that forced a proximity she obviously did not want with him.
He could make her stay. He could force her to stay, to look at him in the eyes and…
God, he was a fool. He knew what he would see in her eyes. And he did not want to see that mockery of a smile again.
So, he nodded, gritting his teeth, his fists tightly clenched in his pockets in powerless frustration. Once again, she was leaving early, and as much as he wanted her to stay, he did not want to bear a minute more of her silence and avoidance in front of their hosts.
He stared at her retreating form, his mouth twisting down in a dismay he tried to wipe away. His joined hands had grown white and tight.
Better that she stayed in her lonely hole, if she was to act like a spoiled little girl.
He had tried everything, but seldom anything could provoke any raise of fierce passion in her.
He wanted her jealous, and she did not even seem to care. She did not even seem to care for anything, except the boy. And perhaps, Carreen.
He wanted her angry, but since that day she had almost shot him, her voice now barely raised. No more spirited outburst, where she would order him out. Barely little puffs.
But most of all, he wanted her happy, and she was not. And he did not know what to do.
"She's miserable, that young wife of yours, though adorable like my own Nina," Elena remarked with her singing voice, caressing affectionately her impassive cat that stared at him with a blasé air. "In fact, you both are like two hissing cats, it's adorable!" She giggled at her own comparison. "But I suppose, with her, I just want to squeeze her until she laughs."
Rhett startled. He lifted his head, concerned. Was she? Or was it only a way of punishing him?
Elias chuckled.
"Oh, dear, I doubt it would be appreciated."
"I am half in love with her," she declared nonetheless, or perhaps fueled by it. "And I intend to show her until she could not help but love me as well!"
Her lover 's smile broadened with indulgence and amusement.
"I don't know if I should pity her or be jealous of her, love."
A fine line laid on Rhett's brow as he reflected on this new perspective.
"Lord, you're all grim now, Rhett!" She said, Rolling the 'r', and he winced. She stared at him, pressing her lip as if she was barely preventing herself from saying anything else.
Thankfully, whatever it was she was thinking, Elias swiftly distracted her enough to make her forget, leaving Rhett to reflect peacefully on the rightness of this observation.
He saw her everyday, but was it truly her he saw, or the reflect or his own bleeding heart?
The words from a foolish, usually unobservant girl made him doubt.
Sometimes, she had that forlorn gaze, and he wanted to trap her in his arms until the bothering thoughts faded and she turned to him.
Had he been so blind and missed it all? Was she just homesick and lonely? Lonely as he was?
.
.
And then days became weeks, and weeks became months, two to be precise, and the keys to the problems seemed farther and farther away. In fact, during that time, Scarlett learnedt, if only she had things to occupy herself.
They lived like two strangers. Two strangers who had the surprise occasionally to realize they lived in the same space, and breathed the same air.
She began to feel used to the cold. In fact, it seemed the cold made her realize even more the warmth she had had back home, the warmth that still was there when she held her son and he held on to her, an achievement she was still very proud of.
It was in the little moments she took solace. His smiles, the way dark eyes looked at her with love, dark face rested with abandon on her.
It was these little moments that made her almost forget anything else.
And then, she would look anywhere else and be faced by all the changes she had not managed to avoid in her own life, the shadow of sadness loomed over her once again. The food tasted like ashes. The colors were either too bright, either too dull. Everything seemed so slow, everything seemed too fast.
She blamed this terrible, terrible air. No, in fact, everything in here was awful.
And Rhett? Rhett was his impeccable self, and when they had to intend parties (and he brought her to many of them in such a short time!) he was his charming self… toward the other ladies. She could see him smile, joke, laugh, while she was at her corner, her belly grumbling with jealousy. Oh, if she wasn't such a lady, if she wasn't so tired of it all, she would probably flirt with other men, just to show her that she could!
But in the end, she could only sigh in misery. Rhett would do whatever he wanted to do. She was a mother, and this was not her land, and the meager bits of understanding brought nothing to her but sheer loneliness.
She did not question why he did not force his company on her more when he delighted on making her remember she had lost and he had won, nor why even when changing places, it was still made sure they had separate rooms. She did not want to look into it, for she feared she would find no other reason than that he had lost all interest on her, if he ever had any left since that unfortunate wedding night, and that certainly he had found other interests, with other women.
She would not think of it.
He was a fish easy in every water, while she felt out of it, longing for a land, for people she feared she would never see again.
Oh, she supposed she could have tried learning the tongue. It was a matter of pride , perhaps stubborn, foolish pride, but she felt she would lose to him if she did what he wanted, without he clearly stating she was to learn it. It would be as if she was accepting his decision of them going in such a strange place. And she could not. She could not! Her whole body was repulsed by the very notion.
She had changed enough for him. It had never been enough. She did not want to try.
Carreen was different, though. But Carreen did not have the same issues as Scarlett.
To Scarlett, it was like after being sick for so long, her youngest sister was opening herself to this new world. She was like a little bird, so very pleased, and prepared to be pleased by anything, when she had been so withdrawn and frail.
She had been almost disappointed, if she had to be honest, when, by the third day in Matamoros, the girl left her chamber, a wide, surprisingly wide smile on her face, and declared with a cheerful voice she wanted to see it all, and have fun. It left Scarlett with idle hands, and nothing else to divert her nervous, morose thoughts, and the ache of her heart for the feeling of red clay on her feet, and the faces of those she left behind. Sometimes, in her mind, they passed like ghosts, and she felt she would never reach them again. She felt she was the only one missing them, missing them like her heart was bleeding.
Sometimes though, Carreen had moments of deep contemplation, moments also of intense sadness, when Scarlett would take her into her arms, and feel the relief of having someone that felt as she did. They would talk of Tara, of Pa and Mother, of Mammy and her little wars with Rosa and Teena, when they were there.
Carreen bloomed, and Rhett thrived, and she… she could not bear it. She could not follow them, not quite yet.
She had once felt like the queen of Georgia and a few states beyond. She had known the people, their minds, their language.
And now, she was no one. She was just Rhett's wife. Rhett' s sad, foolish little wife.
She was Rhett's wife, and she lingered in the background, barely noticed. Her voice could not raise as it had once. She could not laugh, not smile as she did once. She could only watch, contemplate. And even then, the feeling of missing life became acute, more desperate by the day.
And missing things, it seemed she was the queen of it, at least, which was not to please her.
By the time it took to take notice of it, there was a pile of three gift boxes on the table of her boudoir, and if at first, she was very dumbfounded over it, offense quickly followed.
Surely, it was another one of his poor jokes, meaning to tell her how spoiled and frivolous she was, and she would have none of it!
