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.

Rhett left Atlanta soon afterward, giving Scarlett no more warning than his sudden appearance in the doorway of Aunt Pittypat's bedroom. Scarlett knew immediately from his choice of clothes that he intended to leave her once more. And as always, his leave-takings made her long to sob and cry--as she always did--right after he left. But she had no such luxury this time--she was alone in the house with the invalid because India had gone out to do some marketing and Ella was spending the afternoon at Jenny's. And stunned at the suddenness of his departure, saddened but striving to hide it, she followed him out to the porch to say her goodbyes.

He took her hand nonchalantly and said, "Until the next time, Scarlett."

She felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Unable to speak, she could only nod.

Rhett stared at her closely. "Is something the matter?"

Yes, there is something the matter, she thought. Something the matter with me--I've turned wishy-washy. Over the last couple weeks she used every expedient to avoid him--and complimented herself on her cleverness for doing so--but nevertheless, she had been pleased he was in Atlanta. She was afraid to be alone with him, but now when he was leaving, she regretted she'd been so silly. She wished she hadn't been so afraid--she wished he wouldn't go. Automatically there rose the old, familiar pain. Rhett's leaving. But, just as automatically, she remembered her pride. Raising her chin, she said, "No." But she couldn't meet his eyes.

He touched the brim of his hat. "Farewell, Mrs. Butler." And he turned on his heel and left.

When his carriage pulled away, and Rhett was sure she couldn't see him, he glanced at her through the back window, hoping she was still on the porch. She was--she had turned to head towards the house and he couldn't see her face through the foliage around the porch, but he still caught a last glimpse of her--posture erect as always, skirts swishing. He sank back onto the seat cushions, closed his eyes, felt the carriage turn the corner, then peered out again through the side window, but she had already disappeared into the house. Finally he rested back against the cushions for good, cursing himself for his weakness in wanting--no, needing--to look at her once more.

oOoOoOo

A full week had passed since Albert's departure, and now it was Beau Wilkes who had to return to University. Wade and Ella invited him to supper at the mansion, and Marybeth was invited, too. Beau no longer objected to Marybeth's inclusion in their intimate circle. Over the summer, not only had he grown used to her, he had learned an advantage to having her around--her presence meant that when she had Wade occupied, it gave him more time to converse privately with Ella.

After supper they spent the evening at the piano, playing favorite songs, reminiscing over the summer that had just passed. A couple times, Beau thought Ella seemed a little sad, but whenever she saw him look at her, she'd smile and her sparkle would return for a few minutes.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and Beau was left alone with Ella at the end of the evening while Wade drove Marybeth home.

They stood together at the front gate, saying the usual, mundane goodbyes peculiar to those who have enjoyed a long and comfortable friendship, when suddenly Beau spoke. "What's the matter with you tonight Ella? Have I done something to offend you?"

She smiled kindly at him. "Of course not. How could you offend me? You know I would come right out and tell you if you made me angry or sad."

"Don't try to tell me you're not sad. You've been moping around all night. I saw you."

She smiled up at him in the semidarkness. "Now, Beau. Don't you fret about me. Besides, you must know I'm not happy to be losing you to University for three whole months."

"Ella!"

"I'm going to miss our conversations and you'll be gone away for so long..."

"I'll try to come back as many weekends as I can."

"I know. But I'll still miss you."

"Aww..." Beau reddened a little, and he was thankful that the gaslight dimmed his face.

"And of course, with Albert gone, too..." she trailed off, unable to speak from the despondency that overwhelmed her. "I wish...Oh I wish everything didn't have to change..." Her voice broke and she brought her hands to her mouth, afraid she was about to sob outright.

"I don't understand you," Beau asked, puzzled. "What has to change?"

She took a deep breath that sounded like a gasp and tried to regain control of herself, but the more she tried to force herself to talk, the bigger the lump in her throat grew. Finally she gave up--not wanting to cause a scene or make him worry about her, she hugged him fiercely and ran back into the house, leaving him to look helplessly after her.

And if her original intention was to reassure him that she was fine, she failed. Beau could not be entirely easy in his mind for many days afterward--not until he received a sunny letter from her, filled with harmless gossip and cheerful lies about her state of mind.

