Hello everyone, and thank you for your continuous support! Next chapter will, hopefully, come a bit sooner for the main points are already written. The Barbecue is near ;)

Good reading, everyone! I hope you will like it!

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"You are a toy for him, you realize that?" A deep, accusing voice rang to Scarlett's ears. "That was all a bet. You being a success, to get me. It was because he couldn't have me he went to look after you."

As the last laces were pulled and tied, Scarlett gasped, yet stood her ground.

It was already bad enough that she had to put on dark clothes (though, if she was honest, she liked the way it enlightened her magnolia-white skin). But to hear such words! And from Rhett's sister nonetheless!

It ruined one perfect evening, and she wanted to scream in frustration!

Oh, everything would have been simpler if Melly had been there, instead of that infuriating girl!

But Melly was on the other side of the door, dreaming like a fool over the book she, Scarlett, had thrown away, giggling as if it contained some mystery only she was aware of.

She faltered a moment. No, the problem wasn't Rosemary Butler. The problem was the sound of that whistle ringing in her head, nagging her with the song of Whiskey in the Jar.

Rhett was here. He was there, and still he had not come to see her!

She felt that neglect like a blow, and it was a sting to her self-esteem, proving to herself she was still too overly sensitive to his doings.

With meticulous patience, she slowly put on the bodice, taking malicious pleasure in delaying the answer. With a quick glance, she took it all, the impatience in Rosemary Butler's countenance, her trembling hands, and the sully look in her eyes.

She wanted something of her, Scarlett gathered. But what? Hadn't she had it all?

"Yet, you do not seem pleased. I would be pleased, if I were you."

Rosemary Butler said nothing. She looked away and affected to smooth her ball gown and examine her nails. From a corner of her eyes, she looked closely at the raven-haired girl in front of her, with a proud air that hinted at her struggle over confiding one thing that still hurt her, when it might be the thing that might actually help her in her quest, by an impression of intimacy and partnership.

Scarlett looked curiously at the face, waiting to see what might prevail, and judging the girl would be a fool to let pride prevent her from getting what she wanted.

The shoulders fell. The reason had prevailed.

"It seemed he was more interested in playing than in the price itself."

This stung and did its work. For while Scarlett was conscious this was indeed what would make her sympathize the most with Rosemary Butler, she could not prevent herself from doing it. Her eyes wettened bitterly, yet she would not cry, no. This was the truth as she had learned herself. There was no use to cry.

Scarlett sighed. Another one disappointed in her hopes, then? She turned towards the mirror and tucked an erring strand back to her carefully crafted chignon.

Both girls in Rhett's life, to whom he had expected things, and who now would get nothing from it. The sister and the would-be lover.

"Then, we are two toys, it seems."

Something glinted in Rosemary's eyes, and it kept her interested.

"Not if you hear what I say..." The overgrown girl said hurriedly. "Father is watching over him, I know.. He's plotting."

Scarlett raised an arched brow at that. Somehow, this did not seem quite believable, from what she had heard, that Mr. Butler would say such things to his daughter.

"Did your father tell you that?"

Said girl lowered her eyes in begrudging shame. "No... But I can listen."

"More like eavesdrop."

An angry flush came to Rosemary's cheeks.

"It is not the mean that is important, it is the information."

Eyes rolled as Scarlett thought she should have known better than to ask a foolish question. Of course, Mr. Butler would not tell the girl anything. He was a gentleman, and gentlemen tended to like their girls ignorant like a newborn lamb. Ignorant in what interested them, for else they could not abide ignorance when it suited their fancy in other domains. A girl had to be silly before marriage, a pretty flower to cut, before settling in the big house and rule its little world while making it seem it was the man's effort.

This girl had no classical beauty, nor grace. She was too tall, and if there was beauty in the features and in the eyes, said features were more masculine than accepted, and said eyes too sharp. The same eyes as Rhett, though these ones betrayed each emotion of the sister. Scarlett wondered for a moment if there was a time when Rhett's eyes were like this, not yet capable to hide their meaning behind a bland veil of indifference and nonchalance. She looked with newfound interest in the sister, hoping to understand more the brother, before waving her hand in false irritation. Her green eyes were attentive though, and eager for any new information.

"Talking like Rhett's true sister. Alright, be quick about it. I'm listening."

Words then spilled from the Butler sister swiftly, eagerly, like water from a fountain. Rhett was trying to persuade many planters to buy them bales of cotton at cheap prices, in the name of the Southern Cause that might arise if the states seceded. Rosemary's father felt sure he would only gather the products in England and wait for the opportune moment to benefit from it himself, without any care of the ones he had thus deceived.

She stared and listened.

This woman was Rhett's sister, alright.

But she had learned Rhett's way.

This one was just a beginner. Her eyes glinted too eagerly, and her intentions were too plain on her face.

"Oh, but don't you think it'll be funny," She said in affected lightness. "if that the money he wanted to get from this actually was used for the cause he had described? To somehow get the money for the gentility that he had rejected?"

Scarlett frowned. To her, it seemed the contrary. Yet, she dismissed the last words, for it was not useful to her.

She cared not about the reasons the other girl exposed. And perhaps in a way something was telling her these causes were only empty on these bitter lips. Deep introspection was not in her nature when more urgent things seemed afoot. All she heard was that Rhett's dealings might prove ruinous for the County, when he had promised her he would take care of Pa. But how could he, if the money was for himself, and he would be away all the time?

