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.
Naturally, I appreciate reviews. Thank you to the dear people who have written them. You know who you are--and so do I!
"Are these for me? Oh, Albert, they're beautiful!" Ella exclaimed, gazing at the bouquet of pink roses she held in her hands.
"You deserve them," Albert Whiting answered gallantly. "I only wish I could do more."
Ella and Albert were standing on the veranda of the mansion in the twilight, saying their goodbyes before he left for University.
"I wrote this for you, too," he added.
"Oh Albert."
"It's just a little sonnet--no don't read it while I'm here," he said, blushing.
She sighed dreamily and tucked it into her sash. Then she shifted the bouquet to one hand so she could take his arm and they strolled together out into the meticulously kept gardens. Ella sniffed her bouquet and looked up at him.
"You're going to have the most wonderful time at University."
"Yes, I suppose so. No, not suppose--I intend to. I want to work hard, Ella, learn as much as I can."
"Have you decided your major study?"
He looked downcast. "No, I still can't decide. I just know I want to be able to make a good living for...someday..." He let that thought trail off, but Ella thrilled to the world of possibility in the word "someday".
They sat down together on one of the iron benches and looked out over the fountain.
"I won't be back until the Christmas Holidays. It seems like forever."
Ella nodded sadly.
"I wish...oh, Ella, I wish I could--well--," he said vehemently before he broke off, blushing, but he took her free hand.
Ella's heart beat wildly. He seemed to be on the verge of saying--or doing--something...She turned her face up to his invitingly but he didn't seem to notice. Instead he kissed her hand and stood up. She walked with him to the front gate and saw him off, sighing with the romance of it all, but then she remembered--three whole months without him! She ran to her room and indulged herself in a good cry. When she dried her tears, she remembered the paper tucked in her sash. She unfolded it and read it, sobbing over every word. It was the most romantic thing she'd ever read--praising her eyes, her voice, her hands. She read it several more times, then shoved it under her pillow. Unable to help herself, she gave herself over to her emotions and sobbed until she fell asleep in a romantic, emotional, hysterical little heap.
The next morning she awoke with a delicious sort of melancholy--by now Albert would be on the train headed for the University of Maryland and away from her. The pathos of that last thought was so affecting she gave over to new spell of weeping as befitted a lonely forsaken heroine.
She ate breakfast alone for Mother was already gone to the store and decided her melancholy mood was too much to be borne all by herself, so she called for Pork to hitch the other carriage and headed to the Whiting home.
Jenny, although freshly home from Saratoga with her own stories she wanted to share, enthusiastically took up the topic of Albert's final parting and the two girls spent a wonderful hour parsing, probing and absolutely shredding that last conversation until Ella, with a vague sense of unease and feeling a little headachy, wondered if there had ever been any meaning in the things she and Albert had said to each other last night. Every word, every inflection, every pause had been discussed. Feeling a little unsatisfied, she took her leave.
Next she tried Virgie Simmons. Virgie also wanted to hear every detail, but when she heard there was a sonnet, she pounced on it, wishing to read it. Then, after reading it several times, she passed it back to Ella and said, "It's lovely dear, but it's not exactly Shakespeare, is it?"
This annoyed Ella even though she knew Virgie had claims of artistic sensibility. But didn't Virgie realize that there were more important things in life than literary perfection? Feeling that this really was the last straw, Ella took her leave politely as soon as she decently could.
A little later at the Meade's home, she and Marybeth sat in a private secluded area of the back yard so Marybeth could nurse Christina unobserved. Ella poured out the whole story and Marybeth patted her hand and said all the things that she wanted to hear. She would have been very satisfied with Marybeth as a confidant except--well, Christina had recently cut a new tooth and was as busy biting as she was nursing and that diverted Marybeth's attention. And Edward would stalk the neighbor's cat that had crept into the Meades' back yard. The little boy chased the wretched animal around and around and frequently let out ear-splitting imitations of the Rebel Yell. Ella would have preferred some peace and quiet for her story telling, but when she hinted as much to Marybeth, she laughed and said, "Oh, Edward's been Yelling ever since you taught him how to do it the last time you were here." Then she looked at Ella slyly.
It was true enough--Ella had come to visit again since that first time right after Circle and she'd thought it would be fun to teach the old war cry to Edward. What she didn't know was that Marybeth had spent a rather trying two days teaching him not to Yell in the house and for heaven's sake not to sneak up on people and Yell, either. Poor Betsy was heard to declare that she would need one of the Doctor's sedatives if the little boy hollered one more time indoors.
And of course it was easy enough for Marybeth to take Ella's romantic predicament lightly. After all, everybody knew some man had wanted her.
Back at home, Ella was feeling a little grumpy. Nobody quite seemed to adequately understand the romantic pathos of it all. She wandered aimlessly in the garden for a while before she stopped and leaned on the statue of the iron mastiff, chin resting in her arms. She knew she wasn't really upset with her friends. They all, in their own ways, had listened to her and tried to help. It was something else.
She hadn't wanted to think about it and spoil her romantic mood, but she couldn't escape it nonetheless, and it rankled. As lovely and sentimental as Albert had been, he still hadn't come out and said he loved her, he hadn't asked her to wait for him, and the third thing--
He hadn't tried to kiss her.
Of course, Ella reasoned, it wouldn't be very ladylike for her to be chasing after him for kisses, and if he had attempted it, she really ought to be offended or at least pretend to be, but still...
She shifted restlessly and stared out over the fountain, not really seeing it.
Into this uncomfortable reverie walked Beau Wilkes.
