Note: So, Starbucks is 'the place to be' for writing this little story. Reviews are great! Thank you! Let me know how it's progressing. I do want to forewarn any younger readers that although this is still a 'T' rated fic, there is some language in this chapter that is not young reader friendly.

2

The moment of recognition came over Rhett Butler instantly as he watched his son stand outlined against the grey sky. My God, he's a man! Pride, resentment, and a sweeping wave of anger overcame the older man as he fixed his eyes upon the younger version of himself. God damn him for coming here!

"Mr. Butler," the younger version of Rhett spoke.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Rhett growled.

"I was passing through," the youth snapped back. "I recognized your carriage. Even after all these years."

Rhett gazed at his son, so tall and strikingly good looking, then back toward the gravesite, where a crowd was gathering, their umbrellas shielding them from the drizzle.

"They've all seen you," Rhett muttered, then motioned for Luke to follow him.

"I don't do funerals," Luke hissed.

"You don't have a choice."

Rhett grabbed the strong arm of his son, and promptly steered him toward the back of the gathered assembly.

"Are you not going to stand with your wife?" Luke whispered anxiously, scanning the crowd for a woman missing a husband.

Rhett shook his head. "Circumstances are strained between us."

"How nice for you," he said sarcastically. "But why should I be forced to endure this, then?"

"Because you have already entered the funeral party, and in the South," Rhett said, his voice dangerously low, "funerals are the most important aspect of honoring life; and this particular one is seeking honor the life of a saint."

"And why, might I ask, are you invited? You've never been one to seek out such company."

His eyes blazed dangerously. "Do not mock me, boy. Not now. Not here."

Luke shivered and ran a large hand through his wavy black hair. "Who else is going to be here? Your wife?"

"Yes, Scarlett will be here. She was Mrs. Wilkes's sister-in-law by her first marriage."

Wilkes. Luke had heard that name before, and opened his eyes wider. "Won't it make it harder on you for me to be standing here?"

"No, not really. Who I'm with isn't important now. What she thinks is irrelevant, or what anyone thinks, really. Besides, I'm only here for the funeral; my train leaves at six o'clock."

Again, Luke's keen eyes scanned the still arriving crowd. Even in the rain, there had been a large turnout. All the black crepe! Never in his life had Luke felt so conscious of the redundancy of the color…but then he saw her. Her beauty was striking; her hardened eyes, a clear emerald green, narrowed at the sight of them. She was all done up in a fancy gown of black henrietta and melrose fabric trimmed with crepe around the sleeves, although it was rather crumpled from sitting in the carriage, and she advanced towards them with a fierce intensity in her gait.

"My dear Scarlett," Rhett said, his voice hollow and deeply facetious. Her eyes fixed him, then turned to the young man standing next to him. "I would like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Luke Kershaw. Luke, this is my wife." Scarlett's gaze passed from Rhett's face to Luke Kershaw and widened, narrowed, then rested stilly upon him. She seemed slightly short of breath, and placed her hand on her mouth in an instinctive gesture; just standing there, she stared stupidly at the younger version of Rhett Butler.

"Do close your mouth, Scarlett, before you cause a scene."

A look of profound shock swept across her face, then quickly was replaced by raw anger. "How dare you? I mean it, Rhett! How dare you? Here! At Melly's funeral. I could kill you! I could, I could!"

Rhett sat back on his heels and let out a wry chuckle. "Oh Scarlett, how humorous you are. You're no credit to dear Miss Melly, are you? After all the care you put into your performance yesterday, too…do try to something about Ashley, Scarlett, he looks like he's going to keel over himself. Not that I wouldn't be glad to see the last of him."

"Couldn't you at least pretend to be sorry that she's gone?" Scarlett snapped.

For a moment, Rhett didn't answer, but turned his head away. He bit the tremor from his lips, and put a bright smile on them, although it belied the ragged tone of his voice. "Do not presume to tell me how to mourn her. But as they say, we are what we are."

"You don't fool me," she said, clenching her hands together.

His face lost its smile. "Ashley is waiting, Scarlett."

There was no indication by a reaction of rage or indignation that she had even heard what he had said, but she backed away from Rhett as though he had slapped her across the face.

Abruptly, Luke broke the uncomfortable silence between them as she disappeared into the crowd. "Did you love your wife?"

"Yes, once."

"Did she love you?"

"No. She married me because I promised her fun. Then when I told her that it was over, she clung to me like a child clinging to its parent."

"So you used her, and now you've dropped her?"

"Let me give you a piece of advice, Luke Kershaw Butler. A man who has nothing to lose has everything to gain, and a man who avoids the entrapment of love and marriage has absolutely no chance of getting burned by it."

"Let me remind you, sir, that I have no claim to your surname, nor do I want use of it."

"Fair enough. So I suppose you're disappointed in me?"

"No, I don't think so. I rather admire you for it, actually. But I do feel sorry for you both, and I am even more determined never to fall into the same trap."

"Admire me?" his tone was a little sad. "There's nothing left to admire. I'm old, I've run my course. Let me make it through this, then I'm off to home."

"Back to New Orleans?"

"No, Charleston. Make long overdue peace with my people."

"Ah," the boy said blankly. "Well, you were kind to her in the end. You got rid of her. She's better off without you."

His lips quivered for a moment, but then the impassive expression settled upon his face.

