Thank you once more for all your wonderful insights. I learn so much here that often I feel like I'm back in college - only this time, I'm actually having fun.

And be forewarned: I'm apparently incapable of writing anything unambiguously cheerful for more than half a chapter. This is...hopeless and optimistic and cruel and kind. Too much and too little, all at once. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.

The Death of the Virgin

And even she, who stepped into the Heavens

Went not to him - as much as she felt drawn.

There was no room. For He was there, and shone:

A Light that cut.

But now that she, the poignant figure

Walked to the newly Blessed folk

And, unobtrusively, stood by- as light to light-

There came, out of her Being, like an ambush

Such radiance, so that the Angel

That she'd lit up, blinded, cried out, "But who is she?"

They marveled. Then, they saw

God-Father holding back our Lord-

So that, encircled by soft twilight

An empty space showed, like a minor grief -

A touch of loneliness, a dried-out frame,

Akin to something he had yet to bear

A trace of earthly time.

They looked at her, she timidly looked back -

Leaning forth, as if she felt: I am

His longest grief -: and suddenly fell forward.

The Angels took her in their midst

And as they sang, supported her -

And carried her up the final steps.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

They had withdrawn to their rooms to dress for supper. Without forethought or planning, they had all donned their evening finery. There was a faintly festive mood in the air.

Thad found Rose on her way to the dining room. Her elegant housedress, trimmed with square ruchings of mousseline de soie, foreshadowed the geometrical patterns that would that would become fashionable at the turn of the next century. Her hair was held back in a simple black net at the nape of her neck. The only jewels she wore were her eyes.

His own lit up at the sight of her. "Rose." She turned her head, and smiled brilliantly. To Thad, for whom joy was a very recent addition to the menu of his existence, her pale, adoring face must have seemed like something out of a dream.

He took her hand in his, allowing his thumb to slide gently over her palm. "I still don't have your ring, I'm afraid," he murmured, as if nothing less could reassure him she was his at last. "I ….ordered it in Houston, last time I went. Perhaps we can collect it tomorrow."

"Thad!" she smiled, "the last time you went to Houston was …..just after our ride to the Reservation. Does that you mean you ….."

"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid," he laughed, his black eyes dancing without a trace of embarrassment.

She shook her head at him. "Awfully sure of yourself, weren't you?"

"Let's just say I ….believe in being prepared."

She laughed, delighted that he had, by all appearances, revived his wish to marry her as soon as he had recovered the slightest spark of hope. Thad looked this way and that into the empty corridor, and, finding nobody, lifted her up, and spun her around. She shrieked with glee, feeling dizzy by the time he set her down again. She clung to the lapels of his evening suit, in part for support, in part because she wanted to prolong their closeness. Thad seemed to feel the same way. They stood together, their silhouettes merging in the twilight. "Shall we shock everyone and announce our engagement tonight?" he murmured, still pressing her against him.

She smiled shyly, and nodded. "Yes. Somehow it doesn't feel …real, until we've told our family." In their mutual delight, they considered only the reactions of Scarlett and Rhett.

"I know. And I confess I want to make it as hard as possible for you to change your mind."

"I won't change my mind," she replied, softly.

He allowed his soft lips to briefly capture hers, his hands trapping her against the wall. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

He was overwhelming, so close. Rose, peeping up at him through her mother's thick lashes, thought briefly of Houston, and the ball they were to attend. Thought of sharing him with a whole room full of beautiful women – experienced, worldly women, for whom his money, looks and position would be more than enough to make up for his deficits in background. She heard his words echo in her mind - I threw myself into the Houston social scene with gusto. Had any of the ladies they would meet been more than just a friend to him? As she had confessed, Rose had little trust in her own appeal, or even much ownership over her body. She felt jealousy, and insecurity, rising once more.

Thad did not see it, but his caresses, and the soft words he murmured into the dusky shadows of her curls, were eloquent nonetheless. When he finally took her hand once more to lead her to supper, her radiance was almost fully restored.

