PROLOGUE
The grey was creeping in at the edges of the woman's consciousness, and at the edges of her vision. With a great effort she spoke.
"Scarlett-promise me"
"Yes, Melly?"
A breath, a pause.
"Take care of Beau." Breath. "Take care of Ashley."
It seemed as though Scarlett replied, but she wasn't sure. Concentrating was so hard when one was dying. The grey was getting stronger. The woman wasn't afraid of dying, but she was urgent...
She felt her hand lifted in Scarlett's warm one, saw it pressed against Scarlett's warm cheek.
"How warm and strong and capable your hands are Scarlett, warm and strong and capable just like you," she said.
Or did she? It seemed like she did...
It didn't matter-time to surrender-Oh no!
Must make one last effort.
"Be kind to Captain Butler-he loves you..."
The grey came and she surrendered to it.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
1873
In the fall of 1873, Melanie Wilkes died from complications following a miscarriage, leaving behind a grief stricken husband and son. In fact, her husband was so stricken he wandered around the rooms of their little house like a wraith, aimless and pale. It was Scarlett Butler who stepped into the gap, Scarlett who pushed her own grief and devastation down to the bottom of her soul so she could give to the dead what was due to the dead.
At sunrise on the morning of the funeral, she swept into the nursery of her own spacious mansion, her drowsy maid stumbling behind.
"Time to get up," Scarlett announced curtly to the two children who were sleeping in their separate beds as she set the lamp down on the table between them She strode to the window, twitched opened the curtains, and peered outside into the grey. For days the weather had been atrocious, either raining or misting, and relentlessly cold. But it matched her mood. Sunshine would have been profane.
She was a slender, handsome woman, a shade under medium height, her appearance striking rather than classically beautiful. She had straight black hair, at the moment pulled into a severe bun, and fair white skin, but her most memorable feature was a pair of amazingly expressive emerald green eyes ringed by bristly black lashes. By the raising of an eyebrow or the flutter of lids she could be at turns mischievous, charming, or flirtatious; or on the other hand cold, bullying, or angry. She knew all the feminine tricks of allure to accentuate her assets and she knew how to manipulate men into giving her anything she wanted-most of the time. On the other hand, women generally saw right through her artifice-but who cared about the opinion of women?
Scarlett watched the glow on the horizon where the sun was struggling to rise. But even when risen, it would only be the frail, weakening sun of the dying year-and the light was further dimmed as it struggled to penetrate a thick layer of storm clouds. It wasn't raining yet, thank goodness, but even if it stayed dry, it probably wouldn't make any difference. After this past week, Oakland Cemetery was bound to be a wretched, boggy swamp.
She swallowed painfully against the lump in her throat and reflected grimly that she'd never make it through this day without going mad. Melanie was her best friend, her greatest ally, her mainstay for more than a decade. But to her deep shame, she'd repaid Melanie's loyalty with the utmost contempt and betrayal. In sharp contrast to Scarlett's bold and vivacious personality, Melanie was plain and old-fashioned and boring. Melanie bowed to the opinions of old ladies. Melanie was too scared to say boo to a goose. Unforgivable traits, every one. Under normal circumstances, Scarlett could have dismissed and easily forgotten someone as insignificant as Melanie. But it was no normal circumstance that brought the two dissimilar women together-many years ago, Ashley Wilkes passed over Scarlett to marry Melanie. In revenge, Scarlett turned around and married Melanie's brother. And so, for years and years, Scarlett hated Melanie and dreamed of having Ashley for her own.
It was only when Melanie lay dying three days ago and asked to see her one last time, that Scarlett-fool that she was!-realized for the very first time that rather than being the obstacle to her happiness, Melanie was on her side all along. In fact, she was the only real girl friend Scarlett had ever had.
By some alchemy forged from grief, pain and the new growth of her soul, she realized that Ashley Wilkes was not now and had never been the man of her dreams. No, the man of her dreams was her own husband, Rhett.
Rhett-the most infuriating man she ever knew. The most contrary, the most scandalous and-admit it-the most exciting. She married him on impulse after a passionate proposal because she liked him (most of the time) and was attracted to the prospect of economic security he offered. She did not marry him for love. But Rhett knew that. Scarlett had been brutally honest with him on that point when he proposed to her. And it didn't seem to bother him. Besides, Rhett insisted he didn't love Scarlett either, but only wanted her. Not very flattering, but so it went.
With this understanding, they married and were happy at first-they built a mansion to live in Atlanta, and Scarlett bore a daughter they named Bonnie. But she could not forget her obsession with Ashley, and eventually refused Rhett his marital rights-and from then on they lived separate lives under the same roof. But that state of affairs could never last with a healthy, virile man like Rhett Butler, and it all came to a head on that dreadful night after Scarlett was caught being held in Ashley's arms, and Rhett, drunk and crazy with jealousy, half seduced, half forced his attentions on her. A baby resulted from that wild night, but was lost to miscarriage. And they never did reconcile before the unthinkable happened-little Bonnie's death. After that, Rhett became a drunken, withdrawn stranger, and finally left her for good-three days ago-on the night Melanie died. Which, coincidentally, was the very night she realized that it was Rhett she really loved.