She wanted to have some of it. But she could not give in to Rhett. Not ever. Not after his cruelty.
So she learned to ignore it. Learned to pass by it without stopping. After some time , it became overlooked, a surprise when the pile became high enough, or fell down to the thick carpet.
As his mother's interest faded and her depression grew, Wade's awakened, and it wasn't rare to see one of these boxes or their content, with the ribbons ripped put in disarray, hidden under his bed, his pillow, or even his clothes, like a primitive talisman.
One day, Scarlett found him trying his teeth on a golden necklace with an enormous emerald, and if at first, she was frightened out of her depth, and wrenched it quickly from his mouth, making him cry in wrath and a little pain, once the boy was quietened and put to sleep, she found herself mesmerized by the spark, and watched it dangle from her fingers.
Once she realized her fascination, she quickly pulled the drawer of her nightstand, dropped it in there, hiding it under a mass of paper, and closed it sharply, feeling almost frightened by the strength of her own reaction.
Yet, hiding it did not make her forget.
And the pile grew, and grew.
"Such a waste…" Cheyenne once murmured. "Why not sell them ?"
"What an idea!" Scarlett scoffed. "We do not lack money, that's for sure," But we lack anything else, she could not help but think. "You can take some boxes."
"Me?"
"Why not? I will not use them."
And with that, she had left, not wanting to think any more about it.
Cheyenne had looked at the content of the box, for a moment stupefied by the intense spark of the jewel in there. Then, like a child caught in trouble, she abruptly closed it, all senses alert for any presence that could judge her, call her a thief.
She sighed. She was a good woman. She had nothing to reproach herself of.
She kept telling herself that, but know the belief would not come. It never did. She wanted so many things for it to be true.
For a moment, she missed her mother's softness, her reassurance that everything would be alright.
Though, wise as she was, her mother had always been too trusting and loving. Even despite her past.
For Cheyenne's mother had been sold as a child by her own uncle for less than a few pieces, and still she thought it had been a good thing, for at least it fed her cousins. Or so she thought.
Then, she came to be a servant at the Wilkes, until she caught the eyes of a young John Wilkes, just married to his cousin, and expecting its newborn. It was love, she had told Cheyenne. He was beautiful, so much grander than her, and she had felt like all her sufferings were erased, for he looked at her.
Perhaps it was not that her sufferings were suddenly erased, Cheyenne figured, but more that she chose to look the other way and forget.
Cheyenne could not. What her mother forgot, she could not. It was imprinted deeply in her skin like a brand.
It did not bother her that he looked at others as well, Cheyenne reflected. Her mother had always been too humble and often forgot her own needs. She had been happy for her place in the sun, and perhaps it had been what attracted John Wilkes the most, until his own gentle wife urged him with her soft voice to free the woman. A gesture more to get her out of her sight than because of compassion, though the lady was known to be. However, Cheyenne supposed even the most compassionate of women would fail in front of the presence of their husband's mistress.
Cheyenne was not her mother, but it was perhaps because of that that her love for her was fierce. For her, she would have humbled herself more than just demanding help from the Wilkes when she was ailing.
Nonetheless, Cheyenne also had ambition. A dangerous peculiarity to have in a country that pondered if her sort had any ability for thinking of their own.
She was not like the young Pansy, who raged against any restrained cage. Sure, she was curious of everything, and the plight of black people did not leave her untouched. But, being born from a black woman and a white man, she had never been accepted completely into both worlds. What she wanted was much more selfish, she supposed.
With this box in hand, she had suddenly the vision of a life for herself that was even grander than she had even dared to believe, and even then, she faltered from it.
And Scarlett just gave it away, as if it was nothing.
"She's like a child that had never wanted," she marveled, so very dumbfounded she cared not to correct her speech, such as she was bound to do ever since they arrived here. "It's lak bar'ly know the price of things."
"And I don't want ever want her to have to know."
She turned, flabbergasted, her skirt flushing around her legs.
"Captain Butler! Ah… I did not know…"
He only examined her closely, like a wolf coldly wondering if eating her was worth his time.
"Cheyenne, you are… an unexpected addition to this sojourn," He said. "And a very expansive one, for a servant."
She bowed her head, cheeks reddening.
"Yes. I know what Scarlett gives you, and how you profit quite eagerly of the lessons that should be for her. Oh, do not be offended. Sit down. I know you are not a dishonest person. Only a person who knows how to seize opportunities. I can respect that. I can even encourage that."
Her gaze swiftly darted toward him, alert.
"You mean you would help me? For what?"
His eyes gleamed pleasantly. "Quick of thought, that's good. I want information."
"About what?"
He waved his hand nonchalantly.
"Oh, about this and that. Trivial things."
"Trivial things?"
"Trivial things," he repeated. "What's the color of the sky? How's the boy doing? When will it rain? Is Scarlett…" he cleared his throat. "unhappy?"
She stared at him.
Oh, so this was it.
"Miz Carreen could tell… "
Rhett Butler cut her.
"Miss Carreen does not dare to look at me in the eye and say more than a few words. So, is she?"
Miss Carreen was also more playing her life to ease her sister's concern, so obviously hoping it would alleviate the weight on Miss Scarlett's heart. Her recent, forced, cheerful demeanor was but a shy attempt to make her see she was not to be worried about her, and could have her own fun. Under her quiet, sweet face, Carreen was an anxious little thing, a little mouse, truly. Of course, the girl would be intimidated by this man. Biting the inside of her cheek, Cheyenne looked down.
"She is far from all she knows, sir."
"She refuses to see the preceptors I sent her," he retorted.
"Because you sent them."
"Do I have to order her by each turn?" He asked himself.
She shrugged, innerved.
"I don't believe many husbands ask themselves if they should or not order around their wives."
"You've caught some attitudes. Scarlett had certainly had a bad influence on you."
She pushed her luck.
"If I may… I think what she need is…"
"What? Go on, I shall never dismiss the opinion of a clever servant."
Servant. Of course, to him, she was a servant, and he would never be interested to help her be more than that.
But Miss Scarlett… she believed she would.
"She's a clever, energetic woman. She need a purpose. Without it, she'd wither away."
His head bowed in thought.
"A purpose, you say? I shall think of it."
Yes, Cheyenne thought. Think of it. Give her that, and you will give it to me then.
Perhaps Cheyenne was too trusting in miss Scarlett. Perhaps it was a mistake. But at least she knew she would always get something from it.
.
.
The next day, he asked Scarlett to accompany him on an outing at the nearest beach.
