Hello everyone!

As always, thank you for bearing with my irregular schedule and for being so patient. After a little incident when I lost, then found again after having rewritten it, many of the text of this chapter, a great time had been dedicated to think about which part seemed better to me. Heavy work for someone as undecisive as I.

Some of you asked how many chapters were left, and to be true... Now, I do not really know. I have to say at first I attended to finish just a little after the war, but with the allusions of ScarlettGator for example about the reconstruction... There come many other ideas, and I hope I will not make the mistake of not developing enough and getting lost in intrigues, as I could have done in a Million Nights. This was my first finished long fanfiction, and there's a great sentimentality about that story, and satisfaction over some links, some references I made, but I know I could have done better with the development, the characterization and the historical events. I had fun with that first story, and I guess I overindulged myself to the detriment of quality.

I hope I do not make the same mistake with What the Wind Brings, so this is why I need to have more time to reflect on it. And perhaps if some of you would like to talk with me about it, like some kind of beta reader? But I fear it might be too much of a burden, with my irregularity to reply. Not to mention it seems I have trouble getting notifications... Ah, so many faults I will have to correct!

Anyway, I hope you will like that chapter. No confrontation yet, but certainly a (very big) preparation.

Elise

...

...

Atlanta, July 1rst

There was a strange fog clouding the night of the young and harsh Atlanta, a gloom that felt surprising in the usually busy streets. The wind blew lightly over the crepe myrtle which stood near the window of the National Hotel where Rhett had settled, scratching over the flowers' petals until they fell pitifully on the floor. It seemed to sing a sinister song without word that called to the heart, cried to it about future mourning.

To Rhett's eyes, the streets had been empty for several days. Several days without color, with aimless activity and the grey of bitterness that became dark as he cursed himself for staying so far inland when he could be at sea and busy. Everything was always easier at sea, facing concrete danger. Anything but the wait of someone he could not allow himself to run after. Not now. Not ever.

Two fingers held the hems of the heavy velvet curtain. His legs, clad in dark grey breeches, were crossed in a quiet way as his powerfully built body relaxed, his eyes briefly catching the nervous expression on the young man standing in front of him.

"You've been turning around it for so long, boy," He said quietly. "That I thought you would never do it."

Was he disappointed? Not truly. It had been good while it lasted, but he had always known. It had been interesting, a bit amusing, to see the boy bend and come to more practical views, to struggle against conflicts of the mind, conflicts about morality, before settling in something in between. He had not played the self-righteous man, bound to shame everyone that hadn't his views.

Youths tended to be extreme in their opinions, but not him, and he liked that in the young man.

"But I do it," Edward Goldin bowed swiftly, his throat heavy with anxiety. "I thank you for your kindness..."

He dismissed it.

"This was no kindness."

"For your learnings, then. But..."

"But it's not enough for your little lady."

"It's not enough for me," Edward retorted. "I want to be a better man."

"Than me, I suppose."

The boy broke on a smile. "You like to misunderstand willfully those around you and make them misunderstand you. No. I do it for myself, for my fiancée. In a way, I had become better with you. But I want to become my own man, and that is something I alone can achieve. I have my own money now. But I want to find my purpose in this world."

On the boyish face of Edward Goldin, his hair neither red nor yellow and skin with a clear suntan, the blue eyes lit with a fierceness that filled Rhett with sympathetic amusement, that of a man rich of his experience and knowing youth had these weird fancies about wanting to be their own person, when elders know the power of influence which often prevent people to be so, even without them knowing. Yet, he nodded, almost fondly.

"I can understand that."

Certainly less-at-ease with that kind of condescension, Edward's pride seemed to flatten quite a bit, shoulders relaxing and a sheepish grin drawing on thin lips.

"But if I could be... Your friend?"

This time, it was Rhett's turn to straighten and look at him sharply. There was something insulting to the question, and the Charlestonian interpreted it as an offer made out of pity.

And anyway, what need did he have of that kind of friend? A boy that wasn't even accepting his own origins?

"That's quite the nicety," Rhett quipped. "Sympathy for the devil, haven't we?... We'll see, boy. We'll see."

He raised and tapped the young Cracker's shoulders, in a way that made him after it remember in a painful way that Gerald O'Hara used to do the same to him, to have that kind of gesture and tone of voice.

By God, he was certainly not going to bellow!

"Sir! Sir! I had to find you!"

Now, that was another surprisingly familiar voice, Rhett reflected.

Following the nervous sound of bare feet running on wood, a young black boy came to him, urgent. On his proud head had been laid a straw hat which seemed slightly too big for him, almost coming to hide the gleaming golden eyes. A brown waistcoat had been put on a rough-looking shirt that came to him at the knees.

This was Jeremiah, one of his brother's. A little black boy he had doted on secretly, for fear of Father finding out, and took care to educate so that his accent might not show too much.

Ross was a tender-hearted fool. That was what made him so gullible, so easily molded into what others wanted him to be. He could also not think education to that boy could bring future expectations he would not be able to fulfill later.

Generally, Jeremiah barely left his side, except when more important tasks led him elsewhere.

So what kind of task was this?