Oh, the treacherous thoughts! But he was treacherous from the first, she corrected.

Away all of the time... Oh, what a terrifying thing! No, she wouldn't bear that!

She would seek him and tell him what she thought of that!

Beside her laid the black mask and the hood, and the idea grew.

...

Tara Plantation, February 1861

The turmoil of winter was almost over, and already, a storm was taking shape, and threatened to spoil the joys of the upcoming spring for Scarlett.

Just after Christmas, South Carolina had claimed their secession from the Union, and proudly kept on with their usual festivities as a defiance to their enemies. Of that, the young girl had gathered many whispers, but her attention had been mostly on dancing, and enjoying herself.

On the tenth of January, Jefferson Davis had accepted the secession of the states, and the Southerners hooted with joy and mockery over what they considered a defeat of the Yankees.

And now, Pa was prattling on and on about how Rhett was right so far as they would be a war.

He differed though on the outcome. Pa said they would win, because they were the bravest, and their cause was just. When he said that, Grandma Fontaine, invited at the gathering, scowled and said that wars weren't won by braveness and the justness of the cause, and that it is the families that would pay the highest price, if it failed. The victors were always cruel to the vanquished.

The words rang on Scarlett's mind, making her remember the thing she dreaded most.

Still, there was no war declared for the moment. So why worry? Perhaps, it would not come to pass, she tried to dismiss.

Yet, she could not help but think about it. Especially with the discussion she had overheard this morning.

At the thought, she pursed her lips. Contrary thoughts came to her, leaving her helpless to rest fully. She tried to make sense of it, but it felt like a betrayal to Pa, to Tara, and her heart could not bear the thought of it when it was certainly the only thing she could cling to.

She had been minding her own business, after all. She had just wanted to go to the kitchen for something to eat, yet instead, the sounds of Pansy and Cheyenne talking at the back of it had made her stop.

"You'd be a fool to stay," She remembered Pansy, that insolent one that served her mother, say. "Up there is freedom, where you can have your own name and your own house, without fear of whipping and bad treatments. You were not born here, you don't belong. You can go, they won't notice, not with these talks of war going on. These gentlemen..." She spat the names. "They will kill each other thinking they did it for us, but in the way, they will quite forget it. Like they always do."

"I be not belongin' anywhere anyway," Cheyenne had answered softly. "I'm too lait for negroes, too dark for whites. I'm marked 'verywhere Ah go, for a sin Ahm not guilty of. Here, have never been ill-treated, and me mudder is cared for. And Ah owe it to miss Scarlett..."

"Miss Scarlett cares about Miss Scarlett. As a girl, she was... different. But now she's a woman. She is one of them."

"Ye don't know what it's laike. Ye be readin' books, but did ye know many kain? Ah kain, yet mudder told me to be proud dat master had the biggest library. Ye talk good because dey kept ye close enoff to learn. Ye be lucky. Ye talk better, know better. Yer just bitter because of yer o'n man leavin'."

"I can help you learn," Pansy retorted. "And... I'm not bitter about it. It just opened my eyes, where I had shut them." A pause was held, and so was Scarlett's breath. "Tara is a dream I have woken up from. And when you open your eyes, you can better see the chains and the sorrows, when before you did not want to see them. Had I never met Aren, I would not have known otherwise. So, for that, I am thankful."

Her fist clenched. After that, Mammy had interrupted them, berating them for such disloyal talks, and threatening them with her broom, to the laughter of the others. Scarlett had escaped all notice, her mind fuzzy and pulse throbbing at her temples.

She sighed. She wanted to let go of it all, all the mischief, all the unpleasantness in her mind. But it continued to drag her down, with the terrible possibility that the last thing she clanged to was not what she thought it was.

But no, certainly, it could not be!

She laid quietly on the grass, with the feeling of disappearing in the heat, with no care of the dog that whined by her side in concern. Oh, if only it was so easy! To lay down all that troubled her, and rest! To feel the caress of the sun, without caring if it might burn her afterward! Not to worry about anyone, or anything. Just lay there in peace, and play carelessly, like a child! She so craved it, now that she could not do it.

"You will grow some freckles if you stay so," Came Rhett's teasing voice. "I doubt Mammy would be pleased."

Alarmed, she raised. Disbelief painted on her face as he appeared to her view, covering the sun for her so that each line of his figure seemed sharper and more imposing to her weary eyes.

"My, is that how you welcome me?" He continued with a laugh as he settled beside her. "With a little gaping mouth?"

She tried to find the words to say, fighting against words of love that gathered in her mouth, and words of anger that growled in her throat.

"Welcome back, Rhett," She said begrudgingly. "How long are you going to stay this time?"

"Now, that's more like it," He replied cheerfully. "Though I would have liked a little smile, at least. I was only passing, by the way, to see if you and your sister hadn't scratched each other since the last time I saw you."

"Fiddle-dee-dee," She said, before finally letting out a satisfied smile. "Only she would be scratched."

"I gathered so. You were always too quick for her."

He paused, examining her, before letting out a sharp laugh.

"You've thrown away that book, didn't you?"

"No," She answered swiftly. "I've given it away. To someone who will appreciate it better and will not have to think of it as a lesson."

