Atlanta, Georgia, January 1874

Rhett did not appear at the breakfast table. It would be so easy to believe he had overslept or risen early, that he was out riding, even that he had gone back to Belle Watling's house. But Scarlett never shied from the truth when she could see it, and she knew without hope that he had left again. There had been moments - one or two moments in that bare week he had been home, but nothing had changed. Even after last night - but he had mocked her with the same words he had said before.

Rhett had left her again. She looked down the table at Ella, with her sad downcast eyes, and Wade, staring at her angrily. Rhett had left them, and she couldn't hide it. Nor was it in her make-up to spin sweet lies for their ears.

"Uncle Rhett had to go away to take care of some business. He had a wonderful time at home with you both but he can't neglect his business any longer. He sends his love..." Her lies trailed off, mired in the children's morose, unresponsive silence. Damn him!

The breakfast plates were cooling rapidly before Ella spoke up. Her tremulous voice startled Scarlett out of her reverie and caused her to start in surprise and clatter her spoon against the side of her bowl.

"May I be excused, Mother?"

"Please," corrected Scarlett, automatically.

Ella actually paled under her freckles. "Please may I be excused?"

Scarlett sighed. She hadn't even spoken harshly. "Yes, Ella. You too, Wade, if you are finished."

Both children left without another word. Scarlett raised her coffee cup.

"Happy New Year," she toasted the empty room.

That night, when the children had been put to bed after another strained meal, Scarlett found herself turning the intricate bronze knob of Rhett's bedroom door.

She hadn't been in his bedroom since Bonnie's death. She hadn't ever been in his bedroom, except for the day their daughter had died. She closed her eyes as she pushed the door open. It swung soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. The things she had said - "Oh, Rhett," she whispered. She hadn't meant what she had said that day. She had never told him, never apologized. Would that have made a difference?

After she had banished him from their marital bedroom, he had at some point redone his bedroom to his own taste. Gone was the thick carpeting she had chosen for this room, replaced with an intricately patterned rug that left the gleaming wood borders of the room bare. The visible wood floor was a warm brown, lighter than the black-walnut furniture which had not been changed. The dark paper had been scraped off and the walls were now painted a light cream. A stony pain lodged in her stomach as she thought all this work must have been possible because he hadn't actually been sleeping here. He'd been sleeping at Belle Watling's house, in Belle Watling's bed.

She crossed the room at a rapid pace, and her fingers scrabbled at the wooden window frame, trying to lift it. She knelt to breathe through the narrow crack opened at the bottom, taking in fresh air as deeply as her stays would allow. Clenching her fingers around the heavy fabric, she noticed the dark drapes she had had hung in this room were now a rich blue.

When her stomach settled, Scarlett stood and closed the window. She opened the doors of the large wardrobe. There was still some clothing in it, but the mostly empty shelves clearly showed that much had been removed. In his dressing room there still hung a few robes and heavy overcoats, some older and much-worn clothes in the back, scuffed boots and beaten-in slippers on the floor. She stood in the center of the space and breathed in. The dressing room, a small, closed-up space, held his scent more strongly than the large bedroom. Cigars, whisky, horses. The smells that reminded her of Gerald, but with another layer of musk that was uniquely Rhett.

She did not close the dressing room door behind her as she passed back through to the bedroom. That tiny room needed a good airing out.

The bed was made. There were a few books left on a shelf in the far corner, which her eyes passed over without interest. The room was clearly unoccupied, and there was nothing that felt to Scarlett like it had even been lived in at all for the last week. He was gone.

She started to leave, and passing the desk on her way out of the room her eye was caught by a textured black box with a cream card on top. The items were centered on the empty desktop. Her name stood out in thick black script.

Scarlett picked up the card. She turned it over in her hands. The words "Merry Christmas" were written in the same heavy handwriting. There was no other note. She crumpled the paper and tossed it in the basket below the desk. Without any of her usual eagerness for gifts, she opened the box. The small hinge was tight, and the lid lifted with some difficulty, stubbornly resisting the inevitable reveal. Inside, a diamond necklace encircled a slightly raised velvet oval. A heart-shaped emerald surrounded by diamonds hung from the strand.

With knocking knees, Scarlett slid into the desk chair, one hand at her throat. Her mind whirled in confusion. Why had he gone to Belle's? Why had he stayed for the ball and then left so abruptly? Why had he done all those things - and still had bought this necklace? She didn't understand him! She knew she never had understood him, and the belated insight she had glimpsed that night in September did not explain this. Pride had kept him from admitting his love for fear of being rebuffed, but he knew now that she loved him - that she finally had realized she loved him. Why hadn't he given her this gift at Christmas? Why was it here, in this room - had he somehow known, or guess, that she would breach his privacy like this?

