Hello friends, and thank you for your constant patience and support! Don't worry, you are never far from my thoughts, and I wish I was able to give you more news, so that you wouldn't be kept needlessly waiting. The fact is that work has been very hard on me these days, and hard also because during my resting days, I was plagued with many headaches, and couldn't do anything but curse in misery, without being able to write as I wished. Your support really is what had made me smile and encouraged me to keep writing this chapter. So thank you very much!

Yeah, that was not a delightful thing. But I'm better now. I hope it doesn't reflect too much on that chapter though.

I don't own every piece of literature that is referenced in it, and my very congratulations to those who are able to name them all!

I wish you a good reading!

PS: Oh my God, thank you for remarking about the dates! I don't know what came over me on that one. So nah, it isn't August, it is June. I just have a weird fixation on August these days. I've made the corrections.

As for the character development (spoilers, to read after the end of the chapter), well let's just say sometimes we wish it was linear, yet in many cases, it is not. Especially with Rhett who's been rejected many times and to whom it is a huge issue. Ways to cope aren't always healthy and understandable, and can sometimes lead to repetitions of traumatic events, just as many children tend to go and be rejected from foster family to foster family because of inadequate behaviors, and when you talk to them, there's this conflict between the wish of being part of a family, and that sense of fatality, that tells them that they will never be accepted anywhere, so why try? And what if finally it wasn't worth it, and they were better without it? This is the case for Rhett here, grown-up as he may be, wanting to belong, yet afraid to as well, and badly reacting to eventual rejection. It makes me think then what he said to Scarlett when she talked of separate beds: 'well, you're tired of me? Guess what, men get tired earlier than women!'. It gives him the impression of having more agency if he is the one to decide to leave, than if others leave him. Here, it was good enough to be welcomed any time he wished. Yet marrying Scarlett would have tied the knot definitely, and brought many other expectations. And her marrying another is just a big shutdown for him to any expectation, and his reasoning is here to make sure he keeps a good representation of himself.

The point is, he is his own enemy in the story. Actually, I intended to describe the realization chapter by chapter, and with the importance of the dream, which comes back over and over, and with additions to it. I hope it gets clearer with that description.

As for Scarlett, she was clearly looking for someone she could control, and would protect her at the same time, and Charles quite filled the bills at the time nicely. Perhaps too nicely.

...

...

His arms were around her, and she wouldn't move. She was there, a dear, dead weight, limp in his grasp. She had been left bleeding from the abandonment of her lover, and he had taken her back, he was sure he had. Yet...

No. No, no, she couldn't!

Cold fear ran through his skin, in his blood, as he tried to shake her, but still, she wouldn't answer.

Gone? No, it couldn't be. She was strong. She was young. No one died of a broken heart. Not Scarlett!

That rascal… that poor excuse of a gentleman…

Devil... Corruptor of innocence... Defiler of daughters... He heard in the darkness around him.

Gerald O'Hara's voice was added to the voices of the crowd, and it hit him like an arrow through the heart.

It is not me, he wanted to scream. She doesn't come from my arms! It is not my fault!

Yet, she was there, in his arms, and on his face, there was another weight, like a mask stuck to his face, that was crackling, and he couldn't shake it. It tore out his features as he tried, blending it on a cruel smile that drew blood on his cheeks.

Her body was shrinking in size before his eyes, the curves faltering softly. The beauty of the woman was disappearing to return to that of the child she had once been. Crushed around them was the sickening scent of lavender, and every time the voices came, it just filled his nose like poison.

You've done it, they chanted. You've made your own monster. Your own nightmare.

Among the crowd around him, Belle's laughter rang. Blast the whore. She couldn't be proven right!

'Please...' He found himself begging, before shaking his head with anger. No, this wasn't him! He was no man to whimper! 'Please wake up. Please, make them see... Oh, why can't you wake up and say it?'

Damn the woman, couldn't she have loved him instead?

Love me, he had heard... But this wasn't for him. No, it wasn't him!

Devil... Corruptor of innocence... Defiler of daughters...

No, no, he thought. Not me. I'm a devil, but not that kind…

Yet, instead, a voice came, and it sounded like his.

I am, it said. And I'll take over and over, until you break.

At that moment, he was as much one as he was two, for the drawl was to his dread very much his, yet it had something so very wild and uncontrolled he felt ill-at-ease with it.

Around him, they laughed and laughed, and it was to that ring of laughter he woke up to, and a very strong wave that had hit the ship he was in and moved the bed closer to the wall.

He had to be rational. He had to. He was a man, and his emotions would never have the best of him. Foolish nightmares couldn't have the best of him! He was Rhett Butler, and he wouldn't be ruled by fantasies.

He could indulge in it for a time, yes. But not drown in it. He had to wake up and rise.

With a weary hand, he wiped his brow, and put back the covers wrathfully, disgusted by his own weakness. No, he would not falter. No one would have the better of him.

Oh, had she just but opened her eyes! One look would have been his undoing. But she hadn't, and he had let her on that bed of cotton. He had tried. Nobody could say he hadn't.

For a moment, he wondered what could have brought him to be so blunt and honest about his feelings to Gerald. Something in him told him that in another day, had he cared less, he would have done it in another way. He would have been pleasant. He would have made a snow job of it.

