Chapter 0

As with all things, tomorrow came. Not the tomorrow of Scarlett's dreams, perhaps, where the loud chimes of the clocks died away to swarthy laughter rather than children's wails, but another day nonetheless. Outside, the sky shone a flawless blue and the birds sang softly, the day unususually warm in one of the coldest Octobers Atlanta had ever experienced. Old men, covered in rags with twitching gray beards, slunk back into their allies, squinting at the bright morning light. Cooks and maids ventured out onto the dirt roads on early morning errands, and up into the distance, that stout matron, Mrs. Merriweather, could be seen waddling toward her bakery. Her glare was especially strong today, most likely to mask her grief, and her gray eyes seemed to be receding into her very head.

"There's a low green valley on the ol' Kentucky sho'"

A lilting, high voice filled the air. Mrs. Merriweather turned around sharply, to see Prissy, stepping down the road with a little bucket. She was a common sight every morning, gone to fetch milk for Scarlett, usually skipping and moving up and down the road, distracted by every little thing. Today, however, her skips seemed subdued, and she stared mournfully at the ground while she sang.

"Good Morning, Prissy." Mrs. Merriweather nodded to her.

"G'mornin, ma'am." She said, stopping and staring off into the distance.

Mrs. Merriweather forced herself to ignore the vacant gaze, instead of snapping as usual. She cleared her throat.

"How's Scarlett this morning, Prissy?"

"No so good, ma'am, she's been up all night, and comes to me this morning and says 'go'n get the eggs, girl! Why u think you got no work this morn'? Seems to me she's all worked out 'bout Mist' Rhett leavin' again', right befo' she waked up!"

Mrs. Merriweather blinked, surprised. Rhett leaving? Again? She frowned, wondering if Mrs. Elsing knew anything more about this.

"I's better be goin', ma'am. Miz Scarlett'll have mah hide." She went off again in her slow, dawdling fashion.

"There I's whiled many happy hours away, A' sittin and singin'"

Inside the mansion on Peachtree Street, Scarlett Butler stood in the nursery, trying vainly to comfort the broken hearted Wade and sobbing Ella. The room was in chaos, toys dropped every which way, windows dusty and bedding piled up in large heaps. Scarlett stood in the middle of it all, staring at her wailing children with the bewilderment of a bad mother left to herself. She stood repeating any condolences she could think of, patting them awkwardly on the shoulder and cursing Rhett.

"Now, now, Ella, stop crying. It's all right, darling," she said, ruffling her hair, " it's all right. Aunt Melly's in a better place now."

Wade only sobbed more loudly, and Ella let up a shriek that caused Scarlett to grit her teeth. Outside, she could hear Prissy's high voice, finally home after an hour just to get the milk. Why was everyone so useless? She wondered, fed up with her life, and the children that never stopped crying.

"Wade, be a little man. Men don't cry!" she finally screamed. Wade heard her tone and stopped sobbing at once, though tears still rolled down his face. If he didn't listen to mother with that tone, he knew what screaming followed, and loud noises hurt his ears and scared him. Ella followed suit, still sniffling softly. Mother looked relieved.

"Now then," she said in a calmer voice, " Come downstairs and have your breakfast. Wade, bring your sister. There's a long day ahead of us."

Obediently, they trotted out of the nursery, heads down, looking so distraught Scarlett's eyes almost filled.

"No," she told herself, " I won't cry anymore." Why, she had spent all last night crying, and if she kept it up her eyes would be so swollen she wouldn't be able to see. Melly's funeral was to be today, and she had work to do, and fast, so that they could catch the train to Tara in the evening.

Poor children, she thought on her way downstairs, first Bonnie, then Aunt Melly, and God knew where Uncle Rhett would be today.

Scarlett felt a faint irritation as she took her place at the table. Just like Rhett, to leave without saying goodbye to the children, to leave her there to comfort them alone, arrange the funeral, and do everything herself!

But over eggs and bacon, Wade gave her an unexpected revelation.

"Uncle Rhett woke me up in the night," he mentioned casually. Scarlett dropped her fork on her plate.

"He said he was going away for a little while," he went on, oblivious to Scarlett, "but he said it wasn't 'cuz of me and he'd be back soon. "

"And he gave him a watch!" Ella piped up, "And he told me that- when he'd come back he'd get me a doll!".

"Wade, can I see your watch?"

