Susan inspired me to try and finish this. Now for something completely different.

“Dance”

Never in her life had Scarlett O’Hara felt so alone.

She stared out through the mahogany banisters towards the open doorway and sighed with remorse. It didn’t have to be this way, she supposed, she could have just kept her damned mouth shut, but heaven forbid that! No, she was doomed to be forever locked in this hell she’d made for herself, away from the rest of the world, a deviant to the rules of society.

Once, not long after the war had ravaged her world, and more directly Tara, she recalled thinking that she no longer had anything to fear. A woman who had seen the worst, as old Grandma Fontaine had called it, and had nothing left to fear; not life nor Mother nor loss of love or public opinion. Only hunger and her nightmare dream of hunger could make her afraid. Or so she’d thought.

A wild thought of quickly dashing down the steps and into the parlor to retrieve a bottle of brandy crossed her mind, but she knew she couldn’t; Rhett would be coming through that door any moment…or maybe in a hour or so…or maybe not till morning. Still, she waited.

She was imprisoned forever by words which were stronger than any jail. “Rhett, I’ve decided that I don’t want to have any more children…”

And because of those words, she was forever bound to live a life shut out from those around her, essential windowed out from the world from which she’d once belonged. She couldn’t comprehend these Atlanta folk who went about starving with their heads held high. The war had taught her what people really were, but it didn’t teach her anything more about how to live with them, be they Atlanta’s disheveled finest, or the bejeweled Scalawag crowd. But most of all, she was shut out from Rhett, the one person whom she’d always been able to turn to, the one who understood and knew her best.

She couldn’t go out and buy drab shaded gowns and begin attending masses and tea parties in an attempt to regain her reputation; For everyone would know what a sham it was, seeing how she and her husband still occupied separate rooms. No, she wasn’t privy to all of the resources Rhett seemed to have in his armory.

And why was that? Why was it that he could do such things, yet still carry on with a mistress and not be look down upon? It made no sense, and simply served to make her seethe with resentment towards Rhett, and men in general. Oh, they were all common and vile, and Rhett Butler was the worst of them all.

Yet she stayed and she waited…

She leaned her forehead against the carved banister, feeling the sharp ornamentation dig into her forehead. It hurt and she closed her eyes to focus on the pain. At least when she felt pain, she knew she was alive. Inside she felt as cold and empty as the air streaming in through the open front door and swirling around her in cold fingers that made her shiver. It was foolish to sit here like this, huddled on the stairs waiting for something that had been destroyed long ago by her own action, yet she had neither the energy nor the will to move so she sat in the chilly silent hall.
The door clicked shut and she could sense the difference in the light even through her closed eyelids. Still, the weariness of spirit and body that gripped her was stronger than the desire to open her eyes and lift her head to face him.
“Miss Scarlett, whut you doin’ heah on de flo?” Mammy said, her voice scolding, but gently.
Scarlett opened her eyes and turned her head, still leaning against the banister, to watch Mammy climb the long flight of stairs. It made her dizzy to look down these stairs now. Add that to the list of fears that continued to haunt her waking and sleeping.
Mammy, looking at Scarlett, had fears of her own. Her Lamb’s face was so pale lately, and her eyes so dull and lifeless. Mammy remembered that look well for it was the same look she had seen in Ellen’s face those many years ago after Phillipe was taken from her. Mammy reached down to pat Scarlett’s shoulder, “Come, chile, there ain’t no good in makin’ yuhsef ill, sitttin’ heah in de cole. Yo hans lak ice, honey. Lemme git you some hot tea den you take a res’ till dinnuh tahm.”
Scarlett rose obediently and let Mammy fuss over her as if she were a child again. She could forget for a while as Mammy bustled about the bedroom, removing her shoes and pushing a cup of tea into her chilly hands. It was a comfort to know that Mammy was making sure she drank all of it, and the dose of laudanum Scarlett was positive she had added to it. It wasn’t until Mammy tucked the quilt about her and stroked her hair, humming a familiar lullaby, that Scarlett remembered she wanted to wait for Rhett. Then drowsiness moved in and blotted out thoughts and dreams and fears, if only for a little while.