However, it was Gerald in front of him, one of the few he could call his friend, perhaps the only, and it was Scarlett waiting on that bed, the woman he loved more than anything, yet who when asked wouldn't have him.

Words had struggled on his throat, and something disheveled and to his disgust terribly vulnerable had taken over, and now he was there. Only when he had been rejected had he awakened.

But hadn't it been all a dream, in fact? A dream of being accepted, when he knew what a farce it was, to believe in it?

Almost choking on it, Rhett took time to recover his breathing and calm his raging heart.

This wasn't the end, no. They would all see.

Time would make her see him in another life. She would not have a choice.

If she was pregnant, she would have no choice but to wait. No gentleman would want to raise another's love child. No man that wouldn't know Scarlett enough to see what a prize she was would want that.

Not if he wasn't paid highly for that. And Rhett doubted Gerald would bear to bribe his daughter's groom, he who threw him away after what happened.

His blood ran cold at the remembrance. But quickly, he dismissed it once again. No, he wouldn't think of it. He had known it would happen, sooner or later. And now it did. He had been right about that.

Yet why did it hurt so?

He gasped, shook his head once again to clear his head, then poured himself a glass of water. Clarity came like a fresh gulf of wind piercing the fog. The little window gave him an image of the sea, and it gave him solace for a moment.

With a cold mind, he thought that it would give him the advantage, for Gerald's temper would have to bend to his, and Scarlett would have to see him in a new light.

With his beating heart though, he dreaded it as much as he hoped it. It made him remember the double loss he suffered, the family and the love, when he had been so close to having them. It made him remember words that he couldn't shake, that were repeated over and over, from his childhood to manhood. Different voices, yet all came from one he would not think of, rejecting him over and over until he decided he would raise his head and prove them how bad he could be.

No, he would not think of it. He wouldn't give them that pleasure of making him suffer once again.

What kind of man would be afraid of a nightmare? Nah, it was no dread.

What could he be afraid of, after all? He had played with death many times, teased it and dealt with it for blood and gold. He was a grown man. He seized opportunities when he saw them, and that was why he was there, on the way to the other side of the ocean, cotton safely stocked in his ship just a few days after President Lincoln proclaimed the blockade. He had to be rational. It had been what he had planned all along.

Scarlett could wait, sheltered as she was among friends and families. The blockade couldn't.

Now, he only had to consider his many options. He had no time for anything else. So, he kept going on his resolution.

However, the images of the dream would not leave him.

...

...

...

Clayton County, May 6th

The train was groaning, its wheels whistling in the red dust as if covered in blood. It seemed to Scarlett like a terrible beast about to swallow everything with its multiple dark mouths.

The worst of it was that they all seemed so very merry, so very eager for it, these brave boys of the South, with a mission in their heart and all their shining weapons, some having been repaired for the occasion and brought up to shine with loving hands.

The Cotton Kingdom wanted their help, and they would answer its call!

Charles was now a member of that crowd, of these boys that would leave and perhaps never come back.

Of all their times together, she learned that while he disapproved any pressure on his beloved sister and expressed his vexation that Ashley wouldn't control his own better, he was himself very much persuaded that there was no other desirable issue for Melly but the marriage with her cousin, for it had been settled since the very day of her birth and she had always been educated with that thought in mind. She was made for him, he said. That was what should be.

And with that first disagreement, she learned that he hated conflicts most of all and would avoid them at any cost.

So, they quarreled, very begrudgingly on his part, and very vigorously on hers because she couldn't bear anyone avoiding her.

However, she had her father's temper, quick to rise, and quick to fall. As soon as it fell, she always found herself very sorry to add to his burden when he had so kindly accepted her, and he, being as he was, was always happy to forgive her.

And here he was, leaving as so many did, under the commands of Wade Hampton. A little gentleman in a crowd of others, with the thick smoke of the train ready to leave, and she was there, about to say goodbye.

Or was it a farewell?

For a moment, for a terrible moment, a shadow came before her eyes, much, much taller and stronger than the boy in front of her, and she felt her heart plummeting softly down her stomach.

When he turned back, she held on to his sleeve, and he raised surprised eyes to her. Her heart went still, and all she could think was that she would not see him again. He would leave, just like others –just like another – and she would be all alone to care for those who stayed.

How was that fair?

So she held on harder, and her cheeks flushed, and gaze lowered, for fear he would see how she dreaded it.

"Don't die on us," She whispered, her voice breaking but a little.

"Scarlett..." He leaned to her, his voice soft.

"Be a coward if you must," She pleaded. "What use are you if you're dead? I need you alive, not dead..."

His body puffed for a moment with national outrage.

"The use of my country. And the pride of our family."

Oh, she hated that answer!

"If you die in this war, I'll not cry for you! I won't, I won't!" She fought back, her fists battling on his chest. "You better come back, Charles Hamilton! Or else... Oh, if you do...!"

And then she stopped abruptly, her forehead resting on his chest.

Charles looked at her huddled figure curiously for a moment, before his heart weakened, and he took her into his arms.

