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.

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Christmas was rapidly approaching and Dr. Meade was a very happy man. His lawsuit with the insurance company had concluded satisfactorily; they settled without even going to court, agreeing to pay his claim. He would receive the money early in January and he could start to rebuild his office.

"You see, Mrs. Meade? I told you Wade Hamilton could do it."

"Of course you did, dear. And you were right," she replied meekly. She had been dubious up to the end, but she graciously admitted that Wade had done well.

Wade was also pleased (and a little relieved) with the outcome of the case, although he would have liked to try it in court. He was an ambitious young man and anxious to acquire some courtroom experience.

And as Dr. and Mrs. Meade rejoiced in their good fortune, Marybeth realized that she had been living in Atlanta for six months.

They had been a good six months but she had mixed feelings. She had made new friends (although she was still nervous about attending Ella's upcoming party), she had a secure home and the Meads had been kindness itself to her. Mrs. Meade especially was almost as good as family.

But through all her new joys ran an undercurrent of unease; her whole life in Atlanta was based on deception. It was no use to tell herself that she needed a respectable facade or that her responsibility was to provide for the babies any way she could. Marybeth, who had always hated deceit, was living a lie.

The preparations for Christmas were also a source of irritation. Every day she was surrounded by people preparing for Christmas and talking about Christmas and every day her homesickness increased. She was extremely fond of the Meades, but they weren't her own parents, after all.

Mrs. Meade was overjoyed with the approaching holidays--it was the first Christmas in so many years with children in the house and she gloried in the preparations. If she noticed Marybeth's despondency she didn't comment on it. But then, Marybeth was expert at masking her feelings.

One night she lay in bed and sleep wouldn't come. She felt overwhelmed with sorrow and guilt and stared out the window, listening to the breathing of her sleeping children. She was remembering Christmas with her family, back when she was a little girl. From her parents' front porch she could look down over the whole valley, to see the lights from the houses, the thin ribbon that was the Lehigh River flowing between the hills. They would have a tree and presents, sing Christmas carols, go to Mass.

Marybeth rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. She didn't know how she would be able to stand the homesickness. And then it dawned on her...

The next day, when the children were down for their naps, Marybeth received permission to go by herself for a walk. Soon, she was in front of a big stone Catholic church.

Looking around furtively, although she didn't know why she wanted to avoid notice, she dug in her reticule for an object. It was her veil--the only thing she still had left from her childhood--something she had packed before she ran away. She removed her hat and placed the lace veil over her head. Now she was ready to go in.

As she stepped into the church, the atmosphere struck her like a physical blow. It had been so many years since she had been in her own church. Like one in a trance, she gazed around at the statues surrounded by votive lights, the baptismal font, the stained glass windows.

The church was not deserted on this Saturday afternoon. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see, scattered within the pews, other people who had come to pray and confess. Marybeth hadn't thought about confessing--she had come here following some deep impulse, but she stared for a long moment at the lines outside the confessionals.

Recovering herself, she walked gingerly to the nearest statue, a statue of St. Joseph, and knelt on the prie-dieu in front of it. She clasped her hands, but the words wouldn't come. She couldn't even control her racing thoughts. With a sigh of contrition that she couldn't pray, she stood up again, went to bless herself with holy water, then paused, looking for an empty pew. As her eyes searched for a spot in an obscure part of the church, her eyes were drawn to another statue--this one of Jesus--that had a homey, familiar feel to it. Then she remembered why.

It was just like the picture her mother, Annamaria, had hanging over the chair in her bedroom. It was an old picture and underneath was the inscription: Venite ad me, omnes qui laboratis et onerati estis. Ego reficiam vos. She taught Marybeth its Italian translation (Maman had been a Verchese of the New York Vercheses) as well as the English: Come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden. I will give you rest.

She took it as a sign and found a place nearby the statue. She remembered to genuflect before she slid into the pew. Then she knelt down and rested her clasped hands on the pew in front of her, lowering her head until it was resting on her hands.

