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.

From the moment she was hired as a maid in the Meades' house, Marybeth set about to study her betters. She had been born a Brodie in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. They were lace-curtain Irish; bourgeois, comfortable, and socially acceptable. But nothing in Marybeth's life had prepared her for Atlanta society, with its old money, traditions, and caste system.

Marybeth had to admit, the training in manners and social graces, which her mother, Annamaria, had worked so relentlessly, to instill in her were standing her in good stead now. If she made mistakes in etiquette these days, they were errors of detail, not glaring gaffes. For instance, she might use the wrong fork, but she was unfailing in her deference to her elderly employees and their guests, which went far to earn their liking.

Marybeth was pleased with the situation she found herself in. The Meades lived on a quiet street and had a shady backyard for the children to play in. There was the usual round of cleaning, cooking, sewing and gardening, of course, but the Meades had grown up in a more leisurely world, and they made time for things like reading and visiting.

Mrs. Meade insisted on keeping a hand in the housekeeping, and when all things were considered, Marybeth's workload was rather light. In fact, she had the uncomfortable conviction that she and her children were actually creating more work for the Meades rather than alleviating it.

She had never been a superb seamstress, only an adequate one, but she was improving under Mrs. Meade's tutelage. Her cooking skills were improving under Betsy's training, and she felt proud of her increasing competence. In the hopes of giving something back in return, Marybeth offered to teach Betsy to read, but that only caused Betsy to laugh at her.

"I'se too ole to learn stuff like dat," was Betsy's reply.

At first, Marybeth wanted to do well because she wanted to keep her job, but as time went on, she found that she genuinely wanted to please the Meades because she liked them and was desirous of their good opinion.

She was overjoyed when Mrs. Meade gave her access to their library. She had stopped her schooling at age 15 to run away from home after she became pregnant with Edward, but she had always loved to read, and in the past years she had only had occasional opportunities to do so. Barely enough to whet her appetite for knowledge.

The Meades, on the other hand, were growing fond of Marybeth and the children. She was a hard worker, and her obvious desire to be helpful and useful was endearing enough, but they also enjoyed her company. She had a pleasant, cheerful personality, and the little children brought an unexpected ray of sunshine into their lives. Some people thought it was odd that they would want the noise and bother of little ones at their time of life, but it was the closest thing to grandchildren they would ever know after they lost Phil and Darcy in the War.

It was now a month since Marybeth had arrived in Atlanta, and life had become a pleasant, mellow affair. She kept house, cared for her children, and worked in the garden as Edward romped and Christina sat on a blanket, surrounded by cushions so she wouldn't fall over. She read the books on the shelves in any spare moment, and in the evenings when Dr. Meade was out, the three women sat in the lamp-lit parlor and talked of various and sundry. She learned much about Mrs. Meade's and Betsy's histories, and the two older women loved to talk about olden times. At least, they were olden times to Marybeth; things that happened before she was even born--things like the War. Marybeth avoided talking about herself as much as possible, but when she was maneuvered into it, she kept her remarks pithy and to the point. She had a dread fear of contradicting herself and exposing her false story. She wanted to keep her safe, comfortable position. Even Betsy's bossing was far preferable to life on the streets, so it wasn't too hard to submit meekly to it.

Mrs. Meade was not a demonstrative woman, so Marybeth would have been surprised if she had heard the Meades talking one night when they were alone.

"So, Mrs. Dandridge seems to be working out capably."

"She is, Dr. Meade. She's a hard worker."

"And Betsy?"

"Orders her around constantly, of course, but she's never come to me with any tales. And you know she wouldn't hesitate to do so if there was anything serious that she didn't like about her."

"In that case, I'm glad I suggested hiring her."

"You suggested!--It was all my idea, Doctor," Mrs. Meade said indignantly, then put her head on her husband's shoulder. "But, it was your idea to bring her home for dinner--her and the babies. I'm glad you did."