Nothing more was said, nothing but a promise suggested by one look as finally she let him go, a promise to try, if only one could return.

He boarded the train briskly, in a careless way that could but add to her worry.

Fool, she thought. Fool, fool, fool.

She looked at him one last time, and suddenly a thought came to her, like a shadow that had always been there, a dark cloud surrounding them.

Yet now, she found it had a name. Philippe. Philippe Robillard. A presence between words, a veil on one's look.

That her mother didn't love her father when she married, and had put distance with her family , she had gathered. But never could she have imagined her mother as a passionate girl who had once been in love.

From saint, she had become something else, yet it brought her a humanity Scarlett was not entirely at ease with.

For a moment, a strange thought came to her, that perhaps her mother had been once a bit like Melly, and somehow it was these qualities which had attracted her in her friend.

She dismissed it quickly. Mother, like Melly? Fiddle-dee-dee! No, most certainly not!

She went on her way, so lost in her thoughts that she almost didn't notice the gaze full of pity and sorrow Pork was throwing her way as she climbed up the carriage.

Now, only the women remained, and the patriarchs. She almost had to fall on her knees to prevent Pa to go too for, in one of these moods that appeared ever since... someone got away, he was ready to die for country and honor.

Only Ellen's clear voice had stopped him, and as she saw the powerlessness in her Pa's eyes, Scarlett had wondered at the power she still had, and the obvious love that held on despite distance.

As she came back, the young woman was once again enlivened by the sight of the agitation of Tara, by the peacefulness of it that almost defied war to come. She squared her shoulders, and took back her place near Melly, almost scowling in dismay as she saw her friend, with so many gathered around her.

No, Melanie was not getting better. She was pale, too pale, and so thin! It seemed she barely ate!

That wouldn't do!

"So... He went away?"

She nodded, trying to erase the concern from her face with an easy smile.

"He did."

"Was he brave?" Was asked feebly, yet with insistence. "Did he cry?"

Scarlett shook her head.

She would have preferred he had. She would have felt easier if he had.

"Not a tear."

A proud smile came to Melly's lips, and shined bright like a star, before it fell back with the pain of a heartache. Tears came to her eyes, like glittering like the dust of it among the darkness of her face.

"Then, I'm glad. I should be glad..."

Melly nodded once again, then turned back pleading eyes to Scarlett.

"Scarlett... Please, read it to me. Once again... Please, I need to hear. I need to hope. You have such a lovely voice, my dear Scarlett, and I know it will stay strong, when mine cannot... Please, do!"

Scarlett sighed.

Who was she to refuse? She took the demanded book and settled near Suellen, in a rare state of truce if only so that Melly wouldn't be upset by the sisters' constant bickering, which had grown vicious and silent by the day. A cold war, it was, of glares and little jabs.

Scarlett cleared her voice and read.

.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death."

.

As she read on, her heart panged with aching longing as the words imprinted in her mind.

Rhett! It cried. Rhett!

She closed the book softly, her fingers grazing with a wistful lust the crackling pages. Melly was lost in her thoughts, in a world of love and hopes.

Better not shake her... She thought. Yet, how Scarlett wanted to talk now! How she needed to confide!

Because then, she knew it. What she almost promised would have been a lie.

Because as she thought of the words, the only thing that came to her mind was Rhett. Rhett, the friend that had always been there for her, and comforted her when she needed it. Rhett, the guide who gave her advice, and pushed her to be the better version of herself. Rhett, the man who had caught her heart... And that night... Oh, that night, he had been the lover that made her a woman.

For all of her anger and sadness, she could not help it. She loved him as easily as breathing, and like breathing, he was essential to her. She longed to know what he was doing, and if he was alright. She wanted to hear his laughter, and all his stories. She craved for his touch, and the taste of love he had given to her.

She loved him, and she couldn't get him. Not that these facts were connected. She did not love him because she couldn't get him. Her love was much deeper than that, especially because it was him, and she couldn't imagine him as anything else than he was himself. She knew he wouldn't let her. He was himself, and she knew she could get to his level if she tried. Hers was a passionate love that despaired when he was away and craved more when he was there.

She closed her eyes, distraught, before startling at the feel of Melly's cold hand on her.

"Scarlett..." She whispered compassionately, and her voice seemed to suggest she knew what it was all about and was prepared to give her every comfort she needed. Something fluttered in her chest, and it felt like someone had put a warm blanket around her shoulders. "My dear... Dear, dear Scarlett..."

Scarlett squeezed back. Melanie's lashes fluttered in little pain, but she held on.

"I have to say... I've wronged you..."

One black brow raised, perplexed.

"Tsk. What are you saying, Melly?"

"I thought... I thought you'd be the Mary Crawford in my story, and I, the Fanny Price, would have to endure and wait for my Henry to turn to me. And yet... now I know you're my own dear Emma, and I am your Harriet... A Harriet, when I would like to be a Jane!"

Oh, the silly one! Scarlett thought. She was crying just for that?

Ridiculous, so very ridiculous!

"You're being foolish and read too many books. I should never have given you one, it gives you bad ideas," Scarlett retorted, dabbing the burning forehead. "Whatever that means, if you want to be a Jane, you'll be a Jane. But you're better as a Melly, silly goose," We need you, as Melly, she prevented herself to say, instead conveying a very irritated: "No one dies of a broken heart."

