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.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all the people who have reviewed. You're all wonderful. The hit count has been high, so I know people are reading. I'd love to hear your comments. I don't bite, scratch or take offence that easily.

Marybeth was not yet 15 when she became pregnant with Edward. And instead of telling her parents the news and enduring the scandal that was sure to result, she had chosen to flee. Her first taste of life on the streets came as soon as she first ran away from home. Faced with poverty and danger, she lived by stealing and defended herself by fighting and survived by her wits. At least until she became too big and unwieldy to fight or steal anymore. But her memories of those days never quite faded. More than anything she feared ever having to go back to that life.

Therefore it was a very subdued Marybeth who went about her duties for the next few days after the incident at the store. She barely spoke, didn't join Betsy in song, and rarely smiled, even when Edward's antics were clearly directed towards getting her attention. Furthermore, the weather had become even muggier and frequent thunderstorms kept the townspeople indoors except for urgent business. During that time the Meade household was virtually isolated without it's normal stream of visitors. And with the three women confined to the house, Marybeth was subjected to Betsy's frequent, curious sidelong glances, but she refused to satisfy her curiosity by confiding in her. Not that it mattered much in the end. Betsy always managed to know everything that went on whether she was told or not.

But eventually the rain stopped, and the women went to work in the garden on the first sunny day, clearing tree limbs and tending to storm-damaged plants. So it wasn't until after supper that Mrs. Meade received a visitor in the form of Dolly Merriwether. Mrs. Merriwether had been in town all day, doing the errands it had been too wet to do earlier in the week, and she was caught up on all the gossip and had hurried over to share it with Mrs. Meade. Marybeth was putting her children to bed, and Mrs. Merriwether was glad. She wanted Caroline to herself this time.

"If I hadn't heard it with my own ears, I would have never believed it," she started.

"Believed what?"

"I'm not saying I approve of the way your girl did it, and I'm only telling you this because you're one of my oldest and dearest friends, and I know you must have given her a thorough talking-to, but I can't quite condemn her in spite of it all."

Mrs. Meade stared at her. Was Dolly being sarcastic? Or had she lost her mind? "I beg your pardon?"

"The whole town is talking about it, Caroline."

"I'm sure they are," Mrs. Meade replied wearily.

"It was that group of no-accounts that have been harassing people this summer."

"Which one?" Asked Mrs. Meade, dryly.

"The one that beat up that nice Webster boy. And a lady could barely walk by them on the streets without being subjected to rude remarks, and they--"

"That's who Marybeth ran into?"

"It certainly was. Not that I think that Watling creature deserves defending, and your hired girl's behavior was shockingly unladylike, but--well, anyway, that group's broken up. When that boy's father found out--Mrs. Dandridge broke his wrist, by the way--and found out that he'd been beaten up by a girl, he whaled the tar out of him--said he couldn't hold his head up in this town--and called him a whole passel of other names, too. The other boys didn't want to follow him anymore. And that was that."

Of course, any city had its share of roving bands of toughs and Mrs. Meade knew that the boys would probably just find somebody else to be the leader, but she was too dazed to talk to Dolly any further about this turn of events. She waited up for the doctor to come home. He had heard the same story around town. People were laughing about it, of course, but nobody was outright condemning Marybeth. Of course, she would have to act more properly in the future, and the Meades would have to keep a closer rein on her, but by and large the town was willing to overlook her conduct. At least this once.

"Are you going to tell her?" He asked.

"And let her think what she did was acceptable? Of course not. But Dr. Meade, you let me handle this."

"What about Sewing Circle?"

Mrs. Meade sighed. "I already told Maybelle I was bringing her. I don't want to go back on my word now."

Later that night Mrs. Meade pulled Marybeth into the parlor and sat her down.

"Have we made ourselves clear about the kind of deportment we expect from you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"No more fighting?"

"No, ma'am."

"Or hollering?"

"No."

"No more scenes or talking to no-account people?"

Marybeth shook her head. "No ma'am."

"Then we won't speak anymore about it."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am."

Later that night, Marybeth lay on her bed, relieved that she had been forgiven by Mrs. Meade, but she was still awake, listening to the sounds of Edward sleeping on his cot and Christina sleeping in her crib. She was remembering the moment those couple of years ago when it was brought home to her just how alone in the world she was.

