Disclaimer: 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.

On the warm and sunny day that Rhett Butler chose to leave Atlanta once more, Frankie Bonnell took Ella walking--at her own request. Up and down the streets around the mansion they walked, with her arm in his. Frankie was happy to be away from the mansion, where Captain Butler was making ready for his departure. The whole house was in an uproar, what with moving the trunks and parcels into the foyer to await the coach that would take them to the train. The young people didn't wish to be underfoot and besides, Frankie always had the uneasy sensation that Captain Butler knew he'd kissed Ella and would think he didn't respect her. Frankie wasn't sure what he would say if he were called to account for his actions, but it would definitely be an uncomfortable interview.

"Thank you taking me out, Frankie," Ella said, her brow puckered into a little frown. "I never like to be around on the mornings when Uncle Rhett is leaving on his business trips. It always depresses me. Besides, I already said my goodbyes to him earlier."

"I'm happy to be of service," Frankie replied gallantly, although he was surprised at Ella's rather long speech. She usually loved to talk endlessly about anything that came into her head, but she was always strangely reticent about her mother and stepfather. Right now she seemed lost in thought again.

"I hear the Thespians are planning a big shindig for a fundraiser this summer," he said, hoping to divert her.

"Is that right?" She looked up at him and smiled a little. She knew he was trying take her mind off Uncle Rhett's departure and was grateful for his effort.

"Apparently their funds are a little low right now. Le Misanthrope didn't do as well as they had hoped. I think that's a shame--personally, I like satires that have a message. And I especially liked that one--whether it is better to speak one's mind truthfully or to use polite evasions."

She shrugged. "There's a time and a place for everything."

"That's wise of you, Ella."

"I'm not wise, Frankie," she answered, a shade scornfully. "I'm not old enough to be wise."

"In that case, I'm not old enough to be wise, either. And therefore I'd like you to indulge me. I'm going to be rather unwise right now, if you don't mind." He pulled her into the shade of one of the trees that lined the street. "Do you remember when you gave me that lock of your hair? I've kept it here." And from under the collar of his shirt, he pulled out a small, clumsily sewn cloth pouch that was tied with a string and worn around his neck. "See, it's next to my heart," he added significantly.

Ella smiled uncomfortably. "You didn't have to do that."

He shoved the pouch back under his shirt. "I didn't have to, but I wanted to." He drew her arm through his and continued their walk. "What do you really think about Albert?"

"Frankie, I don't want to discuss..."

"You seem to be holding on tightly to a man who's not around. How often does he even write to you, anyway?"

She looked away. "Once a week, sometimes more."

He looked stunned. "I didn't know. I mean, you never talk about him, or..."

"I thought it would be in bad taste. Besides, you never look happy when his name is brought up."

"No, I'm not."

"I'm not ready to make a decision, Frankie." She looked up at him, but he was looking away. She sighed heavily. "Maybe you should go back to seeing other girls. Maybe I'm no good for you."

"Do you really want that?" He looked anguished.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You know how you could stop hurting me," he murmured.

She looked at him. "I can't do that," she said in the same low voice. "But I am sorry that I'm doing this to you right now."

"Oh, Ella. I know. And I said I wouldn't push you, either, but here I am--" he laughed shortly. "I can be patient. I haven't said anything since that day in your garden, haven't I? No, no. I can wait. I really can."

oOoOoOo

While the servants toiled assisting Rhett with his preparations, Scarlett, like Ella, had taken refuge outside of the mansion. She didn't plan to leave the grounds--she did want to bid Rhett farewell--but she didn't like to be inside to watch him get ready to leave her, either. All the hustle and bustle depressed her.

But Scarlett had barely stepped onto the back veranda to begin her mournful ruminations when her attention was drawn by a large grubby wagon winding its way laboriously through her back driveway. It ground to a halt at the furthermost point from the house and a big, burly man climbed down. He spotted her and waved, smiling as he headed toward her. It was her gardener, Mr. Ennis. Scarlett walked down to meet him.