If so, she would have died a thousand times.

"How would you know, you who have none?" Suellen couldn't help but snap.

Scarlett only stared and raised. Carreen, softly sleeping on her chair, was barely stirring.

Poor girl. She had gone far past her usual sleeping time. A good girl, yet that tended to be forgotten, and to forget herself. Another one of them.

Scarlett pursed her lips.

"I'm going to change the water. Please rest, Melly. You're thinking too much, and it makes you sick."

"Oh, Suellen..." Melanie berated softly, when the door closed behind the eldest of the O'Hara's girls. "How could you say such a thing? You know it isn't true."

Her back on the other side, Scarlett waited, for a moment curious.

"I don't know," Suellen answered after a little time. "It's always been like that, between us, and she always seems so... unreachable. No matter what, it seems as if nothing can touch her, and she's got everything I want. She's always ahead of me, and I can't bear it!"

Scarlett pondered the words and sighed. For a moment, a little regret came to her, but she dismissed it quickly. She had more urgent things to do than to think about Suellen's whims!

"Pansy!" She called sharply. "Bring me back my paper and pen!"

Yet, it was Cheyenne that answered.

Irritated, Scarlett did not question it at the time.

It was the next day that she learned that Pansy had escaped.

...

...

...

May 20th , London

Young miss Julia Shaw was reading Emma, by Jane Austen.

She was no heroine, that's for sure. A little wit, maybe, a little accomplishment too as was expected. No true beauty but her inheritance of twenty-five thousand pounds, that was pretty by itself. A pretty sum that could give a little brightness to the dull tones of pastels of the girl and the English interior she lived in.

But the most interesting thing for Rhett was that young miss was the daughter of one Mr. Shaw, and that this Mr. Shaw had quite a thick web of very wealthy, and very diverse friends that were already very much interested to speculate commerce with him in a time of war, thinking they would be richer by it, and procure themselves some amusement over the misfortunes of these rebellious Americans.

So, for all these interests, Rhett could very much indulge one Miss Shaw, and her fantasies if that could please the father that had urged him to stay, thinking keeping him there would be the best way to control him.

Yet, as the book was read, thoughts couldn't help but go back at the other side of the ocean, to the girl who never read it, and to memories that came back to his surprise, from a time he thought long forgotten. Words, mother's words came back to him, and he reflected on it.

"I wanted to name you Knightley," She had said once. "for at least I thought you, my dearest boy, could be the help of women: a gentle man, helpful yet not afraid to tell what he thinks, and independent. But..." And she sighed wearily. "your father would have nothing less than a king. He has a lot of expectations for you. It is your duty to fulfill them. Why do you have to be so hard? Why do you have to always defy that? You have to stop before it's too late. Or else... Else..."

She never finished her phrase, and the boy he had been was left with questions that would not be answered. What would happen?

Nah, that was full nonsense.

I'm not a gentleman, he thought. I can't be. And I don't want to. But a king...

Well, the idea had its charm. After all, a king could do anything he wanted.

He was no George Knightley, always so noble and gentle, even when remonstrating. He hated the censure for the sake of hypocrite politeness. He hated the rules everyone wanted to impose on him, so unpractical and illogical, and that would bite him whether he abided by them or not.

Once again, he had failed to meet expectations. Alright. He was no one but himself, and he was satisfied with it. He did not want to change, no. Not for anyone. No love was true if it couldn't accept him as he was.

And now, he knew what "else" meant. And he had learned he could live with that "else". It could not touch him. It was expected now, in fact.

Even Gerald O'Hara had his "else", and now Rhett knew it.

But Scarlett... Where was hers?

She was so young then, still a girl in a war that would shake her world upside down. She was not ready, he thought. What if she broke before he came back? What if she grew to hate him?

Though she had argued and argued with him, never had she grown to hate him, despite how many things he had asked of her. Never had he considered it until then.

In his chest, he felt a tight grip on his lungs, on his heart. His arms crossed with the memory of a tender weight, and it pulled at him with a strong hold, intangible yet with the bite of frost. His shoulders blades arched as he swore over and over it wasn't fear, and it would never have the best of him.

No, he was not afraid. He may love, but the control was his, and he could take it back anytime he wished. He could even hate her before she did and grow tired of the hold she had on him before she even had time to resent him!

Oh, he would get her, because he had sworn he would...

But what if the prize was already losing its value now that he had gotten her? What if he built castles in the sand for nothing?

He frowned, displeased by the idea.

In fact, perhaps even that hold had faltered, and his brain was just too stubborn to try something else. In fact, even these dreams had begun to falter. Perhaps he could try...

That young Julia was attracted to him, he knew that. It was obvious, from the way she looked at him, with an eagerness to please that was almost sickening.

He smiled at her, and she flushed, before burying her head on her book, and her voice faltered.

.

'Will you?' He said, offering his hand.

'Indeed, I will. You have shown that you can dance, and you know we are not really so much brother and sister as to make it at all improper.'

'Brother and sister! No, indeed.'

.

After all, aren't you like a brother to me? Came her voice, full of mischief.