Pregnant with Edward, she had wandered into one of the towns, which had sprung up as people settled farther and farther west. It was large enough to have a "bad part of town" and that's where she wound up. Marybeth had stolen enough to eat the day before and had found shelter in a corner of a stable, where she spent the night. But she hadn't eaten since then and now it was almost time for supper, and she had to make a decision--either buy a train ticket and move on, or buy something to eat--there wasn't enough money left over to do both.

Not wanting to draw any undue attention to herself, she ducked into a little alley between two buildings. She sat down tiredly on an old crate and pulled her legs under herself Indian style. A door opened as she sat, and a gaudily dressed woman poked her head out. She studied Marybeth narrowly then said," Come on in, girlie, I'll make you a sandwich."

Marybeth ate the sandwich gratefully and washed it down with a cup of tea as the woman stood, arms crossed, studying her.

"You looking for work, girlie?"

Marybeth nodded.

The woman sat down catty corner from her, and folded her hands on the table.

"I'm looking for a girl like you--decent manners and quiet. Your delicate features and wistful expression are just what my clients like--the illusion of innocence."

"What--?"

"Let me fix you up a bit, girlie--I can make sure you bring in top dollar. Only my best class of clients." She leaned back then. "In fact, if you work it right, you could be paramour to a rich man."

"No--no," Marybeth said, shaking her head, dazed, as comprehension dawned. She knew what the word "paramour" meant. The woman had misunderstood. Marybeth wanted to find honest work, not the kind that went on in a place like this!

"It's nothing difficult, you know. Just do whatever you're told, and you'll make out just fine."

Marybeth was horrified. What had been done to her by her baby's father was hateful and still gave her nightmares. Then, she had been thoroughly shocked when she found out later that some women did that sort of thing on purpose and then accepted payment. But Marybeth had no intention of letting any man ever touch her again. Ever.

"I can't. You see, there's a baby on the way--I'm in a fix," Marybeth said evenly, although she blushed hotly.

The woman looked over Marybeth's frame with an expert eye and shrugged. "So what, girlie? You're not showing yet and you haven't felt signs of life, I'll be bound. I can give you a tisane--you'll cramp a little, bleed a little, and when the bleeding stops, you'll be just fine again and you can go straight to work. If tisanes don't work, there are other things...but don't worry about it. I'm sure it will work, and I won't even charge you for my help."

Marybeth sat, stunned and devastated. The baby inside her had changed her life, uprooted her from her family and home, set her feet on a lonely and dangerous road. Heaven only knew what lay at the end. But she didn't want any harm to come to it. In fact, until just now, it hadn't occurred to her that she could possibly lose it. She put her hands over her belly protectively as she came to the realization that if she lost this baby, she would never recover. She didn't want to live if her baby died. A wave of maternal feeling swept over her and her eyes flashed as she looked at the Madam.

"Thank you for the sandwich, but I must be going," Marybeth fought to keep her voice even.

The Madam shrugged. "I won't withdraw my offer. You know where to find me."

Marybeth let herself out, mind reeling from the conversation. Later that night, she was successful at "obtaining" enough money for a train ticket and a couple days worth of food, if she could make it stretch. After all, she might be a thief, but she was not a whore...

Up until now, the chapters have been primarily introduction. In the next chappie, the focus shifts slightly, and canon characters come to the fore. Hope you liked! Please review, it keeps me on focus. TY.

A/N, OR, BORING TECHNICAL STUFF:

In response to some controversy over some of my word choices, I wish to make the following reply: First and foremost, thanks for your interest in this story. The word okay (or O.K.) has been in use in America since the 1830's, first in print, and then in general verbal usage. It's use was widespread in America by the time of the Civil War, and by the late 1800's was starting to spread to England. Also, in the 1800's, an older teenage boy could be referred to as a boy, a man, a gentleman (as in gentleman caller), whatever depending on the circumstances and the preference of the speaker/writer. I've seen teenage boys referred to as "boy" in writings by LM Montgomery and Laura Ingalls Wilder, to name just two authors who were both alive at the time and knew the usages. TTFN!