Thank you very much for the reviews. I love hearing what people think. Whether you like it, or have thoughts on how it could be improved, I really appreciate feedback. And Helen ...will you please update soon? I'm not sure I can wait much longer! :)


When she awoke, Rhett was gone. Scarlett stretched luxuriously between the covers, feeling refreshed for the first time in months. He was gone from the room, but he was still here, in the house, with them. His absence, the most frustrating, insurmountable obstacle to her dogged determination, had been overcome. The thought made her smile even wider.

It was only when she was sitting at her vanity and slowly dragging a brush through her dark hair, that another, less pleasant thought rose to her consciousness. It was an annoying, unprecedented, niggling thought. A thought that threatened to cast a pall even over the rosy glow of her morning.

He had given in to her too easily.

She tried to force her mind to consider the issue impersonally, but clarity continued to elude her. He had meant what he had said to her when he left Atlanta in September. And now, barely seven months after his eloquent speech about spent love, and pity and kindness, he had taken her back into his bed.

She let the brush glide thoughtfully through her dark tresses, and stared at herself in the mirror. She was not, and never would, be adept at reading people or their motivations, and Rhett's mercurial persona was more enigmatic than most. Was he just here because he desired her? The notion was too painful, too deeply at odds with the dearest wishes of her heart, that she resolutely pushed it aside. It can't be, she tried to argue with herself. No man could be with a woman as he had been with her, last night, and not truly love her.

But, her fickle mind interjected quickly, what did she really know about Rhett? About the kind of nights he spent with other women?

As on that other morning long ago, she wondered painfully, what if such nights are the usual thing for him? But no –she had been wrong then, it had been significant. He'd said as much on the night when he told her he was leaving. Or had he?

That terrible night was still a blur in her mind. All she could hear when she tried to remember it was his cold, impassionate voice telling her that his love was spent.

She sighed. Her own love felt so vast and overflowing that it was difficult to imagine his heart could remain untouched. She wanted to see him again, to have him look at her, just her. Despite her doubts, despite her fears, the world seemed brighter this morning. The sunlight felt warmer, the birds more cheerful. She caught herself humming while she got dressed. She even petted Bonnie's huge striped cat, who had made its way into the bedroom and curled up on the settee.

She chose another of her new green dresses, and called for Dilcey to assist her with the last hooks on the back.

'My Prissy's getting ready to have her baby, Miss Scarlett.'

Such was Scarlett's mood that even the thought of being without her maid did not disconcert her. 'I expect you'll want to be with her to help. After you finished dressing me I won't be expecting you until the baby's here safely.'

Dilcey gave her a look of gratitude. 'Thank you, Miss Scarlett.' She looked around, nothing the stump of Rhett's cigar on the ashtray. She turned to her mistress with a wide, knowing grin, firmly nodding her approval. 'It seems like things are finally gettin' somewhere around here.' She chuckled warmly. 'And it's about time, too.'

Scarlett was not offended. She laughed as well. 'I hope so.'

'You should give him another baby, Miss Scarlett. As soon as possible.'

Scarlett colored, and then sighed. If she was honest with herself, she could think of nothing she wanted more. A baby to prove how much she loved him, to help heal him, and herself, from the loss of Bonnie! But he had said quite clearly that he didn't want another child. And, she acknowledged, it was probably best to wait until her health improved. She didn't want to suffer another miscarriage. She wasn't sure Rhett could bear it. Or if she could.

'Perhaps some day.'

After Dilcey had left to assist with the birth of her first grand child, she suddenly remembered the date. It was April 30th. Her wedding anniversary. She had been married to Rhett for six years. And they had lived together for little more than five of them. Such a short time, really. She sighed. Long enough – long enough for everything to be broken. Should she really…

She walked to the dresser and withdrew a large, bulky package wrapped in grey silk. She took a deep breath. She would do it.

Her package in hand, she gingerly descended down the stairs in search of her husband.

~~oo~~

He had removed himself to the library, presumably to escape the clamor of the children. He stood by the window, looking out into the sun-flooded garden; a thin, leather-backed volume discarded on the table beside him.

'Rhett.'

He turned, his gaze traveling from her face to the large package in her hand. She set it on the table with a thud. 'I have…. a gift for you. I don't know if …' she colored deeply. 'It's our anniversary.'

His eyes registered surprise, then comprehension, and then, of all things, chagrin. 'Ah, yes. I must apologize for my forgetfulness. May my excuse be that I did not know ahead of time there would be anything to celebrate.'

She bristled briefly, but kept her tongue. He picked up the package, which was surprisingly heavy. Pushing the silk wrapping paper aside, he revealed a rough-hewn wooden crate, longer and higher than it was wide. His curiosity was piqued. He gently turned it over in his hand, discovering a panel that could be opened by pushing forward on the wood. The lid slid off easily. He felt the sting of a splinter against his thumb, but maintained his pressure until he could peer inside.

