Author's Note: This is another one of those stories that I've had the idea of writing for a long, long time and sat down tonight and actualized it. I really am excited to hear what my loyal and fabulous readers have to say about this storyline - and I'll be holding my breath to hear what you think…(hint, hint!)

Gone With the Wind is the intellectual property of the great Margaret Mitchell and no infringement is intended.

1

Scarlett is going to die today. Or yesterday, perhaps. Perhaps she had been dead a week and they had not bothered to send him another telegram, thinking that the urgent brevity of the last one would have been enough to get him back to Atlanta with little to no delay. It had been a week from that Sunday. He had been at a gambling house in New Orleans when the note had been delivered to his poker table: "Scarlett has begun her labor. It looks very bad. Please come immediately. Faithfully yours, A. Wilkes." Faithfully his. That meant nothing at all to Rhett, Ashley Wilkes's faithfulness. Perhaps Scarlett was already dead. The baby along with her.

Their house was on Peachtree Street, about three miles from the train station. If his train was on time at two o'clock, he could expect to be there by about two fifteen at the latest. He wouldn't wait for his bags. He didn't need any bags. He'd see if she had lived or died, and if it was the latter he'd stay for the vigil and the funeral and come back to New Orleans the following night. He had asked Julian, once his ward, now a man grown at twenty-five, to come to Atlanta if he had been gone from the city for two days and had sent no instruction. Julian rarely traveled anywhere it was not in his business's interest to do so, but there was no way he would have refused a request such as that. But he wouldn't be too happy about it. Even if Scarlett and her child really did die, he might offer the excuse: "But she's not my mother. Her child is not my sister or brother." Rhett shook his head. Julian would say no such thing. He would offer his condolences, then appear at Rhett's side for moral support while he signed away guardianship of Wade Hampton and Ella over to Ashley or to Will and Suellen or to whoever would have them. He couldn't look at them and endure their misplaced love and affection. Couldn't face Ashley after he said that yes, Scarlett was dead, and now Wade and Ella were his responsibility. They certainly were not his. And he didn't have anything to apologize for, not taking up the mantle of their care. Wade would be fourteen or fifteen this year as it was; he had people to take him. And although Ella had none, she was growing to be pretty enough. She possessed enough of Scarlett's charm to surely render her an attractive adult; some man would fall in love with those flashing green eyes and charming smile, gifts from Scarlett. He'd be damned if he spent the rest of his life looking into those eyes, knowing that he and he alone had killed their original owner.

His driver was waiting, as instructed, at exactly two o'clock, when he disembarked from the train. For now, it seemed that Scarlett wasn't dead. That he was just coming back to town for a visit, for propriety's sake and nothing more. People waved at him and shouted his name in the streets, aloud and beneath their breaths murmuring that Captain Butler was in Atlanta once more. And they all knew why he was back. Once he had run away in fear and hurt and resolution that Scarlett would never again hold the upper hand over him, even if he had to divorce her in order to free himself from her spell.

Run he had; from Charleston to New York, from Philadelphia and back to New Orleans, where he had taken up a semi-permanent residence for the past three years…or was it four? It hurt his head to remember. But remember he did, a visit in particular which had brought him back to Atlanta for the occasion of Scarlett's birthday, eight months prior. It had been a good long while since he had made an appearance, and what better time to do it? A week's stay, just long enough to keep the gossip down and appear a loving and adoring husband. After all, they had bought his story of a year's worth of business in South America hook, line, and sinker - why shouldn't they believe that he'd be gone for another year, two if he was lucky. He remembered the weather being inordinately hot. He had eaten at Belle's, as usual. All the girls had been happy to see him, and Belle had felt sorry for him, saying, "You doan' need ter be fixin' yer head on her, hun." When he had left, Belle had walked him to the door and given him a big kiss on the lips, for old times sake. He was distracted because he had not seen Scarlett in over a year, and was unsure how his body and his heart would react to seeing her again. Belle had reassured him that she appeared, at least outwardly, happy as can be, and was filling her days with preparations for a very large birthday soiree. She had invited people from Charleston, from Clayton County, and even her brother-in-law and sister from Tara and their children. He remembered leaving Belle's and running into Ashley Wilkes outside of the cigar shop. Ashley had mumbled excuses for several moments, saying something about needing to purchase cigars for the party and that he was very happy to see Rhett and so on and so forth.

Rhett did not hear the rest of Ashley's words, probably due to all the rushing around, the glare of the sun in the summer sky, and the people chattering around them. He walked the length of the street, past Kennedy's Emporium, and rounded the corner onto Peachtree Street. He was greeted by Mrs. Meade, the Doctor's wife, who was passing by, her hands filled with a basket of knitting-related materials. She stopped him to ask if he had been traveling for a long while, and he answered her yes, just so as not to say anything else too revealing.

