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.
As the ranking doctor in the practice--and on Mrs. Meade's insistence--Dr. Meade was able to assign the holiday to Dr. Grant, who accepted the assignment with good grace. And so, on Christmas Eve, Dr. Meade joined the women in the parlor after supper and they had a merry time with talk and reminisces, but when Marybeth tried to retire for the night, Dr. Meade detained her, although he sent Mrs. Meade away, first.
Marybeth sat in her accustomed chair, with a bemused expression on her face, and folded her hands demurely in her lap.
Dr. Meade studied her closely. He generally didn't give a rap for what the fool women called "accomplishments", nor did he care who made "good matches" or not. To him, a good match meant being roughly equal in birth and status (assuming, of course that there was no stain of scandal touching either partner), but he didn't lower himself to the minutiae of matchmaking that the women gloried in.
Mrs. Meade had seen to it that Dandridge acquired a few accomplishments, and he had to admit that she'd done her job well. The girl was virtually indistinguishable from the young ladies of her circle. Her speech was refined now, her movements elegant, and according to his wife, she could play piano and draw, and even knew a few phrases in French. But elegance and accomplishments weren't enough to make a good marriage--he'd seen enough disastrous marriages in the years of his medical practice to be certain of that. His thoughts turned to Captain Butler and Scarlett. He didn't want that to be Dandridge's fate...
Naturally, he also knew how much Mrs. Meade had her heart set on this match, but If it wasn't in Wade's or Dandridge's best interests, then she would just have to accept that it wasn't going to be.
"I want to talk to you about your young man," he opened.
She nodded and waited expectantly.
"What do you know about his intentions towards you?"
"Until he declares himself, I'm afraid I can't speak for him. But I assure you, Wade has never treated me with anything but the utmost respect."
Dr. Meade nodded. She looked content and confident--not at all put out by his question.
"And does he makes you happy?"
She smiled and nodded coyly.
"That's good. However, I want you to understand something. Something very important. Whatever happens, whatever...opportunities...come your way, you always have a home here."
Marybeth gasped and put a hand to her heart. "Oh, Dr. Meade..."
"Spare me the sentimentality, young lady. You've lived with us a year and a half, and you've shown us the type of person you are. Mrs. Meade and I--well--we're both very...fond...of you...yes, fond of you. Furthermore, we've taken quite an interest in you. In fact, we've changed our will. You will be our principal heir when we're gone."
She shook her head slowly, as if trying to comprehend it all. Then she said, "Nooo...that's too great an honor. Surely you must have close relatives..."
"We don't. And I don't want to discuss the matter, either. I only told you so you know you have choices. So you won't think you must take the first opportunity that comes your way."
Marybeth looked at the Doctor, too overwhelmed for words. She'd had enough time to study him in that year and a half and knew that although he could talk about politics or the South with great eloquence, he didn't express his feelings towards his loved ones very openly. Dr. Meade's expression of fondness was just about the highest commendation she could receive from him.
And because he was uncomfortable with open affection, and he could see she was on the verge of it, he patted her shoulder and sent her--with a rather gruff dismissal--upstairs to her room.
She obeyed immediately, leaving him alone in the parlor to think...
Dandridge was his and his wife's heir. He would not go back on it--there was no changing his mind. And now the girl was aware of it. He wondered at the turn of fate that brought the three of them to this pass. After all, it wasn't as if he were her father. He already was a father. A father to two good, decent, young men. Two young men who were dead. He heaved himself out of his chair and went over to look at his sons' pictures. Caroline had been a good, devoted mother to Phil and Darcy, and grieved like a good, Confederate mother. There were tears, yes. She took to her bed for a short time, yes. But she returned to her duties at the hospital and for the Cause as soon as she could, and never once complained that she lost her only children to that Cause.
That she came to take a motherly interest in Dandridge was her own business, and he couldn't deny she was happier since that girl and her children came to live with them than she'd been in more years than he wished to count. Perhaps because he found an outlet for his fathering instincts in caring for the children in his practice, he'd felt no desire to find substitutes for his sons. Yet, he had to admit, Dandridge had gotten under his skin in a way none of his patients ever did. He wanted to protect her.
I don't want her to marry for money. He thought. Not that I believe she would marry him for so base a motive. But I don't want her feeling she has to marry the first man who asks her, just for security. We have nobody, Caroline and I. No close relatives, nothing. Let our money do somebody some good when we're gone.
oOoOoOo
Early that Christmas morning, shortly after breakfast, Wade called on the Meades' and requested a moment alone with Marybeth. They remained sequestered in the parlor for twenty minutes--twenty very anxious minutes for Mrs. Meade, who wrung her handkerchief in her hands as she paced up and down the dining room floor and waited.
"Sit down, Mrs. Meade, do," the Doctor urged. Her fidgets were making him nervous.
"How can I sit down when I don't know what's happening in there?"
"I'm going to give you a sedative if you don't stop that pacing," he threatened.
"I can't help it," she wailed.
"You'll only make yourself sick. You've never completely regained your strength after that bout of bronchitis last winter."