He stared down at a sailboat. In the semi-darkness of the crate its beauty was muted, but once he tugged it out with careful hands it would have been obvious even to the casual observer that this was an unusual piece. It was a large ship of exquisite craftsmanship, made of a reddish-golden wood with a liquid sheen unknown in their part of the world. It sported three proud masts, untold sails sewn of a pale beige fabric, and innumerable crisscrossed lines, fine and thin like gossamer. He ran his hands over the hull, feeling its smoothness beneath his fingers. Then he lifted his dark eyes to Scarlett.

'Do you like it?' she asked anxiously, as usual unable to read his expression. 'I found it in the new store in 17th street. The owner said it was from ….Mada…Madagonia.' She saw his raised eyebrows, and faltered. 'I mean, it's from Africa. I think.' She blushed, certain he would once again pounce on her ignorance and mock her.

Instead, he continued his level stare. 'It is certainly not what I expected. What made you chose this ship?'

She shivered. What could she say to avoid the trap she was sure his words were hiding? 'You like ships,' she answered, finally. 'Why should I not give you something you like?'

'Why indeed?' he asked, conversationally, keeping his large hand on the boat. 'Of course, one would have to consider another person's preferences and feelings to choose a gift that they actually like. And that has never been your forte, my pet, so you will pardon my confusion. I am also astonished because this ship is neither garish nor tasteless. It shines mainly through the hues of the wood and the excellence of the carving – things I would have wagered much too subtle for you to appreciate. So, I ask you again …..what made you chose it?'

Out of the tangle of incomprehensible words she only heard that he liked her ship. Her face gleamed briefly with triumph, and then with irritation. 'It was ….different. It didn't look like something from around here. And you like ships. And ships can take you places, and sometimes …' she stopped, a sudden embarrassed blush staining her cheek.

His enigmatic gaze was more intent, now. 'And sometimes?'

'Sometimes they bring you back home.'

His eyes softened. "It is beautiful, Scarlett. Thank you." He placed it high on one of the shelves, well out of the reach of the children. Then he turned back towards Scarlett, feeling as if something had shifted beneath his feet.

She was smiling at him, the rare, gleeful smile of a child whose drawing had pleased her stern mother on Christmas morning. But the look that accompanied it was oddly resigned and almost nostalgic, belying her years.

'When ….if you leave again, I hoped it would remind you of me. Of us.' There was no hint of accusation in her tone. If he left again, she would bear it, like she had borne so many other calamities in her young life.

Unless, he thought, taking in her translucency in the half-light of the library, her health broke first.

'I'm sure it will,' he replied evenly. He heard the rustle of her skirts, but did not turn back to see if she was disappointed by his answer.

Outside the library window, the leaves of the gum trees were already exchanging the soft tones of spring for the darker cloaks of summer. Ambitious blackbirds chirped their cacophonous octaves. He was aware of a long-lost sense of physical well-being, oddly at contrast with his unquiet mind. He felt lose-limbed and energetic, like a tree newly shot with green.

He sighed. She deserved more, perhaps, than his nonchalance and his gratitude - but he was unsure of what else he had left to offer. He was no stranger to internal conflict. He had been torn in some way or another since the day he had first met Scarlett at the barbeque at Twelve Oaks. Torn whether to remain near her, or to flee. Torn whether to cling to hope, or to resign.

No, it was not the nature of the conflict, or conflict itself, that felt foreign and unfamiliar. It was the sinking premonition that he, or even Scarlett, would have little to say in its final outcome ….that he himself, his freedom and his peace of mind, and whatever small shreds of happiness life might still hold for him, were but pin-balls in the hands of a fate already set inexorably into motion.

He had felt alive again last night, alive beyond what his hopes and dreams would have held, had he still been capable of hopes or dreams. But it was a night he would not have permitted himself to indulge in, had he not been certain that the time for choices was long over.

~~oo~~

It was a quiet day. Rhett had gone into town for a few hours with Officer Jones in tow, leaving Scarlett to spend a few overdue hours at the store. She kept to her office in the back of the building for the most part, quickly reminded by the few customers that glimpsed her that both she and her family had once again become an object of intense curiosity, and gossip. She was thankful for Thomas' unflappable support, but could only guess what the Meades, the Bonnells, and the Merriwethers were talking about her behind her back.