His house was at the end of the street, which he walked without feeling the effects of the exercise overmuch. He wanted to see Scarlett right away, despite all the warning bells going off in his head advising him against that very thing. But the maid - was her name Pansy? - said that he had to wait, that Miss Scarlett was detained with the other ladies in the Sewing Circle, who were meeting for the next hour and a half. He asked then if he could at least, as master of the house, albeit long absent, see his stepchildren. Both were at school, the maid had answered, so he waited awhile longer in the foyer, listening to the hushed chatter of women behind closed doors. After about half an hour, the door opened and some of them left. Scarlett stood up from her chair and stood in the doorway of the parlor and stared at him with her clear green eyes. Then, the other ladies filed out one by one, exchanging curious glances as they passed him by, greeting him with strained courteous salutations and then returning to their hushed conversations regarding his whereabouts as of the past year. And he was left alone, finally, with Scarlett. She grabbed hold of his hands held them so long he didn't know how to free them.

"It's been so long," she said. "I've missed you so much."

He had thought that she was in the beginnings of one of her theatrical performances, another trick to win him back into her bed and heart. But she cut off any speech on his part. "You don't have to tell me where you've been or why, my darling. I understand completely. And the truth of the matter is, I've been doing mighty good here. And Wade and Ella too, although, they were so happy when I told them you'd be coming. Wade Hampton'll be fifteen next January, if you can believe that."

He had said, "Is that so?"

And she added, "Yes, and Beau'll be thirteen in September. They'll both be off to school together in Virginia, just as Ashley was, when Wade turns sixteen, and Beau a little younger than that. He'll be able to study law then, just as he always wanted. You must be proud of him, Rhett, and tell him how good he is. He'd like to hear it from you."

It was true. Wade had always been a good boy. When he had lived there, Wade had spent a lot of time following Rhett around, never saying a thing, but watching all. That was partly why he hadn't lingered overmuch after he had left the first time. Wade and Ella weren't used to his absence from their lives. Although different men had fathered either child, they had known only him.

Scarlett spoke again, although he wasn't really listening anymore. Then she said, "I suppose you'd like to see them, when they get home from school." He followed her, not saying a word as she led the way to the front door and down the walk towards the road. Surely Scarlett O'Hara had not taken to waiting for her children at the gate?

As she had probably known already, Wade and Ella were coming up the walk, followed by Beau Wilkes and a small chattering group of youngsters he did not recognize offhand. As they observed him standing next to their mother, their chattering immediately ceased. It was Beau Wilkes who noticed him first, stopping in front of the gate and jabbering like a parakeet, "That's my Uncle Rhett!"

Wade stuttered a little, his voice deeper than Rhett had recalled, "Hello, Uncle Rhett."

Rhett had answered, "Hello, son."

Beau had continued talking more loudly than any of the others and asked, with a confidence that Wade did not possess, "Are you staying for Aunt Scarlett's party?"

Rhett had every intention of responding in the affirmative, but, in spite of himself answered the boy, "No."

Ella found her voice first and asked, "You don't want to?"

And Rhett had shaken his head and answered, "No."

And the children were quiet and Rhett was embarrassed because he felt that he should never have said that, particularly to them. Ella looked right at him and asked, "Why not?" but without any criticism in her voice, as though she had just wanted to know.

Rhett had replied, "I can only stay the night." He then had started twirling his mustache, and then without looking at him, Scarlett said, both to him and to the children, "I understand."

His mind replayed the scene over and over again when he recalled the day, particularly that night, when, in a moment which could only be termed temporary insanity, he had taken Scarlett in his arms and made love to her. And she had responded in kind, a willing recipient of his embrace. And he had left, as promised, the next day, not thinking overmuch about his lamentable lapse in judgment until he received that first telegram from her the second week of September. She stated very simply: "I am with child. Please come home."

He opened and shut his eyes before opening them again, as if seeing the face of Dr. Meade for the first time. "As usually is the case, Captain Butler," the old man was saying, "I am compelled to ask you if, if it should come to it, if the life of the child should be second in the case of Scarlett's immanent peril?"

Rhett blinked again. "Has it come to that?"

He knew that it had. She had written him over three months before that it had been a hard, long, difficult pregnancy fraught with various scares. She had been in bed since the fifth month in and she was frightened that she was going to die bringing the child into the world. His child. His mistake.