And by asked, she understood it rather as ordered . Always this deal, this terrible deal. She pursed her lips and in a low, slow tone, declared she was not to leave Wade with "that Mexican woman" who, she was sure, was only waiting for any absence from her to bother him by her cooing and fussing. At this, his mouth twitched, and eyes narrowed.
"Well, then you take him. If he's any son of mine, he'll love the sea."
"Well, I don't want him to know any of it!" She said stubbornly.
When asked about it, she would not explain what actually bothered her.
She could not tell him she feared it would lead Wade away from her, like it had already led Rhett (not that he had actually needed to be lured away, for he needed no other reasons but his own contrariness to want to go, when people wanted him to stay).
But still, Wade did not need one, and she would not back down from that.
Unfortunately, her protests went on deaf ears, and several hours later, here they were, on a sand that seemed too grainy, too hard, and she was struggling to hold herself together properly while he kept going, unperturbed, the salty air grazing his hair with the grace of a caress, while she felt hers go dry and rough like straws. For a moment though, she could take refuge in the shadows and put her arms around Wade, frightened to let him go too far.
He was far too excited by this new trip for her sake.
It was this air, this terrible air. She could not bear it.
And Rhett stopped, his brow raising in irritation. He considered her, and his lips crooked in a mean grin that told her already he thought her unreasonable and spoiled and was not to leave her a moment of peace.
"There, Scarlett. Don't be such so lily-livered! Let the boy at least put his feet in the water."
"I am not a coward," she mumbled.
"Then why are you so far from the sea?" He kept going. "You've already been to the seaside. What is bothering you now, my dear?"
"Perhaps, but I've never actually… well, it's not proper, and I won't…"
He cut her.
"Keep me from your proper speech, Scarlett. You jumped in the river fine enough back in Tara. You never were proper in your entire life."
She glowered at him.
"My feet are fine in the sand, thank you."
"And your head as well, I believe," he retorted.
"What?" her mouth twisted.
"Never you mind, Come, don't be so stubborn."
He held out his hand for her, and she hesitantly took it, but immediately regretted it.
The sparks were still sharp. They stang her meanly, too meanly!
Nonetheless, she followed, silent, and still bothered.
Wade let out a sharp little cry as Rhett led him to the water and suddenly fell on his bottom, and Scarlett was about to jump to his side and take him back to the safety of the land, when just as suddenly he laughed, a very boyish laugh, and splashed them with both eager feet and hands.
She stood, flabbergasted, and considerably more wet. He splashed some more. And from the depth of his throat, Rhett roared in laughter.
"What a lovely wet, scaredy cat!"
She scowled as she tried to gather any bit of dignity she could have.
"Oh, you are quite well suited, indeed! Well, then I'll leave you both to it!"
Her skirts clang heavily to her legs as she turned, and she almost tripped on them.
"Mama! Dat good! Mama! Come back !"
"Come on, Scarlett. Are you going to ignore your son's demand?" Rhett's voice mocked her. "Just for a little bit of water?"
Stomping on the sand, she turned toward him, prepared to make him see, that rascal, that she was not to be led on like that. However, as luck would have it, she truly tripped over her skirts this time, barely escaping a very unladylike fall by at least a more dignified sway of the arms. She put her hands on her hips, strands of hair flying everywhere.
"I am not afraid of water," She stubbornly persisted.
His walk seemed to have no effect on the waves, almost melding in it. As she watched him warily, she wondered if Indians could be so agile as not to disturb nature like that. How unfair, when she felt so very clumsy!
He stopped two feet away from her, and she felt his shadow on her, touching her. His body, dark and powerful, was surrounded by sunlight, and it danced on his shape quite distractingly. She blinked, feeling black spots forming.
"You stubborn girl, you're all disheveled," he quietly remarked after a warm chuckle, cutting her from her upraising outburst, and the fondness in his voice, the soft way he looked at her hair made her heart race in apprehension.
"Cheyenne," he ordered, turning his head for a moment. "Do go with the boy in the creek, where there is some shade."
He gave her a grin.
"We wouldn't want him sick, would we?"
"Sick?" She repeated, as she saw her boy so happy, his feet kicking on the water.
"Young children are more vulnerable to long time under a foreign sun," he explained. "The freshness of the water tends to make us forget it, but the body doesn't forgive."
She nodded, her mouth twisting in vexation as it did not come to her mind.
"Well, it wasn't all that bad. See how he likes it."
She gave him a begrudging nod once again. She was feeling irritable, and was not about to admit he was right in a loud voice. He tilted his head, his eyes twinkling.
"The cub is having a great time."
"So he is," she grumbled.
"Come on, Scarlett. Let loose," he said softly. "You don't have to be so uptight all the time."
"You don't have to be a cad all the time," she countered.
His eyes glinted.
"Oh, but it wouldn't be as fun, would it?"
She huffed. "Fun. Fiddle-dee-dee, aren't you a funny man."
"I am glad you finally noticed it. For I do believe I am."
"You believe many things. That doesn't make it true."
His surprised laugh boomed in her ear. "Well, that was sharp!"
Ignoring him, she slipped out of her shoes and timidly raised her skirts. Her toes curled, and she pressed her lips tighter.
Her eyes closed for a moment, and she kept still, until the tension fell over her, faltering and falling to the water. A deep feeling of contentment washed over her, and she felt all in herself relax at once. The waves crashed so softly, so caressingly on her ankles. She smiled.
"You love it," he said, and he was looking at her with such hungry eyes.
A thrilling shiver descended on her spine under that gaze. She was feeling so very tied in that dress, so very hot and thoughtless. He seemed so neat and at ease…
She splashed him. He stared at her with bewildered eyes.
"What?" She said, her head high with a slight smile. "I'm having fun."
She laughed, a breathless, soft laugh, and his came as well, loud, boyish.
He was about to push her into the water, she knew, as mischief flashed over his face, mischief and something dark and hot and exciting, but suddenly, she felt lightheaded, dizzy, and weak at the knees. The black spots deepened at the corners of her sight, and she hummed, so queer, so hot and cold at the same time.
He caught her as she was about to fall.
"Oh."
"You are so stubborn!" He scolded her. "You've been miserable all this time, and it takes easing you up to make you swoon? Fi, Mrs. Butler!"
"You're insufferable." She groaned. "I am not swooning."
"No, you're just very weak, " He quipped.
"I hate you," she retorted.
A grin came to his face, and it almost made her happy.
"Oh, I know. But you have no strength left to fight me, have you? Cheyenne, bring the boy," he called. He turned to her, finally. "Well, I have to correct myself. It was damned miserable."
Wade cried and raged as he heard it, but stopped short as he saw her.