Scarlett ran her fingers lightly over the gently serrated surfaces of the diamonds and closed her eyes. She swore she felt the fine, short hairs that had escaped from her upswept coif stir as if moved by Rhett's breath. She touched her other hand to her throat, and slid her fingers to the back of her neck. She imagined Rhett clasping the gift around her neck, and her chest grew heavy as if actually weighted down by the strand and pendant.

When a warm tear tickled at the edge of her nostril, she stirred. She opened her eyes and the diamonds of the necklace shimmered through the refraction of her tears. She pushed the box back with folded arms, then put her head down and sobbed into the desk.

Charleston, South Carolina, January 1874

The train carried Rhett back into Charleston on New Year's Day. The restlessness that had driven him abruptly from Atlanta had disintegrated, borne away on the familiar currents of salt air and sea.

He made his way to the house on the Battery where his mother now lived alone. The salt-scrubbed cypress boards were greying but clean. The narrow yard teemed with winter color. Tall palms shaded foxglove and pansies in a rainbow of purple hues, contrasted against pink and white camellias. Behind the imposing chevaux-de-frise tips of the high iron fence, a tabby oyster-shell path led to wide steps up to the dark green door. Peeling white columns stretched from the wide porch to the deep overhanging roof two stories up.

The old black butler Rhett had hired back from the family's freed slaves greeted him with an implacably dignified face, but his brown eyes were warm.

"Mist' Rhett! We had no idea you were comin' to town. Miss Eleanor will be so happy to see you, suh."

Rhett set down the valise he'd carried in and handed off his jacket and hat. "It's good to see you, Homer. There's a cab outside with my luggage. I'd like it all brought up to my old room. Is Mother in?"

"Yessuh, she's in the drawin' room."

Homer went out to see to his luggage. Rhett bent to the valise and took out a large, round hatbox before going through to the drawing room.

The hall and drawing room were floored in warm golden heart pine. There were bright new rag rugs in every room, woven together by industrious hands. There were new curtains in the drawing room which hadn't had window coverings during his last visit, floor-to-ceiling drapes of pale blue. The room was sparsely furnished with a mint-green covered settee and a few chairs, including a pair he had shipped over from France for Christmas. Those chairs were new and stylish, armless Louis XVI side chairs upholstered in palest mint. Though all the furniture was spotlessly clean and well-cared for, the fabrics were noticeably worn and the wood scuffed. The new chairs stood out with their gleaming perfection.

The large front windows that faced the sea to pull in cooling breezes in summer were shut tight against the chilly day, and a fire blazed merrily in the large hearth on the far wall. The room was bright and warm, friendly and welcoming where the house in Atlanta was dark and almost oppressive.

"Am I interrupting your needlework, Mrs. Butler?"

"Rhett? Rhett! Darling, I wasn't expecting you!"

Rhett Butler enfolded his mother in his arms and allowed himself a moment of peace to bask in the respite of her embrace. She smelled faintly of roses, the stuffiness of embroidery baskets, and the tang of salt and iron - the scents of his own childhood. He hadn't seen her since the funeral.

"Am I a pleasant surprise, then, or a most unwelcome rogue?"

His mother clucked her tongue and kissed his cheek. "Rhett, you know you are always welcome here."

They settled down comfortably. His mother sank back into her chair while he stretched an arm along the curved back of the sofa. "I intend to make an extended stay in Charleston, Mother. Are you sure my presence won't be an imposition?"

"Not at all." Eleanor studied her son with a knowledgeable eye. He had been so very unwell the last time she had seen him, of course. Even now, her big, vital, so very alive son seemed strangely brittle. Was that a tremor in the hand along the wood frame of the sofa, or a trick of the weak winter light? "You must stay with me as long as you are here." She picked her embroidery back up and turned needle to cloth again, weighing her next words.

"Will your wife be joining you?" Eleanor observed her son through lowered lashes that were still thick and dark. To another eye, less familiar with his restrained habits, he might have had no reaction at all, but the way he looked away spoke to her of restlessness and discomfort.

"No. She didn't feel she could leave the store, the economic picture being as it is."

It was almost the same excuse he had given her three years before, when he'd shown up on her doorstep with her darling granddaughter in his arms. It hadn't had the ring of truth then, either. Eleanor sighed, but did not press him. She didn't even know her daughter-in-law. Their only meeting had not been under the best circumstances. She knew her son, but in the matter of his marriage, she did not understand him.