As for Ella, she began to fade almost immediately after that night. Three of the most important men in her life were now gone--Uncle Rhett, then Albert, then Beau. Of course, she still had Wade, but she felt no temptation to confide in him. She was sure he was too happy with Marybeth to understand her unhappiness with Albert.

In consequence of her unspoken sadness, she grew dull and listless and quiet. Scarlett noticed the change in her, but at first she attributed it to Ella's missing Albert and didn't press for details or confidences. Her friends noticed, and they also tried to divert her, but they, like Scarlett, attributed her mood to missing Albert, and weren't too discouraged that they couldn't cheer her up. They didn't expect her to cheer up right away--in fact, quite the opposite--too much jocularity so soon after his departure would have been unseemly.

But a couple weeks went past and it became obvious that Ella wasn't bouncing back like she should. She began to decline invitations and her social life shrunk to receiving those friends who called on her, and dragging herself between Aunt Pittypat's and home.

Ella longed to talk to somebody about what was ailing her, but she wasn't even entirely sure, herself, what it was. Except that life seemed so confusing. Albert's strange way of treating her, at one moment loverlike, at the other moment possessive, then at still another moment as if she were no more than a favored friend. And she couldn't think about Albert without thinking about Camilla. She ruminated over this one theme night and day until she believed she'd worn a groove in her brain from so much thinking. Much more of this, she thought darkly, and she'd go mad.

oOoOoOo

One day, on a rare occasion that Scarlett was home in the afternoon, she stared through the mullioned windows in her office until she longed to be outside in the beautiful sunshine and feel its warmth on her skin. She was lonely--Ella was such dull company these days, and Wade was never home anymore. Even her dog had abandoned her, she thought sullenly. For once, Atlas wasn't haunting her footsteps. Well, she'd just find him and take him out for a walk. She searched the mansion for her pet, but didn't find him until she went outside.

Ella had him. They were sitting on the lawn, her one arm hung limply over his shoulders and she was leaning against him slightly for support, for he was nearly fully grown now and strong enough to bear her weight. He sat and waited patiently, tongue hanging out, while she drew languid circles in the grass with a stick. But her attitude--slumped shoulders, drooping head--was so thoroughly dejected Scarlett felt a cold fear. Ella wasn't getting over Albert like she should--after all, several weeks had passed since he left. Then and there, Scarlett decided she wouldn't just let Ella sink any deeper into this despondency.

She marched over to where her daughter sat, and lowered herself onto the ground next to her, groaning inwardly at the thought of the grass stains that would most definitely mar her skirt.

"You mustn't take on this way, Ella," Scarlett declared.

Ella glanced up and smiled weakly. "Oh. Hello, Mother."

Scarlett put a hand under her girl's chin and lifted it. "Your Albert's a fine young man, but nobody's worth getting this sad over."

Ella thought about how Mother had been turning herself inside out for so many years trying to please Uncle Rhett, but wisely said nothing.

Scarlett's voice softened. "I'm worried about you, precious."

Ella's eyes widened slightly at the unfamiliar endearment coming from Scarlett. She sighed, straightened up a little, and said, "Don't worry about me Mother, don't worry. I'll be fine, I'm just..." And with that, she burst into noisy, sobbing tears. "No..." she said between gasps. "...I'm not fine...I'm so unhappy...I don't..." she rummaged in her pocket, "...even know what's wrong with me." She found her handkerchief and pressed it to her face. "I wish I could be happy again...But it's been so long since I've been truly happy, that I'm afraid I never sh-sh-shall a-a-again!" she wailed, followed by more incoherent tears, exclamations, and hiccups.

Scarlett was alarmed at this outburst and put her arms around the sobbing girl and waited until Ella had cried herself out. But when her sobbing subsided to occasional sniffles, Scarlett said, "You're taking on entirely too much over this. It's not healthy. I'm making an appointment for you to see the doctor."

Ella's startled protests were to no avail. The next day, Scarlett dragged unwilling Ella to Dr. Meade.

He looked in her eyes and down her throat, listened to her heart and felt her glands. Then he asked, "How long has it been since young Mr. Whiting left for University? A couple weeks?" Ella nodded. Then he turned to Scarlett. "This young lady is no more than lovesick. But girls have been known to decline from lovesickness. I'll prescribe a tonic that'll do her good."