~~oo~~

Supper had been roasted Eastern Wild Turkey, that Charles had shot himself earlier that day. He had even overseen its preparation in the kitchen, somewhat to the irritation of Della, Belle's cook, who'd strongly objected to the addition of peanuts to the stuffing. "Some of the best huntin' in this State, that I've ever seen," Charles asserted, looking around the table with satisfaction - before motioning Mary, the maid, to fill his plate with a liberal helping of breast meat.

When the table had been cleared, and steaming coffee served in small, gold-rimmed Turkish cups, Thad rose from his seat. "I have an announcement to make," he said, his warm, resonant bass silencing even the clamor of the boys. He waited until all eyes were turned to him, then reached for Rose's hand, lifting their interlaced fingers above the line of the tablecloth. "This afternoon, I asked Rose to be my wife. And I am thrilled to announce she accepted."

A murmur of astonishment went 'round- but there were smiles on the faces of Rhett, Scarlett, Charles, Chase, Ella, and Charlotte. Gerry and Dan looked slightly bored. Perry beamed widely, quickly calculating his much-increased odds of remaining indefinitely in the proximity of Stella. He, perhaps as much as anyone, felt in wonderful charity with his sister's wedding plans.

In the silent moment just before the clamor of congratulations would have burst forth, a choking noise rang through the room. "No..." someone said, like a wail of heart-felt agony. Heads turned in astonishment, attempting to localize the sound.

Belle Watling had turned ashen white, swaying in her seat. Charles now reached out, his hand tightening on her shoulder to steady her.

Under the horrified gaze of the onlookers, Belle drew a deep, juddering breath. Suddenly, as if she could bear it no longer, she jumped up, and almost stumbled out of the room. The heavy oak door wavered, then slammed shut behind her.

For several heartbeats, no one spoke.

"I must apologize for my mother," Thad said quietly to his avowed fiancée. Rose did not answer, staring rigidly down at her cup. With a remote expression, that recalled even more difficult times in her life, she lifted it up with a steady fingers, bringing the dark, bitter liquid to her lips. She drank, and sat it down again.

Rhett exchanged a brief look with Charles, and then half-turned to Scarlett, sitting at his right.

"Would you mind if ….I went after her?" he asked, quietly. Twenty years of love and trust hung in the balance of the glance they exchanged, and he heard her answer even before she voiced it aloud for the others.

"Of course not," Scarlett said, briskly. "Somebody needs to, and I suspect you'll talk sense into her better than anyone else could. Go. Rose …." She got up, and walked over to her daughter's chair. "Don't mind her, love. She's just … shocked and surprised. She'll come around, I promise!"

The expression on Rose's face did not change. Queenly she looked, and composed, and almost oppressively beautiful under the heavy crown of her dark hair. But of all the onlookers, it was her uncle who, albeit silently, found the appropriate quotation: Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null.

~~oo~~

Rhett found Belle in her bedroom, sobbing violently into her oversized pillows. Even in the dim candlelight, it was obvious that Thad's Spartan taste and influence ended abruptly at his mother's bedroom door. Here were chintz draperies, and flowered curtains, and numerous thick throw pillows overloaded with lace.

"Get up, my dear," Rhett said, gently. "We need to talk - and no matter how much she trusts us, I suspect Scarlett would prefer it didn't happen in your bedroom."

Belle made a snorting noise, under her tears. "I 'spect she would."

She arose, and attempted to wipe her tear-stained face with her handkerchief. When she removed it, it was streaked with powder, and rouge. "We can go in here," she mumbled.

She led him into an adjourning sitting room, closing the double door behind her. The overstuffed armchairs, opulent oil paintings, and the small sewing table declared that it, too, was primarily used by herself.