Reluctantly, Wade reached into his pocket and pulled out a large, old fashioned watch with a gold cover. Plainly an antique, it was engraved with the initials JKB on the case, which Wade clasped with childish fingers. When Scarlett asked to hold it, her curiousity piqued, Wade shook his head and withdrew it from sight. Scarlett felt rather offended at his obvious distrust, but looking down at her untouched food, decided that she had earned it.

It annoyed her more than she cared to admit that Rhett hadn't given her any parting gift, or a promise of one. No goodbye, nothing but the reminder that he didn't care any longer. With a sharp stab, the loneliness she had experienced in the days after Bonnie's death played in her heart. She had alienated everyone, it seemed.

A sudden knock at the door interrupted her tortured thoughts, and Scarlett sprang up with surprise . She had had next to no company for the past few months, except for her Yankee bridge friends. For some reason, though, Scarlett was sure the present caller wasn't one of them. Sure enough, she saw Aunt Pittypat on the doorstep with a bewildered, harried look on her face.

"Scarlett, you have to come to Ashley's, He's- He's locked himself in his room with Melanie's body and he's saying-"

"I'm coming, Aunty!" Scarlett exclaimed, grabbing her cloak with one hand and beckoning to the children with the other. Ashley, Ashley. No matter where she went or what she did, somehow he was always her responsibility. And now- why- he would be on her hands for the rest of her life, because she had promised Melly.

When she arrived at the house, formerly so peaceful and full of joy, it was in deafening chaos. The cook was in a mess, mixing the batter with tears, and burning the porridge. Callers had filled the room to the bursting point, hours early for the funeral. Mrs. Meade, Elsing, and Whiting were all at the door of Ashley's room, shrowded in black and grim, but reasoning or yelling at the inmate of the room in turns.

"Ashley Wilkes! Get out here this very minute! Do you have no sense of propriety?"

Beau, little Beau, his treble laugh quenched by helpless sobs, held onto the doorknob, pleading with his father in hicoughing tones to come out. The dowagers took no notice of him, seemingly involved in their task.

Scarlett felt strong pity for the poor boy; his father was oblivious to him, shut up in his room with his own grief . In an instant, the happiness of his old life had been crushed into pieces, and Scarlett knew all too well what that felt like. Stepping forward to Beau, she dodged the matrons in black and detangled his fingers from the doorknob.

"Beau, honey, shush," she said, in an unusually soothing tone, "Come here. This isn't any place for you to be! There, there, darling. Your father will be out in a minute."

Beau took short, sobbing breaths, but looking at Scarlett, slowly stopped crying.

"It hurts," he declared, wiping his eyes.

"What does?" She frowned. Surely she wouldn't need to be a doctor as well, today!

"Inside." he said, pointing to his chest, "right here."

Scarlett's mouth dropped open for a minute, but then she smiled at him woefully. How well she knew that pain! The pain of sorrow, of still more tears waiting to fall even when her face was wet with them.

"It'll go away soon." she assured him, not all together truthfully. "You just stay strong, honey."

"How would you know?" He asked, looking at her suspiciously. "You've never felt it."

"I lost my mother too," she said quietly, remembering, for a moment, the scent and prescence of Ellen presiding over her life. She had thought the sorrow from her loss had gone, or at least, been shut up well enough not to bother her. But Melly's death had opened the wound once more. Ellen, laying in the red earth at Tara.

Beau stared up curiously at her, tears forgotten.

"Did you get over it, Aunt Scarlett?"

Scarlett nodded at him. Yes, she had gotten over it, she supposed. Remarkably well, too, she decided when she compared herself to Ashley, swamped by his sorrow.

"I'm going to get over it too!" he declared, clenching his little fists by his side.

Scarlett stared at him in utter surprise. Dimly,she remembered herself, facing the rising sun, the feel of her hands formed into fists, the warm earth under her feet.

"As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again."

She looked at Beau with new eyes, his childish determination evident in his face, declaring that he would beat his sorrow. Surely he couldn't be Ashley's son, for all his blond curls and blue eyes. For where had Ashley, with his talk of honor and lack of hope, begot such a child? He had inherited some of the Wilkes' ideals, but in his eyes, she saw her ability to stand whatever life threw at her without failing. The same light, she knew, shone in her eyes, shone in her father's eyes.

When Scarlett had seen him before, Beau was just Beau. Just another child, thee in person, but insignificant in her mind. Now, Scarlett smiled at him softly, as she hadn't for any of her children but Bonnie, and leaned toward him. She felt drawn to him by some invisible force, the courage that they both shared.