The blockade-runner exchanged glances with his former associate, before raising and gesturing the boy to follow him. He led him to a corner of the garden at the back of the Hotel, eyeing the darkness around with a jealous gaze. He was certainly terrifying, he knew that, with one of his hands having found its way to his gun, the index twitching. It was the only sign of the turmoil he allowed himself to have, and somehow the effect on the boy was satisfying.

Green caught his eyes, a mere detail, but that managed to make his blood boil.

"Tell me," He uttered sharply.

"Your brother, sir," Jeremiah said, and in his eyes, there was something almost like concern on that little face. "He's..."

Dread came to him, yet he dismissed it with a nonchalant air. He took a cigar from his pocket, clipped it, and lit it quietly, taking a puff deeply, the smoke growing around his face. When he found his voice was calm enough, flippant even.

"Is he dead?"

Curse Ross. He had always wanted to be the perfect little gentleman, to please their father and now... Now, where was he?

He could still see the little boy with bright eyes, the same eyes of their mother, always following, always bowing. So sweet, so quiet. A gentle boy, not unintelligent, but with a need to please that made him so pliable.

Once, he had led him away, to the slaves' cabins. He had heard of a strange ritual being held for the monsoon, and his sharp mind was very intrigued by the making of it. Not Ross, no, not that peaceful boy. But he admired his older brother, just as much as he admired his father. Poor Ross. He had always been in the middle. The night had been hot and moist, with the soil still deeply engorged with water. Their feet had slid down through that deep mud, until they reached the little white houses.

The torches burned down quietly, and every imperfection of paint on these weak wooden planks was shown in a much sharper way than in daylight, with the shadow creeping through each hole, each crackle.

They had watched the dances around the fire, the strange, foreign songs, performed by these people they saw every day, and now seemed so different, almost inaccessible. They had watched, fascinated, and a little afraid at something they did not understand.

They had been seen though, and the patriarch had caught Ross, leading him in front of the fire, and gestured the elder brother closer. Not that Rhett needed him to. His inquiring and fun-loving mind had already brought him forward on what he considered a very intriguing adventure. He had looked into the fire, stared at the blue flames, and for one moment it seemed they went green as some powder was thrown into them.

Ross had whined, but Rhett had kept looking, kept listening to the merry songs, recognizing a mixture of languages that could seem like a magical incantation to some, yet to him seemed something he had to know the meaning of, had to know somehow, because they were his, and he could not bear any secret from these simple people who were with him every day, every night.

He did not remember exactly how they returned to the big house, only that the great Butler patriarch had been very angry with him that day, and the punition was nagging by its humiliation.

And now, Ross had followed His orders to the letters, down to every domain of his life: he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect husband, perhaps father. And now the perfect martyr.

A very dull man, indeed.

"He's injured."

His shoulders dropped in relief.

Good. At least, he would stay where he was, safe and sound. He would not run into danger again. An irritated 'tsk' hissed through his clenched teeth. This was signal enough for the boy to run.

The green gleam continued to glare at him. On a white fence he saw it was an empty green bottle, and the light of the candles gave the polished glass specks of red that twinkled at him meanly.

He had it coming, he knew this. He should have paid attention.

"I'm sure Father will be pleased," He jeered, charging his gun and aiming. It was better than doing nothing at all. "At least his favorite son got injured quite honorably."

He focused deeply. Precision was needed for what he wanted to do, and a clear mind. He could not get conflicted about all of this. Conflict in his mind would only lead to failure, and he could not afford that.

He fired.

...

Tara Plantation, same day

Bang!

She didn't know where to shoot, but she hoped it would hurt as much as she had.

For days now since she arrived in Tara, Scarlett had done it, had taken in secret Pa's gun to shoot with it. A silly gesture perhaps, but it felt the only way to relieve her of that nervous, angry energy that vibrated in her body. First, she had difficulties charging it. Now, it was easier. Somehow, it made her feel better, and after that she felt invincible, exhilarated. When she missed, she had the satisfaction of hearing the bang, the sound of her anger. When she somehow managed it, there was joy jumping from her chest, and she felt she was less of a powerless woman caught up in her illusions.

Sometimes, she thought she could hear Rhett whistling at her, could feel his approbation of her, and she turned away with an eager smile that dropped as she remembered. Then, she would square her shoulders, prepare the gun once again with less and less clumsiness and shoot once again.

Damn Rhett Butler! She was not to be just any other woman that he got into bed! She would show him she could be his equal, perhaps even his better!

She would overcome it, she would! Everything that would be thrown at her, she would overcome it!

Even whatever was going on in Tara!

No. Her shoulders tensed. Not now. She knew what was happening to Tara. She just would not talk about it. She could not. And yet, everything brought her back to it, and she... No, she could not!

It was subtle now, a presence of something heavy no one wanted to talk about. She certainly did not want to. Not now. She did not want to talk about Pork's fragile smile, about Mammy's back which seemed to bend slightly more, to ache much more.

What could she do about it, after all? Nothing at all. It wasn't her fault, after all.