Rhett sat down across from her, his large frame sinking downward into the upholstery. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I never did mind," she remarked. She watched as he withdrew a gold cigar case – a gift of Scarlett's on their twentieth wedding anniversary - and helped himself to one of the Cuban cigars. She struck a match, and held it out to him – an instinctive, familiar gesture, rehearsed a million times in the past. Rhett's lips curled, but he bent forward, permitting her to light the cigar. He drew a deep breath.

"Better," he said.

"Still don' like scenes, do yer," she offered, with something akin to a grin. "Sorry 'bout that."

He leaned back, shaking his head at her. "Anything in particular you have against Rose, my dear – other than that she happens to be my daughter?"

Her plucked, penciled eyebrows went up in horror. "Oh no! It ain't that."

"I am…. delighted to hear it," he replied, dryly.

She looked at him, wondering if she should speak frankly. "It ain't that she's yours. Or Scarlett's. You's both my dearest friends, and yer know how much I love those boys. I just ain't ….never got on with 'er. She's all…lah-dee-dah."

Rhett's full red lips curled into something like a smirk. They had always been honest with each other. "Would a girl who is as … lah-dee-dah as you say…want to marry a son of yours, Belle?"

She did not flinch at his frankness. "She's been around Thad since she was little. And him being handsome, an' charming. He turned 'er head. It don't mean she's…..." She shook her head mulishly at his raised eyebrows. "She looks at me as if I was…..a bug, that one. She'd probably…."

"She'd probably what?"

"Throw me out," Belle whispered, a fat tear rolling down her cheeks. She sniffled audibly into her handkerchief.

Rhett laughed so hard that smoke came out of his nose, turning him into a coughing, fire-breathing dragon. "Rose?" he asked, after he had recovered his air. "I highly doubt it. It's much more probable that Thad will throw you out, my dear, if you insist on acting in this manner towards his future wife." He leaned forward, and gently patted her well-padded shoulder. "Come now. You know it's pointless to talk a man out of a girl, once he's made up his mind."

"Sure do," she agreed, but without bitterness. Not that she had ever tried to talk him out of loving Scarlett, while she still loved him. It would have been pointless - like he said.

"Brandy?" she offered. He nodded, and she got up, pouring him a liberal glass from the decanter on the side table. The old, familiar camaraderie had fallen over them like a blanket. How often, and how long had he sat in an obnoxious, overstuffed sitting room just like this one, trying to while away the hours during one of the worst periods of his life? Just like then, he found the vulgarity of his surroundings oppressive. His keen aesthetic sense, that he had passed on to his youngest daughter, had been comforted only by the thought that his so-called home on Peachtree Street was even more of a monstrosity – if only because it pretended to be more that it was - and much less filled with warmth.

His black eyes regarded her now from the distance of over two decades. Belle was no longer young, and she had not been beautiful even at the height of her appeal. Her attraction had always lain elsewhere. He had sought comfort in her unquestioning love - and, equally, in the fact that he had not loved her.

Belle had offered him the same dangerous trade that he had silently offered the unwitting Scarlett: love given, but concealed - bartered for nothing but the flimsiest air-castles of hope. What a relief it had seemed at the time, to play the other side of that Faustian pact.

"It's in your own best interest to get along with Rose," he said.

From the look she gave him, he could see she was not convinced. And that she was plotting something - something she hoped would end up giving her the upper hand after all.

And he would find out what it was.

~~oo~~

Eventually, he returned into the drawing room, where the survivors of the onslaught had gathered to regroup.

"Did you calm her down?" his wife asked.

"For now." But there was a speculative look in his eyes.

Thad was talking softly to Rose, whose luminous glow had dimmed to marble. Rhett was about to go to them, when he felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned around. He looked into his eldest daughter's sweet, heart-shaped face.

"Daddy!" Ella said, softly. She held up her slender right hand, which carried a large, star-cut diamond surrounded by tiny rubies, set in an antique gold setting. "You'll want your ring back. Now that Rose is getting married, I mean ….."

He looked down at her, something like pain in his eyes. He took her small hands in his, and pressed them gently. "Of course not, Ella. I gave that ring to you. To keep."