She obediently sat on the edge of one of the dining room chairs, but continued to wring her handkerchief. "Oh, what can they be talking about in there?"
"Mrs. Meade, now you're just being foolish--you know as well as I do what they're talking about . But if it's any consolation, they're still in there--so rest assured, Dandridge didn't send him packing."
Mrs. Meade glared at him for this bit of levity and set herself to the painful task of waiting.
Whatever Wade and Marybeth said to each other can only be imagined. But when they emerged, they both looked extremely pleased with themselves, and Marybeth was wearing a new diamond ring on her left hand that she proudly showed to Mrs. Meade.
"Didn't I tell you not to worry?" Dr. Meade asked his wife after Wade took Marybeth to the mansion with him.
Mrs. Meade was too relieved about Marybeth's engagement to argue with him.
oOoOoOo
Wade took Marybeth home for supper, where they were greeted by his family with kisses and laughter and congratulations.
"Now we'll be really and truly sisters," Ella said as the girls hugged each other.
"I know," Marybeth grinned back at her. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"Let's not stand here in the hall. We can continue this in the parlor," Scarlett interjected as she squeezed Marybeth's hand. "Ella decorated the tree herself--she chased the rest of us out of there so she could have some privacy."
"How very mysterious," Marybeth giggled, allowing herself to be led by Scarlett.
The parlor was transformed by the sparkling, candlelit tree--complete with a young boy who was paid twenty-five cents to sit nearby with a bucket full of water to throw over it in case the branches ignited--and the fragrant evergreen boughs Ella picked and arranged herself. Marybeth paused to admire a particularly sweet-smelling assortment on the piano.
"Why don't you play for us?" Ella suggested. "Mrs. Meade's been teaching her," she explained to the rest of the group.
After a little show of resistance, Marybeth sat down to play. It had taken her quite a bit of teaching before she could memorize the keys and notes, but now, after several months learning under her belt, she was able to play passably well. At least, she rarely missed any notes, but at the same time, she lacked any artistic flair. However, nobody seemed to mind, especially as Wade sat down next to her on the bench, to lend his voice to hers as they sang "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear"...
In the first gaiety of the evening, Marybeth had been in a whirl, her head still filled with the castles in the air she and Wade were building earlier in the day. But when they sat down to table, she started to feel a creeping uneasiness. She laughed and chattered through dinner as if nothing were wrong. She told herself she was being silly--after all, she reasoned, all the faces around her were the same, but she couldn't fight off a sense of impending doom.
I'm merely suffering betrothal jitters, she thought to herself. But if I can't feel wonderful, I can still act wonderful. I don't want Wade to worry about me. But as it went, she didn't have much opportunity to think about her own discomfort as she and Wade were peppered with questions.
"When will the nuptials take place?" Scarlett asked.
Wade and Marybeth looked at each other. "We were planning for June," he replied.
"Why wait so long?" Scarlett exclaimed.
"Well, the banns must be published..." Marybeth stated.
"It won't take that long to publish the banns," was Scarlett's rejoinder.
"...besides, June is a lucky month..." Marybeth continued.
Scarlett looked like she was going to make another objection, but Ella interrupted. "Where are you going to live after you're married?" She asked.
Wade answered that one. "Not here--you understand, Mother."
"I do," Scarlett replied, not looking at all put out. "A newly married couple should have their own home. At least, that's how the young people are doing it nowadays."
"But we haven't decided where," he said.
Then Ella reverted back to the subject she was most interested in. "But you'll have a big church wedding, right?"
"No, that wouldn't be fitting," Marybeth replied. "We can have the pastor marry us in his study."
Ella didn't answer, but she looked a little disappointed. When it's my turn, she was thinking, I'll have the church and a white dress and veil, and lots of flowers, both in season and out.
The wedding talk made Scarlett revert to the subject she was most interested in. "Well, the way I see it, that's one more reason to have your wedding sooner. After all, you don't have very much to plan, so..."
"If they want June, let them have June," Rhett interjected.
"Why Rhett," Scarlett exclaimed, "I was only saying..."
He stared intently at his wife. "It's their wedding, isn't it?"
Marybeth looked down at her plate, trying to pretend she didn't hear this quarrel between her future mother- and father-in-law. When she looked up, Captain Butler was looking straight at her.
"You'll have a honeymoon, of course," he said.
"Of course," Marybeth replied.
"But we haven't decided where," Wade added. "Maybe you can suggest some place." Then turning to Marybeth, "Did you know Uncle Rhett is widely traveled?"
"Is that right?" She replied.
"I've been a few places," said Captain Butler in a voice that would have sounded like diffidence in any other person. But there was a false note in it that made Marybeth vaguely uneasy. Perhaps his travels were a sore spot with him and Wade shouldn't have brought up the subject. But he spoke easily. "...London, the Continent..."
"...and California during the gold rush," Wade added.
Marybeth's eye opened wide. "The Gold Rush. How interesting."