"I hope you do, Beau," she whispered, " I hope you do."

"Dilcey!" she called, turning. In a minute, the slim maid was by her side. "Dilcey, please take Beau outside with Wade and Ella. I'll come in a minute to see the undertaker." Nodding, she led him away.

"Ashley Wilkes, you come out this instant! What would your wife think of you right now?"Mrs. Meade shrieked at the door, frustrated to her wits end at his lack of response. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Scarlett would have laughed to see the dignified old lady screaming in such a manner. As it was, she tapped Mrs. Meade on the shoulder.

"Ah, Scarlett," said Mrs. Meade, straightening her hat and staring at Scarlett with intense dislike written all over her face. Scarlett frowned. She had come here to help, and here they were, staring at her as if she was a low down, filthy Slatterly or- or Belle Watling.

"Aunt Pitty sent you?" questioned Mrs. Elsing, looking the least threatening of the three. "Good. Ashley's been calling for you. See if you can talk sense into him."

Mrs. Whiting snorted, as if the idea of Scarlett talking sense into anyone was laughable. She replied to Scarlett's frosty glare with an unrepentant thrust of the head. Huffing and puffing, she walked away, her black skirts swaying back and forth in response to her monstrous steps. Scarlett bit her lip and knocked on the door.

"Ashley! Ashley, it's me. Now open up."

The door opened a crack and Scarlett entered, knowing that Melanie's body was inside and half afraid of what she'd find. She was greeted by a red eyed Ashley and a mess of a room, clothes thrown on the floor, paintings askew, the only clean corner occupied by a cot. Melanie's body, Scarlett thought with a shiver, as she saw the white blanket drawn up over an eerily still figure.

"Scarlett-" Ashley said hoarsely, falling into her arms with such force that she almost fell over. His tears soaked the shoulder of her dress. Once, she thought, patting his head and murmuring comforting words, she would have been elated by his embrace. Now, she felt only sisterly. Was this what Rhett had meant when he said he felt nothing for her? But no, she brushed away the thought and concentrated on calming Ashley, she'd think of that later.

"Ashley," she told him, holding him up, "you have to stop this. Why, everyone's waiting downstairs."

"I don't want her to leave me-" he said, voice broken. "she was my world, I- I only ever had her to live for. I thought you'd understand, Scarlett, you knew her so well."

" I do understand that you don't want to leave her, and God knows I loved Melly" she floundered, "but-"

"But what?"

"What about your life? Beau? " questioned Scarlett, pity and irritation warring in her mind. Even in her darkest times, she had always found something to make her want to rise up again. Money, family, Tara, always something. She found Ashley's desperation bewildering.

He looked up at her with dead eyes, eyes that bespoke no emotion.

"Yes, there's Beau to live for," he agreed drably. Scarlett seized on to his words with relief, though they were without any real conviction.

"Beau! He was holding onto the doorknob when I came- didn't you hear him?"

"I didn't...I didn't want him to see me like I was-" he explained helplessly. Scarlett still didn't understand, for in her mind such shame was unimaginable. Ashley turned away from her.

"Scarlett, you don't know. You can't know- what it means to finally reach rock bottom. You're like the men in the war, you keep fighting and fighting, when in the end, there's nothing left to fight for."

"But Ashley-" she cried, at her wits end, " There's always something left to fight for! And anyways,you can't keep Melly here forever! Why, she wouldn't have wanted that!" He looked at her again, and she was encouraged. "She would have wanted you to let go. Melly wouldn't have wanted you to be like this."

"No," he agreed, a far off look in his blue eyes, as if he was remembering something from the past, a memory so dear every line of it was etched in his mind. "Melanie would have wanted me to be strong. She always had too high of an opinion of me." He looked at the cot, covering his face in his hands a second later, as if masking a pain that no one else could understand. Scarlett stood by helplessly, knowing she hadn't done anything to convince him to come out, to even lessen the grief one bit.

Was this what all men did, when they couldn't stand their pain? Rhett had also imprisoned Bonnie's corpse in his room, but he had gotten over it as well. Scarlett still had no knowledge of Melly's talk with Rhett, bewildered as she was by the funeral and the death.

"Ashley-" She started, but he turned to her with a sad smile.

"It's alright, Scarlett. You can't understand. Perhaps no one can, after all. Will you please explain to the ladies outside? That I want to tell Melly goodbye? Even though you can't understand what I'm going through, they'll listen to you. You're good at these things."