"I suppose it wasn't my best move, and there's been improvement," He shrugged good-naturedly. "My, and you're still so very upset over it! A pity, though. Haven't you learned anything from that little lady, Miss Hamilton?"

"I've learned that people take advantage of softness," She retorted.

He chuckled. "Of course, you did," When he leaned into her ear, the warmth of his breath tickled her skin, and she felt her hair rising in delight. Her chest heaved in her bodice, suddenly too big for her clothes as her heart threatened to leave. "Though there are pleasant ways to be taken advantage of."

"Like?"

He stared at her for a moment, pensive, then avoided suddenly her eyes, shaking his head as if she would not understand. She wanted to tell him she could, if only he would say it! She wanted to erase that almost condescending smirk on his mouth, kiss it so it turned into a pleasant thing that they could share both, instead of him holding the knowledge like a whip over her.

Yet, she felt too cowardly to do so, when she was so exposed in front of him.

But whip him, she certainly wanted to!

"You are too young for such things."

What business had he, he thought, to lean over her like that? It was a very natural instinct to try to be close to her, but it was also a torture, for he had to restrain every move. And she might notice it. And then what? He did not intend to do anything about it. Too many things were at play.

"I'm old enough to marry."

His face was almost comical as he heard the words, as if it made him choke on hard bits. She felt satisfied by the struggle, thinking that she had reached him. He cared, yes, he cared!

"Oh, by God, no! Poor child, you don't know what it is."

"And you do?" She insisted eagerly. "If I wait too long, I might become a spinster, and I wouldn't like that at all!"

"Vanity… You'll never become a spinster. That's for sure," He sneered, recovering. "You'll be one unfortunate Samson's Delilah. Indeed, you already are."

The last part was added almost in afterthought, and he cursed at himself for it.

A frown marked her features as disappointment sank in. She lowered her eyes, and her long, tilted lashes fluttered in confusion.

"That doesn't sound so fine."

A long sigh left his lips as he stretched his long and strong legs.

"It doesn't. All men ought to be free if they have the strength enough to take it, and the cunnings to adapt. The strong survives, the weak bows. Yet none should have to submit if they have strength enough," He smirked, before petting the head of the spaniel that whined now for his attention. "Little Ashley here knows what it is all about."

Oh, she so despairingly wanted to know what he wanted! What did he mean to tell her things like that? That was not what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to talk of them, and he would talk meanly of Ashley! Would that it was for jealousy, but she had learned it was far from his thoughts! He seemed to take a malicious pleasure at belittling him in front of her, just to tease her about her lack of taste!

Upset, she took back the dog from his grip and held it in her arms, rubbing its little head with her cheek in comfort.

"I think I heard someone talk about something like that."

"Oh, did Charles Darwin actually reached your country belle's ears?" He said suddenly, his dark eyes with a meanness that bit her. "That would be a thing."

"Oh, do not mock me. I take interest in many things," She scoffed, outraged. Her grip on the dog tightened, and it yelped, forcing her to let it go.

"Sure, you do, and generally when it's something useful to you. But I wondered where you have heard about it. And most importantly, who."

"Grand-Père has a little circle of friends. Many interesting people in fact!" She protested. "And they actually like having me talking to them, without trying to mock me as you do!"

Ashley barked and growled at the distress of its mistress. Yet it would not do anything, for Rhett seemed quite a terrible enemy to attack.

"I do not mock you," He said softly after a moment, though an amused smile came on his lips at the dog's intervention.

"It often seems so." She countered.

"Only when you repeat things you don't believe in yourself," He continued, looking into her eyes until she felt she had fallen into a bottomless pit. "That was not what I imagined when..."

"When?"

Yet, as always, he would not finish. Often, it would come, that he would not finish his sentence, and left her in the dark like that. Not because he thought she could not understand, she gathered after a moment. She looked at him closely, trying to guess his intention. No, indeed, it felt as if he did not want her to understand. As if he were afraid, or ashamed.

She raised her eyes to the sky. Rhett, afraid? Ashamed? She doubted it was even in his vocabulary!

And indeed, it was with his usual nonchalant air he continued on another subject, as if it hadn't been talked about.

"It doesn't matter. So, you did not like my gift, did you?"

She huffed, and he laughed at the vexed expression on her face.

"Now, why would you offer me such thing?"

The laughter died softly, with a friendly quietness that seemed to disappear into the song of the wind, which made the cotton balls wriggle impatiently, like a call to finish its harvest.

"Perhaps to see if you had grown and developed a feminine heart. If education had changed anything to your inner nature."

"Feminine heart?" She scoffed. "Fiddle-dee-dee, Rhett Butler, you would not know a feminine heart if it bled on your hand!"

Hers did, and he did not see. He would not see! She wanted to cry.

Yet, his retort was sharp, so sharp it felt like a slap.

"And you wouldn't recognize glitter from gold until it fades to dust in your greedy little hands."

She faltered, then raised and paced in front of him, yet the anger grew and grew, red like the clay, red like blood, until she felt sure she would scratch him. He looked at her warily, but when she stamped her feet, the look became impassive. He would not react to her. She would cry and fight, and still, he wouldn't react!

But why would he come and see her, if it was to say such mean things? He was not so mean when she was a girl!

