"Ruin and Redemption"

The Much Longed for and Dreaded Arrival

“I don’t know. I suppose, if you like, Old Tom could have some time off to tell you stories. Would that make you happy Esme?”

“Oh, I would love to have Old Tom tell me some stories about his life.” Esme clapped her hands together like a little girl.

“Well, then, I’m sure he will, Esme. Just let me know anything I can do to make things easier for you. I know you’ve never been to my house. And I want you to feel right at home once we get there. I mean, it is your home now, Esme, since your house was burned.”

Patsy breathed a big sigh and stared at Derrick in disbelief. He ignored her and continued on.

“We’re friends, Esme. And I love you. My house is yours, too. Make yourself at home.”

“Well, I will do my best, Derrick. I know I’m going to get along with all your helpers.”

“Slaves, Esme,” Derrick corrected, then worried at having offended Patsy, he added, “Although, of course, they’re very helpful.”

“And I plan on getting to know Lizzie very well Derrick.”

“I’m sure you will.” Derrick said awkwardly. “After all, you’ll be sharing a house.”

“And a man, aussi. Ces’t vrai?” Esme asked.

“Well, I suppose. It certainly isn’t out of the question that Lizzie and I could sleep together, Esme. We are married, after all. She isn’t quite sure whether she wants me or not, but she is my wife, and I count on her being there, Esme. And I’d like her to be happy if she can be. I hope you can get along.”

“Of course, we will. I forgive her for being rude to me earlier. I suppose some women do not see the necessity of sharing their husbands. They do not have an adequate understanding of their husband’s needs.”

“Hmmph!” Patsy said, feeling guilty over the rhetoric she had used against Lizzie in the past. “Lizzie understands well enough.”

“I’m sorry, Patsy. I did not mean to offend. Only, Lizzie did not seem to understand that men are not created to be faithful and cling to their wives the way the wives cling to their husbands,” Esme continued, certain that her vast experience as a courtesan gave her an understanding of men that a mere wife could never adequately grasp.

“Has Derrick told you about Scarlett?” Patsy rejoined. “She belongs with Derrick, too.”

“Oh, Scarlett. Yes, of course. He mentioned her.” Esme said confidently, but wondered why Patsy brought her up. Was Scarlett still Derrick’s lover?

“Um, yes. Scarlett will be there. In her own house. She stays there.” Derrick answered.

“And she is also your lover, Derrick?” Esme asked. The thought of Derrick sleeping with Lizzie now and then out of duty to his wife did not particularly bother Esme. She could share, after all, when she had to. And she was used to sharing her lovers with their wives. But another lover with her own house? Another mistress? This was a bit odd.

“Yes, most of the time. I mean, some of the time. I don’t know, Esme. But I love her.”

It was easy being honest with Esme. She truly wanted to know everything. And she took time handling the information, not flying into a rage like Lizzie or Scarlett. Not immediately judging him, and demanding he do something differently.

“Ah, you love her, Derrick.” Esme pondered. What did this mean for her own situation?

“Yes, love is not a bad thing, is it?” Derrick offered lightly.

“Oh, no. Love is what we live for, Derrick.” Esme agreed. “What could be more worthy?”

Derrick smiled wanly, but was aware of having let Esme down in some way. Surely not that he loved Scarlett, too; Surely that wasn’t it.

They sat quietly as Esme allowed the news to sink in. Scarlett was on the plantation, and Derrick was still in love with her. He had not refuted it when she had said that ‘love is what we live for’. Derrick’s feelings for Scarlett were not trivial. Where then did Esme rank?

Lizzie pinned and unpinned her hair in front of the mirror. She let a few tresses fall out, and then quickly repinned them. And again she let them fall. Over and over. Then she took the whole thing out, and clawed at her scalp. There was no hope for her, no hope.

Try as she might, there was nothing she could imagine wearing that would bring her anywhere close to captivating and enchanting Derrick the way that Esme would. Why, oh why did she have to be a lady, and an older one at that. She was well into her thirties now, and Esme must be younger. She had to be. Lizzie remembered how fresh and young Esme had seemed compared to herself.

Soon, she was bawling in front of the mirror, and her hair was hanging down into her tears and her mouth. Thank God that Derrick wasn’t here now. She looked like such a monster! No wonder he had to go to Charleston to bring another woman back to their house. I sent him, though. I sent him. I couldn’t just let him cry nor let her just stay out there, wherever she went when her house burned. But I don’t know how I’m going to stand to live with her in my house! And where can I send her back to? I’ll never get rid of her! She’ll always be here! What am I going to do?

Lizzie could sense Derrick on his way back. He would be coming back today or tomorrow. She knew it without knowing how she knew it. And she wanted to be pretty, prettier than Esme. But it was impossible! Scarlett might have a chance. Scarlet with her pointy little face and full lips and perfect skin. And Esme with her luxuriant hair and her green eyes and sense of style. And me. Plain, boring, unattractive. Cuckolded on both sides. Between looking back and forth between them, Derrick would hardly notice the one he was married to, which was, unfortunately, herself.

Why oh why couldn’t she be beautiful and interesting enough for Derrick? Why did he have to seek his pleasure elsewhere. Run from her to Scarlett, to Esme, to every godd—n woman on the plantation! In the back of her mind, Lizzie knew she wasn’t making much sense. There was nobody that Derrick could really be faithful to as he was, was there? But still, why did she have to be so plain and absurdly tall? Why couldn’t she be more feminine? Or better yet, why couldn’t they just be friends? Why did she have to be so utterly and tragically in love with a man who she could never truly have, despite being securely married to him for over fifteen years now?

Finally, Lizzie decided she would feel better with a bath of her own. And then, maybe, just maybe, under the circumstances, it wouldn’t be so strange to make her way down to Scarlett’s cabin and ask Scarlett if the dress she was wearing was suitable to greet a guest in. Maybe Scarlett wouldn’t mind talking to her this time. After all, the stranger was coming to Scarlett’s plantation as well.