Ashley looked away, an infinite weariness in his eyes that Scarlett feared she had only worsened.

Casting a last, desperate look at him, Scarlett slipped out the old irritation returned, stronger than ever. Even in her best days she hadn't been much good at comforting. Her own grief could be dealt with, bottled up and placed in the room of her mind to be thought of later. But, unanalytical, she did not understand where the helplessness of her friends came from, and thus could only worsen the pain, not assauge it.

"Well?" asked Mrs. Meade, fixing her with a penetrating glance, "what does he say?"

"He only wants ten minutes alone," she snapped. "To say goodbye to Melly."

Abruptly, the old lady's eyes filled with tears. She looked away.

"Poor, poor Ashley," she said softly. Awkwardly, Scarlett patted her shoulder.

"If only Melly was here!" she thought desperately. Melly would know exactly what to say; what words would comfort everyone, give them hope for the future.

But as it turned out, Melly was there, in spirit and in memory.

"Naw, miss," the undertaker shook his head, " Don't insult me by giving me money. Why, Miss Melanie was the kindest person I knew, and ma'am, I'm honored that I could do this much for her. " Here, his eyes filled with tears and he turned away from the stunned Scarlett.

It was the same with all she met that day. Every member of the Old Guard was there, dressed in their mourning clothes and with tear stained faces, being kind to Scarlett because they knew Melly had loved her. For this one day, even India Wilkes stifled her stiff-necked attitude and clasped Scarlett's hand briefly.

"It's a sad day, Scarlett," she whispered, " a sad day for all of us."

"I never would have thought," Mrs. Elsing croaked sadly, "That I would have outlived her. I! Who put her in her cradle when she was born. And her! Only twenty eight!" She buried her face in her husband's arm and wept openly.

Scarlett choked on the lump in her throat. Why did they even have these pre-funeral gatherings anyways? They never helped you overcome the pain, only hurt you.

A thousand condolences rung in Scarlett's ears. Her head ached from having to nod at all who came in the door, and her clothes were wet from other's tears. She was still receiving the multitude of guests with the flustered Aunt Pittypat when Ashley came up to her, exceedingly pale but composed.

"Scarlett," he said softly, "I want you to make one of the speeches when we go to the graveyard."

Scarlett looked up at him, wondering if he had lost his mind. Her to make a speech? The Old Guard was being generous today, but even they wouldn't stand for her being the favored speaker, not with her reputation as a Scallywag.

"Ashley, I can't do that! Why-"

"I think it's a fine idea."

Scarlett spun around to see Mrs. Elsing, who had followed Scarlett away from her husband. Her eyes opened wide, and inwardly, she wondered if the sky was falling. Why, Mrs. Elsing, till yesterday, wouldn't look her in the face without grimacing! Out of the Atlanta dowagers, she had hated Scarlett with the most passion.

But she had also loved Melly the most, she remembered, staring into her wrinkled face. Knowing Melly, Scarlett wouldn't have been surprised if she had extracted a promise from Mrs. Elsing to be kind to her. Oh, would her debts never end?

"Scarlett, Melanie loved you more than anything in the world," continued Ashley, "It only makes sense."

"But I haven't got a speech!" She floundered helplessly.

"You don't need anything prepared," he mumbled, "just say how you felt about her."

Scarlett glared at their retreating backs. To be roped into this! Oh, she wouldn't stand for it!

Half an hour later, Dr. Meade stood in front of the large crowd at the cemetery, goat like whiskers trembling as he talked.

"Women like Melanie Wilkes represented the very backbone of the South, the symbol for all we fought for, the pride of the soldiers and state. Though she may be gone, she will never depart from our memories, our hearts, and our minds! As long as the thoughts of Melanie are with us, we can stand whatever this cruel world throws at us."

Scarlett shook her head. How many speeches had the Doctor made? First, it was the Glorious Cause that could never die, that would keep the South going. Then, it was the women like Melly, and now the thoughts of women like Melly, even though they were dead. How long could he delude himself like this? The backbone of the South, in her opinion, had been very thoroughly crushed.

"- We can find kindness," he went on, "for even those who didn't deserve it, in her name. Till the end, she was strong, and selfless. She guided all of us in life, and by God's grace, we will take the lessons we have learned from her and grow stronger! From the sorrows of our loss, a greater, kinder people will be borne, always, always remembering, the dear Mrs. Wilkes." So saying, he wiped his brow and went to step down from the podium.

