Thank you, once more, for your kind words and your suggestions about what to write! I will try to get to as many of your questions as time, and the plot allows (my initial 20-chapter outline is shot many times over, lol).

For LMS, who asked about Thad's childhood, and the "demons". For WiwitDM, who wanted to know about Thad's childhood/adolescence, if he was ashamed if his mother was a prostitute, and if he ever dreamed that Rhett was his real father, as well as the meeting with Bonnie. WiwitDM also asked about Tasha, and how they fell in love. For the Guest who finds Thad interesting, and wanted to know more about him.

Many many thanks to LawdyMissScarlett, who supplied me with much needed information about the free Gens de Couleur Libres of New Orleans, and thus gave depth and dimension to the character of Tasha. All mistakes remain mine. The characters of GWTW remain the property of the MM estate.

Maturish content warning, due to the nature of the things discussed.


Thad walked a path through the hills after supper, his body moving mechanically, his mind lost in thought. With very few exceptions, he had lived a life surrounded by people, and he had learned to guard his infrequent moments of solitude. For the first time in years, he felt a lightness in his chest, and a softness in his heart, that he did not yet want to expose to the mundane tasks of settling a house full of guests down for the night.

He stopped under a group of beech trees, listening to the rustle of the wind, and to the song of late birds overhead. Dark clouds of the evening had begun to sail in fleets over the sky. As in most parts of the South, the interval between dusk and nightfall was brief.

He exhaled, filling his lungs with the sweet, fragrant air. It wasn't optimism – he was, truth be told, far from certain about the outcome of tomorrow's talk with Rose. But for once, there was peace in the twilight, and in his soul.

For a singular, transitory moment, he allowed himself just to be.

~~oo~~

New Orleans, 1871

The curly-haired boy slid through the door into the small cubby behind the bar. At this time of day, the spacious, elegant saloon was still empty of patrons, the chairs turned upside down on the table, to make sweeping easier. The boy's movements were swift and agile, and his feet made no sound as he came up behind her.

"Booo," he said, with a smirk. She jumped, and turned, almost dropping the dishcloth from her hand.

"Thad!" she exclaimed, her voice torn between wrath and amusement. "I thought I told you not to do that any more." She was, perhaps, only a year older than him, with a café-au-lait complexion, and glistening, tightly sprung black curls. Her slender, girlish form was flawless, as were her perfectly even features.

He grinned, leaning against the wall, looking at her. She was a Quadroon, a member of the once proud and renowned caste of Gens de Couleur libres of New Orleans. She was also the young mistress of the saloon's owner – one of the most prestigious places of its kind in New Orleans, catering to the local and business elite. The saloon owner had furnished her an apartment across the street, but she often came over to his place of business act as host, and delight the well-born patrons with her elegant conversation, graceful dancing and singing.

"If I stay locked up too long by myself, my mind becomes dull," she had confided to Thad, when they had first met – after he had been hired to play the piano at the establishment on weekends.

He had appreciated the sentiment. And he had been intrigued. She was pretty, but what was more, she was the first well-educated woman he had run into. He had been unaware prior to meeting her that there were women who worried about intellectual stimulation. She spoke beautiful French, could discuss Voltaire and Descartes, and had a sweet singing voice. As for her other assets…

His black eyes roved over her figure so blatantly that she laughed. "Got to keep myself entertained somehow, don't I," he said, raising his crescent brows. "Seeing as you're so…. hard-hearted you won't even give me a …kiss." His eyes went to her full, red lips.

She shook her head. "You know we can't," she told him, reprovingly. "If Mr. Thatcher catches us, he'll be furious."

"I don't care about Mr. Thatcher," he grinned. "What he doesn't know, won't hurt him." He took a step closer. "Come, Tasha," he coaxed. "Just one." He put his right hand over his heart, and declared solemnly. "I swear I'll live off it for the rest of my life."

"You'll be wanting another one in a minute," she laughed. "And then you'll be wanting more than just kisses. You …..men….. are all alike."

He affected a wounded look. "How can you say such things, when you know I love you with all my heart?"

She turned to the countertop she had been scrubbing, and sighed. It was not her job, but she never thought a task beneath her, which had won her the adoration of the saloon's entire staff.

"What's wrong?" he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder, and forcing her to turn around.

"You say that you love me, but you don't mean it."

He paused, and thought. "I do," he said, as if surprised at himself.

"If you meant it, you wouldn't be playing piano at ….that other place, like you are."

His face became blank. "I don't work there much," he said, defensively. "But the pay's much better than here."

"It's not good for you," she said, her concern for him obvious in her face. "It isn't a place like …this, where well-bred men come to be entertained, and drink, and play cards. Those people - they ….mess with your head."

