By the time Rhett had walked back into town he felt as though he had frozen solid. His dark mood had turned positively black as he approached the Atlanta hotel, and he pounded on the brass bell on the front desk with all his might and main. The lobby of the hotel was lit up with candles in the windows, and a large decorated fir tree held a place of honor in front of the picture windows. A string quintet played softly in the shadows and Rhett felt bile rise up in his throat.

"I need a room!" he bellowed, standing in the center of the foyer. "Where the hell is everybody!"

The concierge finished helping another guest and moved quickly to where Rhett stood. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "But I'm afraid we're full up tonight."

"And I am afraid that won't do," Rhett growled. "I need a room, and I need it now."

"Sir, I do apologize, but I don't think you understand. I just gave away our last room…"

"And I don't think you understand," Rhett retorted. "I'm on the board of trustees of this damned place, and I shall have a room. The name is Butler—I'd like the little corner sweet on the fourth floor, at the end of the hall. It is my customary suite."

"Butler," said the concierge, the color draining from his face. "I am sorry, sir. I didn't—recognize you. It's been very busy. Your usual suite, I'm afraid, is being used—honeymooners—but I'll find you other accommodation straight away."

"I want my rooms," Rhett said ominously. "I don't care if you have to kick those honeymooners out on the street. I'll take a drink in the bar while it's prepared. And then I'll have supper in my room. And draw a bath," he said, and he stalked away from the desk into the bar.

He drank in silence for a quarter of an hour, savoring the warmth of the whisky as it passed down his throat. What a nice glow it made in the pit of his stomach! He was too old to be running around town in the cold. Forty-five his last birthday--no, forty-six. Forty-six! Fifty, in only a few short years. He tightened his grip on the cut glass he held. Fifty!

And nothing to show for it, said the voice in his head. No family--no home--no children...

He took another drink to silence the voice.

How he'd missed the drink when he'd given it up, for Bonnie. He'd give it up again, if he could only have Bonnie back. The lights from the tree in the lobby were reflected in his glass, and all at once they blurred. Rhett kept his head down to hide the haze of tears in his eyes and thought, for a moment, that he was back at the house on Peachtree street, on another Christmas eve, last year. When Bonnie had been alive. They had had a tree of their own, and he had gotten Bonnie a puppy. A great, rampaging St. Bernard, to match the one Scarlett had gotten for Wade Hampton. Bonnie had always wanted what the other children had. The puppy had run through the house, slobbering over everything. Ella had shrieked and Mammy had muttered darkly under her breath and Scarlett had been chastising him, but laughing, too, and saying Oh, Rhett, you're so bad! Rhett, what were you thinking, Rhett…

"Rhett?"

He looked up, and for a moment, when he saw her face, he thought he was still dreaming. He blinked, blinked, and she was still there.

"Hello, Rhett," Scarlett said, and there was a small fire being kindled at the bottom of her eyes.

His first thought was that she did not look at all like herself. She had always been thin—like a hungry cat--but now she was positively skinny. She was dressed fashionably in green velvet--that shade had always been a good color on her. But despite her sumptuous clothes, her curled hair, her face showed the tumult of the past year plainly. Her eyes were as green as ever, but there was something hesitant about them. Her lips curved in a tentative smile.

His second thought was that she was still beautiful.

"Scarlett," he said, and was ashamed of the roughness of his voice.

He had not seen her in months. It had been springtime when he had seen her last. She had been at Tara in the summer, and she had wanted him to come and visit, but what was the use of a visit for the sake of keeping up appearances, when there was nobody to see them? When he had first left she had been deranged with the task of getting him back. But when he had seen her in the spring, she had been quiet, calm—almost eerily so. It had thrown him for a loop, at first. Could it be that Scarlett—understood? That she had changed? He had almost believed it, until he remembered who she was. Scarlett O'Hara would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. It was all a trick, a ploy. He would not give in, no matter how many pretty tears dropped down those rosy cheeks!

"It's good to see you, Rhett," she said sweetly, and he saw that she was still keeping up the act. Who did she remind him of, now? Those downcast eyes—that gentle smile. Why—it was Melanie! Scarlett was playing Melanie, and the thought of it made Rhett go hot with renewed anger.

And thinking of Melanie reminded him of Ashley. His hand tightened on his glass again and it was all he could do not to hurl it at her.

"I'm glad to see you, too, Scarlett," he said, and paused, cruelly, to let pleasure rush into her face. "I'd rather tell you in person that I've made some changes at the bank today. I've terminated your access to the account. Uncle Henry will no doubt be letting you know soon enough."