"But…"

His grip on her hands tightened. "My mother, when still in the possession of her faculties, instructed me to give her ring to my oldest daughter on her wedding day. And that is exactly what I did."

"But….you told me it's a family ring, that goes back for generations," Ella said softly. "I'm sure you were hoping to give it to ….."

"Ella – you are my eldest daughter. This ring would have been yours, even if Bonnie had lived."

It was the knowledge that she would have handed over her ring - and not even thought ill of him as she did so - that was, perhaps, his strongest rebuke.

He stepped to Thad, who had to all appearances lost his fiancée to an excited circle of females eager to congratulate her.

"I probably should have asked," Thad said, when he saw him. But he was smiling nonetheless.

Rhett smiled in return, his expression showing genuine delight. "Aside from assuring my daughter's happiness, what pleases me most about this wedding is that I will now officially be able to call you my son."

At one time, such a remark would have been met with scorn. Now, they shook hands in wordless understanding.

~~oo~~

"Come in," Belle called.

Thad, still dressed in his dark evening clothes, entered with a determined stride. He stopped in the middle of the room. As was his wont, he did not waste time with preliminaries.

"If you make another scene like this, Mother, ever again - you will no longer be welcome in my house."

It was the tone that was her undoing, more than anything. She gave another, audible sniffle, and hid her face in the crook of her arm. "You never did care 'bout me," she sobbed, tears streaming once more down her face.

Thad appeared unmoved. "If you so choose, I shall be happy to set you up in a comfortable establishment of your own, wherever you wish to live." As if it mattered little to him if she stayed or went. Except in how it affected Rose.

She lifted her tearstained face from the dampened upholstery. "I thought….." I thought we could become closer. But the words did not come out. I thought we might become …. friends.

He looked at her, and, suddenly, there was something alive in his eyes. Like Rose's, Thad's features could appear almost transcendental when passion, or anger, illuminated his face. The cold light of gemstones, and polished silver, and frozen waterfalls. Gabriel, she should have named him, his mother thought disjointedly, watching the transformation before her eyes. The avenging angel. Her son, the child of her heart - who was proposing so callously never to see her again.

"Rose has done nothing to you. In fact, she's always shown you every respect. If you cannot return the favor, perhaps the two of you should not be under the same roof."

She was not insightful, or sophisticated. "She's not like us," she whispered. "She'll never respect you. We'll always be ….dirt in her eyes."

He was not appeased by her clumsy attempt to remind him of their kinship. "Frankly, mother, I care neither about your sentiments, nor your reasoning. I gave you a home when you wanted to move away from Atlanta, because I thought it was my duty. But from the day you handed me over to Uncle Rhett to carry to New Orleans, you gave up the right to tell me how to run my life. Never mind whom to chose as my wife."

"I did it fer you", she said, in a muffled voice.

He ignored her once more. "I trust I have made myself clear."

And then he was gone, leaving behind not even a shadow.

~~oo~~

Charles Butler had withdrawn into the library, nursing a glass of Scotch. His young niece had followed him, unsure of where else to go, or who to turn to.

A comfortable fire flickered in the back of the room. The walls were liberally lined with bookshelves. Warm leather armchairs surrounded low, round wooden tables dotted with ashtrays. It was an inviting room, but it utterly lacked the grandeur of the libraries Charlotte was accustomed to; filled with family portraits that went back generations, and priceless Chinese porcelain bowels sitting in alcoves next to busts of the illustrious ancestors of the Butlers.

Had she been a prolific reader, she would have noted that the library also lacked in bulk, if not in sustenance – and been reminded of the value of generations of wealth and learning, handing down the fruits of their acquisitions to the ones that followed. Thad's libraries boasted almost all of the major works of the Weltliteratur, but lacked the casual favorite – the trifling novels, the connoisseur's hobbies – the travelogues picked up by successive generations of collectors. A philosopher might have wondered if it was indeed that - the privilege of standing in a privileged line - that we attempt to label with the clumsy term of aristocracy. Whatever it was, it was not here.