A brother... No, in the end, he was sure she had not considered him like that, or at least had stopped in the way. When it had happened, he didn't know, yet it was a progress, at least.

His mind unwillingly recalled the day he made her smile and dance to the rhythm of an Irish song, how she moved graciously in his arms as if she was already one with him...

His fists ached from the pressure of his powerlessness, as thoughts wandered more than they should, and body remembered the pain of being torn apart. Eyes recalled the lovely face, almost buried in the fluffy cotton, nose the smell of the freshly picked flowers, and her own, so flagrant in that dark hair of hers. He had buried his nose in that silky hair, tested its strength and softness around his neck. He had heard and felt her soft breath on him, regular and warm.

Once, she had mumbled happily in her sleep, and he had mused over it, before a cruel certainty came, that it wasn't for him.

Her heart was not for him.

Too early. Too late.

Damn it. Damn her.

...

...

...

Tara Plantation, May 30th

The letter had arrived five days ago, delayed many times, and these five days were enough to bring one Edward Goldin to his knees, in one land he had once despised, if only to see the one he loved. Not a thought even came to his usually relatively rational mind, as to how his address might have been given, only the terrible message that she could disappear without he could even procure her any comfort at all, without he could even hear her laughter...

No, the thought was unbearable, and at the first reading of it, he grew so restless that even his friend had no other choice than to kick him from their rooms and drag him to the next train.

So they had come, the two friends, one with his heart on his sleeves, and the other slightly annoyed, yet willing to sacrifice a few days of peace, if only to be sure he wouldn't hear of any whining after that.

Eugenio had never tasted the kisses of the Georgian girls, he would rationalize later. And then, there was a girl with strawberry blonde hair that soon took his interest. A little fury in skirts crossing his way on the devil's horse, and he wasn't against a little flirtation now and then.

Of that, Edward was completely blind, weak at the knees until finally he was allowed to see her.

She was alive! She was alive, and she wanted his company!

...

...

...

In the background, a shadow witnessed it all, and reflected. For a shadow she was, a gentle ghost made of strong sorrow that kept her alive, and habits that kept her together as whole. Yet, the bones were weary, and begged to be left to rest.

She had struggled for a moment in remembrance as a hasty wedding had been done. Yet, she had kept silent. At least, it was a much better option. Yes, a much better option than one she couldn't bear the name of.

For a moment, as she went down the stairs to accomplish her duties, she met and held on Scarlett's gaze as a guest was invited in her house to visit young Melly Hamilton.

Something in her chest simmered, like water kept too long on an overheated cauldron.

Ellen Robillard's heart was awakening.

No, she couldn't let it happen!

She kept walking.

...

...

...

Tara Plantation, June 1861

Numerous times, Edward Goldin found himself haunted by a relentless surge of bad luck involving the horses he was loaning, which tended to grow wild on his approach, and the harassing attentions of three harpies with red hair and their minions, which found him at the most awkward moments in the inn and often left him with a purse surprisingly lighter.

To that, his friend only laughed, and disappeared who knew where.

But that could be dismissed. This was Eugenio's way, after all.

Fortunately, at the end of the day came his haven as he finally reached one room of Tara, where he was sometimes gently ignored by the hostess when she was there, glared at by the other girls of the house, but, the most important part of all, warmly welcomed by the one he loved.

He had been introduced as some distant cousin from Melanie's regretted father's side, yet quickly realized it might have been for nothing. He was only looked askance and shrugged at by the owner of the house in a disenchanted, almost powerless way.

Sometimes, a girl with copper hair would come, and read some journal she had stolen from her house. Melly once almost cried because of it, and to that, he almost lost his reserve, with a sudden urge to choke the friend that had hurt his love.

He was allowed to sit at a close distance (that is, the length of two ladies' crinolines) to the one he loved, and offer her comfort by discussion, or the reading of books he knew she liked, noting each favorite moments in order to draw their likeness with a pen and offer her it later.

How he delighted in her bright eyes and flushed cheeks, and the shy manner she would comment them!

He who had always been so sensitive to criticism lived for them. She was observant, more observant than he knew people credited her to be, and she had a way with words that amazed him so by its humility that each remark subtly urged others to improve without hurting their pride. A true guardian angel, almost intangible, that made people the better version of themselves without them even knowing it.

Nonetheless, as time passed, and reality threatened to call him back, he realized one thing.

Though she could almost seem fine, even playful during his visits, the end of it was marked by the return of a fever, and painful cries that broke his heart and urged him to stay, or at least come back the next day. It tortured his heart, yet questioned his mind. And he began to realize that the more he called, the more her friend, that Scarlett, was pursing her lips in dismay.

A terrible suspicion came to him, terrible because it brought him a hope that he shouldn't have, and that might unsettle the precious harmony they found, as friends.

Yet, as to all dreams, he had to wake up one day.

He was indeed called to go back. An urgent missive from his father, that suffered no delay.

So, this day, he came to say his goodbye, and, with (at last!) understanding stares from her guardians, he was allowed to come near the bed, and kneel before her.

And this day, this terrible day, her face broke with the marks of despair as she caught his arm with fervor.

"Please, don't talk of leaving!"