"You weren't supposed to come today," she said as she shook his hand, somewhat reluctantly. Mr. Ennis' hands and fingernails were permanently stained black from years of ground-in dirt that no amount of soap seemed to be able to remove.

"Right you are, Mrs. Butler. But lucky for you, I had a last-minute cancellation. And you being my best customer and all, I loaded up the wagon with those azaleas you ordered and rushed right over. Now, if you'll just step this way, I can get your approval before we start planting."

"Oh...I'm sure they're fine. Just do whatever you have to do," she said with an airy little wave.

"Not so fast, ma'am. This being your first time with new shrubbery, I need you to see them and give your approval."

"Well...if you insist." She cast an anxious look back at the house before she followed the gardener.

He led her to his enormous wagon. His crew drew back respectfully, tipping their hats at her as she approached.

"Now. You can have this color here, or that color there, or..."

"Fine. That color," she chose hastily, looking back at the mansion again.

"Not so fast, Mrs. Butler. You can't just pick any old color. Wait." He hoisted himself into the wagon and broke off some blossoms from different bushes. Then he jumped down, took her elbow and led her back towards the house. "Now really look at the colors, then look at the paint on your house. You understand, what you wanna see is..."

Scarlett broke in impatiently. "This isn't a good time, Mr. Ennis."

"That's too bad. Because I'm afraid, ma'am, that this is the only time. You waited 'til awfully late to place your order. These bushes really should have been planted by now. But if you're really as busy as all that..." he shrugged and he pulled a grimy little notebook from his back pocket, "I can schedule you in around the...23rd."

"That would probably be best, but...but I did so want to enjoy them now..." Scarlett said doubtfully.

Mr. Ennis noticed her indecision and decided to play devil's advocate. "Of course, ma'am, the customer is always right." And he touched his hat brim and waved his crew back. "We'll come back another day," he added as he made as if to head back to the wagon.

"No, wait," Scarlett said as she placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Bring them in now. I suppose we can do this today."

"What color?" He asked, getting back to business.

"Miz Scarlett! Miz Scarlett!" Pork called from the veranda. "It's time!"

Scarlett looked from Mr. Ennis to Pork and back again.

"I really have to go, Mr. Ennis."

"But what color?"

"You choose. I don't care."

Mr. Ennis looked hurt. He considered himself a craftsman, and he didn't appreciate his work being dismissed with nothing more than an I don't care.

"Miz Scarlett, he's waiting!" Called Pork, scandalized.

In desperation, Scarlett turned the full force of her green eyes and bristly black lashes on the hurt and offended Mr. Ennis. Clasping her hands together in a helpless gesture, she said, "Now don't you see? How can I possibly choose? You're so much better at this sort of thing than I. If I tried to decide, my little old head would just bust. Would you choose? Please? For me?"

Mr. Ennis coughed and blushed. She looked so pretty and helpless he couldn't help responding to this little damsel in distress. Straightening himself up to his full height, he patted her shoulder kindly. "Shore, ma'am. You just leave everything to me."

"How can I ever thank you?" She called over her shoulder as she hurried back into the house.

oOoOoOo

Rhett, who had sent Pork outside to find Scarlett, tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for his wife to come and wish him farewell. She always wished him farewell. Just as she always greeted him when he came home. Until this visit. This time she was too busy for any such niceties.

Rhett was incensed at this cavalier treatment at the hands of his wife. She should be here to say goodbye when he was ready! Instead, she had run off somewhere and he had to lower himself to asking Pork to find her.

Of course, this line of thought inevitably led to an even more uncomfortable subject to brood over. Why under the stars did he even care? He went his way these last years and Scarlett went hers. Fine--he admitted to himself that he hadn't entirely stopped loving her. He had mostly stopped, however--just see how easily he was about to walk out that door right now! Wasn't that proof enough?