There was a murmuring of approval from the crowd, of the wholehearted patriotism his speeches always commanded. Dimly, Scarlett wondered how his hard speech could dull their tears, how still, after so many years, they could believe all his nonsense. Even in the days before the war, she had thought his speeches unconvincing and deluded, too full of patriotic nothings rather than common sense.

She did not have time to think much, for, oh, here came Ashley to bring her to the front, and she still had no idea what to say!

Gulping, she stood and walked to the front of the crowd by his side. For all her talk of not being roped into this scatterbrained scheme, Scarlett knew she owed Melly at least this much at her funeral.

All of Atlanta looked at her with tearstained faces, most accepting her, but some shocked that she would have the nerve to stand there in a fiercely patriotic gathering. From the crowd she saw others, among them India's friends, stand up and leave indignantly. Many stood still, perhaps not glad that she was talking, but willing to give her their attention out of respect from Melanie.

Melanie! Still sheltering her, still fighting for her, even from the grave.

"I...I know I don't need to tell you about Melly's kindness," she began, fumbling slowly, not quite sure what to say. Her eyes roamed around nervously. On the edge of the crowd, she saw a dim figure, hand held on his hat. Rhett! Scarlett could just imagine him, with the same dullness on his features as last night. Her chin went up and she continued with renewed determination.

"Melly wasn't related to me by blood, and she didn't have anything to bring up loyalty but my marriage to Charles. It should tell you more about her character than I could that she stuck by me, even-" her chin quivered. "even through the rumors. Maybe it was because of all we went through together, the seige, and the Yankees, and the long road up to Tara. When..when I found out Mother was dead and Pa was...deranged, she helped me even when she didn't have any strength. She couldn't get up from her bed after childbirth, but she helped me fight off a stray Yankee. That was my Melly." She was talking of things she had promised never to think of again, the old holes opening one by one. Still, Scarlett went on.

"Once the Yankees came, and set Tara on fire. Not the captain, but one of his soldiers, upset that the captain wouldn't let him take our Mexican war saber. And I...I was trying to put it out, but it caught on my dress. Then it was Melly who beat it out and saved me, saved Tara, saved our children. And yet-" She smiled sadly at Melly's body.

"And yet she let me think it was my courage that got us through that time. Like a little child, allowed to think she can win a race by herself when, really, it's her parents running slow on purpose. And she mocks them and ignores them, until she realizes, and then it's too late! Oh, Melly," here she forgot that there was any crowd, only seeing the body of her best friend, knowing that she hadn't thanked her, not enough, not ever.

"Melly, you should have told me!" she cried, " Or... or I should realized all you did for me! But you just kept helping me, and defending my mistakes when- when I wasn't worth it. And you never believed anything they said about me, and I just laughed at you!" Tears were streaming down her face now; everyone was staring at her. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"Thank you, Melly. I'll miss you," she whispered.

"We didn't treat her well enough. That's all." Scarlett stepped off to her seat, trying to push back the tears for later. Everyone in the front row was crying; Aunt Pittypat was sobbing childishly, Mrs. Merriweather furiously blinking her eyes. Even Dr. Meade had buried his face in his hands. In the very back of the crowd, she saw the dim figure turn and leave, placing his hat back on his head as he walked.

That was the last she saw of Rhett for a long while.

But now the funeral was ending, though the people still stood there, wiping their eyes and murmuring together. Turning, Scarlett caught a glimpse of Melanie's face, eyes shut, eerily peaceful in death, a small smile on her luminous face. Then, she turned and grabbed Beau, found Ashley, led them away softly.

"I don't want them to hear the screws closing," she told herself. But inside, she knew that if she heard the screws herself, the last wall would break down and she would fall to the ground, sobbing. She had to hold out till Tara.

Ashley was holding onto her hand as if it was a lifeline, and Beau was toddling along beside him, vainly trying to reach for his fathers arm through his tears. Poor, poor thing, she thought softly, offering him her hand when Ashley reached away. His father was plainly in no shape to take care of him, not as he should be. Not as he'd have to be, with his wife in the grave.

In the back of her mind, she remembered her promise to Melly.

"You know I'll promise. I'll treat him like he was my own boy."

Even then, at that moment, it hadn't seemed real, She hadn't believed she would have to make good on that promise, but she hadn't backed down from a challenge yet. Bending, she stared at Beau, his blue eyes level with her green. It was the least she could do for Melly, she thought, the only way to thank her, the only way to pay for the wrongs she had done to her own children.

"Beau, how would you like to go to Tara with me?"