Rhett's arm was warm around her waist, and she begrudgingly leaned on him, for fear she would only fall face first on the sand if she didn't. Her nails dug on his side, if only to show him it was not a sign of weakness. He stayed still, though, barely remarking on it more than by the mere quirk of his thick lips.
.
.
The next morning, Rhett was nice, very attentive and quiet, and her head was split in two with a most terrible headache. Not that she would admit to him. She was not weak.
It was strange, seeing him so nice.
It was suspicious.
"I want to show you my boat," he said after some idle attempts at conversation, which she could barely grasp, as if it was nothing at all.
"Your boat?" She quirked a brow.
He shrugged, as if it was the most trivial thing in the world.
"Well, I am a blockade runner. I thought it was obvious for me to have a ship. And a crew."
"You were ."
"A man never quite stops being a captain. You know, it might be interesting. Even for the boy."
"I won't have my boy become a pirate."
"A pity. He does seem to delight in being cheeky."
"He does!" She chuckled, before clearing her throat. "Yes, I suppose he does. But nevertheless!"
"What would you have him be, then? A lily-livered coward, always hiding in your skirts?"
There, the moment was ruined.
"We're not going," she said with a cold voice. "And besides, I am too tired."
"We are going," he replied harshly. "And you're not tired, you're just being difficult."
This was to be the end of it.
But as they went, Scarlett's headache grew.
.
.
Rhett's ship was a long, elegant black paddle steamer with two masts and a cheeky allure, and though she would not admit to it under pressure, Scarlett felt a mixture of tingling jealousy and admiration for that beautiful thing that had taken him far away, and back again.
Yes, she had to admit she had quite the allure. Even though she knew nothing about ships. The others looked quite pitiful in comparison, she observed with a quiet feeling of satisfaction.
He had called it his "Cage".
Why it? She almost asked. "Wolf" would have suited him far better, she thought, for he was a wolf among sheep. "Cage" was such a strange thing to name a ship that he seemed to like.
She did not want to give him the satisfaction of asking, though.
She supposed he liked the irony of it.
"She would put the Advance to shame," He idly remarked, as if gauging her reaction.
Her eyes stayed on the dock, and she decided not to show any interest in it. But it was to forget the very excitable boy who chirped at her side, twisting his hand in hers to try to escape.
Great balls of fire. This was a boat like any other, after. Nothing to fuss about!
She took Wade in her arms and ignored his help as he led them on it, and his chest seemed puffed with pride.
"Hello captain!" Called a man, interrupting his work of knots on the mast to greet them with a grin and a warm salute. Rhett replied in kind, clapping his shoulder with a wide smile.
"Donaldson, how are you, old chap?"
"Fine as a shark," Was replied to him, until said Donaldson remarked Scarlett and took off his hat. He was a middle-aged man with pepper and salt hair, and a very common, sunburned face. Scarlett felt a hinge of sympathy as she went closer. "Is this fine woman your wife? What a beauty!"
This, at least, was pleasing to hear! She smiled, for a moment relishing on the compliment as a cat would delight in the sun and offered her hand in a courteous gesture.
"Why, hello, Mr. Donaldson," She sweetly said. "How do you do?"
He seemed to appreciate it. Rhett's mouth quirked sharply.
"Do not be charmed by her tricks, old boy, she's quite the little Scylla when she wants to."
"Do not listen to him," She retorted. "He makes me sound like a monster."
There, Donaldson laughed. "I see, now!"
What he saw, he did not elaborate on, and Rhett certainly gave him no space to, as they walked over the ship, from room to room, man to man, and Scarlett could see how he was liked, how he called everyone by name and seemed to know them keenly, even as he had seemed so long away from them, as if they were family. It made her remember Pa in Tara, and she was at first almost shy, like a young bride, praised around by people who looked at her curiously, and, with relief, seemed to approve of her finally, and of the boy, who was hailed as a "fierce little man". So she smiled, even teased a little.
She liked it. Better than she would have admitted. It was a pleasant moment, so rare now, and she wanted to enjoy it as much as it lasted. For a moment, she could forget her own heart, which was full of longings.
Rhett though seemed not that glad of the attention she was drawing, and she was almost amused when he once added under her breath he was sure she would provoke a mutiny.
To this, she quietly replied he was the one who had insisted on showing her.
Once, after being called over for an "important business" which had his jaw tighten with strange dismay, he left her alone in his office with Donaldson, who she learned was his second, and the man patiently answered her questions, even gave to Wade a little knot, daring him to unknot it, a task he seemed to enjoy after having been forced to stay in his mother's arms for so long when everything seemed exciting. He went to a corner and pulled, tucked, and pulled again, quiet and deeply focused.
Scarlett had but very few questions though, and they swiftly ran short, leaving her to find random things to ask about, until her eyes found stacks of ledgers piles over the desk.
So, she asked about it, and, after a moment of examination, where he seemed to wonder if it would catch her interest, he took one and opened it in front of her, revealing lines and lines of numbers and words. She went closer, intrigued.
"This is the list of the different things we managed to get by, and the price we sold them, ma'am."
She was drawn to it. All this careful list of expenses and incomes all neatly aligned. She asked questions, not helping it, about the prices, the products, and he answered patiently. In her mind, she was shocked to discover that some items' prices had been drawn ludicrously high in some places they traveled to, when they had been bought so cheaply in the first place, and her remarks sparked a glint of interest in the man's eyes as he nodded, his mouth trembling as if he wanted to say more, but did not dare to.
It was one thing to have suspected and deplored the speculations. It was another to see it presented so casually on a ledger, as if it was but a very mundane thing.
But the most surprising thing, perhaps, was the mention of cotton from Georgia, purchased at a very high price, double what was expected these days.
She was about to ask about it, the gears of her mind turning eagerly, too eagerly, when Rhett interrupted them and pleasantly joked about him bothering her with such trivial things as money. But she was still thinking of Tara, of Atlanta, wondering why the numbers she saw were still ridiculously high compared to what she had seen for the other locations.
The visit ended there, unfortunately, and a deep furrow laid between Rhett's brows now, and she wondered for a moment what could have made him so upset, from the moment he left her with Donaldson, and the moment he returned.
By then, the docks had filled thanks to the arrival of a new ship, and some nomad merchants had added their stands, hoping to attract newcomers. With this, Rhett urged Scarlett and Wade closer, ordering them not to leave his side, lest they be bumped into. The little boy still had the knot in his hands, frowning as he could not make any sense from it.