"Melanie..."

The name came from his lips easily, too easily, with a sad tenderness that he couldn't control, and it made her raise her beloved eyes to his for a moment. Oh, how it shined bright and warm!

"I can't bear it!" She whimpered, gripping his sleeve forcefully, before hiding her features on it. "Not you too! I..."

He leaned toward her, attracted to the flame, not wanting to believe, yet the hope raising by the minute, to the pleading light in her eyes. His hand found her cheek, tender.

"Is it possible..."

Her lip quivered, and the light in her eyes shook but a little as he tried to meet them.

"Oh, do you love me so very much?"

Oh, didn't she know already?

"Much and more, my beloved, and even if you don't love me, I know to my last breath my heart will beat to the rhythm of your name. Melanie! Oh, sweet Melly, I may not deserve your love, but you'll always find me a ready defender for you."

"Oh, dearest Edward... you do! I already do!" She cried heartfully, throwing her arms around his neck in one child-like abandon, yet that confirmed suspicions that her strength had been returning. Scarlett frowned a little as the young man seemed too overjoyed to wonder at it. She was sobbing on his chest, sobbing very tenderly, and his heart was feeding on these delightful tears that were meant for him, and that heart, that heart of gold he felt beating alongside his!

Yet, for a moment, she faltered in his embrace, and he pushed her down a little, trying to see a little more of her face. She would not meet his eyes just yet, her fingers struggling nervously with one button of his coat. "But... Oh, how can I when you might soon be gone to fight my people? My own brother, my friends... All fighting, and I... What a wretch am I! How traitorous my heart, how swaying my faith! Dying would be all that I deserve! And yet... and yet... I want to live! I want to be with you, keep you..." She let out a distraught cry and hid her face on her hands that had slowly fell from his shoulders to his chest. "Oh, how could you even love such a selfish woman?"

He chuckled, then took her hands tenderly with his, putting them on his chest. Would that he could give her the world!

"Oh, very easily, I assure you. I do not ask you, my love, to betray your land and country. And I do not intend to betray mine."

She opened wide eyes on him, a bit like these adorable little barn owls he had once seen at night, softly singing to the moon.

"But... how then... you said you were leaving..."

"Not to fight. Oh no, not to fight. I never was a fighter, and I do not intend to be, especially when I doubt so much. I was born among Yankees, that's true, yet my blood has Southern blood, and a Cracker stain. I don't want to fight for what I don't believe, in my heart, as right. My family needs me, but not like that. If you could but wait for me and accept who I am..."

"I do! I do!" She nodded eagerly, her brown eyes alight.

He nodded back, unbelieving at the happiness that hit him flat on the chest. Hands touched hands, feverish and warm, to reassure themselves it was all true and real. He nodded once again.

"I'll never resent you if you couldn't, but... I'll do everything to make a home for us, wherever you would want to settle."

She smiled widely.

"Then... Then... Oh, my love, I shall be so happy!"

"Beloved!" He cried, taking her into his arms once again.

….

He kissed her on the brow, and if Scarlett had the decency to look away, yet more because of envy than true decency by itself, Carreen looked at the scene eagerly, as if she was witnessing one her favorite moment of a book in real life. Her romantic mind saw the obvious intrigue of ill-fated lovers, and considered that one unfortunate ending would be as fitting as a fortunate one. Oh, the beauty of dying for love, of mourning that love eternally! It called to her sensitive heart, and for a moment, she thought that it did not matter if Brent did not love her, because she loved him, and her love was pure and enough to transcend life. For him, she would go to a nunnery, if only to keep the purity of that love within her.

Oh, would that it was in a haunted abbey also!

And Suellen... Well, Suellen looked at it with an impression of oddity, which left her wondering how much she knew of such a thing.

"So... this is love, then?" She said after a moment.

"It seems so."

This was said begrudgingly. No, thought Scarlett. That was this man and Melly's love. Had Rhett loved her, it wouldn't have been like that. She knew it. He was no man to give up on his freedom of movement and slow his pace for anyone. No, instead, he would turn one cheeky face to her to mock her until she had no choice but to run to him to make him see she could keep up.

And somehow, she loved him for that as well, for that was a strength, a firmness that appealed to her, for it was like her own. With him, she played and fought, and felt accepted and true to herself.

This was not like her love for Rhett. Yet, in the scene, there was something real that caught her interest, a bond that wasn't blind to one's faults. Something that was part of Rhett and her bond she longed for.

Oh, Rhett! She lamented. Why couldn't he stay with her? Why couldn't he do the right thing, fo once?

I'll come back, he had written...

Yet, he hadn't. He had left her, and now...

No, she wouldn't think about it. She wouldn't!

But for Suellen, whose vision of love had been limited by her prospects, and overshadowed by the eldest without the benefits of the youngest, there was something that appealed to her in the feeling of complete despondency she thought she saw in the scene she witnessed. Where once, love had been seen as a proof she was the most deserving, now she saw it could give her a shoulder to lean on, a tenderness she didn't know she needed, yet now craved it as a void that begged to be filled.

She looked once more.