Dr. Meade nodded. "I just wanted to let you know." Rhett thanked him. While not an atheist, Rhett had never in his adult life given a thought to religion, but in that moment, he prayed to God or whichever entity might hear him for Scarlett to live, with or without her baby. His baby. The thought of it tugged so at his chest, the act of responsibility for putting her in this position at all - the thought of the baby seemed very small when set against the idea of forever losing her.

"You can go in now," Dr. Meade said, "I think she's been waiting for you, Captain Butler."

Rhett went in. Her room had undergone a serious redecoration since he had visited it last. It was all done up in white, with a white bedspread and white curtains of damask. The fact that it was done up so did not bode well in his mind - as though Scarlett had pictured Heaven in her mind and designed her earthly quarters accordingly. His poor, brave Scarlett, left to die alone for his folly. Near the bed was Mammy, her head covered with a white kerchief, which contrasted with the severity of her black dress.

Just then, Ashley Wilkes came in behind him. He must have been running. "Mammy, if you'll check her temperature, Dr. Meade wished it to be checked every hour." He was moving toward the big bed when Rhett stopped him. He said, "I've been here all this time." Rhett answered, "I'm here now." Ashley was quiet then, and Rhett felt slightly guilty as the other man shuffled to the back of the room and out the door, shutting it behind him.

"Scarlett?" he asked, as though posing the question to no one in particular.

"Mist' Rhett, she bad off," Mammy said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Howcum you doan' come soona' Mist' Rhett?"

Then, Mammy walked towards the door and exited the room, leaving Rhett alone to face the pale figure in the bed.

At some point, Dr. Meade walked in and said to him, "She had some unusually strong bleeding. And I'm sure that you can see the swelling for yourself." Rhett didn't understand, then, so he looked over Dr. Meade's head and saw that Scarlett's stomach was swollen to unnatural proportions, far more than she had been with either Bonnie or Ella. She had a wet cloth wrapped around her head just below her eyes. All he could make out of her face was that it was the same color as the cloth.

Finally, Dr. Meade said, "I'll leave the two of you alone." The room was filled with the late afternoon sunlight, further illuminating the whiteness of her face. As he held her hand, he felt that her very skin was stretched paper thin. How? How much more could she endure?

He said to Dr. Meade when he came back again, "Have you been here long?"

The doctor answered, "For the past several months she has been bedridden. I suspect that the culprit is the second of the infants, pressing on her abdomen and causing all the trouble. But we'll have to see if she's strong enough to deliver either."

After that, he did quite a bit of talking, none of which really registered with Rhett. He only knew that his folly -for it could be termed as nothing else- had saddled Scarlett with twins, the carrying of whom was slowly killing her. He was almost fifty years old. What man was siring children at the age of fifty?

Once, Scarlett screamed out, and Rhett thought that it was the end of him. She was clearly, distinctly yelling his name. She called for him, again and again and he sat, helpless, watching as that unnaturally swollen belly contorted with the pain of labor. And again, she began her struggle. He sat helpless as Mammy pulled back the sheet, revealing swollen ankles that were not Scarlett's own. His heart rested in his throat, as Dr. Meade yelled for someone to call a priest. Scarlett was screaming that she could not see, and Mammy had to leave the room for a moment or two, looking up to the heavens and calling down the healing power of God and her own Miss Ellen to help. And Rhett just sat there, periodically holding Scarlett's hand, but largely remaining in the back of the bedroom. Suddenly, she began to convulse, and he could look at her and know it was the end. Dr. Meade yelled something to Mammy, who screamed, and Rhett fled the room, like a child. He fell to his knees in the middle of the hallway, thinking that there had to be no greater agony in all the world.

Just then, Wade and Ella were next to him, holding either hand. Night had abruptly fallen over the city of Atlanta and darkness overtook the cityscape. Mammy stuck her head out to tell Wade and Ella to walk over to Beau's for dinner. Neither were hungry, but both went without complaint. At one point, Ashley Wilkes walked in and offered to bring Rhett coffee. He said yes mechanically, and Ashley returned after several minutes with a steaming pot and two cups. Rhett offered the other man a cigar, and they both smoked, in silence. Finally, he left, and Rhett felt himself getting drowsy, even with the coffee. A scream awoke him, around five thirty in the morning. Scarlett's scream. Like the sound of a dying animal taking it's last breath. And Mammy came into the hallway, a tiny bundle wrapped in her strong black arms, swaddled in a white blanket. Tears were falling down her thick cheeks. "S'dead, Mist' Rhett. Po' Miss Scarlett. Havin's done kilt her." Rhett stuck out his arms without a word, if only to take a look at the child who had killed Scarlett.

