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 to everybody who has reviewed so far. And thank you everybody who's read…

They were eating breakfast when a message came for Dr. Meade. He read it, and then announced, "Miss James won't be able to assist me during this morning's office hours."

Miss James was Dr. Meade's trained nurse. She helped in the office, accompanied him on his rounds when he had a case that required an additional pair of hands and sometimes stayed behind with patients who needed extra nursing care.

He frowned. "On most days I could muddle through without her, but today Mr. Lambert will be coming in for his treatment and I need assistance." He scratched his beard, thinking. Then he looked at Marybeth. "Mrs. Meade, could you spare Dandridge for an hour or so?"

Accordingly, later that morning, Marybeth rode in to the office with Dr. Meade and he proceeded to give her a few quick instructions. "Anybody who walks in, write down their name and their complaint in this book, here. When they are finished and they pay you, write their name and the amount in that other book, then lock the money in this box. Here are the keys. This key is for the moneybox and this one is for the cabinet behind you. If anybody comes in for a preparation, you'll find the parcel all wrapped up with their name clearly printed on it in there. Be sure you note the name of the person who picked it up, and the amount they paid. I'll call you in to assist when Mr. Lambert arrives. You understand?"

Marybeth nodded and sat in the chair behind the desk as Dr. Meade went into his back rooms. While she was waiting for patients to arrive, she spied a large medical tome and thumbed through it, fascinated by the anatomical diagrams and descriptions of the diseases. She turned it to the front and tried to read it from the first page, but so many of the words were unfamiliar to her. She turned around in her chair and saw a medical dictionary. Then she thumbed through that--it also had pictures. She tried to read the medical text using the dictionary. It helped a little bit, but to her frustration she found that some of the definitions themselves included long medical words. So for quite some time, Marybeth sat, trying to read, thumbing back and forth between the books and becoming entirely absorbed in the world of illness and disease.

The bell rang on the door and Marybeth looked up to see a young man enter. He was tall and blond; he walked up to her and smiled a deceptively drowsy smile.

"I'm picking up a preparation for Miss India Wilkes. I'm her nephew, Beau Wilkes."

Marybeth nodded, pulled out the ledger and placed it on top of the medical books and stood up to open the cabinet.

"You're new in town, aren't you?" He asked conversationally.

"Yes."

"And you work for the Meades?"

Marybeth selected the parcel marked "India Wilkes". She wanted to ask him what business was it of his whom she worked for, but she merely said, "Yes I do."

"How do you like Atlanta so far?" He asked.

His attitude was a little too familiar for her liking and he was beginning to annoy her. After all, this was a doctor's office, not a sociable. Furthermore, they hadn't even been properly introduced. Did he think she was the type of girl who went around making conversation with strange men? She locked the cabinet and turned around.

"I like it fine, Mr. Wilkes," she said, handing him the little parcel. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you," he said as he handed her the correct amount.

"Good day, Mr. Wilkes," she said, locking the money in the box and recording the transaction in the ledger before turning her attention back to the medical text. She didn't look up when she heard him leave.

Presently another patient arrived, leg in heavy bandages and leaning on a cane. It was Mr. Lambert of the treatment. Marybeth summoned Dr. Meade, who assisted the man to the examination room and had him sit on the table. Then Dr. Meade pulled Marybeth aside.

"This won't be difficult--I'll be giving you directions the whole time. Miss James always washes her hands before helping me--something she learned at that training hospital. You may as well do the same."

Marybeth rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands just like she imagined Miss James must do. Then Dr. Meade showed her which tray to bring with the instruments and bandages. He instructed her to pour a strong-smelling solution from a bottle into a ceramic basin and soak some of the bandages in it, but leave the others dry. Then the treatment began.

Dr. Meade removed the old bandages from the wound and dropped them into a bucket. As soon as the wound was exposed a foul smell wafted around the room, unlike anything Marybeth had ever smelled before, but she schooled her expression into a blank. The treatment had many steps to it and took a long time and she followed the doctor's instructions minutely, but she started to feel clammy perspiration trickling down and the room began to swim. She fought to stay on her feet, but despite her effort she knew she was swaying just a little bit.

Dr. Meade pinned the wrapping on the leg and turned to tell Marybeth to take the bucket to the stove to burn the contents, when he got a good look at her face.

"If you'll excuse us a minute, Mr. Lambert," Dr. Meade said gruffly.

Then he stood up, took the basin and instruments from Marybeth's hands and steered her into the other room by her arm.

"Lay down on that cot, feet up," he ordered her. She didn't need any convincing. She nearly dropped onto it, putting her feet on a hard cushion, then he waved smelling salts under her nose even though she cringed at the odor. He felt her pulse.

"You stay here. I'll escort the patient out," he instructed her.

She was feeling a little better when he came back, and he pulled up a chair next to her.

"One of the first rules in medicine is never to let the patient know that you are disturbed by anything you see or hear. You have to show compassion, not disgust."

