"Ruin and Redemption"

Scarlett and Her Brother

Very short chapter; just wanted to give you a taste, so you know I'm thinking of you; I've been doing a lot of travel lately, so not as much time for writing. Can't wait to tie up all the loose ends and finish this book, hopefully the last in the series (or at least the last one I'm writing) I look forward to my readers taking it forward with the next generation. But to all those who are hoping and yearning for it, Lizzie will get at least find some happiness if you continue on reading. Thanks for your time and attention so far! I really appreciate it!

The horseman was still several towns away with Scarlett when she recognized her brother on his horse, facing the road, as if waiting for her.

“Tom!” Scarlett exclaimed.

“Scarlett, sister. I’m so glad you made it; we haven’t much time left. Father has been asking for you; He wanted me to wait by the road so there would be no delay in getting you to him. Hopefully he still has some time left.” Tom said all this as he paid the man who had bourne Scarlett to him, took her bag and helped her into her father’s carriage, arranging her feet on a box and hastily throwing a crocheted shawl over her legs, as if she were a real lady who could afford the luxury of modesty.

The roads here were of red dirt still. Tom was soon off, clucking his tongue at the tall gray black horse with the tussled mane, and the long face. With hardly a flick of the reins the horse was off, as impatient as its master. It started off so suddenly Scarlettt found herself clutching her seat with one hand and her bonnet with the other. Derrick had bought it for her on his last trip into Charleston. It had ameliorated her anger somewhat that he had gone off there to see other women, and had once more left her at home. Oh how she longed, just once, to accompany him into the big city. If only, just for a trip, she could turn white!

Scarlett’s heart was thudding in her chest. Her father had still been alive when Tom had left him there. Surely, he still was. Surely, she had made it in time, would make it in time! She had certainly had no further dreams foretelling his death, nor had she had any vision of his soul leaving his body. And, in fact, as they reached the next town, she sensed his presence growing stronger. He was in turmoil, she sensed, but still alive, still waiting for her, his daughter, to come and be with him in his time of death, his time of leaving his body. How she longed to hold his hand and press her head to his chest. At least now he wanted her! She was indeed his daughter.

Scarlett closed her eyes and prayed, closed her eyes and communed with the spirit of her dying father, asking him not to leave, that she was on her way. She asked sweet Jesus to set a place at the table for him and to carry him home into his bosom and forgive his terrible sins of holding slaves, of possibly forcing her mother, and all his other sins, and accept him fully into his choir of angels. Scarlett desperately wanted a reprieve for her father. And dear sweet Jesus, if she could just make it to him to hold his hand when he said his last words, and could just hear him say her name once more. Then, then everything would be well with her. She couldn’t think of nothing more to ask now. Just sweet Jesus bring her to her father an let her hold his hand and give him what strength and comfort she could. Just let them be together, father and daughter in the end. Just let him remember her as his daughter, sweet Jesus, his little girl, not some black nigger slave, his little girl, sweet Jesus, just his little girl.

As good as it was to see his sister again, Tom was not smiling. He had been waiting by the side of the road ( with only brief visits in to the pub for meals, or to water the horse) for a day and a half already. He had watched the road by lantern light, watching for the arrival of his sister. His father was desperate to see Scarlett before he went, and Tom knew how important the visit was for both of them.

Finally, with a sigh of relief, Tom woke his sister from her revelry.

“We’re here, Scarlett.” Tom tied a lose slip knot, and left the horse for the groom, quickly fetching the block for his sister and helping her down.

Scarlett barely landed, and she was already ahead of Tom on her way to the house. He had to rush to keep up with her; She was too close to her father now to hesitate. The maid quickly took her coat, and without waiting to be announced, Scarlett made her way to her father’s bedroom, the briefest of knocks announcing her entry before she opened the door. Tom wound up behind her, breaking the reverential atomosphere Cordelia, her husband and the servants had made around the bedside. “I found Scarlett, father, and brought her straight home. Her bearer only just arrived with her.” He announced heartily, finally smiling, to see his father still alive, and Scarlett now reaching for his pallid fingers and folding them in her strong warm ones. The scent of death was already upon him, but Mr. X  , brightened upon seeing his daughter standing before him.

“Scarlett.” He breathed satisfied. He stared at his hand in Scarlett’s for a moment, feeling strange to have a slave grasp his hand. Yet, he dared not move it away. This was his daughter, after all, and he wanted her near him, and not to be offended or hurt in any way. If she wanted to hold his hand, let her, he figured.

“Scarlett.” He smiled again weakly. “You made it.”

“Yes sir. Yes, I did.”

“Father, Scarlett. I’m your father, remember.”

“Yes, father.” Scarlett’s voice caught on the word, and she had to choke back tears that were starting to form in her eyes and a scream that was catching in her throat. There were some other old white gentlemen here who must be her father’s friends, and must own slaves. Her father would never have acknowledged her in front of them if he were not certain of his death. They looked at each other disapprovingly now, and one made a show of blowing his nose to cover up his discomfort with her very presence in this room. How dare a slave daughter show up at her father’s death. To her later regret, Scarlett cast a haughty eye at the men. How dare they interrupt her final hours, or maybe even minutes with her father?

Scarlett’s sister was there, and she was certainly not pleased with Scarlett’s entry into the gathering. She had hoped her brother would miss Scarlett, and her father would die with only his white family in the room. Scarlett’s presence would stick out like a sore thumb at his funeral. She did not want Scarlett here with her and the rest of the family. She belonged with her people, not in this family. She should go back to her plantation and be with her children and the other slaves she knew, rather than trying to take away Cordelia’s place as his daughter….it was humiliating, being replaced by a black slave. Cordelia knew her father very well, and he must like Scarlett awfully well to even allow her to visit at this time, let alone send for her, let alone allow her to hold his hand! She, Cordelia, must be the least favored daughter, barely even worth a thought, to be upstaged by her father’s offspring by a slave!

“Scarlett, be a good girl, and bring me a pen and some paper, daughter.”

“Yes, father.”

Scarlett’s brother helped her to the desk, where she found a writing implement, an ink well, and some parchment, as well as a board for her father to press down upon.

Mr. X’s handwriting was a jagged scrawl as he wrote out what he wanted Scarlett to have of his. It was a very simple and direct will. Cordelia wrung her hands and glanced worriedly at her father as he wrote.