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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The Meades were both awake and waiting in the parlor for Marybeth, but they were surprised to see her home early and with Wade. He drew the Doctor into the hallway for a whispered conference while Marybeth took a chair next to Mrs. Meade in the parlor and put her head in her hand.

"Dandridge? A word with you please?" Dr. Meade called from the foyer.

Marybeth followed the Doctor into his study. He motioned her into a chair and quietly said to her, "Tell me everything that happened between you and this Dante. And," he took her chin gently, "no hysterics."

She looked up into his face--his expression was concerned, but kind. His matter-of-fact demeanor strengthened her and although she couldn't help blushing, she was able to briefly and truthfully tell everything that had transpired. She noted that he grew angrier during her recitation, but his anger was not directed at her.

"Very well, Dandridge, I'm going to go have a talk with this young man myself. You'll stay with Mrs. Meade."

And with that he brought Marybeth to Mrs. Meade, who was talking to Wade. After he whispered a few words in his wife's ear that made her gasp and look at Marybeth, both men left.

Marybeth and Mrs. Meade sat alone in the parlor, neither looking at the other, neither speaking. But at one point Mrs. Meade sighed heavily.

"Help me to bed, Marybeth."

Although Mrs. Meade was allowed up and out of bed, she was still very weak. She became out of breath easily and coughed at very little provocation. Marybeth took her upstairs and helped her get ready for bed.

After Mrs. Meade was tucked in, she said, "Stay a moment, I want to talk to you."

Marybeth pulled a chair to the older woman's bedside and sat in it. Lowering her head, she said, "I think I know what you're going to say--that it was very foolish of me to go off alone with Dante Martin and I mustn't ever go off alone with a man again."

Mrs. Meade looked at her speculatively for a while. Then she answered her, speaking slowly as if she wanted to choose her words carefully.

"Actually, Marybeth, there are two answers to that. First, I'll advise you as I imagine your mother would have if she were here. The reason we have chaperones is to guard you girls against just this sort of thing happening. Marybeth, you're not a wide-eyed innocent--you know how men are, and you know what they're capable of. But as long as you are being chaperoned, you don't have to worry about a man acting too forward with you. That is what your mother would say--that you shouldn't go off alone with a young man."

Marybeth's head was still lowered. Mrs. Meade took a deep breath and plunged back in to her recitation. "But speaking as one woman to another--sometimes--well, sometimes you and your young man may--how shall I phrase this?--you may need to talk alone--to be alone--just the two of you without being watched."

Marybeth looked up at her, puzzled. Mrs. Meade glanced away briefly. "Understand that in no way am I giving you permission to discard your morals. But with a young man who you care about and who has earned your trust--your fiancé, perhaps, someday--well, nobody expects to have to watch you at all times. You're still expected to exercise self-control, you see, but you can be allowed some privacy."

Marybeth blushed again, and Mrs. Meade looked away again, both of them uncomfortable. But Mrs. Meade was determined to have her say, and gathering her courage, said, "When the Doctor was courting me, we used to slip away whenever we had the chance. But I knew him for a long time by then and trusted him. And he was a perfect gentleman...yes, you smile, Marybeth, but we were young and in love once too.

"But I need to make this perfectly clear--you shouldn't go off with just any man. If something does...happen, be sure that she will be looked on with greater suspicion than he. We're the ones who are supposed to exercise self-control. It's a chance I took with the Doctor, but as I said, I trusted him..."

"How long were you and the Doctor courting at that time?" Marybeth ventured to ask.

At that moment, Dr. Meade walked into the room to see the two women whispering together. When they became aware of his presence, they both stopped and looked at him almost furtively and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was somehow intruding on something that didn't include him. But what he had to say was very important and he didn't want to be diverted from his purpose.

"I spoke to that pup Dante and he sends his abject apologies. He claims that he only meant a harmless joke and never meant for you to be so frightened."

"A joke!" Exclaimed Mrs. Meade as she grasped Marybeth's arm protectively. "Surely Doctor, you don't believe--"

"I certainly do not believe him. I'm only telling you what he said. He also offered to apologize in person before he leaves tomorrow morning. The Picards are sending him back home."

"No!" Blurted Marybeth, turning pale. "I don't want to see him, not ever again. I don't want to talk to him, I don't want to be reminded, I don't..."

"I thought you would feel that way," interrupted Dr. Meade. "So I took the liberty of answering for you. You won't have to see him again."

oOoOoOo

Later that night when they were alone, Dr. Meade related more of the story to his wife.

"At first, Dante tried to claim that Dandridge threw herself at his head..."

"Oh, no!" Exclaimed Mrs. Meade, horrified.

"Yes, he did. But Wade Hampton Hamilton put that story to rest quickly..."

"Did he?"

"Indeed he did. He took up for Dandridge quite eloquently. He explained how he happened upon them and she was fighting with all her might against him..."

"Eloquently, you say? I'm surprised. He barely can string two words together..."

"Will you stop interrupting me? Besides, you're wrong about Wade. He may be bashful with young ladies, but not with other men. Around men, he's no more bashful than I am. And he managed to convince Rene Picard that Dandridge was innocent."

Mrs. Meade lay back against her pillows, exhausted from the night's excitement. "Of course she's innocent. She's hardly the type of girl to tryst with men secretly or behind sheds or in the woods or any nonsense like that."

Dr. Meade grinned suddenly and couldn't help chuckle.

"This is hardly a laughing matter, Doctor."

He shook his head. "I was just thinking about Wade. You should have seen him plead Dandridge's case. I don't think I ever saw him that angry before. Somehow I never thought he had it in him. He's usually so grave and reserved."

