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.

Marybeth sat on the back porch of the Meades' home shelling peas she picked that morning from the garden as Wade read to her from Loves Labours' Lost. She listened attentively as he read, and when he came to a word she didn't know or a passage that was obscure, she would look up at him or ask him a question and he would stop to explain it to her. Edward and Christina played in the back yard as she worked.

At one point she looked up and didn't see her boy.

"Edward!" She called. Immediately he emerged from behind the wood pile. "Stay where Mama can see you." He ran off again to play. Marybeth turned to Wade. "Ever since he turned three he likes to watch Old Talbot with the horse. I'm afraid he'll end up under it's hooves--even though Betsy says Old Talbot is very careful and would never let that happen," She lowered her voice. "But he is old, after all. I'm afraid he won't see it if Edward gets too close."

Wade nodded sympathetically. "Little boys like to look at horses and carriages. You'll have a hard time keeping him away. Although I can't say I even remember what it was like to be three. I know Mother and I were living with Aunt Pittypat but only because they've told me stories from that time--and how we refugeed before Sherman's army. But I only recall snatches of it anymore. And sometimes I wonder if I really remember it or if I've heard about it so many times I just think I remember."

"Well of course you don't remember," replied Marybeth confidently. "You were too little. But if you had been a bit older, it would have been quite an adventure."

"I never thought about it as having an adventure. At the time it was probably more terrifying than adventurous."

Marybeth nodded and resumed her shelling as Wade resumed his reading to her. The back door creaked and Mrs. Meade stepped out on to the porch. Wade jumped up to give her his seat. He left his book on the table and Mrs. Meade eyed it curiously.

Suddenly there was a shriek--Christina stood by one of the rose bushes, holding her finger and crying loudly. Marybeth put the bowl of peas on the table and ran down the steps. Crouching in front of her daughter, she saw a tiny stinger in the finger. She plucked it out swiftly with a pin from her pocket, then picked the girl up to comfort her. With a few drops of water from the rain barrel she made a little mud plaster and put it over the sting, holding the mud in place with her own hand. Then she carried Christina over to the steps and sat down with the crying child, rocking her back and forth until she hushed and leaned wearily against Marybeth's shoulder.

Edward watched all of this with interest. "Chrissy getted a bee sting," He explained to Wade before he sat on the step below Marybeth and patted his sister.

"Should I go for Dr. Meade?" Wade asked. He had followed her when she went to Christina. He looked worried.

Marybeth smiled at him over the baby's head. "No. It's just a sting." She looked down at her daughter. She was wigglng now, squirming and tussling with her brother for space on Marybeth's lap. "You see? She's fine." With that she carried her up the steps to the table where Mrs. Meade was now shelling the peas. She put the child in Mrs. Meade's lap and took the bowl to resume her task.

Shortly afterwards Wade said he was expected home. Marybeth walked with him through the house to the front door.

Before they reached the front porch, they took a short detour. Secure in the knowledge that Betsy was cooking supper in the kitchen and Mrs. Meade was out back, Wade ducked into the parlor with Marybeth and took her in his arms. Ever since the afternoon in the Simmons' stable, he did this whenever they were alone--which was rare enough, truth to say. It seemed to the young sweethearts that there were always people around. He kissed her and held her close and she sighed happily. But even in the parlor interruptions were a possibility and reluctantly he let her go and took his leave of her.

When Marybeth returned to the back porch, Mrs. Meade was shelling the peas again and Marybeth took the bowl away from her again. The older lady's fingers ached when she did too much fine work. But she was too proud to admit it. Marybeth played along, never mentioning Mrs. Meade's arthritis. She would just quietly spare her as much as she could.

"So, what was Wade reading to you earlier?" Mrs. Meade asked.

"Shakespeare--he was explaining it to me."

"Is that right?" Mrs. Meade asked in a polite tone of voice, but her expression was dubious.

Marybeth laughed a little. "I want to be able to talk to him about such things intelligently."