And yet--he knew very well, even though he hated to own up to it, that his arrivals and departures were not entirely the random occurrences he would have everybody believe. They were always on a Saturday or a Sunday--when she would not be at her store or at one of those ridiculous ladies' clubs. As if Scarlett gave a fig about ladies' clubs, anyway. The only reason she had joined them was because he had said something that night Melanie died about longing for the old ways and respectability of gentle folks. And silly Scarlett took him at his word and started trying to prove to him that she was a great lady. Of course, the only reason she was even allowed back into the world of the Old Guard was because of Melanie's patronage in her last years--Melanie who had taken it on herself to prove to everyone that she at least didn't believe India's story about Ashley and Scarlett.

But at last, Scarlett swept into the foyer behind Pork. She wasn't grubby and disheveled like at his arrival, but Rhett was still irritated at being left waiting.

"Mr. Ennis had to show me his azaleas and get my approval before he'd let me back in the house," she said with a little laugh.

"How peculiar. I thought you were mistress here. Since when do you take orders from the gardener?"

"Oh, Rhett. You know what I meant. He has that...artistic temperament."

But Rhett wasn't satisfied. Some devil inside him just wouldn't her have the last word. He needed to stir her up a little bit more, try to make her mad. "I don't want to waste my time talking about Mr. Ennis. I'm off for London, then the Continent. It may be a while before I'm back in the States. You, of course, can reach me through the bank...in an emergency."

Scarlett lowered her eyes. After all these years, he still had to treat her cruelly. It was times like these that his offer of a divorce was mighty tempting--that is, if it weren't for her pride. She would not be the one to cave. "In that case, Godspeed, Rhett," she murmured and offered her hand.

He took it and inspected it briefly. She hadn't washed since she came in, and it was a little bit dirty from her greeting to the gardener. "Still not the hand of a lady," he said, heavily ironic. Then he touched his hat brim and turned to go, leaving Scarlett stunned once more by his meanness.

oOoOoOo

When will I ever learn?, Scarlett thought in anguish as she turned and walked slowly into the dining room. Pork was no where to be seen. He had discreetly disappeared as soon as he delivered Scarlett to the foyer. At least no one had witnessed her humiliation.

She wandered around the long table, lightly trailing her hand along the backs of the chairs, trying to soothe her aching heart. It's like this every time and yet I'm too foolish to stop hoping.

She heard the front door close shut and the light, tripping footsteps of Ella crossing the foyer. Scarlett froze. She didn't want to see anybody. She wished she had escaped up to her room. She wondered why she hadn't.

A moment later, Ella poked her ginger head through the door. "There you are, Mother. Did Uncle Rhett leave already?"

Scarlett nodded and Ella sat down in one of the chairs.

"Oh well," said the girl. "Of course, we'll miss him and all, but hopefully it won't be too long before he comes back."

"Did you have a nice walk with Frankie?" Asked Scarlett, desperate to change the subject.

"Yes--but. Oh, Mother, I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm so confused. Frankie says he wants a future with me and that he really cares about me, but I just don't think I'm ready and then there's Albert and then..."

Scarlett had hoped to be diverted by a change of subject, but to her horror, anger and resentment and jealousy reared up in her instead at the sight of Ella with her whole life ahead of her, unmarred by foolish choices. And before she could stop herself, she answered sharply.

"I cannot and will not do this for you, and I'm tired of hearing you forever whining about it. You have two choices. Either you string them both along, or you choose. There--that's it."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Scarlett was appalled at herself for her own harshness towards Ella. After all, the girl had no more wit than God had been pleased to give her and Scarlett's marital problems were certainly not Ella's fault. But then she looked at her daughter's face, saw what began as a flash of anger on Ella's part turn to hurt, and then to a sort of pity directed at Scarlett.

"You're right, Mother," Ella said gently. "I really should just decide and not talk endlessly about it." Then she paused. "It's been a long day, hasn't it? I was thinking I'd like some tea. Shall I have Prissy bring us some? Maybe in the parlor where it's more comfortable?"