When returning home, there was little left of the glow the last night had cast on her spirits. She felt frazzled and nervous, like a bug on a pin under a magnifying glass. When she drove up Peachtree Street and recognized Uncle Henry's carriage in the distance, she turned sharply into Ellis Street to avoid him, making the longer drive home through Ivy Street and back through Harris Street. She only hoped that his sharp old eyes hadn't spotted her as well – or that he was not coming to see her, and demand answers to the rumors that were floating around town.

Once home, she remarked to her considerable relief that Uncle Henry's carriage was nowhere in sight. Rhett had returned in her absence, and by the stable she also saw the plain, sturdy black carriage of Dr. Harrison.

It was, however, to her surprise and shock that she found not just the doctor and his wife, but also Rhett and Thad in the drawing room. What had prompted Rhett to allow the boy to come downstairs? What if someone – Uncle Henry! or even worse, one of the Old Cats – had stopped by after all? She drew a deep breath. It was getting rather late for afternoon visitors, and she could always pass Thad off as Rhett's nephew from Charleston.

Thad, she noticed quickly, was completely at his ease in polite company. He conversed with the Harrisons in the spirited and friendly manner of one used to mingling with all sorts of people, betraying none of the broken-down humility one would have expected of the illegitimate son of a town whore. Scarlett realized, perhaps for the first time, the wisdom both Belle and Rhett had shown in raising him far away from his mother's city.

She spontaneously invited the Harrisons to stay for supper, and was gratified by their pleased acceptance. Their friendship, both solid and non-judgmental, had been a pillar of support for her after Melly's death and Rhett's departure. After informing Elsa of the expected guests she checked in with Pork, who pronounced that as per his womenfolk, Prissy's labor was progressing nicely. She had Elsa make sandwiches for them, instructing her to take them to the servant's quarters. Wade and Ella were still running wild in the back of the house with the other children, and she called them inside to change for supper.

The meal was an informal but pleasant affair, and the small group retired back to the drawing room after the children had been sent to bed.

Thad sat down at the elegant Steinway grand piano at one end of the room. Scarlett had insisted on buying it when first furnishing the house, and it was meticulously kept in tune, but rarely played except by Wade and Ella for their weekly lessons. He started running his fingers over the keys, calling forth notes leaping like silver fish in a stream. Cara Harrison laughed with delight, her rosy face drawing indulgent smiles from her husband.

Thad played. Irish country dances, German waltzes, Scottish reels - and soft, melancholy notes of an entirely new kind of music he had picked up in the saloons in New Orleans. Cara implored her husband to dance, and encouraged Rhett to ask Scarlett as well. They danced around the large carpet while Thad played a particularly energetic Waltz. Then they danced again, this time with the doctor leading Scarlett around the room, and Rhett dancing with Cara. She didn't see the doctor's probing, professional eyes examining her color when they stopped, nor the brief seconds of concentration on his face as he listened to her breathing. Scarlett danced with Officer Jones. And with Rhett again. Her hairpins loosened, and her black locks cascaded down her back. She didn't care. She couldn't remember having had so much fun since her honeymoon. She drank deep draughts of the cordial of being around friendly faces, dancing - and having her husband by her side.

When they were all spent and had settled themselves on the settees, Thad demonstrated that he also had a fine singing voice, reciting the old Southern tunes in a soft and melancholic baritone that tugged at the heartstrings and made one remember the past, and the might-have-beens. The sounds reverberated through the solemn house, beckoning, calling to humans and animals alike. Elsa came in on a pretext. Pork discovered a corner that needed dusting. Wade's stately St. Bernard poked his head around the corner. There were tears in Scarlett's eyes that she blinked away furiously, and even Elsa's worn face held a glimmer of soft nostalgia.

'You play well,' the stern doctor told the boy on the piano bench.

Thad laughed, tossing back his dark curls. 'I earned my living in saloons in New Orleans. Uncle Rhett's paid my way for years, and I figered it was time I made it on my own. I'm not quite as famous a card shark as him, so I had to support myself as I could. Thanks to Uncle Rhett I had some training on the piano and a real love for it, so it's been paying my way. The audience there isn't much for Mozart or Beethoven, and more's the pity, but they enjoy a good tune nonetheless.'

And he played some more, gentle and contemplative classical tunes that allowed each listener to follow the notes, or their own thoughts, as they preferred.

After the doctor and his wife had left, and the young officer had retired to his room, Scarlett and Rhett remained in the drawing room with Thad. It had been a long day, and the hours of vigorous activity had clearly taken their toll on the convalescent. The boy smiled his winsome smile at his aunt.

'I'm thinking I should go up too. It's been fabulous to be up an' about after laying flat for such a long time, and in such grand company no less, but I'm not completely back to my old self, much as I hate to …..'

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Pork entered, an expression of displeasure on his face. Scarlett felt a tingling sensation, almost like fear, shoot up her spine.

'A Miz Watling is here to see you.'