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The first time Rhett met Melanie, he wasn’t overly impressed. In truth, she did not leave much of an impression on him. There was nothing about her face nor her figure to draw the eye, and she did not particularly make the effort to catch attention. There was also nothing about her to draw the ear; she sat silently, listening attentively to the conversation but keeping her opinions to herself, just like every other belle that Rhett had ever known. The only reason he remembered her at all was because she was engaged to Ashley Wilkes. And Rhett certainly had cause to remember who Ashley Wilkes was.
He only wondered briefly about the kind of woman who would want to wed a man like Ashley Wilkes. Ashley was not a man threatened by a woman of intelligence, like so many Southern men seemed to be, but rather threatened by a woman of passion. Rhett scoffed at the former, but scorned the latter. The kind of woman that Ashley Wilkes would want to marry was not the kind of woman that held any interest for him.
He didn't think of Melanie Hamilton again.
***
He didn't think of her again, that was, until he came to Atlanta in time for their bazaar. All to raise money for the oh-so-noble Cause, of course, but a party was a party. There would be girls and liquor, and the opportunities to make more contacts and set up more buyers. Blockade running was only profitable if people bought what he smuggled through.
Melanie hadn't caught his eye then, either. With so many girls in bright colors and pretty dresses, he would have thought that a woman in the black of mourning wouldn't be able to pull his eye. Of course, he discovered he was wrong, almost as soon as he walked in the door and saw Scarlett O'Hara, dressed in black and leaning on her elbows as she watched the dancers with bitter longing. He barely even noticed Melanie, serene and blending into the background in her mourning garb.
He wondered who had put them both into the widows' weeds. Perhaps Ashley Wilkes was dead. The thought sourly amused him, although it did not strike him as likely. More likely to be a brother or a cousin or even a father. Well, they hardly would be alone before this war was over.
Melanie did catch his eye when she called Scarlett her sister. It was Rhett's experience that girls like Scarlett- true belles- never had many women friends. When Melanie called Scarlett her sister, she not only said the words, but truly meant them. Her love for her sister-in-law was evident in her tender touch and the pride on her face as she looked at Scarlett. It was the height of naïveté, but at the same time, it was heartfelt. There was something touching about that kind of devotion, all the greater for the fact that it was misplaced.
Scarlett clearly hadn't given a damn about the boy who had been her husband. Her face contorted whenever his name was said, and anyone with half an eye could see that her expression was one of annoyance. When she tossed her wedding ring into the collection basket, he'd almost laughed. It was the same expression he'd expect to see on a slave tossing off their shackles. He'd been about to applaud when he saw Melanie put her own ring in. Her face was stricken, devoid of all color, and she stood watching the basket make its rounds as if she wished she could dive back into it and pull her ring out.
Love. Rhett didn't underestimate it, but he knew its rarity. - Its rarity, and its value. His eyes lingered for a long moment on Melanie, and his throat closed slightly. But then the old goat running the show called for the crowd to bid on the women to dance reels, and Rhett's attention was distracted by the spectacle in front of him, and a pair of emerald green eyes.
But the next morning, he made his way to the hospital, intent on returning Melanie's ring. Melanie might be a naïve fool, but love like that took strength. Rhett suspected there was more to Melanie after all. And although there were other ways to secure an invitation to the Hamilton household, he was happy to take this one.
***
The letter was written in pinched, reluctant handwriting. Rhett smirked to see it. Of course Pitty Hamilton had written it; that was what was proper, after all. But he was certain that it was Melanie who had prompted it.
The house on Peachtree street had lamps lit, and when he climbed the front stairs he could smell chicken roasting. Chicken wasn't the rarity he was sure it would soon become yet, but the price was climbing in small bursts. He knocked, rocking on his heels.
An ancient butler answered, his face bland in an attempt to mask severe disapproval. "Mist' Butler," he said, standing aside as Rhett entered the house. Rhett looked around, handing him his coat, and then turned his attention to Miss Pitty, who came bustling into the parlor to greet her guest. Miss Pitty, and Mrs. Hamilton.