It was Mammy who met Rhett in the dim hall when he returned. He asked, as he had every day, “Is she better today, Mammy?” but instead of the usual reassurance that she seemed a bit better, Mammy told him about finding her huddled on the stairs that afternoon. As she told him, her voice and eyes conveyed the depth of both her confusion and her fear, as if he had the answers to dispel either or both. If only he had.
Fear and confusion both dogged him since that day Scarlett fell. He who had always felt so confident and at ease, even in the face of some very dangerous situations where life and death hung on the next decision or action, was completely rudderless now. At first it had been only fear, fear that she would die and he would be left knowing that it had been his fault, and that his last words to her had been unforgivably cruel. Yet, by some act of mercy by a God that he didn’t even believe existed, she had not died.
But, what was mercy? Now the demons of his marriage arrived and were driving him through this unknown territory of raw emotion and uncertainty. Far from being well, Scarlett was quite obviously depressed. Dr. Meade assured Rhett that this was normal. Women often were depressed after a miscarriage and just to give her time. Yet days turned to weeks and Scarlett moved through the house looking only half-alive. Rhett ached to hold her, to comfort her, to love her and still the demons taunted his thoughts. Not you, not you, not your arms, not your compassion, not your love…
So he listened to Mammy and wondered why she looked to him for answers. Didn’t she know he was a coward when it came to Scarlett and his heart? Mrs. Wilkes looked at him the same way when she told him that Scarlett needed their strength now, after giving them so much of her own. He thought of the irony that the strength of that sweet, fragile woman was many times his own and yet she had such faith in him. Mammy had faith in him, too, whether he deserved it or not..
He thanked her for telling him about what happened and went first to his room and then to the playroom where the children greeted him. Wade had been patiently guiding the girls through the game of Chinker Checks. Bonnie liked rolling the bright colored marbles over the floor once they had been captured and Ella was having a hard time with the concept of strategy. She just liked to jump as many marbles as she cold, willy-nilly, leaving some of her abandoned pieces to a slow progression across the board. Rhett complimented Wade on his efforts, and he replied that he was keeping the little ones quiet for mother so she could get well.
“She is getting well, isn’t she, Uncle Rhett?” he asked, his soft brown eyes full of confidence in his step-father’s answer. The girls were watching him too, anticipating the answer he would give. Rhett smiled and lied to his children, “Of course she is.”

Days passed in that strange kind of twilight dance that was their life now. They each knew so well the steps, esoteric and synchronized perfectly to turn through the tune while avoiding the other dancer. One misstep by either and they would collide. Each knew it, each longed for it, but neither could take the step. But the music was fading. It would end and the dancers would leave the floor. Candles dowsed, the ball over. Silence.

Rhett swallowed and looked across the table at Scarlett. The children had been excused and they remained alone. She was sipping coffee, her usual habit after dinner. He was sipping a brandy. In a moment she would set the cup down, say she was tired and bid him a polite “Goodnight.” He would return the “Goodnight” and say he hoped she would sleep well although they both knew very well that she would not. Step, turn, step.

“Scarlett, I’m sorry.”
The cup landed on the saucer with a clink.
“About what?”
“The baby.”
Crash.

The cup hit the floor and shattered.
“Don’t lie to me. Not about this,” Scarlett was shaking visibly as she stood.
Rhett approached her, afraid she might faint, afraid almost to touch her, afraid that his worst fears would be confirmed, that she really hated him.
“I wouldn’t lie about this. It’s too important,” he whispered, turning her face up to his with a gentle hand. There was no hatred in her eyes, just stark, naked grief. She gave a little cry and was holding him suddenly, her arms clutching him tightly.
“I wanted a boy,” she said as his arms slid around her, “I wanted him to be like you.” The confession came out with a sob.
Rhett was too stunned to speak as the meaning of her words sank in and every barrier between them crumbled.

It was a new dance and a new tune, one neither of them knew. They would have to learn it, step by step, together.

“I wanted a boy,” she said as his arms slid around her, “I wanted him to be like you.” The confession came out with a sob.
Rhett was too stunned to speak as the meaning of her words sank in. She wanted his baby and she wanted him. It was she who reached to him, willingly and in great need, he knew as he held her and every barrier between them crumbled. Like Pandora, his demons were silenced and Hope whispered sweetly in his ear.

It was a new dance and a new tune, one neither of them knew. They would have to learn it, step by step, together.

Right now, it's pretty thin but I think it has some potential and I still like it pretty well. Generally, it needs to be fleshed out, especially toward the end and a few ideas expanded. It deals with the depression theme that Jenn had in her story, but not with the social inequality in the lives of men and women at the time and that is one of the major weaknesses it has as a completion of what Jenn began.

If you do I look forward to see what happens.

I hope you write some more stories soon.

I just love reading all stories that everone has written.

I Hope somewill continue the Letters between scarlettand rhett and the RR.

Tabitha