Dumfounded, the dog only stared, not understanding why its mistress, which generally was generous with her pets (though she needed often to be remembered) was in such changing moods that day.

"Why do you always come back here, Rhett?" She finally urged.

"Do I bore you so?"

"No! You know you don't. But you have a family…"

"Who has thrown me out."

"Only your father."

"And the others are with him?"

"But you have a little sister! Or so I've heard."

He eyed her suspiciously, but she would not meet his eyes. Suddenly, his hand caught her arm to make her turn, and it felt like thunder all over her body, and heat, too much heat, on her chest, her belly and...

"How much have you heard?"

She would say nothing. Indeed, she couldn't. How close he was! So close she could almost count the hair of his mustache, a safer distraction than the tempting lips. Yet, he continued shaking her, and she met his eyes, so dark and piercing that she wanted to crawl into his arms and cry.

"Nevermind," He dismissed impatiently as he saw her struggle. An irrational fear grew in his guts, that of losing her, of being rejected by her. He tried to hold on, but she seemed so slippery! "This is between the Butler clan and me, Scarlett. A long history of distrust and outrage. But it is not of consequence between you and me," He took a moment to compose himself, his hands leaving her, but not the internal marks of his touch that still burned like iron on her skin. His fingers came to his hair to forget the softness of her skin and ruffled it in frustration as he wondered how much he could tell her. In him, there was an urge to tell her, to make her understand. But how much could he share before he betrayed himself? He sighed. "Once trust is lost, only a fool would forgive. See, Scarlett, I'm not one to turn the other cheek when someone has slapped me on the face, nor one to help when I see no interest in it. Why love the one who has whipped you, when you can whip them back?"

She froze. Could he erase all bonds as easily as that?

"You Butlers," She muttered. "So unforgiving."

"Butlers?" He raised a brow, though the glint in his eye was triumphant. "So you've met more than one?"

He looked at her closely. Her eyes were limpid to him, and he could see the anger, and a little bit of shame.

As he had begun to suspect. But how much had been said to her? What could he salvage?

"You've met Rosemary," He stated simply. "What has she told you?"

"Nothing important."

"And yet, you wouldn't meet my eyes." He insisted with a smile that did not reach his eyes. By God, he needed a cigar. Why did it have to be so hard? Why was he so easily distressed at the possibility she might know? "Scarlett, I'm disappointed with you."

"Disappointed with me?" There, she turned in all her glory, green eyes fierce and ablaze, and a delicious flush on her cheek that he wanted to kiss to make them redder.

"You've known me for so long. And she for what? Once or twice?" He nagged. "And now you keep things from me? Try to lie to me? Yes, indeed, I am disappointed."

Only he could turn the tables like that. And she did not want to fight, no! Too many efforts had been thrown in the fight, and she was tired. She only wanted to be in his arms. She sat down on the grass, her eyes lowered, and he crouched at her side, trying to meet her eyes.

"I know you," She finally said, defeated.

"Do you?"

Yet, he would not wait for the answer.

"No, it has no importance. The others are of no consequence whatsoever." He finally let out a cigar and lit it. "So, which one of these young bucks are you going to choose?"

"It's a secret," She let out a little smile, glad for the new subject.

"You'll not get Ashley Wilkes."

Oh, he was so infuriating!

"I can!"

"Yes, you can. But you'll be damned if you do, and he even worst. You need to lower your expectations, for anyway, they will never be filled with him."

"Perhaps you need to lower yours," She snapped. "Why, with how many men you've thrown my way! For one who expresses a dislike to marriage, you certainly do want me to marry!"

"Perhaps you need to lower yours and look what's in front of you!" He snapped back, before composing himself and blew heavily, like an adult in front of a difficult child. "Scarlett, I care for you. You and your father, and your people. You're the only family I want, and that has never disappointed me. That's all you need to know. And even that may be too much."

She faltered.

"I am damned anyway," She whispered. "Every step I take, it's away from one I love. I'm trying to hold everyone together, but I just can seem to do it!"

He softened, and touched for a moment her bare shoulder.

"It's called growing up, I suppose. Give it up, Scarlett. You can't hold everything together. It might tear you up, my poor darling, when you ought to have nothing to worry about that what your next amusement should be."

"Then to what can I hold on to?"

Hold on to me, he wanted to say.

"Say, Rhett, what can I hold on to?" She insisted.

But he said nothing.

She sighed.

"Rhett... Why don't you hold me into your arms anymore?"

He went still for a moment, rigid as a statue, yet she could guess that at the first attempt at touching him, he would jump and run.

"Aren't you a little too old for that?"

"Can anyone be too old for tenderness?"

A light twinkled in his black coals, warm and gentle. She wanted to sigh in bliss, for that was the Rhett that would take her into his arms and comfort her.

"Oh, and you're in need of some tenderness from your old playmate?"

"You're not old." She pouted. "Now, why won't you hold me?"

He took a deep breath. "You know why. What is accepted when one is a child is less so when one grows up. If I do, people will think..."

"... That you're in love with me?" She said, hoping to disguise the hope in her tone.

"That I have terrible intentions towards you," He cut bluntly, and his features smoothened as he continued lightly. "See, Scarlett, people have quite a scandalous imagination when it comes to marks of affection. What may seem innocent to us would seem terribly indecent to others. You wouldn't want anyone to think you had an affair with a rascal like me? Many of your beaus might take offense, and I doubt the old matriarchs would see you in a good light."