Charlotte was not a philosopher. She was interested in people, not abstractions - most specifically, in her friend. "Why is she so unkind about Rose?" she asked, more out of helplessness than anything. She did not really expect an intelligible answer.

He smiled benignly at her. "'Cause he loves her."

Charlotte shook her head in disgust. "It would help if you could overcome your laziness for once, Uncle Charles, and speak in complete sentences! You are not making a lot of sense to me. Because who loves whom?"

"The young man. Thad. Because he loves Rose." Charles' placid temper was unruffled by her rudeness. Had he cared to show it, or had she cared to look, she might have seen that he had a partiality for her that exceeded his fondness for most of his other relations - including, perhaps, his own adult daughters.

"And that's a good enough reason to be mean to her?" Charlotte replied, aghast. "Shouldn't his mother be happy that Thad will be marrying the woman he loves?"

"People's like that," he affirmed, nodding his head. "lash out, if they feel insecure."

"Are you trying to say that Thad's mother feels … insecure?" Charlotte wasn't sure he was making sense now. Or if he ever did.

Her uncle nodded again. "Had someone else picked out for him, Belle did. Someone more like herself. But that wasn't what's important to her. "

"What was important, then?" Charlotte asked, impatiently.

"That Thad doesn't love the other girl, either."

"That he doesn't love her either?"

"Anymore than Belle thinks Thad loves her."

Charlotte stared at him. Perhaps, she had misjudged him after all. Perhaps, there was more to him than merely a slow, aging man, who cared only about shooting grouse, and turkey, and waterfowl..

"I saw Thad's mother come out of your room this morning," she said, suddenly. Though she had missed her mother's self-centeredness, she had inherited a fair dose of her lack of tact.

Charles looked at her again, but appeared neither surprised, nor horrified, nor ashamed. "Did you now."

"It always happens to me, too," she said, mournfully. "I run into things ….or situations….that I don't want to. And then I'm in the middle of a mess."

"No accident, I expect," he told her, with a wink. "Would be someone who's up and about, and here and there, in a lot of places all at once. Bound to run into more things than the rest of us."

"I wonder," she said, thoughtfully, thinking back to her encounter with Gina. "Will you…..marry her?" Her blue eyes regarded him keenly.

Strangely enough, his eyes twinkled. "I doubt she'd have me."

"You might try asking," Charlotte said, dryly. Then she drew in a sharp breath, mildly horrified at herself. She couldn't believe she'd just told her uncle to propose to a former prostitute. But perhaps, it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he did, she tried to reason with herself. He seemed more… approachable ever since they'd arrived at the Ranch. Actually taking an interest in life, for once. If he stayed here, none of the busybodies in Charleston need ever know. And if Belle was really bent on hurting Rose out of insecurity, being married might make her….nicer, would it not? And…..it would horrify her mother. Greatly. Charlotte smiled grimly to herself. It wasn't the insults to herself that had sounded in the current Ice-Age between her mother and herself. It had been her mother's treatment of Ella.

"I might." He laughed.

The door opened, and closed, bringing Thad.

He nodded briefly to his father, then cast a look at Charlotte.

"Errrks," she said, "Congratulations again on your engagement. I'm, uhm, very happy for both of you. I'll, uh, leave you alone now."

The two men waited until the door closed behind her.

Charles extended his hand. "Once again, thrilled to hear of your engagement, my boy. I'm sure you'll be very happy."

Thad took it.

Charles hesitated, and plunged forward. "I would like to offer to ….. formally adopt you. Before you get married, if you wish. In case it matters to you, with regards to…..." He paused once again, as if uncertain. "Feel free to think about it for a while."

Thad lifted his brows, as if astonished his natural father was capable of making such a formal speech. For a minute or two, he let the silence drag through the room. "I …. appreciate the offer," he said, finally. "And I …don't need to think about it. I accept. There's nothing I wouldn't do for….."