"Get back to Miss Scarlett, Mammy," he heard himself say. The old black head nodded, and he heard the door shut. So, Scarlett was dead. He had killed her after all. From somewhere in the depths of his mind, he watched as two more maids with white aprons hurried into the bedchamber. It didn't matter now. Scarlett was dead, the child along with her. He pulled back the blanket, thinking that the child in his arms would be monstrously ill-formed, a mirror of his own bad character. But it was not so - it was perfectly formed, with dusky pink skin and a head of jet black hair. His child. His and Scarlett's child. It could have only been sleeping. He rubbed a large hand over the chest of the infant as he held it, thinking that if he listened hard enough, perhaps he could detect a heartbeat. He felt none.

Hot tears spilled down his face as he struggled in vain to detect a heartbeat. Another perfect, precious child lost. All because of him. Suddenly, a rustling in his hands stirred him, and the stark light of dawn seemed to shine through the stained glass windows even brighter than before. And then, he looked down, and the baby's tiny fists were pumping in the air. It made no cry, so it was hard for him to believe that it even was real. But there it was, moving in his arms, a living breathing product of his body.

Soon, he heard someone within the chamber begin to cry, softly and in little sobs. So Scarlett was dead. And they all thought his child dead. He imagined sitting vigil over Scarlett in her coffin, being lowered into the ground. Good God, no! Scarlett could not be dead. Somehow, if he did not see it, it would not be so. And, he looked down, if only to reassure himself, he had his child. Their child. The child Scarlett had died giving to him. Wade and Ella would be fine, he thought as he backed out of the hallway and down the staircase, cradling the child in his arms.

And yet, he kept on crying, as if he was committing some monstrous betrayal. "No," he reassured himself, "I just cannot be here when they tell me Scarlett is dead."

He nearly ran into Pork, the old butler and valet and hastily clutched the bundle to his chest when the old man cried out, "Mist' Rhett, sure you ain't leavin'?"

And Rhett said, "Leave me alone, old man! Leave me and my child alone!"

And Pork shook his head, mumbled something, and then went on crying as before.

Rhett retreated to his carriage, his driver still waiting, as bidden. He sat down in the cabin and slammed the door, ordering, "Take me to the depot immediately. And find me the best darkie wetnurse in the country. We're going to Charleston today. Then to Europe and away from here."

. . . .

Scarlett woke up because her back and middle were hurting more and more. She could hear Mammy's sobs quieting after awhile. She sniffled several more times before finally quieting. Finally, she realized that she was coming out of a faint. She glanced down at her swollen middle and hoped beyond hope that if Rhett had made it, he had not seen her this way. Please God, she thought to herself, let him have come.

"Scarlett," Dr. Meade leaned over and spoke to her. He sat down next to Scarlett and after a long pause, began to explain what had happened, "As I had begun to suspect, Scarlett, you were carrying twins. Only one of them survived. But she is, as far as I can tell, perfectly healthy."

"My baby?" she said weakly.

"A girl." Dr. Meade clarified for her, "A very healthy girl."

"Rhett?"

Dr. Meade looked up at Mammy, who was holding her apron up to her face, as if some understanding had passed between them.

"He's not here, Scarlett."

She was tired, so tired that she fell asleep then, not awakening for several hours. When she finally did, she was met by Ashley, his face ashen from the uncomfortable vigil at her side.

"Ashley?"

"How do you feel, Scarlett?"

"Pretty terrible. How's my baby, Ashley?"

"She's beautiful, Scarlett. Just beautiful. She's going to be just fine, and so are you."

She noticed that he was dressed in black.

"Did you …did you think we wouldn't be?"

Ashley took her hand. "I never lost faith, Scarlett."

"Ashley? Did you see my other baby? The one that died?"

He nodded. "She was sleeping peacefully, Scarlett. She didn't suffer."

After that, he told her that she needed to keep resting, that he would have Mammy bring the baby for her to hold later and she thanked him. He told her that Rhett had been and left, leaving out such small details as Rhett's extreme grief and the point in her labor at which he had left. He then said that Wade and Ella were fine, and at his house with Beau, having had held vigil for most of the night.

"It's probably best that Rhett is gone, Scarlett," Ashley said. "I'm sure that you understand, my dear."

Scarlett didn't respond for quite some time, and Ashley stood up and kissed her cheek. She looked out the window of her bedroom. A moment later she said, "Yes Ashley, I'm sure that it's best."

Then, he warned her that it would be a month at most before she was sufficiently healed. He left the room and left her to her grief. Tears of frustration and exhaustion streamed down her face. How could Rhett abandon his child, his baby girl? She closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her, thinking that at the very least, she had his child, and she would love her better than life, whether Rhett wanted her or not.