He was teasing Scarlett about her father's singing when he heard the voices. The butler was lecturing Melanie. That didn't surprise Rhett at all. What did surprise him was Melanie's voice, soft and low but passionate, overriding his objections.
"Uncle Peter, please! I know what people say, but I just can't believe that he's that bad! Anyone who would understand about Ashley and who would help the Cause…. Yes, I know. But he's done so much!"
So much. That was a laugh, and Peter was right to be suspicious of him. Rhett had no qualms about that fact, especially whenever Scarlett caught his eye. His intentions were anything but noble, and he had no shame in that fact. Rhett could barely contain his smirk.
But when Melanie entered the room, her head held high and her cheeks red with righteous indignation, he couldn't help feeling touched. For a southern woman to speak up against an elder male relative was a battle, and Rhett recognized that. He thought it might be the first time a woman who wasn't his mother had fought that war for him. Melanie was wrong- dead wrong- about his motives, but he couldn't help but be touched by her faith.
***During the days he was accepted and embraced by Atlanta, Rhett was grateful for Melanie's kindness, but he regarded it with a sort of cynicism as well. It was easy to be kind to someone when society smiled on it. And Melanie might argue with a slave that was like family, but she would not stand up to the disapproval of the town matrons, which could terrify the Confederate army and half of the Yankee one.
He was wrong.
He'd known the day would come when he'd tire of their ways and the games that had to be played in polite society, of watching fools pretend that the Cause meant everything. And it brought him a dark sort of joy to air his true thoughts at a musicale, when he could no longer stand the hypocrisy and self-delusion. And it felt good to no longer bite his tongue and play nice for the sake of business.
He knew that the town would be closed to him, and so he was mildly surprised when he received an invitation from Pitty for Sunday dinner. He knew the invitation wasn't from Pitty- not really- and for a moment he thought (hoped) that Scarlett had put her up to it. But that wasn't Scarlett's style, and Rhett knew it. It had to be Melanie. Melanie, who must still think he believed in the Cause, no matter what he said.
However, no matter what he thought of the invitation, he had his reasons for not refusing it, and Sunday night found him in Pittypat's parlor, holding yarn for Melanie as she wound it into a ball.
"What are you making?" he asked, because she seemed so fervent about her work.
"Gloves," Melanie explained shortly. "To send to the front. They won't be as warm as if they were leather, but they'll be something for one of the boys."
"Of course." He was smooth.
Melanie flushed and looked down at her work. He raised an eyebrow, but she didn't say anything. Normally she would prattle on during moments like these, relating the latest news and gossip from her husband's letters. But today she didn't say anything. He sat back, watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.
"What you said at the musicale," she began haltingly, much to his surprise. He raised his eyebrows, but she didn't look up to see the expression. In fact, she focused on her knitting more intensely. "It was very…"
"You don't have to say it," he said, amused at the thought she might get up the gumption to scold him. But when Melanie looked up, he realized that she wasn't scolding at all. He sat for a moment, surprised. So she did see the truth. He wondered if he should have given her more credit for being clear-eyed. Then he thought of Scarlett and figured probably not. "I see," he said softly.
Mealine flushed and returned to her knitting. She didn't offer any further opinion, except that, "I think you would like Ashley very much, if he were here."
"I'm sure," Rhett felt obligated to say, although he didn't agree at all. But Melanie just smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back.
***
His regard for her was different from how he viewed Scarlett- Melanie was a different woman and a different idol. He loved her like a Madonna, with a serene and quiet sort of worship. But those weren't words that ever occurred to him; rather, he told himself he thought of her much like a sister, or a cousin who needed to be shielded from the world. Her faith in people would be laughable if it was not so sincere, and when she was in the face of society, it was near impossible to remember that this meek, quiet woman would stand up for what she believed in. And yet, he was reminded of it at odd times, in trying situations and times that would break others.
And over the years, he knew that he loved her.