"I came to see you," he said. "To say goodbye before I leave tomorrow."
"Oh, Beau, I'm so happy you came," she replied. "I don't want to be alone right now."
He suggested a game of croquet and while they played, she poured out the story to him, (omitting the part about how she was disappointed that Albert hadn't kissed her--she didn't want Beau to know her most unladylike thoughts). Beau listened patiently and if he found it painful to listen to her speak sentimentally about Albert Whiting he hid it well. He said the things she wanted to hear and after a decent amount of time he steered her attention away from Albert with funny, diverting stories.
"It's getting dark, Ella," Beau said as he looked up at the twilight sky. "I have to get home to finish packing. The train leaves first thing tomorrow."
Ella looked at her cousin fondly. What a good friend he was, what a good confidant. Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Pulling back a little, she said, "I'm going to miss you something awful, Beau."
Beau looked at her, dazed, as she started to put away the croquet things. He knew it would be foolish to think she'd meant anything more than the type of goodbye a sister might give a brother. However, he could still feel her lips on his cheek and he wished fervently now he'd had the courage to--but no, that wouldn't have been gentlemanly. To cover his confusion he helped her put away the game.
She walked with him to the front gate and Beau hoped...maybe...but her earlier impulsive mood was gone and he was afraid to give her more than the most casual of friendly goodbyes. But as he headed towards his house he decided--he was definitely coming home this very weekend!
oOoOoOo
Marybeth was awakened a couple nights later by the sound of a muffled commotion in the hallway outside her room. She got up, pulling her wrapper around her and slipped into the hall, carefully shutting the door so she wouldn't wake her children. She saw both Meades heading down the stairs. From the top of the stairs she saw Dr. Meade, fully dressed, squeeze his wife's hand and head out the door with some other men--shadowy figures she could barely see.
Dr. Meade was sometimes called on in the middle of the night in the course of duty, but Mrs. Meade never walked him to the door on these occasions. Anxiously, Marybeth went down to join her.
"Marybeth, we didn't want to wake you!"
"Mrs. Meade, what is it?"
The older woman sighed heavily. "There's a fire--in the row of buildings where Dr. Meade's office is. He went to see what could be saved."
"How bad?"
"We don't know--those men didn't know, either. They own businesses in that row and came to tell him--they all went to investigate together."
Marybeth shook her head, then led the older woman to the kitchen and sat her down. Then she bustled about, fixing coffee and gathering cups.
"Whut's all dis fuss in de middle o' de night?"
Mrs. Meade shook her head. "We didn't mean to wake you Betsy. There's been a fire at Dr. Meade's office."
"Lawd ha' mercy," she exclaimed.
The three women waited anxiously during the next couple hours for any word. At last a dejected-looking Dr. Meade entered and Mrs. Meade pulled him into a chair while Betsy pushed a cup of coffee to him.
"It's all gone, Mrs. Meade. The building, all my books, most of the patients' records, my instruments and furniture--all gone."
Mrs. Meade looked at him sorrowfully and put a hand on his arm while he sat pensively staring at nothing in particular. Marybeth and Betsy looked at each other in dismay.
Then Dr. Meade looked into his wife's stricken face and took her hand gently. "But we've been through worse things than this, haven't we? We survived then and we'll survive now."
Marybeth looked away. This was a tone of voice she had never heard him use before and she instinctively knew it was the voice he used with Mrs. Meade when they were alone. She decided to go back to bed and leave them in peace, and accordingly she stood up and started to clear the cups from the table. Betsy also seemed to have the same idea, and they worked silently together.
"It's also good to keep in mind, Mrs. Meade, that this happened at night and nobody got hurt."
Mrs. Meade nodded.
"And it's only the office that was destroyed. We still have our home, we still have our money in the bank."
Mrs. Meade tried to smile for him.
The kitchen was cleaned and she and Betsy made their exits. Marybeth was halfway down the hallway to the stairs when she heard Dr. Meade say," Thank heaven the office is insured."
News of the fire spread almost as quickly as the fire itself and the Meade household was inundated with callers and well-wishers the next day. Many of them brought food ("almost as if somebody had died", Marybeth thought), but she and Betsy were still kept busy making coffee and tea for the ladies and keeping the brandy decanter full for the men. It was strange, Marybeth thought, having men in the house during the day, for the household was strictly feminine before the supper hour; limited to the women of the household and their afternoon lady callers.
As Marybeth made trips to the doctor's study with the refilled decanter, she was aware that she was the target of a few appreciative looks from the younger men of Dr. Meade's acquaintance. But she ignored them in her most cool, dignified manner. The two or three who tried to engage her in conversation were frozen out as thoroughly as Beau Wilkes had been. As for Beau, home for the weekend, who came to make a courtesy call on the doctor, he did nothing more than nod gravely to her and he received an equally serious nod in return.
Ella came with Mrs. Butler, but she and Marybeth didn't have time for more than a few quick words alone. There were other ladies, too. Mrs. Merriwether, of course, Mrs. Picard, Mrs. Elsing, Mrs. Wellburn. Miss India Wilkes brought Miss Pittypat and another lady. But before proper introductions could be done, Ella stepped in and introduced the new lady to Marybeth as "Aunt Honey", then proceeded to explain to the tangled thread of relationship between them. Marybeth tried to follow, but she only wound up with a faint headache even as she was amused at the funny nicknames the women in that family seemed to wind up with.
A/N And now for the focus to shift once again as more of the younger people take their place on the stage--and naturally, more Scarlett...But what about Rhett? You're just going to have to read and find out.