"Come see the lovebirds!" Came a voice with a thick accent from her right. She turned her head, stopped for a moment, staring at a greasy face bellowing near a golden cage, where two little birds rested, carefully watched over by a thin little boy. She stopped, curiously went closer. Wade's head raised, and suddenly his interest in the knot failed to compare to that of these strange little things. Rhett softly cursed, but did not stop them. "Joined to the hips, utterly faithful and devoted to one another, wouldn't it change us, would it my fellows, if women were like that, instead of ravenous magpies ?"
This made Rhett smile, while Scarlett felt indignant.
"I can see why this man isn't married. He doesn't like nor understand women at all," She scowled. "Or if he is, his wife was right to leave him."
"Oh, I am sure he has his own harpy," Rhett intervened, leaning to her ear. "We all have the companion we deserve, after all. I am sure she has the voice of a gull and warts all over his face."
"Now, you're making it up,"she said softly, too softly. Though, to his delight, a faint, shivering light was coming to her eyes.
"I wouldn't. The warts must be true."
She leaned over, admiring the birds.
"So, they are lovebirds," she said quietly. "I had seen only pictures of them. They are so colorful and pretty."
"Eat!" Wade said suddenly, his fingers reaching for the cage.
She let out a little laugh that caught his heart.
"No, not eat, sweetheart. Look."
"Eat!" Insisted the boy. "Yummy berd. I wanna!"
"They are barely vain feathers on bones," Rhett chuckled. "Barely anything to eat, son."
"Oh, they are masters for escaping!" The merchant added eagerly. "But separate them, and you'll have them mourning for one another. They always come back to each other. For these ones, it's the male one that always tries to leave. The female is too skittish. But as soon as she whimpers a little, there he goes, back again! Ah, the wonders of female wiles!"
But Scarlett did not seem to hear the insult.
"Really?" She whispered.
There again, that forlorn gaze from her he could not bear.
"What a terrible sound! Tell me, am I mistaken, or is it not quite alike the sound of your own soprano?"
She pursed her lips. "If you intend to make a raise out of me, you will fail."
He gave her a crooked smile. "I think I already won."
"But more than that," he added softly, leaning over her, relishing on the proximity, a proximity she did not seem to refuse, not just yet. "I wouldn't say no to hear you sing again. I can't remember how it was, quite yet."
She opened her mouth, but her throat went dry. He turned his head away.
"Why keep them in a cage, then, if they escape?" He mused. "Why not break it? Shouldn't it be the fate of any cage?"
The merchant gave them a grin.
"Well, for your and your woman's entertainment, good sir! How else would you have the pleasure to watch them?"
The lad by his side seems to have an opinion. However, his speaking English was too poor to properly understand it.
"He's a useless fool," The merchant dismissed. "But true, true, there has been something that happened when we tried changing their cages. This time, it was the wench that went away, and she got lost, the little fool. Was almost eaten by the cat. Poor old boy almost died of heartbreak for what she did, and what did she do when we put her back? She bit him!"
This made Rhett laugh. A japing laugh, all bite and irony.
"Perhaps he had been mean to her," Scarlett scoffed.
How he delighted in blowing hot and cold on her.
"I think they look lovely," she could not help but repeat, and he kept looking at her.
He would buy a million of horrible birds, and pretty golden cages, if it meant she could smile. If only it would ease the bars so he could get free.
He liked the symbolism of these birds though. If only he could hope she was moved by it, consider their situation as the same! Two creatures of the same species, that would be better off being together than apart!
"Mama! Eat?" Repeated Wade.
"Come on, Scarlett," Rhett finally said as she lingered. "We have to keep going."
So she nodded, tucking Wade close, and wondering if she wasn't in a cage of his own. Rhett's hand for a moment seemed to linger toward her, until it was tucked to his back in a clenched fist.
"Stay close, Scarlett." He said, and they walked on, but she could not quite keep up. Wade was struggling against her, reclaiming the birds again.
"You should let him down, Scarlett."
She ignored him. He changed the subject.
"Tell me, Scarlett, do you have any news of your illustrious grandfather?"
She finally looked at him, pointedly, and he quickly remarked the thin wrinkle of concern on her brow.
"I feel some mockery in your voice," She sniffed.
"You care about him. It is so obvious." He was almost envious.
"Stop nagging me. Bully."
"I will keep nagging you if that suits me," he quipped. "I said, stay close."
"I am not your dog." She snapped.
"Oh, perhaps I should ask you to bark to test that," He said silkily. "Let him walk, Scarlett. The boy's not a baby anymore."
"But if I do, he will…"
"I said, let him walk," he repeated, this time visibly irritated.
She turned to him, feeling her temper rise to his berating, when suddenly she was pushed violently aside, and a terrible ache sparked viciously to her side. Her hands gripped on the end of the plank, her forehead feeling the void. It had happened so quickly. For a second, she was blinded by her own pain, until she realized…
Her arms were empty. Wade, who had struggled so in her arms… God, where was he?
Her heart froze in fright, until she heard a terrible plop that made her look at the void, and the sea that filled it.
For a moment, she saw the ripples on the water desperately, and Wade's eyes still following her underneath, as if dumbfounded to be in such a perilous situation as he sank deeper and deeper. She had to follow. Her body leaned on the edge, arms reaching, and she was about to fall for him, with him, when she felt Rhett's grip on her skirt, pulling her back.
And instead of her own body diving into the water, it was Rhett's, and she idly, nonsensically reflected he still had his leather shoes on.
Then he reappeared, a god coming from the boiling water, and climbed up the dock.
He turned to her, all disheveled and wild and wet, and put the precious little weight in her arms, which she closed in pure reflex, feeling her heart squeezed with painful relief.
Suddenly, she was breathing out as well, feeling as if she had been asleep for such a long time, lost in a deep, thick mist, and now she was awake, and everything seemed aggressively more alive, more colorful. Too colorful. She blinked, blinded by it all, until it all came crashing down in Wade's cough.
He was saved! Her boy was safe! Silent and shaken, but safe! Her feverish fingers pushed over his hair, checking his brow, his eyes, his cheeks. She felt the weight of Rhett's hand on her head, saw the other rest on Wade's. After a moment of deep silence, she heard his long exhale.
She wanted to laugh. And cry. Madly. Safe, they were safe!
"You..." He hissed, toward her, and his brow furrowed.
She startled, feeling hot and cold at the same time, no thought coming to her mind, only the sensation of Wade's shivering body against hers. Deeply puzzled, she looked up to meet his eyes, and was for a moment so mesmerized by the fury burning in it that she couldn't even comprehend his words.