"What a pity. I had so hoped to spend more time with her in better times."

"Scarlett's a very busy woman," Rhett answered, with poorly concealed bitterness.

"You are generally a very busy man," Eleanor parried. "Does business bring you here?"

"Perhaps," Rhett replied with a shrug. "I might find some business while I'm here. I am in no hurry to be anywhere else. What does the world have to offer me that can compare with the charms of Charleston?" He lifted his arm from the back of the couch, making an expansive gesture.

Mrs. Butler smiled indulgently, but her forehead creased with worry. What about the charms of wife and family? Why had Rhett come to stay?

"It will be good to have you home, Rhett dear. For however long you care to stay."

"Aren't you curious about the hatbox, Mother?" Rhett asked, his eyes twinkling at her.

She laughed. "I thought you would share it with me when you were good and ready."

His long arm easily stretched across the distance between them to offer her the gift.

The hat was a charming little piece in dark claret velvet, with a trailing bow on one side and a small spray of flowers. He mused briefly that it was only half as decorated as anything that would appeal to his wife, but his taste came from his mother. It was stylish without being overdone, beautiful in simple elegance.

Eleanor smiled with pleasure. "Thank you, Rhett. It's beautiful, of course. Your taste is always impeccable."

"It is nice to be appreciated." Rhett stretched out his legs. "And how is dear sister Rosemary?"

"She's been quite happy. Married life suits her." Eleanor saw a shadow pass over her son's brow. "We will have to call on her soon. She would never forgive me if I kept you all to myself."

"As soon as we can. I've missed her."

"I'll send a note tomorrow. And I'll warn you now, my sewing circle will be over on Saturday, if you want to escape them."

Rhett's grin was as insolent as the boy she remembered. "I do so love a sewing circle."

Atlanta, Georgia, January 1874

Scarlett hid a yawn behind her embroidery hoop, under the pretense of closely examine her small, uneven stitches. Her needlework had not much improved since the lopsided stars she'd sewn on Confederate pillows during the war. The endless miniscule stitches, the oppressive silence alternating with such dull conversation, it all did almost as much to put her to sleep as the secretive sips of the brandy bottle she took at home.

Her green eyes darted predatorily around the gathered ladies. Dull whenever she was present, but she was sure they couldn't stop talking about her when she wasn't there. They were all spiteful old hens. Had she and Maybelle really made up, even a little, at that New Year's party? That had been a foolish thought. She probably went home and told her mother all sorts of nasty things about me, Scarlett thought peevishly.

Scarlett was seated in between Maybelle Merriwether and Sarah Bonnell. Sarah had inquired politely after her children again, but that conversation was floundering. Scarlett stabbed her needle at the creamy fabric in her hoop.

"Frankie's already looking forward to his birthday, as if he didn't have enough of presents with Christmas."

Birthday? Her ears pricked. It would be Wade's birthday soon, too. She sucked the corner of her lip and carefully schooled her face to blandness.

"Why, Wade's birthday is coming up fast as well," Scarlett mused. "He's been asking about a party of course, but I just don't know if we can manage it." A party would be good for Wade, though he had not asked. He wouldn't even ask Scarlett to pass him a slice of pie at supper. And for herself -

"Oh!" Sarah Bonnell put her own embroidery down in her lap. "I didn't know it was Wade's birthday…"

"Oh, yes," Scarlett replied with layered-on enthusiasm. "And it's just all he can talk about. He wants the other boys to see his pony, and he just won't stop pestering me about a cake. Why, of course we'd order it from Mrs. Merriwether," Scarlett turned a blindingly bright smile on Maybelle to her right. "After all, everyone knows she bakes the best cakes in town. Still," Scarlett sighed, "I don't know what to tell him. With times so hard these days, I'm just not sure anyone has time for a little boy's silly birthday party."

"Oh, no, Scarlett," Sarah reached over to touch Scarlett's hand. "Of course they - we - do. Everyone just loves Wade."

Scarlett stopped her eyes from rolling, but just barely. Everyone had loved Bonnie, but she remembered for the second time in a week that fight with Rhett over Raoul Picard's birthday party. How much they had loved Wade then, snubbing him from his friends' celebrations! It was strange, to think of that now. But those connections were on her mind these days, now that all others had been broken. In truth, loneliness was on her mind.

"Frank would come?" She turned and laid a small entreating hand on Maybelle's arm. "And Raoul, Maybelle? Wade would be so happy." Scarlett sighed, and there was truth in her next words, beyond the artifice of her plans. "He misses his Aunt Melly so. It hasn't been an easy winter. It would brighten his spirits, I'm sure."