"I want it." Suellen wished softly. "I want to be loved like that. Someone who'd take me into his arms, and say it would be alright..." Her chest heaved but for a moment, before it fell. She did not look at Scarlett as she continued. "I can't be strong like you."

Scarlett's mouth quirked in amusement.

"That's certainly the only compliment you've ever told me, sister."

"Don't get used to it."

Yet, on Suellen's face, there was a little smile.

It all ended very softly, very silently, with many promises and love, and as Edward Goldin left the room, the bliss drawing a little smile on his face, he was surprised to meet the constant and sharp stare of Scarlett who was meeting him with crossed arms and a strong resolution.

"Where will you go?" She demanded, hard and harsh.

"For now, I return to Saratoga. Then, I'll go to New Orleans."

She froze. Oh, what an irony!

For a moment, she frowned, and thought that if he wanted to meet his death, he wouldn't do it too soon! Yet, Melly's face came to her mind, and she was soon to revise that judgment.

A brother had already left her. Melly wouldn't bear to lose a lover. Not like her mother had.

"No!" She couldn't help object sharply. Recovering, she shook her head. "Go, and look for Rhett Butler. He may not be there now, but he's sure to return where there's money to be found. If there's a scoundrel who's going to survive and raise, it's him."

Edward's chin raised in stubbornness.

"I am no scoundrel, and don't want to work to some. I don't need your help."

"Then, you're a fool. Don't put your life into unnecessary danger," She gripped his arm, her voice insistent. "You carry the heart of the gentlest woman in the world. Don't you dare break it."

His glance went to her, a time meditating the words, and something quivered, like an understanding. She felt hope.

"I've met Rhett Butler," He began quietly.

"Oh, you did?" She straightened, and let her arm fall on her side.

She did not want to hear of it. She couldn't bear to!

"Once. I can't exactly recall the exact discussion. But he didn't seem quite the scoundrel, then. Rough around the edges, yes. But a bit too tortured to be a complete scoundrel. Whatever he may have done to be called so by such a young lady. You may give him injustice."

She huffed.

"Tortured? Rhett has never been tortured once in his life." Not when he could take directly what he wanted, she thought. And he took... But he also gave. And what he gave...

No, she wouldn't think of it!

"But this is not about me. Or anything he might have done to me. This is about Melly. You're bound now, Edward Goldin. Don't you ever forget it."

He looked at her very seriously and nodded, and when he was gone, so was the strength of the moment, faltering with annoying irritation at the men leaving when they should stay.

She felt weary as she went back to her room. Yet, strength again was needed as a letter had been delivered on her nightstand.

Charles was sick.

...

...

...

London, July 1st

"He's a rogue, Julia!"

"Oh, Papa, a bit of a rake maybe," Julia Shaw protested to her father with the voice of one spoiled child who begged for a toy. "but he just needs the right woman to change! I know I can change him!"

The poor indulgent father faltered.

"I know Langston Butler had many expectations for his eldest son and made sure he got the education of a gentleman, and more, but..."

"And he is! I know he is!" She cried back. "Deep in his heart! He's just misunderstood! But I know with me, he'll be that again!"

And behind the door, Rhett mused at the overheard discussion.

Another foolish girl wanting to change him. One among many, and certainly not the last. It was a challenge raised among girls and women, he had learned. A lady had to bear with everything her husband would throw at her. A lady had to believe she could change him, and what a lady she would be, when he finally changed for the better!

He had kissed her, that girl, just to verify what he already knew. She tasted like all the other girls, and reacted just as they would. She didn't taste like her, didn't make him feel like her.

It was amusing, cruelly amusing, yet how truly bitter, for he was left with the ache that she wasn't her, and he could not fool himself farther...

I don't ask for you to marry me, Scarlett had said. You don't have to ask me that...

Oh, but she would have been the one who had had the right to ask him that... She had had no thought of trapping him, or changing him. She had asked him to love her for the night, without any promise. She most certainly was not aware she had, yet, she had only made him by that demand love her harder, forsake every freedom of mind, if only to feel her by his side.

This was the woman for him. The woman that was waiting...

His back straightened as his blood boiled in his veins.

By God, he should have abducted her, damn his scruples!

Had he really let her waiting? And perhaps with a child? Her, so young and unprepared to it? What madness had taken him?

No... If she was, she would have sent for him, he tried to tell himself. She would have told him. She knew he cared for her. Perhaps not how much, thankfully, but enough. She knew he would never abandon her to stay in such a state...

Oh God, he had to come back!

His feet dragged him back to his room, and he began to gather his things, before realizing a letter had been left for him. A letter from the County...

His heart skipped a beat. He managed to keep a cold exterior, but in his boots, he felt his feet shaking.

At first, the words appeared as a whole heavy block, unreadable and obscure. He forced himself to blink and focus, until finally it came to him.

Scarlett was married.

God! Scarlett, married!

So, she finally had him, then? She had managed to get the better of him, after all?

Alright. Alright.

No, not the better of him. No, no. Vixen. Witch. How could she? After giving herself to him? After that moment where he opened his heart to her, and she...

His fist gripped on the piece of paper, and he kicked on his bag.

Yet, no satisfaction would come. He paced and paced, then left the room, seeking solace in the library, where at least nothing could make him think of her.

