Disclaimer: I'm not going to waste my breath saying how I don't own any of the characters mentioned in this story, although I really wish I did.

1861

Oh, what have I done? I haven't truly agreed to marry that calf-like Charles Hamilton, have I? It can't be true, it can't! How could such a lovely day go so horribly wrong?

It all started pleasantly enough. Everyone—except Mother, unfortunately—was going to a barbecue at the Twelve Oaks, where my darling Ashley was to announce his engagement to his cousin, Melanie. When the Tarleton twins first told me of this, I almost screamed right there. How could Ashley—my Ashley—marry that goody-goody Melanie when I love him so badly?

Not long after I learned of this dreadful news, I remembered that Ashley didn't know I loved him. And if I told him, he just couldn't marry Melanie! So I made up my mind to tell him while the other girls were napping.

How I shudder at the memory of it all! How I wish to forget the look in Ashley's eyes when I told him I loved him! For the look in his eyes is the only thing I clearly remember about that incident right up until I discovered how that nasty Rhett Butler had eavesdropped on our entire conversation. How humiliating it was! How I wish to forget!

And then, things got even worse, if that is at all possible. I learned that Mr. Lincoln had called for 75,000 volunteers—soldiers!—and that our own young men were going to meet at Jonesboro. As soon as Charles told me of this, I immediately thought how Ashley would be leaving with them. I could feel my heart breaking in two all over again.

And while my heart was breaking and all I wanted was to pour out my soul to Mother, what do you suppose that Hamilton fool did? He had the nerve to propose to me! I could scarcely believe my ears and was tempted to laugh outright when a thought struck me—marrying Charles would hurt Ashley, just as he had hurt me scarcely an hour ago. And it would hurt Honey and Melanie and the Tarleton twins and their catty sisters, too. Not only that, but Charles has money, and none of those jealous, mealy-mouthed fools would ever, ever laugh at me again if I married him.

So I said yes. Now, at this time nest week, I shall undoubtedly be Mrs. Charles Hamilton, instead of Mrs. Ashley Wilkes as I have so often dreamed.

1866

Oh, that under-handed, conceited skunk of a man! It's all his fault that I'm engaged to Frank Kennedy! Rhett Butler is the vilest man I've ever met—I'm so infuriated with him I could scream!

I had gone to Atlanta with a brand-new dress that Melanie, Suellen, Carreen, Mammy, Prissy and I had made with Mother's old velvet curtains (unfortunately, Mammy had insisted on coming with me, declaring how improper it would be for me to travel alone). However, by faking a cold the night we arrived, I managed to escape her all-seeing eyes and head to the Yankee jail to see Rhett.

At first, it seemed as if he had bought my story about how much I loved him and how I hadn't been able to sleep nights because I was so worried about his being in a Yankee prison. Of course, it was nothing but a passel of lies to get his money for the taxes on Tara. But everything seemed to be going so wonderfully until he saw my hands—hard, calloused, freckled... belying what I had said earlier about everything going so well at Tara.

He immediately demanded an explanation, and I was forced to give it, plus offer myself as collateral. And after I had done everything I could except begging on all fours, he couldn't give me the money! After I had lowered myself to his level and ruined my reputation for good, he refused to give me the money I needed so badly! I was furious and began fighting with every ounce of strength I had until—I'm ashamed to admit—I fainted in his arms.

Not long after I awoke, I hastily retreated from the prison and that vile Butler. I walked through the mud for a while, too angry and too upset to care if my dress was being soiled. It did not matter now anyway.

Just as I was beginning to despair of ever getting the tax money for Tara, who should I meet but Frank Kennedy, Suellen's beau! He saw how wet and cold I was and offered to drive me back to Aunt Pitty's house. On the way there he told me all about his store and how he was saving up to buy a sawmill from some man named Johnson—I wasn't really listening.

Then, suddenly, Frank mentioned marrying Suellen soon, and that was when I thought of marrying the man. True, I do not want to and I do not love him as I do Ashley, but he has the money I need to pay off the taxes at Tara. So I told him that Suellen was marrying Tony Fontaine next month. It nearly broke the poor man's heart when I told him this falsehood, but we'd never get a penny out of him if he married Suellen.

Oh, my! I just realized something—if I marry Frank, Atlanta will be my permanent home, not Tara. Oh, what a horrid thought! And... and if I move to Atlanta, I won't be able to see my beloved Ashley more than once or twice a year, if then! Oh, how could this be? But no—I won't think of this now. I'll think of it later, when I can stand it. For now, I shall marry Frank and pay the taxes on Tara. That is the most important thing.

1868

I dread to think what poor Pitty will do when she hears of my latest fiancé—Rhett Butler!

It all occurred so quickly I scarcely know what happened myself. I was in my room not long after I was told that Frank had been killed at Shantytown—by what most, including myself, believe was as good as my own hand. If only I hadn't gone by that awful place so late at night! Then Frank would still be alive and I would not have been drinking in my room!

I had just downed another shot of brandy when I heard Aunt Pitty talking with someone downstairs. After listening a little harder, I learned it was Rhett, and he wanted to see me. I yelled that I'd be right there—much to poor Pittypat's disapproval—hurriedly gargled some cologne to rid myself of the brandy smell and came down to greet the man. Then I shut the parlor doors behind us and waited for him to speak.

The cologne didn't work—he knew instantly that I had been drinking and wanted to know why. I began crying and told him how I was afraid of going to Hell because of how meanly I'd treated Frank. Rhett "comforted" me by saying that this was my Hell, that there was nothing after we died.

Before I knew it, we were discussing his love for me. Rhett was down on one knee in that oh-so-annoying, teasing way of his, proposing! And so soon after poor Frank's death! I was furious at first, but he eventually—literally—pressured me into accepting his proposal.

After I said yes, a sort of calm feeling swept over me, instead of the sense of dread I was accustomed to whenever I accepted the proposal of a man I did not love.

And I suppose I shall never know the feeling of marrying the man I love, not for vengeance or for money. The only man I shall ever love is Ashley, and he has too much pride to leave Melanie, even though he does long for me.

Still... "Mrs. Rhett Butler". That has an awfully nice ring to it. Not nearly as nice as "Mrs. Ashley Wilkes", but Rhett does have money. And with so many riches, I can finally tell all of those Yankees and Scalawags and especially that snippety old Mrs. Meriwether to "Go to Hell".

So... did I deserve that A or not? Please review, if only to tell me that!! :-)