"I understand," Charles said, hurridly. "Might as well lay my cards on the table, and let you make your own choices. Would like to ….stick around in the area. Maybe permanently. Not much keeping me back in Charleston, you see."

For a moment, the two men continued to stare at each other. Finally, Thad nodded. "It's a fair enough trade," he said, softly.

"Hope it'll turn out to be more'n that," his father said, affably. "Might even be able to help out some with…."

"When pigs fly,"retorted his son.

~~oo~~

Rhett knocked, and, on hearing the 'come in' stepped into a lady's bedroom for the second time that night. Rose turned when he entered. His daughter had already changed, wearing a simple, white wrapper over her nightgown, looking frightfully young and vulnerable. She was sitting at the vanity table, attempting to drag a silver-backed brush through her hair, and encountering nothing but tangles.

"I have something for you," Rhett said, holding out the bulky, silk-encased, square package he'd been carrying in his brown hands.

She acceapted it, a quizzical look between her brows.

"For the ball in Houston. And …. for any appropriate occasion, after that."

Curious, she pushed aside the grey silk.

The first thing she noticed was the color. Clouds of blue damask spilled out, revealing an ethereal, superlative ball gown. It was trimmed with translucent, embroidered lace, and dotted with shimmering pearls. The corsage was pointed in front, trimmed with tulle around an elegant, slightly asymmetrical neckline. A double garland of matchless pearls curved to the right of the waist, fastened by silver clasps in the shape of seashells.

Rose held it up. For the longest moment, she remained silent, her eyes cast down to the floor. When she lifted her lids, her eyes shimmered with tears. The color of the fabric reflected the blue of her irises, making them sparkle like gems.

Rhett waited, somewhat hesitatingly, for her to speak.

"Thank you, Daddy," she managed to say, finally. "But believe it or not, this isn't …necessary. Oh, I don't deny that not too long ago, I would have given anything for such a gift. But now…. I find I don't need it anymore."

When he raised his brows quizzically, she continued, "it was never the color. It was always about you…..seeing me, for myself. We …..no longer have need for grand gestures between us, Daddy. After ...after learning that'd you'd written to Thad, over years…it told me everything that I needed to know."

He drew a deep breath, determined to follow through with his apology. "Hear me out, Rose. I've never told you how sorry I was for what happened on the stairs that day. You were only a little girl. I should have…"

She shook her head. "I know you didn't mean it," she whispered. "And I no longer mind, that she lives on a little, in me. Or even that you still see her sometimes, when you look at me. But what I don't want is for you to feel any more pain. At least not if it can be avoided." The blue in her eyes had become almost as black as his. "There's enough pain in the world already, without us adding to it."

He smiled at her. "Seeing you in that dress will not pain me, Rose. Partly, I hope, because I have matured since that incident, but partly because you and I are now in a place that is far different from anything I ever had with Bonnie. She will always be ...a little girl in my mind, and I will treasure her memory as such. You…..you're a grown woman now, and our relationship reflects that. I chose this particular dress simply because you will look beautiful in it. I want you to float into that ballroom on Thad's arm, and feel like all the stars of the Heavens have fallen down to sparkle just for you.

Outside the large windows, early crickets sang their increasingly persistent song. There was an occasional hoot of an owl, or the snort of a horse. Cacophonous frogs heralded the beginning of mating season.

She wept for the first time that night. He could not draw her to his chest and hold her – such simple comforts were not for them. But he could sit down beside her on the bench, and place his arm around her shoulder, offering the solace of his presence. Until at last, the tears ceased.

Charles' quote is by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. The description of the dresses are from the book "Victorian Fashions & Costumes from Harper's Bazar, 1867-1898" The Rilke translation is, clumsily, mine.

Next up (unless the plot gremlins intervene): Rhett learns he will be taking tea at the baker's . :)