"Amongst other things," he said, cryptically. He wove his hand into her hair, caressing the back of her neck. "I can learn a lot there, Tasha" he murmured, persuasively. "The girls've been teaching me things. I can use it …to protect myself."

"That sort of thing won't protect anyone," she insisted.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew…"

"Have they been bothering you again in the dorm, when you're asleep?" Her soft eyes were full of compassion.

He tossed his head. "I can handle them." He smirked. "They've been teaching me that, too." He took a gleaming pocketknife from his trousers, and spun it around.

She sighed. "Keep it up, and soon you'll be no better than them."

"You've been listening to rumors," he said, dismissively. "Spread by people who know nothing."

She shook her head sadly. "You're not black. You're not even colored. We know." She looked at the boy. His skin was fair, but he had dark eyes, and wild curls - not unlike some Mulattos - or Quadroons. It was easy to forget he was not one of them. Until he reminded her, or she, him. "That place is ….dark."

He smiled, and suddenly, he looked much older than he was. "No, Tash. That place isn't dark. Dark….is what happens on those streets every day. Dark is …..you being here, having to take up with the likes of Mr. Thatcher when you were barely fourteen. Dark is those little boys at school, dying of the typhoid fever. That's dark."

She couldn't understand. She was the daughter of a free Mulatto woman, who had born three children to the white man whose mistress she had been for many years. When she was older, her mother had married a free man of color, and turned her back on the past. She had designed a similar path for her daughters, whom she had educated along her caste's stringent code, and given into concubinage to white men before they were even out of girlhood. Like many Mulatto mothers, she had made a difficult calculation, based on the prejudices of the society that surrounded them: Tasha and her sister could not quite pass for white, but the next generation could reasonably hope to fit into mainstream society. Tasha had been born into harsh realities, but there was love in her life. Family. Faith. Music. Laughter. In many ways, she was much more innocent than he.

"I still don't like it."

He raised his brows. "Why do you care?"

She smiled a wavering smile. "Because I care about you. You know I do."

He saw his chance, and pounced. "If you loved me, you'd kiss me."

"I do love you, Thad," she said, softly, her gentle brown eyes liquid with emotion.

He smiled, and took a step closer, lifting up her chin with his hand. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers, giving her plenty of opportunity to demur. One hand went to her jaw, the other to the nape of her neck. His fingers made slow, deliberate, teasing circles, not at all like the fumbling hands of the boy he was. She shuddered, and moved away, even as his lips and hands were sending tremors down her spine.

"Don't touch me like that," she said.

His face turned cool. "Like what?" She remained silent, but her body was no longer pliant and welcoming. "All right," he said, coldly. "I'll go where I'm appreciated." He didn't look at her, refusing to see the pain in her eyes. "And don't expect me back for a few days. My uncle's in town with his brat, and he wants us all to play happy family."

"Thad …." she said, her doe-like eyes pleading with him. "Come for supper at my parent's place tomorrow. Mother's making sweet potatoes and roast. Your favorite. She said to invite you."

His thoughts went to the charming, two-story house that her mother had bought when Tasha was still small. Tasha's Stepfather, who had been a free colored artisan even before the Reconstruction, was as well-read and open-minded as his wife and stepchildren. There would be music, and talk, and dancing. Warmth that extended even to waifs like him.

"Maybe," he said merely. He felt a frisson of guilt, that he had been courting Tasha right under her parent's nose. They had many plans for their daughter – plans that did not include the bastard son of a brothel madam. Tasha had once shyly shared with him that she hoped to run her own catering business when her current arrangement was over - plans which her mother fully supported. Many Mulatto and Quadroon women were successful independent business owners in New Orleans. And they had been good to him.

He sighed, and gave her a half-smile, to show her he was not upset anymore. Then he was gone.

~~oo~~

He turned off the street, ran through the main entrance, and dashed up the stairs to the dormitory. His bedroom was on the second hall, at the very end. He was head scout of his room, in command of nine younger boys, whom he ran with the precision of a military camp.

He passed another room on the way, and heard a fluting taunt wafer out into the semi-darkness. "Uhhhhh uhhhh….looookit ….the bastard is back!"

Not too long ago, Thad would have charged at his tormentor, fists flying, heedless of the fact that the other boy was two years older, and fifty pounds heavier than he. And he would have ended up with a black eye, or a bloody nose, or worse.

Now, he knew better. He did not turn. Instead, he started to slow down, and to whistle. His hand snuck into his pocket.