Mrs. Meade looked at her, bewildered. "But--but--you don't have to put yourself through all that! He already loves you--for yourself, for your sweet disposition and pretty face, and not to mention that you make him feel strong and masterful. But he can find other men to have intellectual conversations with--he doesn't expect you to do that. So you don't have to strain yourself." With that she patted the younger woman's hand reassuringly and leaned back in her chair.

Now it was Marybeth's turn to be bewildered. "I'm not only doing this to impress Wade--not entirely. I do like to read."

"I know that dear. And praise be you only read good books and not those horrid dime novels." Mrs. Meade shuddered fastidiously. "However, a man grows uneasy when he thinks a lady might be smarter than he is."

Marybeth laughed outright. "I hardly think Wade has anything to fear from me on that score. He's been to University and my own education--well..." she shrugged. "But I don't want to look ignorant, either."

"You're not ignorant, Marybeth. Nobody thinks so. And besides, men expect their wives to have some sense."

"Mrs. Meade..." Marybeth said warningly. The older woman's casual assurance that hers and Wade's courtship would end at the altar made her uneasy.

Mrs. Meade waved her hand. "I know what you're going to say, dear. He hasn't asked for you--yet. But it's distinctly unfeminine for a woman to be unduly concerned with scholarship. Not to mention that the female sex is frail and unsuited for such mental exertions."

Marybeth bent her head over the bowl. But she looked at Mrs. Meade sideways, under her lashes. A whole year had gone by since she first started working for the older woman and Marybeth felt she understood her well. Mrs. Meade could be quite high-handed at times, but Marybeth also knew that she only had her best interests at heart--at least as she perceived her "best interests". Something mischievous rose up in her and she couldn't resist teasing a bit. "But what about women's colleges? They don't hold that women are frail. I even heard about colleges where women and men go to classes together. And the women students don't fall short, either--sometimes they're even at the top of their class."

Mrs. Meade shuddered again. "I always thought grown men and women competing against each other like that is the height of immodesty. And while girls may rise to the tops of their classes, they do it at the risk of ruining their health. I can say this to you--who have had two children--girls should not be exerting themselves unduly during," and she lowered her voice, " that time of the month."

Marybeth nodded slowly. She'd heard it before--all the doctors said so. And yet--she knew farm women who had no chance to rest during their menses. However, they often had vigorous health and large families. She didn't mention this to Mrs. Meade. But she couldn't resist saying, "Well then, look at Mrs. Gibbons from the Sewing Circle. She went to college and got her degree and yet she married and has four healthy children."

"She is one of the lucky ones," Mrs. Meade asserted darkly. "Besides, what was the point after all--all that fancy education and for what? Everything a woman needs to know she can learn from her own mother. I happen to know they don't teach housekeeping or child-rearing at those colleges. Oh, I know that look, Marybeth. You won't say it to my face, but you secretly think I'm quite old fashioned."

Marybeth grinned at her but didn't deny it.

Mrs. Meade shook her head sternly but couldn't entirely repress a smile. "Oh, you young girls today with all your modern ideas. But never mind about that. We can discuss female emancipation some other time. Can you play the piano? I've never heard you try."

"No," Marybeth replied, confused by this abrupt change of subject.

"You can sing. I've heard you. But your handwriting is only passable. What about drawing? Can you speak French?"

"No and no."

"Do you have any accomplishments?"

Marybeth thought about that. She had survived life on the streets. At the time that seemed like a momentous accomplishment, but now when she had regained a place among nice people, the things she had done--although necessary to survival--were not ladylike at all, and she didn't want to talk about them. Then there were the things she excelled at when she was a little girl. She had been a terrible tomboy who prided herself on things like spitting the farthest of any of the other children. That--and running the fastest and shooting rabbits. She had had a decent aim for shooting. She couldn't speak French, but Annamaria had taught her to speak a little Italian--although even that ability was rusty now from years without speaking or hearing it. Marybeth shook her head.

"Wade is from an Old Guard family, and his career is destined to follow in his Uncle Henry Hamilton's footsteps. He needs a lady who knows how to move in our society with graciousness and dignity. In other words, a lady with accomplishments."