"Still waters run deep."

"Yes, yes. I've heard that saying, too. But I haven't always seen it. Sometimes still waters only mean stagnation." Then, changing the subject, "I'm glad she had a defender. He was worried about her, Mrs. Meade. He asked me if I thought she would be alright--he seemed quite anxious about her."

Mrs. Meade only murmured an assent. Until Marybeth told her herself, she didn't want to share her speculation with her husband about the two young people. After all, it was only speculation. But Mrs. Meade would be pleased to see Marybeth settled with Wade. Maybe in time...

oOoOoOo

"Ah hears Mist' Wade tuck up fo' yo' honor'n virtue," said Betsy to Marybeth as they cleaned up after breakfast the next day.

Marybeth turned away, irritated. Was there anything that Betsy didn't eventually hear about? She plunked the dishes in the sink and poured the boiling water over them. Furthermore, she thought, it was a few years too late to save her virtue.

"There was an incident at the Picards' last night," replied Marybeth, stiffly.

"Ah heard."

"I don't really want to talk about it."

Betsy put her hands on her hips. "You don' need t' take dat tone wid me, Marybeth. We knowed Dante a long time. We knows he a vahmint."

"Who's we?"

"Us black folk. We knows things." And she raised her eyebrow at Marybeth before she went to sweep the floor.

oOoOoOo

Mrs. Meade and Marybeth were in the parlor later that afternoon. Marybeth sat on the floor with Christina and Edward by her. The little girl squatted next to a pile of wood blocks, busily stacking and restacking them. Edward lay on his stomach looking at the animals in a picture book while Marybeth turned the pages.

"We're almost to the end of the book," Marybeth said to Mrs. Meade. "Then I'll go in and set the table for supper."

But at that moment the front bell rang and before Marybeth could get up to answer it, she heard Betsy's footsteps hurrying down the hall.

In the next moment, Wade was ushered into the parlor.

"I can only stay a moment," said Wade as Mrs. Meade motioned him to a chair and Marybeth stood up awkwardly from the floor to take the chair facing him. She looked at him only long enough to nod at him, for she was afraid to see him, she still didn't know what he thought about last night--what he thought about her. So she didn't notice, although Mrs. Meade did, the concern in his eyes.

"Miss Marybeth, do you remember that day in the library? It was snowing and I quoted from Shakespeare?"

Marybeth nodded, a little bewildered at his opening.

"Well, I found the rest of the quote," and he opened a book he brought with him.

"At Christmas I no more desire a rose

Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;

But like of each thing that in season grows

So you, to study now it is too late,

Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate..."

He shut the book then and looked up at her, smiling a little and held it out to her. "There's more, but you can read it for yourself if you like."

When he spoke to her, his voice was gentle and soothing so that her heart ached, afraid to hope. Maybe--just maybe--he didn't blame her, didn't believe that she lured Dante on into an unseemly dalliance with her. And she realized, with some surprise, that he hadn't stammered even once, but seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say. Wade had been like this last night, she remembered suddenly. He hadn't lost his head during the crisis and was able to act calmly and decisively.

Marybeth leaned towards him a little uncertainly and took the book he held outstretched to her. He had marked the page with a little piece of paper.

"Wade, won't you stay for supper?" Asked Mrs. Meade, acting on a sudden inspiration.

He shook his head. "No, I'm expected home. I could only stay a moment."

"I'll walk you to the door," said Marybeth. It was the first time she had spoken to him since that night at the Wilkes'.

Alone at the front door, Wade said, "I thought you might like to read the whole play. It's called Love's Labours Lost." Then he paused--she was looking at him so strangely.

But she remembered her manners. "Thank you," she muttered.

There was another silence. Wade was reluctant to force his company on her. She had been through an ordeal, and was still understandably upset. But it hurt him to see her like this, so aloof and distant. He wanted to be strong for her, to be a man she could lean on in her trouble. He would call on her again and soon, he decided. On some pretense or none at all. To make sure she was bearing up.

Marybeth knew she wasn't being very friendly, but she didn't know what to say to him, either. She wished there was a ladylike way to ask him if he blamed her or not, but there wasn't.

"Well..." he said, "Good bye."

When Marybeth returned to the parlor and sat down with the book in her lap, Mrs. Meade pounced.

"What did Wade say?"

Marybeth paused. She felt no reluctance to share her conversation with Mrs. Meade, but she wasn't really sure what just happened. "Well, he just said he thought I'd enjoy reading the whole passage."

"That's it?"

"Mm-hmm."

Mrs. Meade resumed her needlework, but looked at Marybeth slyly out of the corner of her eye. The girl was sitting in the chair next to her, hands folded over the little volume of Shakespeare.

"I do believe Wade cares about you."

Marybeth laughed, but her laughter was strained. "Oh, Mrs. Meade. All he did was lend me a book."

Mrs. Meade proceeded to explain to her, slowly and carefully, as if explaining to a child. "He defended you last night. He took your side. It's clear he holds you completely blameless for what happened with Dante."

"That doesn't mean he cares about me."

"Oh Marybeth, don't you know anything?" She asked impatiently. "He went out of his way to see you and make sure you were all right. He was worried about you, in case you haven't figured that out. He cares about you. Depend on it."

Up went Marybeth's feet on the ottoman and she wrapped her arms around her knees. She asked, even though she already knew the answer. "Well...if he did worry about me, why didn't he just come out and say it?"

"He wouldn't want to embarrass you by mentioning something you'd rather forget. He's a gentleman, Marybeth. Not all men are like Dante Martin, you know. Some men are gentlemen."