Gone were the cakes filled with cream, the opulence of meat and garnitures. Gone many people from the fields, and some from the house – not the closest of the family, yet still...-. Gone were the easy ways, and the hospitality of the South, that Mother and Pa struggled to maintain, was shaky at best. Tara's table suffered from the war and its profiteers. Profiteers such as Rhett.

But she would raise her head! She would not bend, would not break ! It was his fault, not hers, and she could not understand why it would have to lay on her shoulders.

Yet, there was also another culprit, and she did not want to think about it. Not that either.

Gerald O'Hara refused to touch the gold that his dealings with Rhett and Frank Kennedy had brought and threatened every day to give it for another purpose. He said it was a betrayal to the faith any good Southerner should have for the Cause. Any time, he was about it to give it all for this, saying after all the families did not need it but the poor boys of the Confederacy did.

To that, Scarlett could barely say anything. There was nothing to say, for any further entreaty would be met by a fiercer stubbornness.

Which was better than nothing at all, she reflected, and tried to reassure herself. However, she felt less at ease when she recognized touches of her mother's reasoning, the same reasoning that would put her back to work so harshly, diligently, as a penance she owed the world.

Pa would change his mind every day, when he saw what was happening to Tara. Yet, Mother would not. There was some fierce clinging to the Cause, to the world it defended, and its ways which she represented.

She did not understand that. Could not. Even with her new understanding of her mother, she could not understand why Ellen O'Hara could barely allow herself to rest.

Twice already she had been about to leave to the Slatterys, even if she had personally made sure they were taken care of by some man of medicine. Yet, it had to be the sight of Carreen, pale and slightly ill, brought to her by Scarlett as a reminder it could grow worse, and that Mother was needed, which brought her back in.

No, Scarlett could not understand why her mother had to impose herself such duties, when the ones she had were already heavy enough, and harder by the day, and when her daughters needed her so.

She did not want to understand. She wanted to scream, to keep everyone, everything in place. Yet, she knew it would be considered selfish. And then, of course, she was just not strong enough.

For that, she would need to get over Rhett.

Get over the feeling of his hands on her, of the overwhelming depth of his black eyes, the twinkling light which brought her back in, for it looked as if he was interested in her. Get over his presence, which strangely seemed to haunt her, even when he wasn't even there! On and on, he was there, and she could not shake him.

She took time to charge once again, just like she had seen Pa do. Just like she had seen Rhett do. Her fingers did not hurt so much now, she was getting used to it. But her hands ached.

"Scarlett..."

The voice was shaky and unsure, almost unheard among the sounds of leaves swaying to the wind.

Behind her, Carreen trembled indeed, like a leaf, and she seemed smaller than she truly was. Scarlett straightened and almost let the gun fall. She put it down swiftly, trying to hide it. But it was too late, she knew that.

"I hope you're not so angry with me..."

An amused smile came to Scarlett's lips.

"Fi! I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you're wondering."

A nervous giggle came to the girl. "No, but are you sure you're not going to be hurt, yourself?"

"Of course no!" Scarlett dismissed it. "Why, are you going to tell on me?"

"I'm not," Carreen replied meekly. "I think you are very brave, carrying that gun."

She was fourteen years old (or perhaps fifteen already? For a moment, it seemed unclear), thin and still very pale, but it had gotten better once she stopped helping Mother. Her eyes were still a bit hazy, but rest had done her good despite her protests that she could continue helping Mother.

Fortunately, it had been that shaky, stubborn protest, whispered in a soft voice that had decided Mother, that and Scarlett's berating of her sister which owed her a little reprimand for not being gentle enough.

Scarlett softened considerably. She sat down and gestured her closer.

"Come on there, baby. Of course, I'm not angry at you about Brent. I'm angry at Brent for taking so long," She huffed and teased her blushing sister, pinching slightly her cheek and feeling very generous about it. "Tell me what it is all about."

Carreen raised grateful, tearful eyes on her.

"You're so good to me, Scarlett!"

And then she thought it herself as suddenly the usually meek little girl of the family began to babble on and on about one Brent Tarleton, how fierce, handsome and charming he was, and how she wanted to marry him.

It was annoying. But mostly it was annoying because it made her sad, and envious, to see her little sister and the purity and tender naivety of her love.

And with a former beau nonetheless!

Well, not that she had really cared about him that way. But she liked him well enough, him and his brother, from that kind of like that grew between people with similar natures.

Her heart had only been swayed by Rhett though, but it had never been so pure, never been so naïve. She had always known what kind of man Rhett was and liked him for that and more until… until it cut her.

It cut her. But it did not erase her love. Her love was like a second skin which seem to thicken each time it was torn apart by him and left to rest, and the more she tried to let go of it, the more came the need to cling to it, as if she would fade into nothingness if she succeeded.

"Oh, I'll die if I can't have him!" Finally cried Carreen, breaking her thought.

And that was the worst.

I once had the same thoughts about Rhett though, she thought. But it's useless. No man deserves to die for, just as no woman deserves such thing. What is the purpose of love if one of them is dead? It loses its touch, it loses its warmth.

"Don't!" Scarlett hissed. "Don't! You goose, your life is more than a man's love, which can die anytime! What, with the world, the way of men, and all that! They talk prettily, but it is the woman that remains constant in her feeling, while the man goes around doing who knows what !"