"I don't care about these peahens!" She exclaimed.

"Oh, but you do. You're too young not to care."

She pursed her lips, willing to fight him more on the subject, to convince him that indeed, she did not care at all. Yet, the words did not come, and she stayed silent. He would not believe her anyway, so why try? He would still look at her as a child, and it did not matter how many kisses she stole, that perception of her did not seem to change.

However, she realized then that despite his words, his arm had found its way around her shoulder, making her head rest against his chest. Her heart trembled with joy and fear, as she hoped he would not just as suddenly push her away from him.

So, she changed subject, hoping to lead it to something less personal, that might not betray her feelings.

An approach he was deeply thankful for, for his were about to show.

"Rhett, if there's a war..."

"Not if. When."

"You've been saying that for so many years now. Perhaps it won't come."

"That's because you're too impatient, my precious girl. You've always been."

There was a fondness in his voice that broke her heart, for it stroke the most sensitive part of her heart, the one that wanted to please him and be petted.

He leaned on the grass, the back of his head resting on his palms, and for a moment, Scarlett's gaze was attracted to the salient flexibility of his muscles, poorly concealed under his clothes especially when he was stretching. Something hot and wild, like a tiny monster, went to bite on her heart, before falling with a cry to her innards. It tickled and it burned, and she opened her lips for a moment to take a breath of air, yet even that seemed too much. It was his air, mixed with his scent, and she bit her lips lest it intoxicated her further. She licked it, wondering if she might taste it, yet it made her remember all the more what she would not try to do in plain daylight.

And yet, his eyes were still closed! Oh, if he could only look, he would see she was his already! How could he resist her, when she wanted him so?

"When the war comes, I'll be rich, you know. You may be happy to know me."

"I already am," She said with a coquettish air to belittle the truth of it.

"Oh, don't serve me your empty little words, Scarlett."

"You're a fool, Rhett Butler."

"Perhaps I am." He shrugged. "But I won't if I end up alive."

She raised a little, her boiling blood turning cold at the idea, a sudden alarm ringing in her head like a harassing bell.

"Alive? Are you going into some danger?"

"I am. War is a perilous thing."

"Oh, but you don't believe in this! Would you be foolish enough to engage yourself as a..."

"It is you that is foolish, girl," He cursed, raising swiftly like an Indian aroused by the war horns. " Did you hear anything of what I said about society? I believe in money, and money is what this war will give me," He softened. "See, Scarlett, war costs money. Money for supplies, weapons, and of course all the frivolity of festivity to make people believe everything will be alright. It is not the soldier that will have the money, no. It will be the sellers. Those who will raise the stakes and choose the price of their goods. Especially considering the value of the checks might change, and these fools might just want to prove they are separate by making their own very dollar. Remember that, Scarlett. Don't trust paper money. Gold is always safer."

She watched him closely, her eyes narrowing. Of the goals and means, she honestly had to tell herself she agreed with it. But the words of danger! How could she?

She would not say that to him. So instead, she told him what others would.

"That's mercenary."

He chuckled.

"I take that as a compliment. Mercenaries are generally good at what they do, especially surviving," He took another puff of his cigar. "Don't threaten me with words you don't believe in, child."

She rolled her eyes, relief going into her heart at his hearty laugh.

"How do you run on, you will not be risking your life."

He was a bit vexed by that.

"Do not be so sure of it. There's always a risk. And it's not devoid of adventures. I'll have to travel often. It will be dangerous. Blocking the limits is generally the first thing one does. And the Yankees are prepared. I've been in the North, Scarlett, and already factories are working diligently."

She deflated, vanquished, yet not willing to yield and show him the extent of her worry. Her fingers pulled at the petals that had gone stick to her dress, and she seemed to ponder on their softness.

"And what do you want me to say? Do you want me to cry all my tears in my pillow at night?"

She would, that was for sure, she thought. But her smile said she would rather smother him with the pillow herself.

"I hoped at least some might be reserved for me," He replied softly.

Suddenly, all her anger went out, pushed away by the sincerity of his tone, the almost hopeful glint in his eyes. It was tender and deep, making her remember for the second time the Rhett of her childhood, to whom she could tell everything without a care that her feelings might be used against her. She trembled at the tone of that voice, and almost felt faint. Oh, Rhett! She thought. Can't you love me? At least a little? Not like a little girl, but like a woman? Can't you stay for me?

"They will. You know they will." She sighed, her body leaning to take the shape of him. "I love you, Rhett."

She wanted to tell him not to do it. But she knew he wouldn't. Not for any care for her. There was a defiance in him that would make him go even faster, if only to prove that he could, and that she was not to decide for him.

He said nothing to that. He wanted to gasp but prevented himself from doing it.

Those were little girls' words. Nothing more than that. It was a joy by itself, but not the one his heart craved. He was a man, and he wanted a woman's words, yet she could not give it to him now, he knew that. He ought not to fool himself, like so many did.

He sighed, and gathered her against him. The sun warmed his skin, yet the hair raised from being so close to her. So close and yet so far.

"I love you too, child."