Marybeth frowned and nodded her head slowly as she thought this over. She certainly didn't want to be a hindrance to Wade as he made his way forward. She didn't want to presume on his love for her that far.

Mrs. Meade watched the play of emotions on the younger woman's face. This was her chance. "What you need are some accomplishments, dear. Just put yourself in my hands and I can help you. Tomorrow we'll start with the piano."

oOoOoOo

Ella leaned across the big iron stag, looking out over the back garden, and reflected darkly. She was all by herself for once because both Albert and Frankie were at work. And it was just as well. She didn't want to see either of them. She felt too confused. But she turned at a sound coming from the side gate and saw a familiar tall young man with blond hair closing it behind him. In a flash she ran across the yard to throw her arms around his neck.

"Cousin Beau! Welcome home! Am I ever happy to see you!"

Beau's heart skipped, but unlike that time last fall when she'd surprised him with her embrace, he hugged her so tightly her feet were lifted off the ground, making her laugh. He set her back down and she grasped his hand.

"It seem's like forever since you've been gone! How were the last weeks of school? Did you get your papers done? How were exams? Did you get high marks? I know you wanted high marks--just like Wade always did."

"Yes, school went well, and yes, I got high marks, and yes, it's very good to be back home. I missed you too."

"You're not long on details, are you?" She teased him. "And no sooner did you finish classes, than you turned around and stayed a whole extra month working for your professor. But forget it--I'll give you a proper scolding later. You must come in and have something to drink. Remember when we were children and Cookie made us eat in the kitchen because she and Prissy were afraid we would muss the parlor? Let's pretend we're little again and snack in the kitchen. And you must tell me everything that happened at school. Your letters are always so brief!"

Beau smiled the familiar drowsy smile--so like his father's--that Ella found so comforting and followed her into the kitchen.

Cookie and Prissy were nowhere in sight. Ella served her cousin herself, pouring two glasses of milk from the icebox as Beau seated himself comfortably in one of the kitchen chairs.

"Look, Beau--we have cookies today," exclaimed Ella happily as the she arranged the food on the table. Then she sat down. "Now--tell me everything about everything."

So Beau told her all about his adventures at University and Ella listened with rapt attention. She really was a satisfying audience. And he told her that.

"D'you think so?" She laughed. "Maybe I'm just so happy to talk to

somebody who isn't crazy."

Now it was Beau's turn to laugh. "Am I to believe that every last person in Atlanta has been declared insane in my absence?"

"No, of course not. It's just that--Oh, Beau, I've been so foolish..." And she poured out the story of Albert and how she'd become involved with Frankie, too.

If Beau was pained by listening to this impassioned recitation, he hid it well. Or perhaps he took heart at her obvious indecision.

"You don't really want my advice, do you Ella? I think you know in your heart what you need to do. You just wanted to pour this out to a sympathetic listener."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. You know, it's been lonely around here with you gone. It's funny--I so looked forward to Wade's coming home from his Grand Tour--and don't tell him Î said so--but now that he's back here he's never at home anymore. He's either at work or at the Meades' courting Marybeth or shut up in his room studying law. I don't know why he still has to study. Isn't that why he went to Harvard for four years? I should think he would have learned it all by now--he was second in his class."

Beau didn't laugh at her or try to explain why her brother needed to continually keep abreast of new cases. But he couldn't resist saying, "I'm sorry to hear you're lonely despite juggling two ardent suitors."

Ella completely missed the teasing note in his voice. She looked at him out of the grey eyes that always made Beau think of tobacco smoke in a crowded room. "It's not as much fun as Elsie makes it seem. Sometimes--and this is a secret, Beau, don't tell anyone--I wish I'd never met either of them."

Beau looked away quickly to hide the glimmer of hope he knew must be showing in his face.

"You've been a chum to me as long as I can remember," Ella continued. "And forgive me if I sound too sentimental, but you've been more than a cousin to me. In fact, you've been almost like a brother. Do you know that?"

"That you see me like a brother?" He laughed shortly and twirled one of her tresses around his finger. "Yes, Ella, I know it." Then he tugged her hair. Just like when they were children.