The following day, Dolly Merriwether, one of Mrs. Meade's oldest friends, came to call. Mrs. Meade had been in the middle of sewing trim on a new dress, and brought it into the parlor to work on while she gossiped. Per their usual routine, Marybeth brought in the tea things, but before she could make her usual hasty retreat, Mrs. Meade said, "Mar--Mrs. Dandridge, why don't you bring in the mending basket? You can work on that while your children are napping."

Marybeth nodded and said, "Yes'm" before she went to find the basket. Of course, she had to obey, but she felt faint of heart as she climbed the stairs. Mrs. Meade had almost called her by her first name, and she wanted to keep her with her as she entertained a guest. It was rather like being on display. She had heard of Dolly Merriwether and had no desire to be observed by her at close range. A formidable older woman--one who was used to taking charge and whose keen eyes saw everything. Marybeth was trembling a little with anxiety as she quietly made her way back into the parlor. She found an unobtrusive spot to sit, but Mrs. Meade beckoned her closer, to sit with the two older ladies.

Mrs. Merriwether raised an eyebrow slightly at Mrs. Meade, but made no comment. Marybeth sat quietly, trying to follow the thread of the conversation between the two women, but most of it went over her head. It was mostly about people she had never met and clubs that she knew nothing about.

"Ashley Wilkes, just sleepwalking through life. It's a wonder that Beau is as outgoing and friendly as he is..."

"So, naturally I declined. After all, let somebody else have the chance to run the Association for the Beautification of the Graves of our Glorious Dead..."

"Wade Hampton Hamilton, due back from his Grand Tour in little over a month..."

Their gossip ran on in this vein for a while, then Mrs. Merriwether turned to Marybeth. "So, Mrs. Dandridge, what brought you to Atlanta?"

"I was looking for work."

"You have two children."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And your husband?"

"Died in a fire," Marybeth said, looking down at her left hand and fondling her ring.

Mrs. Merriwether stared at her a moment before changing the subject. "So, Caroline, you know Captain Butler's gone from Atlanta."

"Yes, I heard," Mrs. Meade replied as Marybeth resumed her sewing.

Mrs. Merriwether tisked and shook her head. "Those two are the strangest married couple I ever knew. Makes you wonder why they don't just get a divorce and have it over with."

"Scarlett is Catholic, or at least she was baptized that way."

"I doubt that would stop her."

"You know, Dolly," Mrs. Meade said, thoughtfully, "It occurred to me the other day--after Fanny Wellburn made a remark--Scarlett has never really done anything that shocking since, well, since Melanie died."

"Caroline!"

"But think about it, Dolly, she hasn't. Okay, she still runs the store, but aside from hers and Captain Butler's living arrangements, she hasn't done anything really shocking since then--and what has it been, about ten years? She doesn't associate with Yankees anymore, or that rich white trash she used to run with. She only makes calls among the old families--she only socializes with people like us. Not that she's given to much socializing these days."

"She has Melanie to thank for that. None of us would still be speaking to her at all, if Melanie hadn't stuck by her after that whole dreadful business the day of Ashley's party." She slid her eyes towards Marybeth, who was sitting decorously, mending one of the Doctor's shirts, eyes lowered to her sewing. Mrs. Merriwether couldn't tell if she was paying attention or not. Marybeth, who was entirely aware of the older woman's avid appraisal, was following the conversation and was curious, but she had forced her expression into a completely guiless, blank expression. However, the effect was ladylike, and Mrs. Merriwether gave grudging approval. Real white trash would have loved to hear tales of the indiscretions of their betters.

Later that night, when Mrs. Meade and the Doctor were alone, she commented, "Marybeth seems to have won a little approval from Dolly today. Or at least, she hasn't rejected her out of hand."

"Why would that matter?"

"Oh it's just--never mind--ladies' business. But you know, I noticed from the first that her grammar and manners seemed to be a cut above the usual farmer's wife."

"Maybe she married out of her class. It happens, you know. She may have eloped, over the opinions of her family."

"You know what she said to me this evening? If I wanted to, I could call her 'Marybeth'. And I did. And I liked it."

What she didn't say to her husband was that, although nothing in the world could take the place of her lost sons, she was grateful to Providence for sending them their new housemaid and her children.