And just like a child, indeed, she nestled in the crook of his arms and cried silently. He did not dare to look at her, fearing it might break his heart. Yet he listened, and kept looking into the horizon, the quiet evening glow when the sun is still high, yet prepare to descent. And somehow, all seemed a little bit brighter, with her weight on him. With her on him, he felt his struggle lift a little, for he realized it was a hopeless fight. He could not win. He could only accept, and accept it, he did. Indeed, there was no turning back. He had made his bed by wanting to alter her path, and now he would lie in it.

He would protect her, yes. Whether she wanted it or no. She would not want.

And perhaps, one day… whispered a treacherous voice in his mind.

No. Better not think of it. It was as hazardous as a madman's race, and he would not risk it.

She looked too, ahead, but this time with a resolution confirmed.

She had been right, and ought to make the best of it while it lasted.

But more than that, she had to try and make sure his plans did not work as he would like them to do. She would not let him fool the people of the County for his own benefit. Not her friend

And then, in her heart, there was an enduring hope, a foolish little hope. After all, if his plans were thwarted, maybe he wouldn't have any choice than to stay?

Twelve Oaks Plantation, on the way to Tara, March 25th, 1861

Settled uneasily on the back of her horse, Scarlett looked at her surroundings, trying to find a pleasant thing to say. Oh, if only she could ride like a man! It seemed easier that way. Why would ladies have to ride in another way, one that might make them fall at each trot?

Scarlett was no horsewoman. She was better than her sisters when it concerned riding, yet that did not say much. Suellen was too careful of her dress to be a good rider, and poor Carreen was afraid of hurting it.

Scarlett was too impatient, and too furious generally that she could not do things her way, and the horse felt it. It tended to huff and protest at each gesture, making her even more nervous.

Yet, for today, she managed to maintain an appearance of calm. Her mind was elsewhere, to the relief of the beast.

On the way, some of the slaves of the big house were going back to their cabins, smiling one big smile at them while she waved back. Ashley, at her side was polite, nodding his head as he should, but he preferred to lay his gaze elsewhere, to the beautiful gardens at each side of the road.

So she tried this direction.

"Oh, it is so pretty, here! It's like we're in heaven! It always amazes me each time I go there. One would never want to leave."

He nodded absent-mindedly.

"All is beauty, here, in Twelve Oaks. Oh, would that I never leave it! I will, most certainly, but I hope it won't happen."

She blinked, perplexed.

"What are you talking about?"

He seemed tortured, as if pulled by invisible strands at each arm.

"Scarlett, you might not understand it, innocent and sweet as you are, but I need to say it. When I come to my estate, I'll free all the niggers."

She stared, stoned at such announcement coming unexpectedly in the discussion, when she had thought only to make a silly little comment to please him.

"But what about Mose?" Scarlett asked.

He looked at her, bewildered, and shook his head, most likely thinking she was a fool for saying it.

"Oh, Mose doesn't count. He's always been in my family. He wouldn't leave anyway. But the others... Why must I live with my father's sins, see it in front of me every day like a stain that wouldn't go away, when I only want to see beauty?"

At his side, Scarlett narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.

He did not want to free the slaves for a noble reason, though she was sure it would be believed he did

She held up her chin. What a hypocrite!

An unpractical hypocrite, she added in afterthought. She was tempted to say the beauty he talked about had been built with the slaves' sweat, the slaves' blood. His paradise was an illusion.

Yet, Pansy's words kept ringing in her head.

May they all go, if they wanted to! And to Halifax! She'd bid them goodbye herself, for all that she cared!

Yet, she wanted to cry, and her mind made her remember all the things she used to do as a child, the innocence of that night when she had danced with the other children, her bare feet red from the clay. She remembered the laughter, the heady music that made her feel her body was one with the air.

None should have to submit, she remembered Rhett say, and to her authentic young mind it came as something clear cut, when others would have thought of exceptions.

They thought she was no different. That she couldn't do it. She'd make them see! Yes, she'd make them see! She'd make them bite their words so hard their jaws would drop!

She put her fingers on the back of his clenched fist.

"I agree with you."

I don't love you, she wanted to scream. I don't love you and I don't want you. But I do want your name, and your estates. I do love that having you could prove them wrong, all of them. And I'm going to turn that world upside down, to make them see I can.

He held her hand for a moment, kissed lightly the knuckles of it. Then, his eyes met hers, and he froze in uncertainty. She gave him an encouraging smile, but that just seemed to reinforce his unease.

"Scarlett... I need to tell you something..."

He looked at her longingly, and she thought he would propose. His eyes had still that very painful glance of a dog looking at the foot that might kick him.

With a quick pull of the reins and light kick, he turned away his horse and left, not before throwing a last apologizing glance her way.

"Oh, but I'm such a coward! Please, do forgive me!"

She stared, befuddled at the dust flying from the hooves of his horse, before shrugging. Next time, maybe, would be better.

Tara Plantation, that same day

Waiting for Scarlett in the comfortable boudoir where Mrs. O'Hara had offered her tea, Melanie fidgeted uneasily and lowered her gaze to the rich Persian carpet that covered the pale hickory parquet. It was the only dark part of the room, each detail having been settled to let amplify the impression of natural lightness coming from the great windows.

The lady did not touch a cake. Her hands were still busy with needlework, but she talked pleasantly and gently.

Melanie liked Mrs. O'Hara. She liked the quietness of her manners, so alike those she had had around her when she was a child. It was something she knew and that was as comforting as a warm blanket on a winter evening.