Invoking Melanie's memory gave everyone pause. Scarlett's feet began to dance, hidden under her skirt, as she stabbed again at her sampler.

Charleston, South Carolina

Rhett stood on the second floor piazza facing the sea. Tall glass doors open behind him led back into his bedroom in his mother's house. His eyes stung in the wind blowing in over the rough sea. Was he home? He had ripped himself out of Atlanta, but he had not yet set down roots abroad, had not found what he'd left Scarlett to find. There were uncut ties in Atlanta - the wife who wouldn't let him go, the children he had claimed but left behind. There were bitter roots, grown only into stumps - Bonnie, the unborn baby, missed chances. He was too old and worn out for the hazards of that world.

The orange glow of his cigar blended with the boiling sky that was brightly painted by the setting sun. Could he make a life in Charleston? He was almost surprised not to have been struck by lightning for daring to enter the domain of the Holy City. He would welcome the purifying flash of impact. There was so much darkness to burn away.

"Scarlett," he said out loud, testing the sound of her name where she had never set foot. She would be impotently enraged by his disappearance. How long could she keep that temper stoked? When he squinted his eyes through the smoke and the setting sun, he could pick out a flash of green off the sea that looked like her hot, angry eyes. It made an answering heat rise under his collar, and he tugged at his cravat with his free hand. It seemed he had made a bad habit of saying too much with her. In the book of foolish things he'd told her, "I'll come back often enough to keep gossip down" was on the first page. Already, just a few days gone, he felt the promise of that statement pulling at him. He never should have told her he'd come back. That promise was a shackle around his ankles, the chain that pulled him to Atlanta.

Desire was in those links. He knew it, and he resented it. It put the lie to at least part of what he'd told her in September - pity and kindness. There had been little enough of kindness in his actions in December. For the second morning in their lives, he hadn't been able to face her eyes after his self-betrayal. But he could imagine them, now. He didn't need to find their color in the sea. In all these years, it had never left his mind.

Atlanta, Georgia, February 1874

January brought no word from Rhett. Would he come back again? Did that empty promise still stand - I'll come back often enough to keep gossip down. Did it even matter if he did? Nothing had changed between Christmas and New Year. Scarlett had hoped - but his absence, his departure on New Year's Day had belied any hope.

She didn't give a damn about the gossip any way. What she cared about - what left a heavy weight in her heart, a knot in her stomach - was the loneliness. The false conviviality in the old homes that would not turn her away nor welcome her. No Melly, no Rhett. She had Ashley now, and she didn't want him. After Bonnie's death, she had let her new friends drift away. They didn't know or understand her, nor care to do either. They had no pasts of their own and no common roots with her. But them, she did not miss.

Scarlett had made her halfhearted forays into the parlors of the past, but it had not yet been enough to win back the esteem she had so carelessly jettisoned. No one in Atlanta, no one in all of Georgia had the same force of will coupled with self-serving charm as she had. Only Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler had ever stood against Scarlett O'Hara when she had determined to have her own way. Atlanta wouldn't stand a chance.

"Wade darling," she said with a bright smile over breakfast, "how would you like to have a birthday party?"

Wade hadn't had a birthday party in years - had really only ever had one, because the next year Rhett had stepped in and said the children of her white trash friends would only grow up to be white trash themselves, and he wouldn't have them in his house any more than he would have their parents. But they both had known no other parents would let their children come to their home, and so Wade's birthday had been celebrated with family only in the years since. Wade hadn't even been to someone else's party in the same span of time, excepting the little parties that Melly had held for Beau's birthdays.

When Wade just stared at her in silence, irritation sharpened her tongue. "Well, Wade? Wouldn't you like to have some friends come over?"

"Yes, Mother," he answered stiffly.

Scarlett beamed, her ruffled feathers smoothing instantly. "We'll have the most wonderful party! You can have whatever cake you would like. You can show off your pony. We can set up any games you'd like to play."

Wade just shrugged. "Yes, Mother," he mumbled.

Scarlett continued to chatter about games, and decorations, and all the little friends he could invite, determined to ignore the lack of enthusiasm or of any response at all from her son.

In the weeks that followed, Ella was more excited about Wade's party than her brother was. She followed her mother around the house like a pale, red-topped shadow, with a never-ending stream of questions to plague Scarlett. Morose Wade showed little interest in Scarlett's plans, no matter how she tried to entice him with talk of pony rides, and hot chocolate drinks to warm everyone up after, and the biggest cake anyone had ever seen.

