A/N: Thank you so much for reading, following and reviewing! I'm so glad y'all liked the conversation with Melanie. Scarlett needs a friend! She does recognize Melanie as one sometimes in the book—but then Ashley returns and dumb-dumb Scarlett forgets! Maybe in this story she won't. :) India Wilkes reader, you made my day. Just :at a loss: thanks!


Part 4

Over the next few weeks, a pattern established itself. Melanie renewed her campaign, begun in April, taking Scarlett for afternoon visits after a morning spent in the store or her office. The store continued to practically run itself, and Scarlett was grateful for this, as her sleep was now regularly punctuated by nightmares. The nightmares had never gone away altogether, but before April, they had diminished in frequency to once or twice a week.

Now, nearly every night, she ran through the sinister fog, and it clutched at her skirt, and she ran, trying to find safety, but there was no safety. And then she awoke to see Rhett standing over her, with bloodshot eyes, his shirt open to reveal his strong, safe chest. He scooped her up and asked, "What's the matter, honey? Is it your old dream?" She nodded, and opened her mouth to tell him about it, and then he opened his arms, and she fell. And she was falling, falling, falling through thick mist and there was nothing to grab hold of, nothing to stop her, there was only fog and soft, cruel laughter surrounding her. Sometimes she would hear a baby cry, too, and reach out to hold it. But she never could reach it, her slick palm could never grasp the tiny fist, until she suddenly jerked awake, her heart stuttering painfully in her chest, sheets damp with sweat twisted around her body, so tightly sometimes that her legs prickled in pain as sensation rushed back in.

These restless nights translated themselves into Scarlett sleeping later than she had been accustomed before. "Before…" There were so many calamitous moments in her life, it seemed silly to divide it up into more little pieces. The war, Ellen's death, her mortifying return to Atlanta, marrying Rhett, barring him from her bedroom.

But she could not help now thinking of before. Now it only meant that terrible, intoxicated, intoxicating, mad night, and then Rhett and Bonnie's return from abroad. The three months in between seemed far removed in her mind—existing, and she in it, like some kind of purgatory, waiting and worrying, buffeted by society's strictures, sheltered by Melanie when she was out in the world. And when she was left to herself, always, always that agony of hope, and the secret joy she could not share.

At the time, she had thought she would never forget the minutest detail of gossip she heard in those interminable sewing circles, as she smiled to herself and dreamed. But now everything blurred into each other, and it seemed as though it had happened in another lifetime, or not to her at all. Only one moment stuck out among the rest, a thunk of a suitcase, and sometimes she felt her heart race still, remembering how she had flown out of her room to welcome them home. But it did not much signify how she had felt then, and it did not bear thinking about. That moment somehow seemed to belong to Before too, and this was now.

Now, she just had her store to run, and mills to oversee, and her children to try to love. They did not make it easy, or at least they did not make it easy for her. It was easy for Melanie, who knew just precisely what to say for their conversation to sparkle forth. It was easy even for Rhett, to whom they told their hearts' little secrets, even though he so clearly favored their sister. But she tried to build on what they had started at Tara.

Wade didn't talk to her as much here, there being no farm reports to relate over supper, but she found him watching her with a solemnity unfitting for a boy of almost ten—although he had always been so serious. His quiet concern gratified and unnerved her. She was happy that at least he seemed to care about her, although sometimes she wanted to cry in exasperation that she was fine.

Ella didn't watch her like Wade, but Scarlett would occasionally peek in on her as she was playing in the nursery. Ella would sometimes look up from her dolls, and smile at Scarlett. Twice she had even scrambled up from playing to hug her, pressing a face glowing red with embarrassment into her mother's skirts. Tears pricked Scarlett's eyes at this gesture and she thought, as she awkwardly patted her daughter's shoulder, that it must be slightly pathetic for something so small to mean so much.

Mealtimes were the most difficult. Ella would never just eat, choosing instead to push her food around and off the plate, as she played with it. Scarlett tried not to be sharp, but seeing food wasted, she could still feel how desperately her stomach hurt while she picked cotton. Wade knew better than to play with his food—knew from experience, when his empty stomach had ached, too—but he could still be caught on occasion, just sitting at the table, his fork suspended in midair, staring at her.

And oh, then there was Bonnie! Bonnie was terribly headstrong, and only Rhett could coax her to behave, except that he almost never did.

Rhett spoiled Bonnie utterly, and Scarlett did not know what to do about it. She was still young enough that her tantrums could be excused by age. And she was so affectionate and endearing when she did have her way, that Scarlett was tempted to spoil Bonnie herself. She was a darling when she was happy, and seeing her so made Scarlett want to keep her happy. But sooner or later, she would be playing with other children—children who weren't Wade and Ella, who had long since resigned themselves to giving in to whatever Bonnie demanded, and contenting themselves with other toys or playing a different game.

She had been kept entertained at Raoul Picard's little birthday picnic—a consequence of the fact that many of the parents had stayed in attendance, Rhett among them. Scarlett was glad she had been purposely left off the impromptu auxiliary party's guest list. She certainly had better things to do than attend a picnic with a bunch of screaming children. Still, Bonnie would not always have her father around to devote all of his attention to, and when that happened… Her tempers would not always be tolerated, her manners not always sweet enough to overcome them. Then Maybelle and India and everyone else would talk, their voices pitched low, but unable to disguise their barely controlled glee. What a wretched mother Scarlett is! Why hasn't she done something to control that child? My dear, you know she spends all her time at the mills, when would she have the chance? Oh, and they would smile expressively at each other then.

She saw, with sharper eyes than she'd ever possessed before, how very dear father and daughter were to one another. Rhett had always loved their little girl, she knew of course, but she had never found it so… confrontational. Bonnie sat next to Rhett at supper, but clambered into his lap before the end of the meal without fail, sitting like a princess, and imperiously refusing to get down when scolded to do so by her mother. Rhett's arms would tighten briefly around the little figure, as he laughed easily and dropped a kiss onto her black curls.

"Let her stay," he would say, in an almost carefree way that nonetheless brooked no opposition. Scarlett bit her cheek, hard, to keep from snapping at either of them. She didn't know who was the source of the frustrated tears in her eyes more—her husband or her little girl.

During these weeks, Rhett did not leave the table as soon as the children were dismissed. At first, this surprised her. She thought he must want to talk to her about something, although what it could be, Scarlett could hardly fathom. They so rarely had anything to talk about lately. The weight of all they had said and never said had slowly crushed her ability to broach new topics with him, and now she feared his disinterested answers more than the ones that stung.

Still, they sat in cool tension that would have looked charmingly like tranquility from the outside. The little seed of an idea had planted itself in her head after her first supper back. He was going to Belle's—he always went to Belle's, and he had finally confirmed it, before. He had no need to make excuses now, but she wondered if he stayed at the table so she would leave first. Then he would not even need to make excuses! Well. She had proved that she could withstand anything he said, hadn't she? She could stand this, too. It made her teeth clench to sit here, waiting for the other to cede ground first. But after that first night, she had no desire to be tricked into his game. If he didn't want to sit here with her, if he wanted to go, why should she have to leave first? Let him play alone: she would stay here and make him say goodnight first. Force him to tell her he was going out. She would stand it. What else could he have to say to her?

And then one night, it became perfectly clear.