Yet, there was a sadness in the woman, a fading of life that she suddenly felt afraid of. It was like the shadow of death was looming over that beautiful form, making her falter like a withered flower.

That woman was the epitome of duty and family. She was everything of a Southern lady, good, well-mannered, well-educated and generous. She was everything the younger girl had aspired to be. And yet, seeing her, Melanie felt uneasy. The image seemed bland before her eyes, a faded light, when she had learned that life could be so colorful.

Oh, and the colors she saw! Not just the blue, the gray from the people she knew. Calm colors, sad colors, like the ones that irradiated from the lady.

Yellow like the joyful bond she had with Randa, who made her laugh, and gently pushed her to amuse herself.

Pink like the deep friendship, no sisterhood between her and Scarlett. Strong as was her relationship with Randa, she had to say she felt closer to Scarlett, for she felt she treated her indeed like a sister, protecting her as such, while still opening her way to adventures she would never have dreamed of. And these adventures were earthy green, and brown, and gold... Precious moments she kept in her mind like jewels.

And red like... She blushed.

Edward, her heart thudded. No, Mr. Goldin, her mind corrected.

She had discovered the way he talked, truly talked, and she was glad to. Indeed, it was so very different from the words that had frightened her, and she liked it better for it. He had become her friend, through the many letters they had exchanged. And through their talks, she had learned the love of colors, for he was so good in describing all the nuances in all things, and said it so very gently she felt her heart throb in delight.

He kept true to his words. He would not say sweet things to her. No words of love nor dithyrambic admiration. When he thought things, he said it plainly, but with a delicacy that did not cut anyone from the debate and kept it open and gentle, so that no one was hurt. He would not try to protect her from things unpleasant, nor impose his opinion on her, as so many people had tried. He had not Ashley's rhetoric, and contrary to him, he would use simple words; not because he was condescending toward her, but because he did not want to be misunderstood, and truly want to debate with her. She did not have to feel she had to keep up to him, for they had their own pace together. And for the first time in her life, she felt she had power in the relationship. She could decide anything, and he would respect her decision. He would not dismiss it as a silly thing. He took her seriously.

She did not admire him like she did Ashley, like a gift she felt undeserving to receive. No, what she felt was deeper than that, a kinship in character and feelings that called to her.

And it was when she thought it that she realized she was already, fiercely, in love with him. A love of souls, that was too deep in her to refute, as if her heart had been hooked by his, and the more she pulled, the more it bled. A forbidden love, for, if he was no true Yankee, he was from the North, and likely to become their enemy if a call to arms was made.

Oh, if only Scarlett would come! Only to she could she truly talk about it, for she had been with her when she met him. She knew of him, and would not judge her. And indeed, how could she judge her, for she knew him!

In her loving heart, she could not understand that two people she loved could feel anything but friendship for the other.

She tried to find some subjects to talk about, yet all the pleasant things had been said. She felt relief though when Ellen O'Hara asked her about the books she read.

Scarlett arrived half an hour later, almost breathless from the race they heard coming from the corridor. The young Hamilton had to hide a smile as she saw her enter, all flushed cheeks and erring strands coming from her chignon. As for the mother... It was difficult to see what the mother thought if one did not look closely. A fondness, maybe, for the lovely scene, with a little bit of dismay for the unladylike behavior. And still, the constant melancholy of one who had known hardships, and continued to.

Yet, it was the dismay that seemed to show the most on the lovely face, and Scarlett seemed for a moment like a little girl about to be scolded.

A gaze paced between the two O'Hara's women, a quiet chill that put a veil on a yearning from both sides. Something was broken between the two, yet what? Melanie was perplexed by it, but somehow it gave her some unsuspected strength.

Oh, Scarlett had done so many things for her! She would try to help her improve her relationship with her mother. She would! She could see how her friend was saddened by it, and she would not let it show.

Mrs. O'Hara let them together after the necessary kind words one mother say to a child that had just come home. At least, how Melanie pictured it. Scarlett, after replying dutifully, finally turned toward her. And this time, the expression was more genuine, no more guarded.

"Melanie!" She called with a fond smile, opening her arms.

Said girl took refuge with joy in it as they settled both on the sofa. Oh, she had waited for it, and now, to have her friend in her arms, to feel her tender body against her...! What a joy!

"My, Melly," Scarlett joked. "Has it been truly a century since the last time I saw you? From the way you hold me, it feels like we've been separated by wars, and just went back together."

"Oh, don't laugh, dear Scarlett! I missed you."

"How you do run on," She replied with a teasing smile. "I missed you more. And I'm sure with all the attractions of Atlanta, you did not even think of me!"

"Oh, darling, you know it isn't true."

"I know. Your face can bear no secret. I swear, being as you are, you would not be able to keep it, for fear of disappointing someone."

Melanie lowered her eyes. That was the truth uttered bluntly, and she blushed at the accuracy.

"I may have a secret..."

At that, Scarlett laughed carelessly.

"You, Melly, having a secret? Fiddle-dee-dee, you have no dark bone in your body."

Melanie faltered, her burden suddenly too heavy for her.

"But... What if it was light?'

The laughter stopped, and Scarlett's green eyes widened.

"Then, I'd say you want despairingly for it to be said, for you're quite insistent."