The other boy, irritated by the lack of response, stepped out into the hallway. Thad slowed down even more. The boy fell into step behind him, bent forward, whispering obscenities into his ear. "Perhaps I should go ter Atlanta. Visit your Momma. Heard she's a barrel of fun…"

Suddenly, without his body betraying the change in direction, Thad had spun around, the full force of the acceleration, and his entire weight, behind his balled fist. It struck the other boy fully in the most tender part of his stomach. The boy doubled over in pain, sinking to his knees.

"F = ma", Thad said, with some satisfaction that the laws of physics had now been validated by experiment. Then he added, softly, "If I hear so much as a squeak out of you or your friends again, you'll regret it." He had pulled out his new pocketknife, and playfully snapped it open and shut for emphasis. "Do you understand?"

The boy paled, and swallowing dryly, he nodded.

"Good," Thad said. The entire time, he had not raised his voice at all.

~~oo~~

He met Rhett and his daughter in front of their hotel at five. The streets were still teaming with life, and people, and music. New Orleans was always in motion, like a vast, colorful sea.

The first thing that struck him was how much older his uncle looked. There were subtle new lines in his face, that had not been there a few years ago. His eyes swept to the uncombed girl in the stained blue dress, twirling at his feet.

"Hullu, Uncle Rhett," he said, blandly.

The older man smiled. "Thad. Good to see you, my boy. How have you been?" He ran his eyes critically over Thad's frame. His body was stretching ….becoming lanky, and hard. The boy's curls were still as wild as ever- as wild as Bonnie's were - the product of their shared Butler heritage.

"Daaaddy," Bonnie complained, who was not used to having his eyes on someone else, even for a moment. "Lookit me!" He looked at her obediently, and several minutes elapsed with her chattering at him, until she had found a flower-pot that interested her, and he could return his gaze to Thad. "This is Bonnie. My daughter." Rhett told him, belatedly.

Thad had stared at them during the entire interval. He would never have let the little boys from his dorm speak out of turn like that.

"How old is she?" he asked. Perhaps, she was ….merely very tall for her age, and couldn't be expected to know better.

"Two and a half," her father asserted cheerfully, confirming Thad's fears. "She's very precocious."

"I see." Thad eyed the girl's tangled hair dubiously. A Mulatto family would have died, rather than let their daughter be seen out in public like this. Neat hair was very important to them. A sign of the mother's respect for the child. As was a proper, clean dress.

Bonnie, done dismantling the flowers, turned back to them. "Who're you?" She didn't wait for his answer, but kept chattering at him in an excited, high-pitched, toddler voice. Neither he nor Rhett could get a word in edgewise.

"When does she nap?" Thad asked finally, over her head.

"She doesn't nap." Bonnie, again irritated at being ignored, tugged her father's sleeves. "Daaaaddyyy!"

"Oh." Thad liked kids, but this was becoming ridiculous. He looked at the little girl, and contemplated. "When does she go to sleep?"

"Whenever I go to bed."

Thad shook his head. He had no experience with little girls, but this little hoyden couldn't be all that much different from the small boys at his school. The key was to make them very, very tired.

He bent at the knee. "Hey. How about you race your Daddy and me down the street? I bet you can't catch us!"

As expected, she had an innate competitive streak. "Can too," she said, narrowly, and started running. He chased after her. And after her. And after her. In between running, he took them over the entire Flower market, and the girls in the booths (who knew him well) made her gifts of bright flowers, and wove her a crown of blossoms, and called her a princess. Bonnie pronounced herself very well pleased with them all.

"Feed her something warm, and filling," he told his uncle, after they had chased her back to the hotel, and sat down in the restaurant by the lobby. She was trying to catch her breath, and her chattering had diminished considerably.

They weren't exactly able to hold a conversation over dinner, but at least, they could exchange a few words, and eat a bite here and there, without being called to attention.

Bonnie, who polished off a sizable portion of noodles in wine sauce with gusto, was beginning to nod off in her chair. Rhett took her in his arms, and she laid her head against his shoulders. Even as they walked up the stairs to his room, she fell asleep.

Rhett fumbled for the key, opened the door with one hand, and let them in. He laid her down gently in the only large bed in the room. He laid the discarded flowers on the side table, and hunted around for a vase in the cabinets.

"She sleeps with you?" Thad asked, surprised.

"She's afraid of the dark." Rhett had found a vase, poured in water from the pitcher, and arranged the donated blossoms into a charming bouquet, which he set down next to her. A sweet scent filled the air.

"At home, too?"

Rhett nodded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that a two-year old girl slept with her father.

Thad shook his head. Nobody ever cared if I was afraid of the dark, a childish voice inside him said. He shook the thought with resolution. He watched as Rhett tenderly undressed the little girl, and pulled the blanket up to her chin. The long, curly black hair was still as tangled as ever. It was odd why his Uncle, who was obviously a skilled caregiver, would ….