. . . .

Scarlett lifted her gaze from Rhett and his son and looked up at Ashley. There was something awful in his grey eyes, something that rendered him dark and chilling and unearthly.

Hesitantly, she placed a hand upon his arm. He leaned forward and put his own shaking hand into Scarlett's own. "She can't be dead. She can't be. She was perfect, Scarlett. All that we weren't. She can't be dead."

She reared back, stunned by his outburst, which was attracting attention from the mourners, namely his sister India. "You've got to be strong Ashley, for Beau. At least today. Be strong today, then you can cry all you want to tomorrow."

He looked at her with bewildered eyes, filled with pain. "Beau?"

"Yes, Beau! Your boy, Ashley! Your boy who I love as much as my own. She damn near died giving him to you, so you had better not disappoint her! Understand?"

He licked his lips, then seemed to come to a decision. "You take him, Scarlett. For a while, at least. He needs a better father than me, and Rhett…Rhett is a far better father and husband than I am."

"No Ashley," Scarlett's coldly fierce gaze stilled his silent tears. "You're wrong about that."

The cemetery was packed now; the Atlanta Old Guard were all there who could be there. The Elsings, the Whitings, the Merriwethers, the Pecards, the Meades. And the Wilkes and Burr cousins from Macon, too, and even a few from Clayton County, Suellen for one. Hope was blighted, the mood of the mourners as grey as the sky above them, as though Melly had been the sun, and she would never shine her soothing light upon them again.

Sleep on, Melly, Scarlett thought as she observed the wooden casket. You've certainly picked quite the time to leave us. Pity us, me and the children, and your poor husband and boy. You died not knowing about Ashley and me; well, I'm sure you know now. While I groped in the dark for Ashley, you instinctively knew that everything I wanted was in my grasp…and when I reached out for it, it was lost! You knew that Rhett was for me and I for him, and now he's gone, Melly. Our marriage is just as dead as you are. Oh God!

She pressed Rhett's handkerchief to one cheek, then the other. No one in the crowd could have told by her face that she thought of anything but her grief for her beloved sister-in-law, yet the very shrewd could see that her gaze was fixed upon the two gentlemen standing on the opposite side of the burial plot. Two broad faces, with high cheekbones and identical aquiline noses. Very thick dark brows hooded two inky pairs of eyes, and if Rhett's hair hadn't begun to succumb to silver, they could have passed for brothers rather than that other repulsive, unmentionable relation.

Surely not! He can't have a son, he can't! But her own mind betrayed her, and she recalled little barbed comments he had made here and there; and then there was his delight in Bonnie, and his spirited declaration that boys were of no use. Was it because he already had one?

The funeral service passed, and Melly's coffin was lowered into the ground. Ashley, surprisingly, held himself together credibly and then departed before too many of them could get a hold of him and bombard him with stories of Melanie. Scarlett was glad that he had escaped; he did not need witnesses to his grief. But he couldn't be expected to go to work; no, she'd have to engage someone else to run the mill in his stead while he grieved. I've gained another child, she bemoaned her fate again internally, and I've lost my lover. In vain, her eyes sought Rhett, but he too had disappeared, along with the beautiful boy who resembled him so. I won't think about it, she told herself, I won't think about it right now. I'll think about it tomorrow.

. . . .

"That was interesting," Luke muttered as he walked alongside his father.

"Yes, I think that it's safe to say that you stole the show."

"Glad to be of service," Luke said with heavy sarcasm.

"So, do you need anything? Money? If you do, take it now. I don't intend on returning for a very long time."

"Nor do I," Luke retorted. "I'm going to California."

"Making your fortune, eh?"

Luke shrugged. "Just looking for the next great adventure. Friend of mine has kin there that want us to do some land surveying."

"Do you have any experience?"

"Nope. But I'm a fast learner."

Rhett laughed a soundless laugh. "I'm sure you are. Well, goodbye then."

Luke stared awkwardly at his father's extended hand. "Goodbye," he took it gingerly.

"Good luck," Rhett said, then returned to his waiting carriage, leaving his son standing alone on the street in contemplative silence.

"Luke! Luke!" Tommy was huffing and puffing as he ran down the street, his clothes hastily thrown on and his red hair mussed.

"You're nae gonna believe it. Tha' wee girl! Stola all our money!"

"Slow down, Tommy. What the hell are you saying?"

"Well, donna make sic a ruckus, now. If I hadna known, I woulda never gone in that bawdyhouse!"

"Are you saying that the whore stole our money, Tommy?"

"Notthat," the Scot looked miserable. "I didna know wha' her fee was. And all we had was nae enough to cover it and give her a quid for her trouble."

"A quid? Speak American, Tommy! You spent all our goddamn hard-earned money on a girl, and you want to give her a tip! Un-fucking-believable. Jesus Christ!"

"Donna swear like that! Ya want the wrath o' God down aboot us?"

"I don't really give a shit as long as that two hundred dollars manifests itself along with Him. How are we going to earn it back? I have ten bucks in my pocket, that's not even enough for a room…" Luke paused as an idea came to him. "Tommy, do you remember the name of that street the bartender was talking about earlier…Peach Road or something?"

"Peachtree?" Tommy looked bewildered. "That's nae help, mate!"

"Peachtree. That's it. C'mon, Tommy. Let's see if I can impose on my familial connections."