That was too much for poor Melanie, who felt her heart tearing up. She bit her lip, before letting it go.

"Oh, Scarlett!"

"Then, what is it? Speak up!"

Melanie looked at her with bright eyes, then threw her arms around her waist, and cried it all out, all the secrets she had kept since then.

Scarlett listened and said nothing while Melly told it all. Her hand caressed her hair as if she were a child to soothe, and that was exactly what she needed. And when she was finished, she only said a sharp: "you better rest, Melanie. My, you're in quite a state!", the kind of begrudging exclamation she had when she was upset at one's feeling but did not want to show it. Yet, she hummed a little song and kept petting her. Melanie closed her eyes in bliss.

Everything would be alright, if she had Scarlett with her.

Tara Plantation, April 1rst

Frank Kennedy fidgeted with the guilt of meeting another girl than the one he had chosen for himself.

He had waited a long time for that moment, with all the talks of war, and the insistence of Gerald O'Hara and Rhett Butler over some deal with the cotton, and when he had talked with the other men, he did not come to any conclusion.

Many disliked the dark Charlestonian man and complained at his presence here. Yet, Gerald O'Hara was a good man, and was known to have the cunnings of the Irish, and way with money. The idea was tempting, and Frank, often easily convinced, leaned toward it more and more, despite the others' gentle apprehensions.

Yet, one thing was clear. That Butler was close to Gerald O'Hara's eldest daughter. Very close. And it was said she knew many things about him.

Of course, Suellen suggested many things, but he suspected there was more jealousy in it than reality. Women were mean between themselves, Frank knew that. Not like men. Men would gather and speak plainly, with respect. Only when it was question of a woman, that respect would stop.

He was glad that his Suellen had no other beau than him. At least, he did not have to worry about that, and would not have to have a strained relationship with the others because of her.

Women would fight like hens over which was the prettiest, which was the gentlest. They were the weaker sex, or so the Bible said, and had to be guided to wisdom by the men. Only men's influence would make the innate kindness in their hearts resurface.

Bah! After all, it was quite alright if they did not get along. That way, they would not plot together. Plotting women were terrifying.

And Scarlett, from Suellen's talks, was terrible.

Though now that he saw her, she did not seem so. Her face was sweet, though not conventionally beautiful. Her skin was pale and bearing regal and engaging.

"Mr. Kennedy?" She said, surprised, when she finally came after being called by her Mammy to greet their guest. "What brings you here? Suellen is in Twelve Oaks to see India Wilkes."

He lowered his shameful head.

"I did not come to see Suellen."

She stayed silent and waited. And that was the worst for Frank. His hands trembled on his lowered hat.

"I...er... came for you."

"For me?"

For a moment, he thought she was laughing at him. Yet, when he raised his eyes, her face did not betray anything, if only a little twinkle in her eye that might just mean she was happy to see him.

"I would like to talk to you about a serious affair. Not anything improper, no! About a... A matter of character, yes! A matter of character and morality! Well, not about you, per se, but...

She finally decided to put an end to his misery.

"Come walk with me."

He followed her, happy not to have to be a fool any longer, through the little way going to the rose garden. She gave him a kind smile, and he took strength from it.

"Say, Miss Scarlett..." He said shyly. "Can I trust him? After all, it is said you are quite close..."

"Are you doubting on my honor?"

And with her suddenly looking like an offended queen, could he doubt it?

"No! No, of course, Miss Scarlett..."

She stared at him with her piercing green eyes, and he felt ill at ease under her scrutiny. For a terrible moment, he felt as if she was judging him, his strengths and weaknesses, and he felt terribly lacking. But just as he uttered the thought, it disappeared, to let out an angelic expression that made him doubt what he had heard. Her eyes were demurely lowered, and she kept her hands modestly gathered in front of her. Her voice came out soft, just so he was forced to lean more toward her to hear what she was trying to say.

"I can't say you can. But I don't know a lot... You know I'm quite silly, men understand better such things!" She giggled lightly, as a girl should, and he was charmed. "But I do remember you saying... Oh, what was it again, for it seemed such a good idea! Oh, yes, that's it! I do remember you saying if money had to be gathered, it would be good that not only one man had it safe too far from reach, but on the families' hands, for they will be the ones who will provide the most for their sons and will need to be supported too. Family is the roots of the true warrior, you say, and they need to be fed as well. Rich families make lucky soldiers, you say. And in gold too, to be safe."

"I said that?"

Her eyes were bright.

"Oh, yes, you did! And how good you are, of thinking of those who stay behind! How generous, brave and clever to decide to sell the cotton yourself, you who are so loyal to the County!"

Her eyes seemed to shine in deep admiration at him, and Frank Kennedy felt blinded by the lights, forgetting instantly the glare they had in the first moment and suddenly, seeming to remember that indeed, he might have said something of the kind, something that delightful creature had remembered and praised him for now. With these eyes on him, what kind of man would he be, to disappoint such gentle expectations?

He idly wondered how he could have engaged himself to do such a perilous travel, yet soon forgot about it. What an adventure it seemed! And one that would gather the admiration of all!

He was so deep in glorious thoughts where suddenly Heaven's doors opened to welcome him as a victor, with two angels at his arms, his lovely Suellen and Scarlett O'Hara, who had seemed so unattainable before. He did not see the malicious twitch at the corner of the lips of his new idol.