7. Ashley

I walked to work. It was a normal winter's day. Normal. Odd that normality keeps coming up. Nothing about it was normal. Melanie was dead, after all, and I was about to spend Christmas Eve with my son and my sister and without my wife. Scarlett too would spend Christmas alone. Rhett, after all, was coming in and out of consciousness, barely clinging to life. But it was still Christmas. And we had Christmas, and life went on, until January, when Rhett came back to us.

Let me try a chronological explanation of the events that led up to that day.

Melly died on September 27, 1873.

Rhett was admitted to Saint Joseph's on December 20, 1873.

Odd, isn't it, that I remember so little of the events that occurred between those two dates, yet they remain in my mind as clear as day? But when Rhett woke for the first time, in late December, he didn't remember a thing. It was still September to him, and Melly was alive and he had never walked out on Scarlett.

I told him that Melly was dead late on the morning of January 5, 1874, at Saint Joe's, after taking over for poor, exhausted Scarlett, who had gone home for an hour or two to rest. Telling him on that day had not been my intention. The physicians had said that he would wake only intermittently and be able to comprehend only limited amounts of information. But the thought crossed my mind at the moment that he woke that if I was the first person he saw, he would wonder where Melanie was. Scarlett and I had discussed our answers at length, and we had mutually decided that she would be with him when he began to wake. And for the first few days, she was.

But she could only be there so many hours at a time. She was already so painfully thin and pale, I could barely stand it. But back to her plan - her aim was to focus on them, their life together. Perhaps, if we were lucky, the questions of Melly and his recollection of their separation would not occur until later, perhaps days later. Then he could know, but only when he was stronger.

I was standing at his bedside when his eyelids fluttered open. "Where's Scarlett," he whispered when he saw me. The whisper was barely audible. I told him that she was at home, that she had not slept in several days and could barely stand when I had sent her home. "Ah," he managed, "Where is Miss Melly, then?"

I told him what had happened. I stressed her ill health, the inevitability of the event. He wept. The man actually wept. I felt like an intruder, although I shared the object of his grief. He dropped back into sleep as quickly as he had woken.

Scarlett came back that evening and he woke again, at almost the same moment she had entered his room. "How is Miss Melly," he whispered again when he saw me. I began again, the miscarriage, her history of illness. The inevitability of the event. "But how is she now?" he whispered again. I told him again.

January 20, 1874, Scarlett took him home to Peachtree Street, although he was too weak to sit or stand unsupported and running a fever that kept Doctor Meade visiting their house at all hours. Scarlett left him only for a moment to see about a skinned knee of one of the children and Rhett attempted to get out of bed and collapsed on the floor. Scarlett had to send Wade out for me to help her lift him back into bed.

On the morning of January 25, he woke up with severe pains in his chest and a steadily rising fever. Meade didn't want to move him this time, and we all maintained a constant vigil at the Peachtree house.

On February 13, he was out of the woods, and I watched him sit up in bed and eat his own eggs. In the weeks that followed, he slowly but surely regained his strength and mobility. Together, he, Scarlett, and I planned a memorial service for Melly at the Episcopal Church.

It took place at six o'clock in the evening on a Friday. After the service, Mrs. Merriwether had arranged a reception at her home. Eventually all of the Old Guard made their way to the party.

We toasted Melly's life.

We had dinner.

And Scarlett stood up in her black dress and put all of the old dragons to shame. Melly would have approved.

On the morning of February 14, she and Rhett were going off to restart their life together by going to Charleston for a few days. I had encouraged her in this - I wanted to see color on her cheeks again.

"Will he be alright, Ashley," she asked me.

"Of course, Scarlett." I reply mechanically. "Look at the man - he's a pirate, isn't he? Indestructible. Besides, tomorrow marks the first day of your new life together."

I meant it.

I imagine him to this day as a pirate, sun-bronzed and self assured, always looking forward to the next voyage. I imagine him at the helm of a mighty ship, Scarlett at his side. I could see them walking across some exotic beach in the warm sunlight.

They left for Charleston first thing in the morning after dropping Wade and Ella at my house for the duration of the winter. That was fine; after all, children entertain themselves, and Beau enjoyed their company.

That was the best morning in weeks. Children, Melly always said, were the givers of life. As I heard their shrieks of laughter coming from Beau's room, I knew at once that she was right. In that moment, I pronounced myself ready to begin the first day of my own new life - instead of terming it Life Without Melly, I would call it Life After Melly. It was a good day in Atlanta.

I was changing to go downstairs for dinner that evening when India called for me in a frantic voice. Even for dramatic India, that particular tone never bodes well.

It was a telegram from Scarlett. They had made it as far as Savannah. Rhett had passed out on the train. He was resting in her Robillard aunt's house - the prognosis was grim.