"You would have just jumped, when you're obviously no good at swimming?! Are you out of your mind, woman? Has the sea addled your brain? Stop looking at me like that and talk, by God, or I will…"
But she could not. Could only stare, her mind all buzzes and pulses. No insult could permeate her brain as he stood there, so strong and powerful, and his hair went everywhere, one strand over his eye that he mechanically pushed away, and the water kept dripping over his body and she just wanted to…
His lids narrowed, mouth clucked as he retreated. She shivered.
"And you," he growled, turning abruptly toward the boy, his voice guttural. She drew him closer to her bosom, unbothered by the fact it wetted all the front of her dress. "it is well done, now you are all wet! That's the least you deserve, you little mongrel! Can't you just stay still?"
Wade blinked for a moment, his eyes stared in awe as he looked at him. "… Papa."
Rhett's brows dropped painfully, and for a moment, he seemed like a puppet whose strings had been swiftly cut. His mouth twisted. Something flashed in the dark, until Scarlett was only confronted to his back. Her eyes lingered on the clenched fists, white with anger, so big, so strong. He was there, tall and powerful, a bulwark protecting her and her boy. "And you..."
"YOU DIMWIT, SON OF A PIG, DON'T YOU HAVE EYES TO SEE WHERE YOU ARE GOING?"
"She was on the way!" The man stuttered, and she supposed He was the one who had pushed her. "It's not my fault if you can't keep your woman and brat out of the…"
The man shut his mouth as suddenly he was faced with the mouth of Rhett's gun.
"And now you are on mine. How unlucky for you."
For a moment, Scarlett felt a deep, animalistic feeling of pride and vindication. This was her man, and he was dangerous and fierce. And he defended her! He defended her and her boy!
Then, the thinned layer of civilization came down in her mind, and she cleared her throat.
"Rhett!" Scarlett intervened. "It's alright. He's worthless. A pathetic little man. Not worth any of our time."
She put a hand on his elbow.
"Rhett… we have to go back. Wade needs to be changed."
His eyes darted for a moment toward her, so dark, so ferocious. They softened barely a little, to her surprise, before coming back to the man. his mouth curled in contempt.
"Get lost. Next time, I shoot you."
She tried to calm Wade's pitiful whimpers on her, swaying him lightly and murmuring little nothings to him. Without a word, Rhett scooped him to his shoulder, and pushed her to him as they went back to the house.
"You are still wet," she said softly, when the door closed behind them. "You should change."
He stood still, as if not comprehending her.
"Wade is safe. He'll be fine", she urged. "Go get changed, you'll catch your death."
His brows furrowed. His arm jerked, as if realizing she was still touching him, and pushed her.
"You would like that, wouldn't you?" He snapped. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I'm stronger than that."
After laying a still bewildered Wade on the floor, he shook himself, and droplets of water fell to the carpet, leaving a trace as he went back to his room.
"You idiot," she whispered.
.
.
He woke up with a dry throat, and the terrible feeling of having lost everything. His heart took time to recover, thundering to the point of breaking, and he almost thought he would die.
His feet dragged him to Scarlett's chamber. His hand raised to the handle, and quietly, so quietly, he turned it and slipped inside, helped by the thin ray of light from the other room. His eyes squinted, and he continued as they grew more at ease with the dark, revealing shapes and angles.
He knew after this all, she would put the boy near her, clung to him fiercely. He counted on it. It was so very primal and instinctive, and she was a creature just like that.
His fingers went an inch above her face, an untold caress, just enough to feel her warmth. She shivered, and he froze as her tender mouth opened. He waited, alert, but she only let out a heavy sigh. Her body curled around the boy like a nest.
For a moment, he was tempted to just lay there and draw the both of them in his arms.
He stared at them longingly. Two beloved dark heads that softly snored in a bed too large for only the two of them. Their chests rose harmoniously, to the same tune, and, just by it, he was almost lulled to sleep. His heart gave a hard thug.
However, he did not want to wake Scarlett. He did not want to add more dark circles under her eyes from any lack of sleep. Not when he knew his presence would not bring her comfort, would not be welcomed.
And he did not want the peaceful expression on her face to turn hard at his sight. He did not want the suffering that came with it.
It had been his fault if the boy had been to the water. However, he did not want to see that accusation added in the long list of griefs in her eyes.
Carefully, he untangled the boy out of her, little limb by little limbs, his heart eager for verification. Was the boy still breathing? Was he about to get sick? His big arms enveloped the boy. By God, how small he seemed!
His eyes examined him closely, and his shoulders fell in relief. Nothing, no sign at all. Scarlett would never have forgiven him if…
Dark eyes met dark eyes, and Rhett felt his heart shattered abruptly. He had almost lost the boy, his boy, and just as he realized it, so came the deafening call of shared blood that drew them together, when before it had been kept a whisper.
"Papa," Wade' voice cut the silence, and the conquest was complete.
He would give the world to him.
"Cub," he murmured. "My boy, my precious boy."
Wade blinked, his lips opened in a yawn. Alarmed, Rhett's eyes darted toward Scarlett.
"Shh…" Rhett hushed hurriedly. "Just this once, boy, you are only mine."
There, he eloped with his precious package.
.
.
It was in the middle of the night , as she awoke, trying to find Wade's little body on her bed and realizing with a panicking heart that he was not there anymore, that she came across a scene she had never in her wildest dreams thought would happen, but now that it was, it seemed like the most natural things in the world. Her fingers held on tight the thick, velvet fabric of the couch, nails digging like anchors as she watched, breathless and amazed.
Father and son were sleeping together in there so comfortably, with a thin quilt while the fire died peacefully, cracking on its last logs, and their similarities were so obvious to the eye that Scarlett wanted to cry. And how Rhett was cradling Wade, so very gently and tenderly !
How could he seem so tender when sleeping, when he could be so hard awake?
She kissed their brows, first Wade with tenderness, then Rhett with slight tremor on her lips, lightly so her impetuous moment of affection could not startle them out of their sleep, but her nose lingered for a moment, craving the warm scent of her husband. She sniffed, then sighed. The breath released, she went still, petrified. His cheek had trembled slightly. His mouth opened, inhaled. She waited anxiously.
His lips closed, ticked twice, as if tasting the air swallow. His arms tightened around Wade. Scarlett chuckled softly, feeling her heart big with love. She leaned in, tempted to kiss him again, then gasped.
Wade's eyes were wide open.
"Don't tell," she whispered, giving him a wink.
He looked at her curiously, then blinked once. Twice. Then, frustrated, he let out a whinnish groan.
She chortled.
To her horror, Rhett started, then opened his eyes, for a moment confused. Her heart jumped against her chest.
"Your son is trying to wink," she said weakly.
A glint of amusement came to his eyes.