Wade couldn't recall having a real party of his own before. Even the one birthday party with more than just the family in attendance hadn't included his real friends. Those guests were the children of his mother's friends, and no one but Mother liked them. Mammy had called those people white trash. He knew his friends, except Beau, said the same thing about Mother.

He wanted Uncle Rhett, but they had been left behind again. Mother drove everyone away! She was the reason no one would want to come to his party. She was the reason Uncle Rhett was gone - that was what his friends at school said, sharing the malicious rumors overheard in their homes. He didn't care about this stupid party that no one would come to, he just wanted to go away, too. He would go to Harvard, like his father, and no one would know him there - no one would know his mother. Maybe someone old enough would remember his father. They would know the Hamiltons, and he could be proud to be one of them.

Wade wondered, as he often did, what other mothers were like. Aunt Melly, he was sure, was the best mother ever. He had loved to spend time at Beau's house. Aunt Melly hadn't cared if they played too loud - she would even play with them! He didn't think anyone else could be so wonderful. But at school, the other boys had mothers who came to walk them home, and hugged them while they pulled faces at their friends to show how much they didn't like it. He assumed most mothers were probably less fun than Aunt Melly, but nicer than his own. He used to feel absolutely stricken with guilt when he had these unloyal thoughts about Scarlett, for despite his fear he had loved his mother very much and despaired of her approval, but now he was too angry with her to care.

The party did sound like fun. It almost made him forget his anger. When it was just the three of them sitting at the supper table and Mother going on about the best kind of cake for a birthday, he and Mother had both laughed when Ella pulled a face because she hated lemon cake. It didn't even matter, for a moment, that Uncle Rhett wasn't there.

On the Saturday of his party, Wade was too nervous for breakfast. He was still worried no one would come. He was worried about his mother, for her own anxiety about the day had made her cross and snappish again. She had been so nice, practically a stranger, for more than a month; but that morning she snapped at Ella for no reason and sent him away from the table early.

"If you're not going to eat, Wade Hampton, you don't need to sit there mooning over the food. Go get cleaned up and don't make a mess before your guests arrive. And you had better find an appetite by this afternoon, Wade, after all the trouble I went to selecting the menu for your party! Ella, stop crying. Both of you - you're excused. Go upstairs. Go!"

When the children had gone, Scarlett pushed her own plate back. She pressed both her palms to her nervous stomach. What a rash idea this had been! All she had done was open them all up to the very derision she had been trying to avoid. She felt foolish for having missed her old friends, and blamed some nostalgic madness for the whole thing. Rhett had been crazy, worrying so about Bonnie's future. She choked a little at the unbidden thought that Bonnie no longer had a future, and hastily shoved the morbid thought away.

It was just a small party for Wade. Just a bunch of children. For Wade. Nothing for her to be acting so silly and nervous.

That afternoon, Scarlett came home streaked with dirt and dusty from the storage room at the store. Hattie helped her change into a dress, carefully chosen to meet the approval of anyone who accompanied their child to the front door. It was dark grey, high necked, with half her usual ornamentation and plainly trimmed. She had Hattie twist her hair into a demure, unfashionable chignon that reminded her of her mother. No rouge, of course. She hardly recognized herself in the mirror. She felt old, and plain! But she dared even Mrs. Merriwether to find fault with her today.

Wade was quiet, pacing the foyer impatiently. Ella bounced on the stairs. Scarlett almost took refuge in the dining room, and the brandy decanter, but she couldn't risk that some mother would smell the liquor on her breath.

Maybelle Picard surprised Scarlett when she was the first to knock, accompanied by her little ape of a boy, Raoul. She greeted Scarlett cordially but without warmth, whispered something in Raoul's ear, and returned to her carriage. The children went into the parlor, where many of Wade's favorite toys and games had been brought down from the nursery. Scarlett took up Wade's pacing. That was one guest - one family, though possibly the most surprising. Scarlett wondered if old Mrs. Merriwether knew where her grandson was spending the afternoon.

Beau came up next, alone and red-cheeked from the walk over. She hugged and kissed him and sent him on to the parlor.

One hour later, two more little boys had arrived, but no more. Frank Bonnell, and little Johnny Elsing, much younger than the other boys. They were the sons of the people she and Rhett had dined with on New Year's Eve.

