Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.
"You're obviously not from around here, Mrs. Dandridge," Mrs. Meade said as she passed the mashed potatoes to Marybeth.
"The mountains." Marybeth replied, eyes on the serving dish as she spooned out food to little Edward. She decided to get her explanation out at once. "Joe--my late husband--and I, we had a little farm. Not much, mind you, a few acres. It--burned down and we," she pointed to herself and her son, "were left on our own. Joe and I didn't really have family except for each other, you see..."
"You've been traveling with two babies ever since?"
"No, Christina wasn't born yet. We stayed with friends, but her father died last month and she broke up housekeeping. I decided to move us here."
Dr. Meade had brought Marybeth home with him and seated her in the parlor while he pleaded her case with Mrs. Meade back in the kitchen.
"She has nowhere to go, Mrs. Meade. She's new in town. I felt that the least we could do was to give her and the children a good meal and they could sleep in the spare room tonight." Their house had been built several years after the War. In the first few years, they could not bear the thought of rebuilding, nor did they have the money. But as their fortunes improved, they were able to rebuild. Not anything like the enormous house they had owned when the boys were still alive, but something very modest that would be large enough for the two of them, their housekeeper Betsy, and a guest or two.
Mrs. Meade had agreed without any argument. Just like her husband, she could not bear to turn out a sick baby. She would have thought that the ghosts of her dead sons would haunt her if she did. And that was how Dr. and Mrs. Meade wound up inviting the Dandridges to eat supper with them that night.
For her part, Marybeth kept her background explanation simple. It was the easiest way, really, and better not to give too many details that could trap her later...
"May I be excused to check on Christina?" Marybeth asked, wanting to change the subject. She was given leave, and she tiptoed into the parlor, where the baby was sleeping on a little bedroll of folded blankets. Christina's head was damp with sweat, but she was breathing easily. Marybeth tiptoed back into the dining room and slipped into her chair beside Edward.
"Mrs. Meade," Marybeth asked, "I'm going to impose on you for a favor. I need to find work as soon as possible, and I prefer to hire out as a maid. I need to have a situation where I can keep my children nearby. So, if you know of anybody who's looking for a hired girl?"
"Tomorrow, Mrs. Dandridge, we'll begin asking around."
When dinner was over, Marybeth stood up, started clearing the table and offered to help their housekeeper, Betsy, in the kitchen. But Betsy took the plates from Marybeth's hands and politely refused her offer of help.
"Mrs. Meade? How can I be of assistance to you before I put my babies to bed?"
"I don't need anything, Mrs. Dandridge, thank you."
Marybeth drooped a little, and smiled apologetically. "Then, is it okay if I retire? It's been a long day."
The Meades dismissed her, and Marybeth gathered her children and took them to the spare room. She gave Christina another dose of the medicine the way Dr. Meade instructed her, then she tucked them into the double bed, changed into her nightdress and lay down next to Christina and began to nurse her. But despite being fatigued, she found that she could not calm her racing thoughts.
She did it. She passed muster with the Meades. They showed every sign of believing her story about a husband named Joe and a farm and a fire. Marybeth rubbed the gold band on her left ring finger in the dark and sighed. The fact was that Marybeth had never had a husband named Joe, or any husband at all. She was 17, with two children by two different fathers, no home and no way to make money. The fact was, Marybeth was desperate. "Dandridge" wasn't even her last name. She hadn't had any contact with her family in three years and she was living hand to mouth. It had only been through the charity of strangers that she and the babies hadn't died in childbirth. Her eyes stung, but she would not cry--a hard won lesson that she learned from the streets. Here she was now, with Christina sick and herself without a job and the money about to run out. Something had to come along and fast. She had to hurry and find work. She sent up a prayer that she hoped would reach its destination and eventually dropped into a fitful sleep.