In a way, Beau Wilkes thought as he propped himself in the chair by his father's bedside, being sightless again does spare me the pinched look Pa probably has on his face right now.

"Beauregard, I am well aware your esteem of me has faltered. And perhaps your opinion is a just one, but the times have rendered me a drunkard, a thief, cheat and cuckold."

"You are a cuckold-er, Pa." Beau said patiently. "Also, I understand from Suellen you've developed a taste for the darkies. Marguerite and Emancipation refuse to clean your room because of your European manners."

"Eh?"

"Roman hands and Russian fingers."

This was an old joke and elicited a chortle from Ashley, but it was a short one.

Now, thought Beau, the excuses will come. Pa will give me one of his greatly emotional coughs, and then a sigh.

Beau had been blind when his father had scurried out of town a decade ago, and had not seen Ashley during his brief period of his eyesight returning thanks to the operation that had been generously funded by Rhett Butler.

And then, Beau's retina had detached again just before Ashley's return.

So really, Beau hadn't seen his father's face in some time, since he was about twelve, but he remembered it has having only two or three expressions.

Ashley Wilkes was majestic and often delivered great oratory to appreciative matrons who loved being reminded of the pre-1861 days...

Balls, fox hunts, horse racing, Ashley loved to go on about this. It had been a time that he had thrived. Beau had once or twice heard various elderly acquaintances speak of the vast intermarrying that had been done between relatives-his parents had been second cousins.

Was this what had created his father, a dreamer who had buckled morally and emotionally after the War impoverished him?

Certainly it must have been great fun relaxing over mint juleps and dancing all night, but it was difficult for Beau, a Reconstruction baby, to relate to this, as he'd been raised in a time when recreation had not really been an option.

Ashley also enjoyed holding forth to young men who had heard of his bravery during the War. He would twirl his moustache and speak grandly, and for a time until the sour mash got him, Beau's father was quite the sight of faded Southern glory.

Certainly Ashley was a man of education-he'd learned classical languages, etiquette, geography and history, but these were of scant resource in the atavistic scrabble for goods and services in 1891 Georgia.

Then there were the times, Beau remembered, when Ashley's face betrayed his feeling sorry for himself. In self pity, Pa would be morose, biting his lip and muttering about how he missed having time to read, or to ..."think."

Ashley sometimes spoke of his five year European Grand Tour as if he now wished he'd not returned...touring the Acropolis, sitting by the Seine...so unfair that this also was denied him...he'd not done well going over the books as a sawmill clerk.

Or he'd discuss Twelve Oaks, hunting with his hounds, and all that.

From what Beau understood, young men of means back then traveled about the county with a negro body servant, several horses (one for him and the other for the darky) and five or six dogs.

It sounded awfully crowded.

So all Ashley had had left had been his honor and the reputation of his youth, all which were washed away when he was caught in the embezzlement from the mills.

It was funny...Beau had been nine when his mother had passed, and much of Ashley's conscience seemed to have dissolved with Melanie's death.

It had been about then that money had begun disappearing from the sawmill coffers, and Ashley had occasionally "lost" lumber that seemed to be holding up walls of houses not on the purchasing end of Peachtree Emporium.

One of Beau's last sights of his father before the first blinding accident had been that of Ashley wringing his hands and looking a bit pinched. And he'd been telling some story about inexplicable errors in the bills of lading.

What had happened to all that lost honor?

Now Ashley, lying abed was talking about the old days again.

Beau hoped it was just an attempt to impress, but he'd heard from Will Benteen that Ashley often talked to himself as he recuperated alone in the room from being wounded by Rhett Butler.

What could Beau do, other than politely listen?

"There was, at one time, my son a period, yes, where manners were valued, community, courage and friendship and then of course came the War and the Cause we all struggled for."

There was a pause. Then Ashley's voice came again, now more majestically than ever.

"I remember during the Chickamauga campaign, when we forced General Rosencrans's Cumberland forces to retreat into Chattanooga. Braxton Bragg himself, General Bragg, son! told me he only wished he could solder a medal to pin on my for my efforts."

How did Ashley switch in mid-sentence from the glories of Twelve Oaks to his heroics during the War Between the States so quickly?

Was he deranged? Or just drunk...

Oh, Chickamauga, Chattanooga. Father, you are a blackguard now. a tosspot and no one wants you in their parlor any more lecturing of past glories since your theft from the mills became public, Beau thought. And now this nonsense with Aunt Scarlett-

But Beau knew he couldn't say this to Ashley. It would be too cruel.

Beau politely excused himself from the room, telling Pa that he was going downstairs in search of dandelion wine. This, of course was met with his father's hearty approval.

Beau tapped his cane, guiding himself out of the room, down the hallway and down the stairs, wondering when his father had gone mad.

Was it true that Rhett had caught Scarlett and Pa in flagrante delicto?

And why on earth had Ashley returned at all?

?