There had been an enthusiastic war campaign with Wade's tin soldiers, which had had Scarlett gritting her teeth against the cacophony and clenching her hands into tight fists which dug her nails into her palms. Now Prissy was helping to bundle all the boys back up so they could take turns cantering around on the pony led by Wash. From genteelly poor families every one, their fathers had been raised with ponies and horses that had not been replaced in the years after the war. Raoul Picard alone had spent some time with the mule his father hitched to the pie wagon. Taking the other boys out to see his mostly ignored pony puffed Wade up with importance.

When the boys stomped out into the cold, Scarlett slipped up to her room. From her bedroom window she had a clear view of the yard, to watch from a comfortable distance as the five boys took turns sitting on the pony while their fellows capered alongside. Pork had been dispatched as a reluctant chaperone and he trailed behind the small pack of children. She could hear, faintly through the glass, the boys' whoops and hollers. Ella's high singsong voice, prattling to her dolls about nothing, drifted through the open door from the nursery. These sights and sounds both warmed and chilled her, an uncomfortable sensation that raised goose pimples on her arms. She gripped herself tightly and rubbed her hands along the prickled skin. Not even half the invited guests had come to Wade's party. She was indignant, though she hadn't been able to tell how Wade felt. Right now, he certainly seemed happy and proud, showing off a fine pony such as none of his friends possessed. And Ella, playing alone in the nursery—

With Gerald's stubborn jaw showing plainly, Scarlett O'Hara drew up and squared her shoulders. She had money and then some. She had told the world to go to Hell, and what did she care. She watched the boys roughhousing on the winter brown lawn, her velvet curtains clenched in a cold fist.

Mrs. Bonnell was the last of the three mothers to return for her son. Frank was upstairs in the nursery with Wade and Beau. Screwing on her most charming smile, Scarlett opened the front door wide, and Sarah Bonnell swept inside.

"Frank's just upstairs with Wade and Beau." Scarlett explained.

"Oh I would hate to put an end to their fun just yet," Sarah replied, taking Scarlett's hands in hers and kissing her cheeks in turn. "Do let's visit a moment."

Scarlett blinked at her and tried to recover. "Of course. I could ring for tea?"

"Delightful,'" smiled Sarah, taking off her gloves and bonnet. She laid them on the hall sideboard as, unprepared for anyone to actually enter the house, Scarlett had no servant waiting to carefully accept a lady's things.

Scarlett led her unexpected guest into the parlor, and gestured her to the pink side chair that matched her own, with a small tea table between them. Looking askance at her caller, Scarlett reached blindly for the bell pull and tugged it briskly.

"It's so good to see you. I've hardly talked to you at all since that wonderful New Year's ball," Sarah gushed. "Do let's visit a moment."

Scarlett brushed her hands on her skirt as Prissy came in and set up the tea service. Scarlett dismissed her with a sharp glance towards the door, and poured the tea herself.

"I hope all these boys weren't too much trouble for you, Scarlett. Why having just one in the house can be mighty trying, I know!"

Scarlett murmured something noncommittal about boys and sipped her tea.

They both drank in silence a moment. Sarah's eyes restlessly circled the opulent room. Her husband Andy had been in the Butler's house many times, before the untimely death of sweet little Bonnie Blue. Sarah had never crossed the threshold before today. Her impression of the front hall was dark and indistinct. The thick drapes and dark wood kept light at bay and the flickering gaslights did a poor job of illuminating the space. It had not felt welcoming. Though the heavy materials continued into the parlor, the curtains were open in here, letting in some weak winter sunlight. The lamps were aided by a large fire.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Scarlett," Sarah said. "I simply must return the favor. Would you and Wade like to come for tea on Wednesday? Wade and Frank could spend the afternoon together again."

Scarlett's teacup clinked as she set it back in its saucer with ungraceful haste. "Oh - yes. Yes, of course. I'm sure Wade would like that."

"And you, dear?" Sarah smiled and reached out a hand to cover Scarlett's own and gently squeeze her fingers. Scarlett couldn't help the suspicion in her eyes as she watched that clasp, but no ulterior motive came to her mind.

"Yes," she answered with simple honesty.

Early in the evening, when the Bonnells had gone, Scarlett smiled widely at her son and nephew and said, "Beau, it's far too late to walk. Why don't you get your things and I'll take you home in the carriage."

It was a very short ride to the little house on Ivy Street where Ashley and Beau lived, joined by India since Melanie's death. It gave Aunt Pittypat regular fits to be alone in her home again, but India had been adamant about helping her brother and especially her nephew.

"Thank you, Auntie," Beau said sweetly as the carriage came to a halt. Scarlett smiled fondly at her nephew. He had always been loving towards her; more loving than her own children, until Bonnie. She had somehow found a bond with Ella, now, but her own son…

"Did you have a nice time at Wade's party, Beau?" she asked, craving for some reason to draw out the moments of companionship before he left her side for his own home.