"You think Brent..."

"I don't know. But what I care is you, and I don't want you to throw yourself away. You're worth more than ten Brent Tarleton."

She realized later she was talking more for herself than for Carreen. Perhaps was she making too much of Rhett. Perhaps she did not need to.

But in the meantime, as she struggled to calm Carreen, she impulsively invited her to Atlanta, and the girl accepted.

After some comfort from her sister, administrated with a begrudging hug and several light pats on the back, which the girl eagerly accepted with many relieved tears, of course.

Scarlett sighed. Oh, to be as tender-hearted and innocent as Carreen!

...

Atlanta, July 2nd , by the morning

"Scarlett is a delphinium."

"Big-heartedness?" Edward Goldin exclaimed in surprise at his fiancée's declaration. "I admit she can be fierce in her affections. I've seen it when it comes to you, my dear, and yet who wouldn't be devoted to you ? ... However, I would have thought a pansy would be better."

It was such a beautiful day. A day to lay idly on the grass and look at the sky. A day to dream and imagine what the clouds looked like. On such a day, war could be forgotten, even for such a short time.

They had wandered in a very pleasant companiable way through the woods, stopping to marvel at Mother nature. A quiet time, rare as it was these days. Whispers had it there had been or would be a lot of fighting, and the people of Atlanta were desperate to get some news, rejoicing at each scrap. Dr. Meade's son's letters were read religiously, each injustice cried upon by the gentlemen and ladies who had to stay here. Oh, why couldn't the General allow their poor boys to get a share of the loots, to which they had the right of by conquest? Why, with the Yankees having no such scruples!

Less and less came the voices of the few gentlemen who at first said honor bound them to give the good example. The ways of the South had relaxed in favor of a more urgent, practical view.

As for Edward, neither from this world, nor completely in the other, having the cover of novelty around him, and heroism by his part in the blockade-running by his association with Captain Butler (without the controversial statements), there was a deep feeling of unsettlement, of confusion. He had tried an opportunistic way of life and found some purposes to it. Yet, he also found it was not his way, nor a way he felt sure his beloved would be at ease with.

Unsettlement also because he knew Eugenio was fighting somewhere, and he couldn't help but worry. Worry and smile at the same time, for he knew his friend would mock him if he were here.

Thankfully, Melanie was there, with him, and they could together divert each other from their worries, feeling comfortable enough to know they could talk about it if they needed, or stay silent without the fear the other might be afraid of it. They were each other's compass, and they knew at the end of the day would be home, where they could settle and rest.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes rising up and finger tapping lightly the tender middle of her cheek, almost like an invitation for a kiss.

"Well, indeed, she can be thoughtless at times, but it's only because she is so full of life! But she is as the delphinium: ardent, fun-loving, and big-hearted. Though she does not like to show it." She finally conceded with a smile. "Or perhaps a ranunculus... She is so full of charms... She can be a snapdragon also, so strong and gracious, yet sometimes she has to be..."

"Deceitful?"

"Astute. After all, aren't it sometimes necessary for us poor women to be so when it is known some of you gentlemen try to lure us into mischief?"

"Poor women indeed! And poor men! But do you act as she does?"

"No. But it's not the same. I'm lucky to have you, beloved."

"Darling Melanie! Too hard about yourself, and not enough about others!" He chided fondly. "I could be jealous with the way you talk of her."

"Oh, don't tease me so!" She cried, before pausing. "Captain Butler is a snapdragon as well, now that I think about it."

"Perhaps."

Somehow Edward could not think of Rhett Butler as a flower.

A mongoose, perhaps, happy to tear the snakes on his way. A cat playing with its food, though believing himself a tiger. But certainly not a flower.

Hands pressed in a prayer, he pondered on the tender pressure of her head on his arm, and the loving glance she sent his way. Once again, he feared he was not right for her, that someone better deserved her. That, no matter how he would try to suffer the blow, she would suffer from her association with him. She lived in a world of gentlemen and ladies, and he was no gentleman.

And yet, did that better man exist?

"I'm not a true gentleman," He said it softly.

"You are for me. Not by birth perhaps, but by character. You weren't born to riches, yes. But your heart is noble, nobler I believe than those who were just born to it, because you have the sense of it!"

The little candles in her eyes had grown to a fierce, devoted fire as she defended him. He stared at her with amazement and when she realized it, her natural shyness caught up with her. She lowered her head, her fingers nervously fiddling over the ribbon of her sash. He squeezed her hand tenderly, tempted to tell her how he loved her, yet knowing the little head would drop and drop, cheeks all red, so unused she was in giving such appraising speech and receiving such stares of pure devotion in answer, she, who had always been so modest and shy.

So, softly, he asked her.

"And what about your friend Randa?"

She lit up.

"Randa is a hyacinth. She's playful and constant, a very good friend. Though she can be rash, sometimes."

"I agree with you on that."

He took on a playful smile.

"While we're talking about flowers and people, I believe we forgot to talk about the most important person."

"Which is?"

"You, my dear."

He pinched her chin between thumb and index, and beamed as she smiled back at him.