His Uncle carefully folded the stained blue velvet dress, and hung it over the armrest of a chair. "She refuses to wear any dress but this one," Rhett said, in response to Thad's frown. "If I give it to housekeeping now, it'll not be dry in the morning. And then she'll…"

That explained that.

They sat down on the small seating group by the fireplace. It was warm, so the chimney was cold. Thad found himself wishing for the comforting crackle of a fire.

"Where is her mother?" It seemed to him that this little girl needed a mother. Badly. To teach her manners, for one. And to brush her hair, and to insist she wear clean clothes.

"She's in Atlanta," Rhett said briefly, his face closed.

"I see." If Uncle Rhett shared a room with his daughter and not his wife, his marriage was probably in bad shape. It also explained why he'd suddenly showed up, after all this time.

"Have you heard from Mother?"

"Yes." The curt monosyllable told its own tale. So they were involved again. Thad hadn't been sure.

"Give her my best," he said, evenly. He had long ceased to trouble himself with who his mother took to her bed. It was better that way.

"I will. She is expecting to come down for a few days to see you when you're off."

Here comes another fresh round of gossip. He shook his head. "I've been meaning to ask her to meet me on….neutral turf. I don't really care where. As long as it's not here. I could ride up to Richmond, for example. She doesn't come by much, so it shouldn't be too much trouble." He was still young enough to let a hint of irony seep into his voice.

Rhett studied him again. There was something different about the boy. He wasn't altogether sure that whatever it was, was …..healthy.

"I'm sure that can be worked out," he said, finally. "Thad. You seem to be doing well academically. Your last report card was excellent, and it's been months since I received a letter about you getting into some kind of fight. Or breaking windows."

"I've been ….busy. With other things."

Rhett's face became even more serious. "Thad. You're not…."

"Involved with a street gang? Smoking Opium? Drinking liquor till I pass out? No. That's for weaklings."

He saw his Uncle's lips twist again. "Is it."

"Yes." He noted that Rhett was already on his third glass of Scotch – he had already had two during dinner - and his eyes were becoming blood-shot.

"Speaking of which- you should go easy on those, Uncle Rhett. You don't look well."

"If you were married to my wife …." Rhett replied, jauntily, kicking back another glass.

"It's foolish to marry a woman who drives you to drink", Thad said, firmly. "No. I don't do any of that ….stuff. I've been playing piano in saloons, and making good money." He hoped his Uncle would take the bait, and be distracted. "I make enough now, to pay for my own tuition. I'll not be needing you to send me any money anymore."

"Thad," Rhett said, softly. "You don't have to do that. I don't want you spending all your time and energy in places like …..in saloons. I can easily afford to support you until you graduate. Concentrate on your studies. Do something with your life."

"I'm not your son," Thad said, evenly. There had been nights…..too many…..when he'd dreamed that he were. He had made up a whole narrative, where his Uncle would tell him that he had lied - that he was his natural father after all. That he would legitimize him, and take him home to live with him. Just like in books. But as he'd found out, books and real life were two different things entirely. "You're not obligated to take care of me. I'll be all right on my own, now." He pushed back his curls, which had a habit of falling over his eyes. "If you do want to help, you can keep sending me books. I enjoy them, and your selections are much better than what my teachers choose for us."

"Of course I will. And I'll also keep paying the tuition." Rhett held up his hand. "No arguments – I want you to focus on school." The boy had grown, he thought, somewhat sadly, forgetting the many times he'd been annoyed in the past over little Thad's above-average penchant for scrapes. And he was ….beautiful, he realized with a start. There was really no other word for it. The milky-white complexion. The perfectly even features. Even more, perhaps, the fluid grace of his body. Prey.

His sense of unease increased. "Are they …treating you well?" He knew better than anyone the dangers a handsome boy was exposed to in this imperfect world.

"I'm all right."

Rhett sighed, internally. He had done wrong by him ….he should have kept him with him, and damn the consequences. No boy should have to face life without a father. It was a sharp, brief, insight – one that he would forget again, years later. When he would leave Wade behind as well. He just hadn't cared that much about his brother's son. Hadn't cared about anything before Scarlett, and now ….Bonnie.

"Be careful," he said.

From the look the boy gave him, he was too late.

~~oo~~

Thad ran all the way back to the Saloon.

"Please," he told Tasha, who was closing up for the night – or the morning. "Let me stay with you tonight."

She couldn't resist the desperation in his eyes. She pulled his dark, broken head to her chest. "Shhhhh. It will be all right," she said, her hands softly stroking the dark curls.

When his lips found hers in wild, desperate kisses, there was nothing she could do but give in.