Scarlett felt frozen to the spot. Ella's kindness was almost as painful as Rhett's cruelty. Had she really thought her daughter was half-witted? Ella had only been trying to take Scarlett's mind off Rhett, even if her attempts were a bit clumsy--and that meant Ella knew Rhett's absences were not "business trips". What else did Ella know? Scarlett shrank into herself with humiliation at the thought that Ella knew so much about her marriage...

She managed a sickly smile and said wearily, "It has been a long day. But no, I don't want tea. Have Prissy bring you some, by all means, but I believe I'll just retire to my room. It would be nice to relax and maybe go to bed early."

Scarlett then came around the table--a bit unsteadily--and gave Ella an awkward hug. Then she shooed her out of the room and waited until Ella was out of eyesight before turning to the liquor cabinet.

That night Scarlett drank the entire decanter of brandy.

oOoOoOo

Elsie Wellburn was an unhappy young lady these days. Well, perhaps unhappy was too strong a word. After all, how could the girl who was still the belle of Atlanta, the beauty of her generation, who had collected more beaux, let alone marriage proposals, of any girl around be unhappy? Elsie was, however, utterly disgruntled. If there was one thing she could never tolerate, it was the defection of one of her beaux. And Wade Hampton Hamilton had been the most devoted of them all.

But what she could barely stand, apart from the loss of his adoration, was that is attentions had been transferred from her to that insignificant poor white hired girl Marybeth Dandridge.

What Wade could possibly see in her was beyond Elsie's ability to figure out. She had no social position, lacked vivacity and sparkle and certainly did not have the beauty Elsie had. All these uncomfortable considerations brought Elsie's predatory nature to the fore.

It wasn't even that Elsie had just let him walk away. When she noticed his attention drifting, she started a campaign to bring him back into the fold. For instance, she paid him extra attention at that party Raoul had. She singled him out, had him sit right next to her, and directed most of her best flirtation at him. But for some reason it didn't work. He left early. And come to think of it, Marybeth had left early, too.

And come to think of it even more, it had been weeks since he'd called on her.

This afternoon everybody was at Virgie Simmons house. And you had to give credit to Virgie. For all her tiresome airs about her singing and acting and art, she knew how to host a lovely party.

In fact, there was Virgie right now, circulating among her guests who were clustered here and there around the parlor and the dining room and even the back veranda, for it had a spacious awning--a welcome feature, because the day was warm, but it was raining off and on.

Virgie approached Elsie. "How good of you to come, Sugar," she murmured as she kissed Elsie's cheek. That was the other annoying thing about Virgie. She would insist on calling people nicknames in season and out of season. And besides, Elsie wasn't fooled. Virgie didn't like her--they were only cordially polite to each other. But they both had something in common. They were the children of the Old Guard--trained to a certain amount of polite hypocrisy. Elsie understood why the social forms had to be used--she didn't think any less of Virgie for using them. Not at all. She simply disliked Virgie for herself--and the fact that she was friends with people like Ella and Marybeth.

When Virgie moved on to greet her next clump of guests, Elsie continued her perusal of the room even as the young man currently at her side tried valiantly to gain her attention. Long years of experience had taught her to flirt with one man and scan the room for her next victim at the same time. And finally she saw him--Wade was in the next room, visible through the double doors. He had just whispered something to Marybeth that made her smile up at him with amusement before she clapped a hand over her mouth. And Elsie had to admit--the other girl was rather pretty when she smiled like that.

Elsie turned her attention back to her current suitor and waited.

The next time she glanced into the other room, Virgie was talking to Jenny and Marybeth, and the three girls were laughing over something one of them had said. Wade was gone. Oddly enough, Ella was nowhere to be seen, either--probably off somewhere with Frankie Bonnell. Elsie thought with malicious pleasure how Ella's fun and games would stop when Albert Whiting came home from University. A girl like Elsie could keep a string of beaux dangling, but such a feat would be beyond someone with the meager charms of Ella Lorena Kennedy. It would serve Ella right if both her beaux jilted her.

Elsie shook her head as if to clear her mind. This was not the time to think about Ella. The most important question was: where's Wade? She detached herself from her eager-but-wearisome suitor and went looking.