"Oh yes, it was a lot of fun. It was the best cake I ever had, too. Thank you for inviting me, Aunt Scarlett."

Scarlett smiled. "I'm glad you liked it! It was from Mrs. Merriwether's bakery. Maybe I could take you all - that is, you and Ella and, and Wade - for a treat sometime."

Beau smiled and, without prompting or demand, wrapped his skinny arms around her shoulders in an open, loving hug. Scarlett felt the prick of tears in her eyes, unexpectedly. She blinked them away as she patted the bony back of his shoulder. "Goodnight, Beau," she said into his soft curls.

Beau kissed her on the cheek before drawing back. "Goodnight Auntie! Thank you again!" he called as he hopped out of the carriage and ran up the bare walk to his squat little home. Warm yellow light pooled on the porch from the front windows and made a long trail down the steps when Ashley threw open the door for his son. The Wilkeses turned to wave at her carriage before it pulled away. Scarlett pressed her hand to her throat and sat back against the plush cushions.

Charleston, South Carolina

Rhett hadn't been in Charleston since the trip with Bonnie. Her short visit had overwritten nearly two decades of memories before her. He had come here to forget, and everywhere he looked he remembered. It was all the more shocking, and painful, for being unexpected. He expected the house in Atlanta to echo with footsteps, to wake in the night hearing her terrified screams, to be followed room to room by fading laughter. He had been prepared to see her face when he walked in the front door - to see her in her mother's face. He was not ready for Charleston.

Because he had not had the time, or the foresight, to ready his defense against the ghosts, they both hurt more - and healed more. Not being rigidly self-defended, he had to roll with the blows to his psyche. The shocking disappointment of looking across the breakfast table and not seeing Bonnie had clenched his heart in an iron vise on the first morning, and the second, and the fifth. How many mornings passed before he realized he could breathe freely? And then how many more before he found himself looking at the empty space and smiling at the memory of her milk mustache, "just like Daddy's."

Going out to Broad Street for toys and books to send to Wade for his birthday, the melancholy wave passed over him on the threshold of a store he had visited with his daughter. He added a doll to the pile of gifts for his stepson. Bonnie would have loved the blonde lady in a fancy blue dress - but he thought Ella would like her very much as well.

Atlanta, Georgia, February 1874

The Monday following the party, Scarlett took her buggy out to the mills. India's presence at supper, in honor of Wade's birthday, had stifled any possibility of talking business with Ashley. He still let her check his books every week, and was grateful for her mathematical eye verifying the tallies, even as he cut short any of her none-too-gentle hints on how to actually run the business.

Ashley walked out to greet her at the buggy. Scarlett's smile in return was a grim, working expression. She handed over a carefully wrapped parcel of shirts for Beau, which Ashley tucked under his arm without protest before handing her down.

"Hello, Scarlett," he said as she turned her cheek for his kiss.

"Ashley," she replied briefly, struggling to remember the social niceties. "We just didn't get a minute to talk business last night. I've been so worried about – you." Her practiced eyes assessed the stillness of the yard, the lack of activity around them as they went into the small office.

Inside, Scarlett was drawn irresistibly to the heavy ledger on the scuffed desk. She flipped it open and her eyes rapidly scanned the long columns, irritated to find an error of addition on the first page. And the numbers all went too deeply in the wrong direction. She skimmed the names on the left, then looked at Ashley with hard, accusing eyes.

"The Venables haven't paid, Ashley."

"We've been working on a plan. They'll come through."

"Before or after you've gone bankrupt?"

"Scarlett - you're too harsh. Everyone's having a hard time right now."

"I don't care about everyone! God's nightgown, Ashley, you have to think about—"

"I'm not the only father in Atlanta, Scarlett. And the mills are my business."

She seethed at these words. They never should have been Ashley's business - for he had no head for any sort of business at all. Oh, damn Rhett! She never should have sold the mills - never would have it hadn't been for him, although she still didn't know just what he'd done. But it was surely all his fault.

"I just want what's best for you and Beau."

"Scarlett," Ashley began. He stopped and sighed, and went to stand by the small, dusty window. His fists were clenched in his coat pockets when he continued, "I must speak frankly, although frank discussions between us seem only to have caused harm in the past. You've been a great help every week. You have a head for mathematics that's better than even any man I've known, and it's a relief to have your help with the accounts. But that's - that's all I have asked of you. To tell you the truth," he turned back from the window and attempted a rueful smile in her direction, "I thought at first I was doing you a favor. You seemed so lost back in October. We both were - without Melly. And - well." Rhett's unsaid name nevertheless seemed to ring in her ears. "I thought you might enjoy the extra challenge."