"Well, let's see if I managed to learn what you so diligently taught me, my sweet angel. I've tried..." He suddenly blushed, mussing his hair nervously in a boyish air that he was unaware endeared his beloved much more than words, before finally opening his bag and giving her the flowers he had carefully picked just before their walk. Seeing some of them were already dropping, he cursed himself for not having found another way, which would have made them perfect. He had been in such a hurry to see her he had not quite thought about it, and now felt a little bit ashamed. "I've tried to make a bouquet that would represent you. I know there are prettier bouquets, and perhaps the colors aren't getting along perfectly, but I hope..."

"It is so wonderful!" Came her exclamation as she took the bouquet, and in the enthusiasm, some flowers fell, and she hurried with a flush to gather them. "Thank you."

His lips pressed lightly together, fighting a chuckle that still managed to find his way into his eyes. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to, yet such audacity was not in him, and he could not bear embarrassing her with an advance which she would not be at ease to accept, especially in public. So he watched her look at the bouquet, examine every one of its elements.

"Clematis," A corner of her mouth trembled, then she smiled as she continued enumerating each flower, each meaning, her skin glowing a delightful pink and face almost fading in the flower. "Mental beauty. Chamomile. Patience in adversity. Edelweiss. Courage and devotion. Blue hyacinth, Constancy. Ivy, Faithfulness. Peony, Bashfulness and compassion. Violet, modesty. Gardenia, sweetness. That's quite a terrible number of compliments. But heliotrope?" Her eyes widened, before teetering with a light tease."I do believe, dear sir, you are repeating yourself."

"That's for my devotion to you."

"Then, I shall have to give you in reply a daffodil." She replied playfully. "And you... You are a gladiolus."

"... I'm afraid I don't remember what it means."

She let out a charming peal of laughter, and he grinned like a fool.

"With you, I feel like a little girl... I know it's improper, and yet... Oh, I can't stop! How silly you make me, darling!"

"I don't ever want you to stop." He marveled. "You are marvelous."

"Oh dear! They were looking at us!" She froze in a half grin, suddenly realizing other people were walking their way, then could not contain the laughter again. "Oh, I shall not dare to leave the house again!"

He winked at her and presented his arm.

"I'm afraid you will have to, my dear… if only to meet me at the church !

Tara Plantation, in the afternoon

They had settled for a picnic, just the ladies of the house, and Wade, who had been stubbornly reclaiming Scarlett since the moment she ran from him. He who had been so independent until then seemed now on the rather opposite, being even intolerable to Mammy when his mother was not there.

Not that he was that gentle with Scarlett as well. When he looked at her, she sometimes thought his eyes were dismayed, with an angry knot on the brows and a hint of betrayal as if she had done some terrible thing to him. He clung, then hit her, closeness not entirely contenting him, nor even distance, to the point she had to put him at the exact point where her mother, Carreen's and her skirts met, as if he was not satisfied until he was at the center of their world, sprawled in a manner with which he was sure they would not leave him.

Now, he was calm. He scratched on the fabric of their dresses, hit it, rolled in it with imperious babbles. But there were no cries of protest anymore, and he stared at the sky, with a proud air, as if he was allowing his women to talk about something else but him, for once.

Scarlett didn't, though. Tired by the night when Wade had been restless, she rested, listening idly to Mother and Carreen's voices, taking pleasure in the way they rang, and the rich, cultured texture of these voices as they debated quietly about books and romance. She observed, put details carefully into memories, like Mother's slight shaky smile, the glint of her interest twinkling slightly like a candle in her dark eyes.

Mother was a bit shy, she discovered, and not unlike Melly. She had a quiet wit and a genuineness in her care that transpired through every gesture she made, and it was now better shown through her gaze. The melancholic veil had not dropped completely from her eyes, but it seemed it had become thinner.

All was to be built, yet Scarlett found she liked it better than what she had before. She was not alone in this building. This was no pedestal, but a common ground that placed them at arms' reach, and Scarlett found she had always wanted that.

It was quiet out there, on that summer day. A dizzy, lazy day...

"Oh, but I don't know... Do you think... Oh, my question may be stupid, but..."

A soft rustle, so subtle it could have been mistaken by the brushing of leaves. A caress on the cheek. Scarlett closed her eyes and could imagine it on herself.

"My sweet girl. It's fine not knowing the answer of everything. It's not if you don't ask the questions that matter."

This seemed to give Carreen more courage to do just so.

"Don't you think Jane Eyre shouldn't have stayed with her Mr. Rochester nevertheless? She was the guardian of his soul after all, when his wife was not, mad as she was."

"Darling, it was his duty to care for his wife, and he should never have tried to lure an innocent girl into misbehavior like that."

Yet, as her eyes fell on Scarlett, and their weight fell over her, they softened.

"And what about the respect she owes to herself?" She said quietly. "She deserves more than being a man's distraction from a terrible fate. Would she respect herself if her love made her give up on all the things she knows and believes? My own mother would say we cannot love someone else truly if we do not love ourselves first. Else, we will found ourselves lacking, reaching for something we would never be able to grasp completely."

"What about selfless love? Does it exist?"