Scarlett smeared her fingertips through the condensation beading the leaded glass window, watched the water drip down the glass, then clenched her fist in frustration. How she wished she were free to go back to Tara this very minute! Tara-her real home, the home where she grew up. She would be there right now, if only she weren't bound here by the ties of kin and friendship. But after all the mean and unworthy things she did to Melanie in life, the very least Scarlett could do to make some small amends was to see her decently buried. Especially since there was nobody else to do it. Ashley had spent the last three days drifting through the house like a man bewitched. So it was Scarlett who made the funeral arrangements and notified the family and friends, and sent the obituary to the paper. And what would be her reward for all her service on Melanie's behalf? Most likely to be shunned by the townspeople at the funeral. Nobody had talked to her during the days when they made their condolence calls. Scarlett was sure they were speculating how long it would be until she threw herself at Ashley again, now that Melly was out of the way. And once they realized that Rhett was gone for good!-we'll, let them wonder. She wouldn't be here. This time tomorrow she would be back home at Tara for good.
While her mistress remained wrapped in her brown study, Prissy, the maid, served the yawning children their breakfasts from trays stacked on the tea cart. Breakfast in bed was not a luxury, however.
"Let them eat in the nursery before they dress. They'll only stain their funeral clothes, otherwise" Scarlett decided.
Little Ella, always a perky riser, ate quickly, then scrambled out of bed and presented her back to Prissy so she could unbutton her nightdress. Scarlett turned from the window to look at her. She was an average sized little girl, nearly seven years old, but a bit on the "skinny" side. She held up her hair with both hands to keep it out of Prissy's way, and as always, Scarlett felt a sense of dismay as she looked at it. It was abundant and wavy, and would have been her best feature, she thought, if it hadn't been that dreadful color, somewhere between dry rust and carrots.
Preternaturally aware of her mother's regard, Ella turned her head and fixed Scarlett with her wide, pale, gray eyes. She was certainly Frank Kennedy's daughter, Scarlett mused, thinking about her second husband. Not pretty in any common definition of the word-just like Frank. Her nose was too small, and her mouth too lopsided. But she was blessed with fair, unfreckled skin, of that translucent quality so common to redheads, that allowed the blue veins to show through. Her facial expression was one of innocent wonderment-Melanie always said Ella had a "sweet air". But to Scarlett's way of thinking, that wondering expression was Ella in a nutshell-and the reason she never failed to be irritated by her daughter. Ella was always wondering, never learning. Always asking questions, but never waiting for an answer. Scarlett turned away as the wicked thought rose up once more, as it had many times over the last few weeks-Why? Why had darling baby Bonnie, her youngest child-Bonnie of the raven hair and startling blue eyes-been taken from her, leaving only this odd little ginger-haired scrap? Oh yes, and her brother, Wade. Scarlett got to keep them.
Neither of whom seemed to be adequate compensation for Bonnie...
Guiltily and irrationally afraid that Ella might somehow read her thoughts, Scarlett moved quickly across the room to where Wade was sitting on his bed, pulling on the stockings he had left draped over the footboard the night before. He did that every day-laid the stockings out when he retired, then put them on in the morning before he climbed out of bed. Scarlett once asked him why he did that and he mumbled something about the carpets being itchy. That annoyed her and she scolded him, none too gently. Itchy carpets? Fiddle-dee-dee. She then told him to be a little man. But Rhett, hung over and red-eyed, intervened for the boy.
"For God's sake, Scarlett leave him alone," He had growled. "Who cares if Wade wants to put on his stockings before he gets out of bed? It's no skin off your hide if he does. And besides, he's right. These carpets itch worse than the Scotch fiddle."
Scarlett was ready to retort angrily that they were the best carpets money could buy (not to mention that it was extremely vulgar to talk about The Itch to anybody but one's doctor), until out of the corner of her eye she saw an expression in Wade's face that had never been there before. It was a stealthy little look of triumph, although his eyes were kept on his feet. Triumph because Uncle Rhett sided with him. Furthermore, Rhett wasn't somebody she wanted to spar with in those days. Bonnie had only been dead a month, and Rhett was a drunken, sodden stranger. She was a little afraid of him.
Now Wade climbed out of bed in stockings and nightshirt, and reached for the box that contained his new clothes. He would be twelve in a couple months, and didn't like to get dressed when Ella was in the room. Scarlett knew where he was headed with the box-to the closet just off the nursery.
"Wade," she called.
He turned to look at her, his brown eyes mild and gentle as a collie's, and tinged with sadness for his Aunt Melly, which made him look even more tender than usual.
"You're too old to share a room with your sister anymore. Next week we'll move you into your own room." There is plenty of room at Tara, she thought, although she didn't say so out loud.
His eyes flashed, and he almost smiled, grief for Aunt Melly battling a natural pride that Mother could see that he was really and truly growing up. Had Scarlett turned around at that moment, she would have seen a quite different expression on Ella's face. Ella hated sleeping by herself and always felt safer when Wade was around. It wasn't that she believed in bugaboos-of course she didn't, not a big girl like her. But...why take chances? After all, there was safety in numbers, and she didn't even have little Bonnie anymore. And besides, she reasoned, if Wade couldn't fight off the spooks for her-not that she believed in them, of course-but if he couldn't, he was much bigger than herself, and would make a more satisfying meal than she possibly could...