For a moment her smile wavered and he saw something of the old Scarlett in her face. But then the spark went out of her eyes and she closed them, briefly.

"Ashley," she said, opening them, and looking over to where a man was seated at a table in the restaurant. Mr. Wilkes himself, the lamplight burnishing his faded golden hair. Rhett followed her gaze and felt his heart harden. "I suppose congratulations are in order," he said, raising his glass in mock good-humor. "Your supper situation looks rather cozy, Scarlett. I suppose you've gotten what you wanted all along."

"How could you say that?" she cried, not angry, but hurt. "I loved Melanie—and she's only been—gone—a few months. I love her son, Rhett—and yes, I do love Ashley, but not in the way you think."

"You have a funny way of showing love, Scarlett."

"And I love you, still," she said, reaching for him. "That hasn't changed, Rhett."

He shrugged her off and lifted his glass to his lips to hide the shock on his face, of hearing her say those words so plainly. For so long he had longed to hear her say them. And it was so easy to believe she was sincere. Those fluttering lashes, those dimpled cheeks. Rhett shook his head. No—he would not fall for that again. Scarlett could not change her ways any more than a leopard could change its spots.

"I'm going up to my room," he said, standing. "Be sure to wish your paramour a happy Christmas for me."

"Rhett," she said, "Won't you come home with me? I don't care if you never give me another penny. Wade and Ella are at home—and they'd love to see you—and I would, too. Oh, please, Rhett," she begged him, tears beginning to form on her lashes. "I want you too. Oh, do! It's Christmas, after all—let us be a family—just for Christmas, darling!" She lifted her lips to try and touch his and he saw that she was crying.

"You're making a fool out of yourself," he said curtly.

"I don't care," she sobbed. "Oh, Rhett, I miss you. I was wrong, so wrong, my darling!"

He shook himself free of her grasp—more roughly than he had to. She lost her balance and tumbled into a nearby table. He did not care, and he did not reach down to help her up. He threw a wad of bills onto the table and walked out of the bar.

Scarlett's cries followed him and almost—almost—made him turn around and go to her. But Rhett remembered Ashley, and hardened his heart, and kept walking. He did not look back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rhett had his bath, and ate his supper, and drank some more of the very good whisky he had sent up from the bar. By ten o'clock he was feeling very pleasantly warm, and the scene with Scarlett had faded so that it seemed like a very distant memory. He wished he had something to read, and looked over the bookshelves. There was a Bible, and someone had left a copy of a book by Mr. Charles Dickens. Rhett picked it up, and glanced at the title.

"A Christmas Carol," he said scornfully, but he could not resist picking it up and reading the first few pages. After a chapter or so, he cast the book aside, and poured himself some more whisky. The fire in the fireplace crackled merrily and Rhett wiggled his toes in a mean glee, thinking of the honeymooners he had cast out of the room—his room.

He was feeling very weary from his long day and dozed a little, here and there. Such strange dreams he had! He was with Bonnie, dear Bonnie. She was holding his hand. He was in a bed in another hotel in New Orleans, and Scarlett and he shared a pillow, talking long into the night. Suddenly the picture changed and she was falling, falling, rolling head over heels down the stairs and he could not catch her. She cried out for him, in a frightened voice that belied great pain, but he could not catch her. He always reached out for her--she always fell faster, farther, until she landed in a pitiful heap, her neck bent awkwardly, a crimson stain spreading on the skirt. Dark as blood. Dark as death.

Here was Melanie's sweet face telling him that Scarlett had lost a baby, their baby—and here was Melanie, again, telling him Scarlett would get better. Such a rush of joy! Where had that joy gone?

Scarlett's voice was calling Rhett, Rhett, and Rhett startled awake. The fire had burned down to embers and it was dark in the room. And yet still he could see another figure seated in the opposite chair. An intruder? His eyes strained to make out the face. Round rosy cheeks—white hair--a button nose—kindly, gleaming eyes. St. Nick? Rhett wondered, and then felt ridiculous. Of course it wasn't, how stupid… His eyes widened and he sat straight up in shock.

"I'm dreaming, yet," he told himself. "Or else I've had too much of that." He looked askance at the whisky bottle at his elbow.

"Well, if ye have, me fine broth of a boy," said Gerald O'Hara, in his familiar brogue, "I wish ye'd pass it over, for some of us have had none at all to speak of!"