"Oh, darling, of course it does! I suppose she meant that if we do not respect ourselves enough, how could we ever ask respect from others? We would think ourselves undeserving of it, and be trampled by those who would want to make us bend. No gentleman would do so, of course, but my dear, there are some men..."

She stopped, and Scarlett felt once again her gaze on her, hesitant. She was about to talk about Rhett. She knew this. Mother never liked him, and Scarlett could understand why. He represented everything she believed as terrible and unproper.

Yes, she could understand it. She knew Rhett was considered as unsuitable indeed, and it was not for the regard of others she loved him.

Why, if she had so wanted to have the regard of others, their admiration, she would have loved someone like Ashley Wilkes!

She almost snorted at the idea.

That did not mean it didn't hurt each time she began to say the words... Mother could never understand that everything that made him, also made her love him as much as she resented it. Some of these characteristics, she could see in herself, like another link binding her to him. He had once said they were alike, and she agreed to it. Yet, being alike did not mean everything would be easy between them, to the contrary.

And there was something Mother did not know about her and Rhett, or did not want to know, and accept. It was she who was had come to him. It was she who had offered herself to him.

For a bite of his love, yes. But that had never been enough, it seemed.

She sighed. Oh, why would Mother talk about Rhett?

Fortunately, such awkward moment was broken by Carreen's breakthrough.

"Oh, Scarlett, that makes me think about what you said!"

She tilted her head, upset at having to participate.

"I don't remember saying that kind of things..."

"Oh, yes, you did! Well, not exactly the same words, but you said..." Carreen bowed her head, struggling to remember. "You said... I am more than a man's love, that I should care for myself..."

Scarlett huffed.

"Fiddle-dee-dee! From the way you say it, it could be a song."

"A song... indeed!" Carreen's eyes widened, a smile drawing on her lips, and she began to hum.

Come all you fair and tender girls
That flourish in your prime
Beware, beware, keep your garden fair
Let no man steal your thyme
Let no man steal your thyme

For when your time, it has passed and gone
He'll care no more for you
And every place, where your time was waste
Will all spread o'er with rue
Will all spread o'er with rue

...

"Now, I think, I understand it more..." The young girl whispered softly. "Yes, I understand more the song."

Scarlett blinked slowly, surprised and dismayed at discovering it had brought some tears to her cheeks. Wade had crawled to her side, and patted her collarbones, his eyes curious at the sight. She drew him to her, and he caught her necklace, putting it in his mouth.

"You are quite the little bird," Scarlett thought out loud, taking it back swiftly, and he groaned, trying to have it again. "You sing prettily."

"Oh, no, Scarlett ! This is nice of you to say, but you know I have a little voice, and people barely hear me. They like to hear you sing better than me."

Pleased by the compliment, she allowed herself a concession.

"That's because I practice a lot. Yet, you should hear me when I'm in a fit! I doubt you would think it good! Rhett once said…"

She stopped.

Mother's hand squeezed hers. She breathed out.

Wade cried for a moment, and before Scarlett could do anything, Carreen was already picking him, teasing him, flattering him. He looked at her for a moment, before laughing.

Scarlett pouted.

Oh, why didn't he smile to her that way? At least not that quickly? Envy crept through her heart, gripping it, and could not help but remark on it.

"Wade likes you very much."

"He's a charming little boy," Carreen laughed, giving him back. "I envy you, Scarlett."

She took Wade back, and embraced him. He was calm now, and looked at her with that intense gaze young ones tended to have, and that made them like tiny old men rich from their experience. He blinked, then yawned. She relaxed. Her lips pressed on the tender brow, and she hummed the song quietly, lightly swaying, and so very aware of that little body pressed on her. It was quiet, so peaceful, and she felt sure then he loved her, from the way he leaned on her, and allowed himself to sleep.

"You do run on," She answered softly.

Love should always be like that, she thought. A shelter, a shoulder to lean on in times of need.

...

Atlanta, night of the same day

"When will Scarlett return?"

"She did not say."

That reply was not to satisfy Rhett. He had struggled in getting invited for dinner at Miss Pittypat's pitiful little house, had flattered heavily said spinster until she finally decided with a happy blush to get to her lonely bed early. He had tolerated the idle talk, felt even sorry for the restriction in food and other little comforts ladies ought to have.

It was certainly not to get such answers from Melanie Hamilton et Randa Tarleton, to get insulted in such a way.

"What are your intentions toward Scarlett?" The latter blurted out.

"Randa!"

Well, that was a direct approach, and he liked it better than turning around uncertainties.

He settled comfortably on the sofa and crossed his long legs.

"I thought my intentions were clear enough. To have and to hold, I believe that's the proper expression. To give shelter to her and the boy, and provide them to what they need, for now and for the future. For that, I believe my name is needed to bring them more security."

Light shone suddenly through Melanie Hamilton's eyes, and in her glee, her petite body jumped slightly on the sofa as she let out a cry and joined her hands.

"Oh, what a bliss! Scarlett will be so happy! She had so longed for you..."

Now, that was surprising. He straightened abruptly, alert...

"Longed for me?"

"As much as a fly can be fascinated by the spider that wants to eat her," Randa swiftly retorted.

… Before cursing himself for his foolish hope.

"Charming."