"Oh, so there is something he lacks, after all.."
He cleared his throat when she did not say anything after that. Only looked, with wide pea-green eyes.
"I… he called for me. You would not wake."
"Did he?"
"Would you doubt it?" He said, and his voice came out harsh.
He let out a startled cough. Scarlett's brows furrowed in concern.
"Rhett…"
He held his hand in defense, his eyes narrowing in mock horror.
"Don't say anything," He said. "Now, I'm going back to sleep."
She watched his back as he made a show to jump the stairs and disappear to his room. His clothes still clung to him too closely.
"Idiot," she murmured.
"Papa?" Wade blinked, before yawning.
Her heart clenched in pain.
"Don't worry, Wade. Your Papa is fine."
He grinned. "Papa idiot ! Idiot, idiot idiot!"
She looked at him in bewilderment, and for a moment, was apprehensive that he might repeat it next time in front of Rhett.
"Hush, darling," she swiftly said. "No, papa is clever, and strong and…"
"Papa idiot!" He repeated. Then he laughed.
.
.
It was by the next morning, when she heard the doctor's footsteps leaving angrily from Rhett's room, and his reddened face as he bowed sharply to her, that she could not help but be concerned.
And when he did not come for dinner, so did her worry deepen.
By the end of the day, she dared open his door a crack, try one foot inside, then two, until her curious eyes wandered around the room where her husband slept.
It was a very sunny, elegant room, numbed by light, aside from the deep mahogany of the bed and its pea green covers. Perhaps too sunny, for despite the opened window, the air felt suffocated, heavy with heat. As she walked forward, taking off her shoes to avoid making a sound, the shape of his body on the cover, a naked, sweaty body, became more and more distinct, making her turn away for a moment, her cheeks flushing like a silly maid. However, his moans came to her, barely audible and guttural, and it hit something in her chest, in her guts, and she pushed forward, her pulse beating deafeningly at her temples.
Rhett was suffering. His face, his strong, beautiful face was twisted in pain, while his body seemed to fight against it. However, his breaths were shallow, and his cough was hard, agonizing.
Seeing the beads of sweat on his brow, her heart felt thick and heavy, and it squeezed painfully when she heard him cough in his sleep.
She ordered a broth and tea and honey, and fresh towels and water.
As she quietly wiped his body, then his face, it came to her that while she felt no desire, for he was so sick and vulnerable, the feeling she had was even more powerful than when he had only been his strong, impenetrable self.
His eyes slightly cracked open, and she froze, hand on the wet towel stopped an inch from his forehead. His voice came as if through a tube, slow, painful, difficult.
"Scarlett… came to relish on pain?"
"Well, of course!" She said petulantly, ticked by his remark.
He coughed on a chuckle. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but…." Another cough. .. "t's nothing at all… sent the doctor to the devil…"
His voice was weaker and weaker as he said the words.
"Drink," she ordered.
"Poison?"
"Oh, worse," she retorted. "Tea and honey."
"I hate tea."
"I know," she murmured.
"Poison would have been less misery." He kept quiet, before his eyes flickered to her, hesitant. "How is the boy?"
"Wade is fine."
She examined him.
She knew she had said it, but to actually see it… the mighty Rhett Butler, reduced to misery by a cold!
"Mighty Rhett Butler, my foot," she mumbled. "Oh, it's just like you, Rhett Butler, to fall sick when you know how I hate nursing!"
"That's quite…" he coughed. "An unfortunate thing for a former nurse."
"Hush, you! Don't talk, I swear every time you talk, you just make me want to hit you!"
"Can't you be a little soft, a little soothing for once?" She pinched him. "Ouch! Mind your paw, you cruel little cat. I am a poor man lying in bed in agony…"
"A poor man lying in agony, indeed! When I'm done with you, you will be! I doubt any woman had enough willpower to be soft with you!"
"My mother was."
"She must have been a saint!"
"Oh no… no one is ever a saint…"
"Well, it's true no Saint woman would have had you!"
He chuckled, coughed on it, his eyes gleaming.
"Quite true, my dear…" he coughed, and she jumped to present him a glass of water, which he took very begrudgingly.. "She and my Mammy… they used to give me some she-crab soup when I was sick. Or at least force it down my throat, for my Mammy 's part."
"You've never told me about it," she said, softened. "I never could imagine you sick… until now."
His shoulders raised weakly for a shrug.
"Oh, very rarely. Often because I'd done some mischief beforehand."
"you're sick because of Wade and I… you've saved us," she kissed his knuckles, feeling her heart warm. "Thank you."
He did not seem to have heard her.
"You are so very lovely…"
For a moment, she forgot how far from home she was. She forgot the strange land, the strange people and culture. For a moment, she belonged. And the feeling gave her strength.
And a sense of purpose. She was a mother and a wife.
She had been too far behind, and she realized it now.
Wade needed her. Carreen needed her.
And when she saw Rhett like that, she knew… she knew he could need her as well, and that need fueled her strength.
"Don't get sick again," she said, and her voice was soft, almost concerned. "You know I don't like it."
She caressed his brow with a tender thumb.
"I cannot promise you that," he whispered back, and the corner of his lip lift. "I doubt there is any cure for it, my love."
Her heart jumped, but she quickly shook herself off it.
"Fi! Not any cure for a simple cold!"
He did not reply. He was already asleep, with a smile on his lips. She sighed, feeling her heart melting begrudgingly.
"You puzzle me like no other…"
She let her craving fingers go through his hair.
"My love… "she repeated.
He had seemed like he meant it. However, with him, she had long understood that what she thought he felt could be wrong, only the reflect of her own wishful thinking.
Any husband could call his wife his love, and not mean it truly. It was a convention, something to expect.
However… he was no conventional husband.
She forced herself not to think about it. It would only hurt her, to torture herself over it.
She could not stop herself from loving him. She had tried, but the more she had, the more her heart had clung to him, crying at his cruelty and looking for comfort, any comfort he could bring.
Perhaps was this as it always made to be, with Rhett, with her loving him in the shadows. Perhaps was it a wife's fate. A few moments of light after times of darkness.
And now, he was sick because of her, because of their boy… how could she even stop?
She took his hand in both of hers, and kissed it.
.
.
He woke up once, and through still blurry, sticks lashes, he saw an empty, well-used armchair facing him closely, at arm's reach. Scarlett had been there. A strong surge of love waved over his still feverish body, frightening by its intensity.
His mind was still clouded with cold, and he felt the dry ache in his throat acutely. Memories were blurry as well, as if he had been for a moment watching life happening underwater. He could hear her voice, but could barely understand it. He could feel hands touching him, but had it been her, or was it a distant memory? She had been there, he knew it… and now, she was not.