God's nightgown! She fumed again. The extra challenge! What had every single day of the last six months been, if not one unending challenge. Had he so little idea of how hard she had been working at the store, without adding his own troubles on top of it? No, he probably didn't. And she had spent more time than cursory reviews would have entailed on the problems of the sawmills. Still - she wasn't a child who needed to be handed a puzzle to entertain her. But Ashley was still speaking.

"You must let me manage my business as I see fit."

He would manage her mills into the ground. Unpaid accounts, new orders drying up, the promise of an exclusive contract for Bullards' expansion never materialized. Without some infusion of capital, Ashley wouldn't be solvent for very much longer. And what could she do about that? For so many reasons, it was impossible for her to take a more direct interest - to take back a more direct interest. No, if Ashley went belly-up, she would just have to find a new way to keep her promise to Melly.

"Of course, Ashley," Scarlett answered him softly. Her gentle smile spread the light of spring sunshine in the old, tranquil days of peace. "Don't let's quarrel about it, darling. Oh, never mind such dreadful things as money! Let's talk about something more pleasant."

The tense crease in Ashley's forehead faded as he relaxed. He propped his hip on the old desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "I heard you went to the New Year's Ball for the Library Association. Was it a beautiful party?"

The memory of that night was not much more pleasant than the thought of all her hard work crumbling under Ashley's care, but not for any reasons she could share with anyone. She channeled her thoughts to the ball, the party, the glimmering way the night had begun.

"It was a lovely party. The ballroom and the dining room were just covered in poinsettias. It reminded me of the way we used to decorate at Tara. Flowers on every wall - it was just like a garden had grown up indoors."

"No party now can match the splendor of those days. But I hope this one came close. And did you have half the town spoiling for a fight with Captain Butler for the pleasure of dancing with you?"

Her attempt at a carefree, tinkling laugh sounded sharp even to her own ears. "Oh, Ashley, how you do run on. It was - it was a lovely party."

"Melly would be touched that you bought a ticket. She cared so much about everyone. The idea of a library that all of the city could enjoy meant quite a bit to her."

Scarlett felt herself flush with embarrassment, and irritation, for she hadn't given one thought to the money being raised that night. The Wilkeses were always crediting her with far more nobility than she actually possessed.

But though it made her throat ache with the promise of tears, it felt good to talk to someone about Melanie. "She always worried so much about everyone else," Scarlett said softly.

"So you and I had to make sure to worry about her."

"Yes," Scarlett replied softer still, thinking with shame of how she would never have worried about Melanie but that Ashley had asked her to care for his wife. Oh, Melly, she thought despairingly, I was so blind to how much I cared for you! And now it's too late.

Ashley kept talking, sharing reminiscences with an unhearing Scarlett. Her mind had slipped into the endless circling rut of self-recrimination and shame that had been trapping her since September. The setting sun plunged the little office into darkness when it finally slipped below the trees and could no longer reach the window.

"I hadn't realized it was so late. Come, Scarlett, let's go home." The implication of intimacy in this simple phrase jolted her out of her reverie, and she jerked loose the arm that Ashley had politely taken under his own.

"Yes - it's terribly late. Thank you, Ashley. I can manage. We'll - we'll see you again for supper on Sunday?" Without waiting for a reply, she backpedaled hastily out of the building and climbed up into her carriage. With a quick snap of the reins, she turned sharply and drove out of the yard.

At home, Scarlett stood in the front parlor with a sickening feeling of déjà vu. The front parlor light had been on when she drove up, and a large crate had been placed in the center of the room. Another birthday, another mountain of gifts instead of the bother of showing up himself. Pork had already pried open the lid. She heard the clatter of Wade and Ella's feet racing down the stairs and into the room. Their eyes were feverishly bright with excitement, and she tried to smile in return.

"Shall we see what presents we've received?" she questioned, and they whooped and shoved at each other as they approached her next to the crate. She felt too sick to snap as they jostled her.

As in October, there was a vague letter with birthday wishes for Wade, a small mountain of presents for him; a new doll and several rooms of dollhouse furniture for Ella. She sent the children upstairs to put their toys away before coming back down for supper, and drove her fingers through the straw filling the emptied crate. There was nothing else, nothing hidden in the straw or missed in a corner. Nothing for her.


The last paragraph in this chapter includes a few nods to Gregory Maguire's Wicked, also one of my favorite books.