"Oh, perhaps we could do a double wedding..."

"Calm down, Melly," Randa hissed again. "As for you, sir... She's gone now. She doesn't want to see you. To hear of you. To smell …"

"I think I understood it."

Miss Melanie raised, pressing a calm hand on her friend elbow.

"Oh, Randa, don't be so mean to poor Mr. Butler. Can't you see there must have been some terrible misunderstanding?"

Dear Miss Melly. Gentle Miss Melly. Miss Melanie was his true ally in this. With her happy nature, she was already ready to help him do whatever he would persuade her would be best for her precious Scarlett. He knew how to handle her, though that genuineness of feeling was still unsettling for him, who had been used to hypocrisy and deceit.

A worried frown came to her brow.

"Oh, you have to be kind to Scarlett. She..."

"My dear Miss Hamilton. You are a good little lady," He cut with a dismissing gesture. "But I have to be honest with you. I'm not one to turn the other cheek. I tend to answer cruelty with cruelty, and kindness with kindness. That's my way. But I really intend to make it right to Scarlett."

"Oh, that's nice!" Randa sneered. "What a gentleman!"

"Randa..."

Decidedly, that woman was a catastrophe. Not only was she disgraceful and tactless, but she expressed high opinions about things she did not know about

On another time, it would have amused him. But now, it only irked him.

"Why. You're too naïve, Melly. You'll be selling Scarlett with good intentions, thinking it's her best interest, and without even thinking on negotiating that interest!" The petite red-haired woman straightened, proud, before adding sneakily. "But as I am Wade's godmother and her best friend..."

"For once, I think I would have preferred her sister being there," He sighed, cutting. "It would have been easier, I believe." And certainly more silent. "Sometimes harsh measures need to be taken." Then he realized. "Wait... His godmother?"

She had named that girl his son's godmother?

Infuriating woman. Terribly infuriating. When he'll have her...

He was ignored though, for that last question.

"... And that she still owes me some scandals to spice the County's life, I believe I have the right to express my opinion considering what kind of disaster she might delve into. I smell something terrible about it. I don't like what is going on. He does not tell us everything, but he clearly intends for us to soften the blow. And I know Scarlett won't like it."

"Scarlett is sweet, but she.. she can be proud. Are you sure this is the only way?"

That was his turn, he supposed.

"I can see no other."

"Besides asking her properly ?" Randa batted her lashes innocently.

Miss Hamilton tittered lightly.

"Oh, I'm sure Captain Butler could not be entirely cruel to the woman he loves. If he thinks he has too, then perhaps… perhaps…"

Mélanie Hamilton was an observant little creature. Yet, she was definitely too naïve indeed.

Hopefully, she had never talked to Scarlett about what she had perceived. Else, his pretty little vixen would have merrily used that knowledge against him.

If she had, Scarlett would not have reacted as she had, so angry and wrathful. She would have presented herself with the contempt of the victor for the vanquished, and mocked him for what she would perceive as an attempt to make her jealous.

No. She had acted like a child whose neglected toy was being threatened to be taken by another. To think otherwise…

No, he could not think otherwise. There was no other way he could think of. Black clouds numbed his usually clear mind. He felt he was cut from something great, leaving him in a deep and frustrating puzzlement.

For once, he cursed his loneliness and his natural wary way, for he had no one to turn to. No one to turn to earnestly. Only with a few had he felt this, this feeling of connection that allowed honesty. Yet, Scarlett was a trap of his mind, and her father and Tara a paradise lost he had relinquished long ago, hoping to come back as a prodigal when the first was secure.

The trail of his thoughts was broken by the touch of Melanie 's tiny hand on his.

"You seem tortured, Captain Butler…but it will be alright. You're her… Mister Knightley, after all."

Ah, that book. Not quite very truthful to the reality, but at the time, it felt like an inside joke he wanted her to find out, while still being at ease he could as easily dismiss it as she could throw it with her fine hands.

He let out a smile. Young Melanie was certainly nosier and more perceptive than he had thought. Yet he was certainly not desperate enough to confide in an untried girl.

"You're certainly the only one who figured that out."

She smiled weakly.

"By sending the message in one.. particular way, it might be lost for the one who has to have it," she carefully hesitated over the words, blushing at having to say any remonstrance, especially to a man as imposing as Rhett. "This goes for Scarlett as well, Captain Butler. The part about kindness and cruelty."

He froze for a moment, and was surprised by the tranquil force in Miss Hamilton's gaze as she looked at him.

"I'll be sure to remember it."

When she'll prove she deserves it...

As the door closed behind him, he stopped and pondered at the words closely. The night was fresh and slightly moisty, with that grey layer that was the product of human industry in the air. There was a scent of waste and rich disaster in the air. Rich for him, yet with a certain sourness that sometimes pinched his nostrils most inconveniently.

Scarlett was home, to Tara. No marriageable man could be quickly found there, so that constatation could be easily dismissed in favor of the part about Scarlett and home. For if Scarlett had a home, eh was forced to admit he had no concrete one. She was his home, and while she could take refuge in Tara, take back her strength from that red clay, he was left a nomad with the terrible constatation that if she was his home, he wasn't it for her, and he couldn't afford to go to Tara, not with everything that had transpired here.