His head fell back to the pillow painfully. If she weren't with Wade, it meant the little rascal was safe. That was at least something. Perhaps had she another one of her queer notions, that she had to care for him for putting the boy out of the water, like she had once in a while. He wouldn't put past her to believe she was indebted to him, and had to force herself to try to
One thing was clear, though.
In his vulnerability, he had been far too open. He could not stay… he did not know what to do if he stayed. How would she see him? What would she say?
He had called her his love. Simple, endearing words that could be also of convenience, meaningless, but words of a sick man came truer than that of a gentleman in control.
But this night… she had cared for him. If only a little. She had watched over him, talked to him softly, if only for a short time.
Or perhaps was it too good to be true, a cruel trick played by his own sick mind.
The picture of her, looking at him with a peaceful smile, skirts raised to the ankles to let her dainty little feet shyly curl under the waves came, unbidden, to his mind. It had felt indeed like a dream, yes… however, when had he been relying on dreams?
He looked at the empty armchair and felt some kind of strength, some kind of fear. He looked at her and decided.
He would do nothing for now.
For now, he would sleep. He would need all strength he could gather later.
And a whole pot of luck.
.
.
When she came back by the next morning, she faced a newly made bed with crisp clean sheets and fluffy pillow, and no man tucked in it, so strangely irresistible in his vulnerability.
He came back by the evening, imperturbable as if no illness had ever touched him.
Well, imperturbable if not, as she looked closely, for the paler skin of his face, and the almost feverish little light in his hair.
And just as closely she looked at him, he looked at her, and the intensity of his stare was baffling, as if he was terribly, patiently waiting for something. Her eyes flicked down, not knowing what to do.
"Give me a strand of your hair, Scarlett," he suddenly said.
This made her jump off her seat, so very startled by the incongruous demand.
"What?" She stuttered, gripping for the think velvet cushions of the armchair. You ask me to…
"This is not a question. In fact, I will just do it."
She did not dare to move as he approached her with the scissors, and had to suppress a shiver as his breath warmed her nape. It had been so long since he had been willingly that close to her… softly, with a surprising reverence, his fingers took off some hairpin, draw the length of a long thread of hair… now she could feel his warm breath on her ear, could smell the scent of his cigars lingering, and she bit her lip. The uneasy, exciting feeling was settled in her stomach waiting… waiting for what?
The sharp cut of the scissors made her gasp.
"Are you done playing dolls?" She could not help saying.
"With you? Never," he quipped, looking at her queerly.
She huffed. I am not something you can buy.
"Oh, really? Brave words, when everyone has a price," he leaned in, breathing in her perfume. "Come on, Scarlett, tell me…"
She looked at him warily.
"How much for a smile ?"
"What ?" She muttered, wondering if she had heard it truly.
He grinned.
"Are you out of your depth, dear? Good. I could order that easily from you, I know, though your forced smiles are the elements of a nightmare. How about for a kiss?"
Her cheeks reddened furiously.
"You insult me. And you, how much for you to stop bothering me?"
"You're not ready for the price of it, dear."
"It is you, Rhett Butler, who's not ready for the price of me!" She shot.
It escaped her mouth without thinking, and she stood, aghast at herself, wondering why the words had slipped so easily, when they never came to mind before.
But before she could ever process them, his face reddened, and he retorted, temper raising.
"You think you're the smartest little belle around ? Well, there are many like you, or even better than you, dear."
And in answer, how could she not reply to this injustice ?
"Then why didn't you marry them, and bother them as well, when you're at it?"
They stared at each other, then laughed. An incontrollable laugh.
"They wouldn't be you," he finally said, and there was a rich tenderness in his voice that sent her heart thumping right at her ribcage.
Her whole body tensed. He could not say that. He could not say that and still be so cruel to her. Her eyes narrowed as she felt their innerving moist, and she turned her chin, trying to keep her mind clear, and cold.
"Tell me, Scarlett… he said softly, so, so softly. "would you cry if I don't return ?"
She raised her head, alerted.
"What kind of question is that ? What is it with you suddenly ?"
"Of course, you wouldn't," he laughed sharply. "I doubt you see anything beside yourself and that boy. Given the choice, you'd be no Penelope to me, wouldn't you? I'd rather not come back and demand for a bath, I'd end up murdered in the tub."
The reference rang a bell, and for a moment, she stood, confused, wondering where she could have heard them.
"You don't understand what I'm saying, do you?" He laughed again. "What a waste of an education!"
She slapped him. He went closer, his eyes burning pits, and she thought for a moment he would either hit her back or kiss her.
She was not afraid, no. She was… almost thrilled.
However, he simply said:
"There, finally. A little spirit."
It must have been a dream, a terrible illusion, and she blinked, and was almost persuaded of it, so imperturbable he seemed.
He tucked the helms of his jacket forward, in such a aggressive gesture she flinched, as if he had whipped her. Her cheeks flushed, but she stood still, waiting. Why, why, why was he leaving, and so suddenly?
"Well, now that we settled this…"
He cleared his throat.
"You shall be rid of my company tonight. I am out of your caring hands, be relieved. And perhaps for some time as well after that. I'm sure you'll be happy with that."
"Where are you going ?" She asked, her voice faltering. "You shouldn't..."
A little mocking gleam came to his eyes.
"Should I consider this as a mark of concern for your dear husband?"
She waved him off.
"Oh, go, go! You are insufferable! I don't want to see your face ever again, you can go to the devil if I care!"
He gave her a crooked smile.
"I'll come back, then."
.
.
They seriously need a therapist...
Anyway, instead of the usual little snippet, I suggest you a little quizz J what do you think Rhett is up to? What the hell is he thinking ?
A) Oh, too much emotions, needs to go, bye! (Aka the man has been running his entire life, he will only stop when he drops dead).
B) Well, go get some little fun, which he could taunt Scarlett about later, of course. A man needs his fun, and she's been no fun at all. (in fact getting all drunk and despaired, and cursing the cruelty of women, and their contrarious ways)
C) One of her loved ones is doing something stupid that might get them killed, so… well, he'd hate to see her upset about it. Especially when she took care of him when he was sick (still quite grumpy about having gotten sick, but he supposes the moments of softness were… interesting). But it's foolish, really, and it irks him to have to do that. Stupid people forcing him to do stupid things.
D) He's going back to the States to fight in the war. Because, why not? At least, Scarlett and Wade are far from it and… perhaps that sentence about women, children and cowards hurt him more than expected, hitting à hidden truth he did not want to see. Who knows?