"Oh, Dr. Meade, I tried to hide it, truly."

"I know you did, Dandridge, your expression was pleasant enough, but you were white as a sheet of paper."

With that, he felt her wrist and her forehead, before he allowed her to sit up.

"How do you do it Doctor? How do you look at sights like that all day without being disturbed by it?"

"Well, child, some of it comes from practice--you get used to seeing such things and they don't bother you anymore. But mostly it comes from remembering that the patient is depending on you to make them well. When you remember that, and you keep that idea first, it gets easier to put aside your own personal feelings so you can be a good doctor."

"Next time I'll do better, I promise." He nodded at her, admiring her persistence. He had wondered if she would try to beg off if the need for her arose again.

Later that same day, Ella, who was going for a ramble along the trails, laughed so hard her mare startled and she had to reassure her with a gentle pat. "So she froze you out, did she?"

"Ella, she froze me so badly I'll never thaw."

"Well, Beau, it only serves you right, trying to spark widows."

"Sparking widows! I only tried to be friendly with her because I knew she works for the Meades. And Aunt India said you were acquainted with her."

"I am. And she's a dear girl, but Beau, her heart is in the grave. I talked to her and I know. I mentioned her dear departed and she got an awful downcast look and mumbled something I could barely hear."

"How could I know that? After all, she wasn't wearing black or gray or white or whatever fool colors ladies wear when they're in mourning. And I tell you, I wasn't trying to spark her."

"Cheer up, Beau. I'm sure that after she knows you better she'll actually smile at you some day."

With that they came to a fork in the trail.

"Should we take the long way back or the short way?" He asked

"Mmm..." She paused, checking her watch that was attached to the jacket of her riding habit. "Better make it the short way. Albert said he was going to call on me today."

Beau nodded and turned his horse onto the short trail. Next to Cousin Wade Hampton, Ella was his best friend. And this past year, while Wade was away in Europe for his Grand Tour, Beau and Ella had become even closer.

Beau remembered when they were all little children, and he and Wade did everything in their power to avoid playing with Ella and with Cousin Bonnie, who he only dimly remembered now. But then an accident took Bonnie's life and illness took his mother's life, leaving the three remaining children, connected by blood and marriage, to the somewhat indifferent care of Scarlett Butler. Ella was still the little tag-along, a barely tolerated nuisance to both boys. But then one day, a year after his mother's death, Beau sat alone in the stable, crying over his grief for her, and ashamed of his own weakness. Little Ella had stolen in quietly. Unknown to Beau, she drew closer and closer to him until she was sitting quietly on the hay next to him. Somehow she had understood not to ask a bunch of silly questions about the whys and wherefores of his tears. She merely slipped her hand into his and held it until he was finished. Then she departed, kissing his cheek before she did so. And best of all, she never brought up the incident again. From that time she had been in his confidence more and more frequently until he was almost as comfortable with her as he was with Wade Hampton. After all, she was pretty good sort, for a girl.

But for the last year, Beau had been harboring a secret--a dream he hadn't shared with either Wade Hampton or Ella. And it had nothing to do with sparking icy widows. He had been somewhat dismayed when he saw an obstacle to his dream; an obstacle in the form of Albert Whiting as a frequent caller at the mansion. However, he hadn't been entirely discouraged because, after all, Albert was going to the University of Maryland and wouldn't be home again until Christmas. But Beau was only going as far as the University of Georgia and he planned to be home as many weekends as he could manage. And all was fair in love and war. It wasn't that he had anything against Albert personally, but three was definitely a crowd...

oOoOoOo

That night, Marybeth was sitting in the parlor with one of Dr. Meade's old medical texts that she found in the shelves across her lap, reading intently. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which she had been reading, was on the table next to her, forgotten.

Dr. Meade came in and was amused when he saw her choice of reading material.

"Do you really find an old medical book interesting?" He teased, sitting in the chair next to her.

"Yes," she said. "I never realized how complicated the body is--or how many parts it has. Did you really learn everything in this book?"

"Learned it? Yes, under the stern tutelage of my professors. But did I remember all of it after I graduated?" His eyes twinkled. "I remembered the most important things, I hope."

She looked at him, impressed. "I don't understand most of it. Actually, I've been looking at the pictures and diagrams more than reading the text. But there's a whole section about bandaging...Dr. Meade, I'm so sorry I almost fainted--and embarrassed, too. But I'm reading up about caring for sick people."

"Can you keep a secret?" He asked.

She nodded, intrigued.

"The first time I saw an operation, back in medical school, I had to be carried out--almost fainted onto the operating table." He smiled kindly at her, and she smiled back at him, conspiratorially.

"I won't tell a soul, I promise," she said solemnly although her eyed danced.

He didn't think he would need her very often--Miss James was quite reliable. But it was reassuring to know there was another pair of hands available if necessary. Though sometimes he thought what he really needed was to go into partnership with another doctor. After all, he wasn't getting younger.

A/N: And so, let the romantic intrigue begin…

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