Wade warmed to the subject. He'd always enjoyed hearing about Uncle Rhett's adventures when he was little. "He has some fascinating souvenirs--don't you, Uncle Rhett?"
"A few--I don't like to brag..." Then taken by a sudden inspiration, "Would you like to see some of the artifacts I've collected?" He pushed his chair back and walked around the table to pull Marybeth's chair for her. "No, that's fine, Wade," Rhett declined his stepson's offer to accompany them. "You help your mother here. I can show Marybeth to the library.
Captain Butler's earlier mood seemed to have passed--his voice was pleasant now, and he was politeness itself as he guided the younger girl through the library. It was a spacious room, but subdued and dim, filled ceiling to floor with books. Marybeth had never been in here before, and she would have loved to explore the shelves, but that would have been rude. Captain Butler brought her here to look at artifacts, not read books. She stood close to the door as he lit the gas lamps, and the room started to take on a cozy feel as it became illuminated. She felt bold enough to peer sideways to try to see the titles embossed on the spines of the texts.
His voice brought her back to attention. "The Modoc Indians lived in the areas around the gold strike--unfortunately for them. They attacked the prospectors who were moving in on their lands. Naturally, the prospectors fought back. But I did happen to come by some interesting tools."
She crossed the room as he took an object from the mantelpiece and held it out to her. Marybeth took it in her hands and examined it closely. It was small, about the size and shape of a cat's head, surprisingly lightweight, porous and rough.
"That was a pestle--made out of volcanic rock. This would have been used to hull wokas seeds"
"Wokas? I never heard of it."
"It's a type of water lily."
She examined the pestle more closely before she handed it back to him and he replaced it carefully on the mantelpiece. Then, quick as a flash, he grabbed her upper arm.
"Now drop that coy expression and look at me," he growled.
Marybeth felt her skin prickle--he was the source of her sense of doom! She realized now that other than his argument with Mrs. Butler, her had contributed very little to the conversation at suppertime. He must have been waiting to ambush her like this.
Her throat squeezed shut with fear, which wound up being to her advantage, because her first instinct was to shriek. He was looking over every inch of her with an expression that made her grow cold. There was no lechery in his gaze, but a sneering, careful, minute appraisal that made her feel as if she had no secrets. Summoning her wits together, she assumed an air of innocent confusion she was far from feeling, and found her voice. "Is something the matter, Captain Butler?"
He squeezed her arm tighter, held it in an iron grip. She thought stupidly that it was good she was wearing long sleeves--the marks of his fingers would surely show on her skin after this.
"Why don't you be a good little girl and kindly inform me what game you're playing?"
"I'm not playing a game," she answered, her voice a little stronger.
He glared at her obtuseness. "Then answer this question--who are you, really?"
Her pulse accelerated, but she studied him right back, all her defensive
impulses rising to the surface. This wasn't one of the street thugs she used to encounter in her drifting days. This man was older and cannier than her, with more experience than she could imagine. In a battle of wits she was clearly outclassed. But she remembered that whatever his suspicions might be, he couldn't prove anything. This thought gave her courage and she looked straight into his eyes.
She launched into the story she'd spun before. "I'm Marybeth Dandridge, and I work for the Meades now, but before that I lived on a farm and I..."
"No, dammit. That's what you say, but let me tell you what I've seen. You sweep into Atlanta out of nowhere, with nobody to corroborate your story, and somehow manage to insinuate yourself into the best parlors. How do I know that even one little bit of your story is true?"
"Because," she said slowly, "Mrs. Meade believes me."
He flung her arm away from him angrily, and she took a couple quick steps backward out of his reach. "Mrs. Meade is old and lonely and needs somebody to dote on," he said contemptuously. "All that shows me is that you took shameless advantage of a grieving mother. But we still don't know who you are, or where you came from--how do we know you haven't pulled this stunt before? How can we be sure you don't have a whole string of towns behind you--full of people you've fooled?"
Her heart was still racing, and she longed to rub her aching arm where he grabbed her, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
He spoke again. "You see, Wade can do better than you."
She refused to rise to the bait. "Maybe he can."
But her placid response only served to make him angrier. "Never mind the false humility," he said scornfully. "There's something else I'd like to know. Just where did you get two children? You don't look old enough to have been married, ever."
Suddenly she felt a momentary panic. Run! She thought. He's found you out, run now! Run anywhere! She was faint with fear, but when she looked into Rhett's eyes she realized this was nobody to be trifled with--and nobody to show weakness to.
"But I was married," she insisted.
"I don't believe you. I want proof. Before you marry my stepson, I want proof. Or I'll go to Wade with my suspicions."
"Proof?" She muttered, her dark eyes burning oddly. Then, "Yes, Captain Butler, I'll bring you proof."
He looked at her suspiciously. This had been easier than he expected. A little too easy. But now it was her move. There was nothing more he could do at the present. "You had better. Now, try to arrange your face in pleasant lines. We're going to rejoin the others, and you wouldn't want Wade to think there was anything wrong." And with that, he bowed mockingly and allowed her to pass in front of him, out of the room.
Hope you're enjoying it so far…more to come!