Her eyes burned and her throat hurt and she allowed the waves of sorrow and homesickness to wash over her. She remembered how it had been as a little girl in Bethlehem. Her whole family would be in the pew together--she and her sisters lined up like stair steps. The Brodie girls made quite a picture--they were all accounted pretty, with doe eyes and softly curling hair and clear sweet voices. Even Marybeth; the misfit, the middle child, the one who was different. Marybeth with her free-swinging stride and her penchant for climbing trees and playing baseball with the boys. She was not to be compared to her demure, well-behaved sisters. But she had always found the atmosphere at church to be very peaceful, even though she hadn't understood the Latin prayers. Now she missed it horribly, missed her family more than she ever thought possible.

Marybeth had heard all her life that struggle built character. She had even met people who faced worse struggles than hers and wound up becoming better for it. But her grasping and struggling after security these past years seemed to have done the opposite to her. It seemed to her as she knelt there that her soul was parched and barren, scorched by anger and rage. Her spiritual gifts--mercy, forbearance, longsuffering--those had all been laid waste by her wilfulness and lust and pride and deceit. She knew she believed in God and loved Him (although not as much as she loved getting own way), but arching over all, she desperately craved that peace she had felt as a little girl before Miklos had taken her innocence and Alex had ruined her further.

She waited in line outside a confessional, thinking about all the things she had done in the last three years. It wasn't hard to make a rather long list. And when her turn came, she kneeled in the dark, forehead lightly touching the grille and waited her turn.

She jumped when the little door covering the screen scraped open, but she launched right into her confession. "...It's been over three years...I missed Mass, took the Lord's name in vain, stole, fought..." she went on and on. She told him about Mik and she told him about Alex...and then she paused. Should she tell him about the lies she told the Meades about her children's parentage? What if he directed her to come clean to the Meades and they threw her out? Would they actually make her leave? Her thoughts took a different turn. After all, lying was a sin--Marybeth wasn't going to argue that. But was her particular lie a mortal sin or a venial? In a split second she came to a decision. "Also, Father, I told some lies."

There. She said it. She wasn't entirely comfortable with this evasion, however. The priest gave her absolution in a frail, whispery voice and three Hail Mary's for penance and dismissed her. She left the confessional and knelt down in the pew to pray. She couldn't deny it, she did feel a sensation like a soft, cool, refreshing rain on her soul, but it wasn't the complete peace she had hoped for.

She wanted to come back tomorrow. She wanted to go back to Mass again. She only hoped the Meades wouldn't mind. She had been attending the Methodist church with them. She would miss Reverend Whitley who was so kind and always gave her a friendly smile and handshake after services. She would miss listening to Mrs. Merriwether play the organ. She started to feel a little anxious to tell them her decision, and that anxiety pushed her guilt partially out of her mind.

She was deep in thought as she left the church, a little tired after all that mental and spiritual exertion. Her eyes still burned and her throat was sore. She stepped outside and into a little courtyard where she removed her veil and replaced it with her hat. But she wanted to compose herself before the walk home and she stood next to one of the marble statues with her hand resting on it and was musing over and over in her mind, "Jesu, Jesu, Jesus Christus, Jesu..." when a shy voice behind her made her jump.

"Mrs. Dandridge?"

Marybeth turned to see Wade Hampton Hamilton standing behind her, blushing like he always did whenever he had to talk to a girl socially. He tipped his hat and she nodded back to him, stifling a sense of annoyance and wanting to take her leave of him as soon as possible. She was still under the influence of the strong emotions that had overwhelmed her in the church and felt like she couldn't endure having to make conversation with anybody, particularly somebody as shy as he.

"How do you do, Mr. Hamilton," she said low, struggling to be polite. After all--she did just come from church. She was supposed to act charitably.

"I-I saw you--I mean, you were there--in the church--I never saw you there before--didn't know--I mean, do you go here?" He had seen her in the church and thought she saw him. He didn't want to be rude and not greet her.

"This will be my church Mr. Hamilton," she answered, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. She really wanted to be left alone right now.

"That's nice," was his reply before he lapsed into silence.

Marybeth was really at the limit by this time, so she gave him a wave and a nod, "Have a good evening, Mr. Hamilton," she said as she made her escape and hurried down the sidewalk before he even had a chance to reply.

I hope this chapter wasn't too deep and serious, but I needed to reveal more of Marybeth's psychology, as it were. And it does bear on later chapters.

But the next chapter will be more lighthearted, I promise :)