"Oh, Mister Butler! Mister Butler!" He heard a cry behind him. Oh, the stupid girl, he thought, and he cursed himself for not seeing she had followed him to the library. "You know, I'm just coming to the end! Would you like to hear it?"

He had not the time to say nothing would displease him more that already, she took it upon herself to do so, with a blush and expectant glance his way as he tried to walk past her.

Yet, she kept on following him, drawing attention.

She talked, and he tried to ignore the words. Tried to ignore the recalls of his hopes, that call that had been unanswered... This was but a fiction, and it couldn't touch him. Dreams couldn't touch him.

'... But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now'...

This was the last straw.

"Dear girl..." He turned towards her abruptly, gritting his teeth as a mean little smile came to his lips. "You want to know what I think of it?"

She froze and looked up, nodding suddenly very shyly.

"Yes..."

He leaned into her ear, and she trembled, the foolish girl, as if he would just kiss her in plain view of the servants to see and gossip!

"I think I've never heard as much nonsense in my life, written to make silly girls full of themselves dream about something they will never get, when all that wait for them in the end is a babe in their belly and a husband that would snore onto their ears… among other things."

She gaped, flabbergasted, and he took advantage of it to take the book from her hand. He threw it to the nearest fire, and it cracked and cracked, hungry and licking, and when he turned, a strange pleasure came at the sight of the tearful look on the girl's face.

...

...

...

Tara Plantation, 1861, July 5th

Grand-Père had granted his first wish, and Scarlett was still surprised by the quick effectiveness of the deed.

Charles had been brought back in the County in all urgency, to the ones who cared about him, some waiting their turns with Mrs. O'Hara in the next room.

Yet, of all these people, only Melly and Scarlett, and the doctor, had been for the moment admitted to his side, in this moment when everything seemed to hesitate over where fate would lay its curse.

On the bed where the sister had laid, now it was the turn of the brother, and Melly, stronger now, kept first a faithful watch on him, as if one moment of rest would take him away from her. However, for the next few days now, she was calmer, and Scarlett suspected she had heard something from the doctor that gave her more resolution than she had had.

"Oh, sweet, sweet sister... I'm so glad you've recovered..." Charles said softly, weakly. "So glad... You've recovered, and now here I am... But maybe it's better like that... That I could take back the pain from you..." He coughed for a few minutes, oblivious to the tearful look on her face. "You should marry. You should be protected... Please, promise me... Promise me you'll marry A..."

"She'll marry," Scarlett cut in, tied by the secret that bound her to her friend, and that brought a painful conflict in these usually clear brown eyes. "I'll make sure she does."

Melly was a honest girl. An upright girl, generous and soft. Any deceit was a wound to her heart and soul, and the pain was even greater now that she had to face a beloved brother.

"Scarlett..." Charles whispered, his eyes meeting her with a feverish smile. "Yes, Scarlett, I know you'll see to that. For all of our disagreements, you will. I know you will, for I know how you love Melly, and how you feel... indebted to me..."

A new cough interrupted him, and drops of blood came rolling down his chin.

"Indebted..." He repeated. "And yet... Can I say there's a debt? Am I such a failure?"

"No, you're not," She chided, grudgingly softening her tone. She would not cry. No, she would not. It would break his spirit, and she couldn't bear the idea of seeing him break completely. God's nightgown! She had thought he would die in war, and now that? "You've... done your best."

"So... you did cry, after all," He mused, his eyes tender on her. "And you were right... Oh, to die of measles! When I wanted to be a hero, for once!"

"You will not die," She cried, dismay that he would verbalize something that just came from her mind. "No, I forbid you to! You promised me!"

But he took no notice of that. Something more important was laying in his mind, and she saw she could not disappoint him on that.

"Before I left... I thought perhaps... I thought maybe you would... you were re-thinking..."

She stared at him for a moment, wondering how much she could say, before deciding on reserve.

"I was," She said, and indeed, at that time it had been true.

He chuckled weakly as he saw it on her face. "How unfortunate, then. I've been so close to have your heart... Have I at least been of any use to you?"

A lump gathered in her throat.

"You are..."

He smiled, a little bright smile that saw greater things that she had said, and she felt burdened by it.

"Thank you..."

Don't, she wanted to cry. Don't thank me for using you!

Oh, it would have been so easy, had she loved him. But she couldn't, and she regretted it.

Instead, she smiled back, a wistful smile that could keep him on that hope, if only he would stay.

Please stay... She thought. Maybe, maybe... At least I could be a good wife to you...

Yet, as she met the doctor's eyes, she knew she could not fool herself long.

So she smiled harder.

Charles' grip weakened, as he drew one last smile. And when the eyes were closed, Melly raised and kissed his brow softly, one tear finally leaving her eye.

"Sleep well, brother," She whispered.

...

...

Five days later, a letter arrived in the other side of the ocean, in a hotel in London. Yet, it was left unopened. Its recipient was long gone. Gone to risks with the intent to gain. Gone again with the intent to forget.

But as it is often found, one cannot forget what one means to forget.

In fact, it may become a truth universally acknowledged, as one famous lady once said, that one often may find oneself recalls it even more than one had before.