At hearing the tonic prescribed, Ella shot Scarlett a look that was remarkable for it's lack of filial respect.

At home, Scarlett dutifully administered the tonic to Ella every day as Dr. Meade ordered and then she waited. But she could see no change in her daughter, other than that Ella seemed to be avoiding her and the tonic bottle now. A week later, over even more strenuous protests, Scarlett dragged her back to the office.

This time they saw Dr. Grant, and his ideas were newer, more modern.

"How much sleep do you take at night?" He asked.

Ella sat on the examination table, arms crossed in front of her, and looked at him with suspicious eyes. "Eight hours, maybe nine."

"Hmm... Are you overindulging in sweets? Forgetting to eat your meat and vegetables?"

"No, she barely eats at all," Scarlett interjected from her chair in the corner of the room.

Ella waved off her mother. "I eat, Dr. Grant. I even had a whole slice of cake for dessert last night at Aunt Pitty's."

Dr. Grant's eyes narrowed. "I see. How often do you care for Miss Hamilton?"

"I'm there every day for several hours."

Scarlett interrupted again. "See? I knew you would wear yourself out, Ella."

"I'm not wearing myself out, Mother," Ella snapped.

"How dare you take that tone with me when we're all just trying to help you."

Ella threw her hands in the air. "You'd help me a lot more if you just left me alone!"

"Ladies!" Dr. Grant thundered, making both women turn and stare at him. "There will be no bickering in my office. I am not running a henhouse here." His voice was stern, although the look he gave Ella was compassionate. "I'll tell you my diagnosis. It's the same as Dr. Meade's--you're pining for your beau. But my prescription is rather different. What kind of exercise do you take?"

"I walk to Aunt Pittypat's and home, and other places, too."

"Precious few other places," Scarlett muttered and Ella shot her another look.

Dr. Grant spoke before another quarrel could break out. "Do you own a horse or a bicycle or tricycle?"

"Yes--a horse."

The doctor nodded and folded his arms. "I used to see this sort of thing a lot when I practiced in Philadelphia--factory workers and domestics suffering from the lack of sunlight and fresh air. I won't lie to you, Ma'am. Your daughter is declining. She's been taking poor care of herself and torturing herself with her own imagination. Aren't I right, Miss Kennedy?"

Ella nodded dumbly, and Scarlett made as if to speak, but Dr. Grant spoke first. "I'm not saying that hard work is bad for young people, Mrs. Butler--just the opposite is true. But she also needs leisure, recreation, preferably out-of-doors. So listen up, and listen good, because I'm directing this at both of you. I want Ella to get outside into the fresh air and sunshine every day. Every day. Mother, I expect you to enforce this. She is to exercise--either ride that horse, or play croquet or tennis or whatever genteel young ladies do for fun in these parts. And don't come back inside for at least a half hour. But I'd prefer you to enjoy all the benefits of sunshine you can and stay out for hours on end. I don't think I can expect that, from the way you're looking at me--but at least a half an hour."

"I can still help with Aunt Pitty, can't I?" Ella implored.

"Of course you can," he replied. "But Miss Hamilton cannot be your entire social life, either. And if I hear you've disobeyed Doctor's orders, I'll have Mrs. Butler bring you back and I'll prescribe a tonic ten times worse than anything Dr. Meade has ever even dreamed of. And I'll stand here and make you drink it."

Ella glared at him angrily, ready to retort, until she saw he was grinning at her. Reluctantly, she grinned back at him.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Miss Kennedy, believe me when I tell you your complaint is the oldest in the book. Everybody in the world has felt lovelorn one time or another. But you're a strong girl. I don't want to see you sinking any deeper into melancholy, and you don't have to. Everybody cares about you, even if it seems like they're all siding against you."

"I know," Ella said meekly. "And I'll do what you said."

And so Ella did. Without any threats from Scarlett, Ella started going outside every day to ride Cinnamon, and to the relief of her friends and her mother, her spirits seemed to lift. At least, she was no longer so despondent. But it was nearly Christmas before she recovered all of her former vivacity.

Coming up-Wade and Marybeth make a life-changing decision and Rhett is not pleased. And BTW, Ella's recovery is not quite as miraculous as it seems…