But God, how could home be the woman he was the least sure of?

He could build a house around her, and he felt sure she would carelessly break its walls, or make it unlivable for him, just to spite him. A dreadful house she would take pleasure in filling with everything she knew he did not like. Or a dollhouse, perhaps

And yet, if she loved him... If she cared for him, he knew she could surround him with a playful tenderness and make his whole world bright, far from the cynic vision he tended to have. There was a softness in her, he knew this, he had seen it. But how could he direct it towards him? Wouldn't he close the door to it while doing what he was about to do?

But, most of all, would it be enough to have only that tenderness? Wouldn't it drive him mad, to have it without the love he craved ?

He would see. Yes, he could give her one last chance. And then...

Then, he would have to act.

...

...

Tara Plantation, July 3rd

She laid on the floor, the green grass growing on the red clay. Her body was numb and needy, deprived of caresses, and she felt it so acutely, ever since she left Rhett's bed. It was an ache in her belly, begging to be rubbed and caressed, and a deep longing, a bit like hunger, which could not be satisfied not matter what she ate and did.

She ached for Rhett.

He came at night in her dreams, his large and powerful body all over hers, and his warm breath on her skin. It gave her goosebumps, and a delicious sense of thrill she could not shake. Darkness was his eyes, with the occasional gleam which lured her in.

And in days, she felt the lack of him like a burn, a sensation of confusion, as if her soul was expecting him to come at any moment. It was a madness, really, when she had thought she would renounce him entirely. It seemed the more she tried, the more she was caught back in his nets, without even an effort on his part. Breathless, she was looking around, searching, always to be disappointed.

Really, it was quite unfair. He had no need to awaken her to it once again, when she had thought the first a beautiful dream, that would last her a lifetime. A beautiful dream which would not be repeated.

This second time with him had brought her back to earth and fire.

With him, she had felt so wild, so... free... And that freedom was not so much exhilarating as she had truly thought he was sharing it with her, he who was always so nonchalant, with a tight grip on himself. With that second encounter, she had felt how he had restrained himself, and yet.. She wanted it. She could not help but reliving it. She had seen his face, and now that she thought of it, wasn't there a hint of vulnerability that she had missed in her fury? Had she been too hasty? Whispered words lost in her hair, what could they mean?

She shook her head. No, she would not question herself. What was done was done, and there was a reason that led them to this in the first place.

Her hand gripped on the good soil of Tara. A great hold on the essence of the land of her birth.

She wanted to dance. She wanted to sing.

She was too young to be bitter and old. She was too young to bury herself over a lost love, as her mother had.

That was what had come to her days before. He would only be too happy for her to mourn for him. She could see his lopsided grin, and his mocking eyes on her, laughing that she would ever try to get over him.

But she would. She knew she would!

She had been questioning herself for too long. It was not her nature.

She would not deny herself. She was a creature of pleasure. She liked shiny things. She liked to please, and she liked having her own way.

Perhaps was it the time to be true to herself?

She shook her head. No, with Wade at her side, she had to be wary. There was no other way for a young mother without any male protection.

She took a sharp intake of air and opened her eyes.

...

Rhett breathed out.

Curse that woman, he thought he saw her everywhere. He thought he felt her scent around him, hazy like a dream that could not finish.

And yet, he was faced with the need of that presence, like a lost boy searching for his mother, wanting to be comforted on the warmness of her skirts and the soothing effect of her scent.

Yet, Scarlett, to be considered as a mother ? Even knowing she had born his son, sometimes he found he could not totally bind his vision of her with it.

His own mother had been a lady, silent and dutiful. She was like the faded glow of a rainy morning, beautiful yet with a soft melancholy, tainted by a quiet wisdom born from life with a tyrant, where she had to lower her noble head to the sound of his firm aristocratic voice.

Scarlett was not silent and dutiful. He did not want her silent and dutiful. He wanted her fire, and he wanted her love. If his mother was a fading morning light, she was the sun of a summer afternoon, sometimes overwhelming with the strength of its passion, yet promising a time for adventures and plays, races across fields and laughter. She was the child that dared him to chase her, and he found with that child, he had the same age, the same daring.

She was also the siren, the green-eyed temptress that could overthrow him with barely a touch of her claws. She was the fire and the ice, and he burned himself either way.

But a mother ? Now the idea seemed almost incongruous, and his wounded eyes could not bear the vision of her with their child, and the love he had previously seen in her eyes. He could not bear it, could not bear it happening without him, and with the option it could be given to someone else. It seemed unreal, so unlike what he thought that it made him shake his head in nervous anger, with a heart pressed in a tight grip. Her grip, though absent as she was, and he resented her for it. Resented her for not being here, for existing; for wanting him, yet not loving him; for making him stay, for making him leave.

The boy! The boy! The boy needed his father. The boy would lead her right back to him. And to think she had the power to present another man if she chose, as the father!

It was already difficult he bore another man's name…

No, he could not allow that.

Wade… Wade had his eyes, the eyes of the Butlers. He was a strong boy, from his blood, that was not to be doubted, and already the firm determination of his family in having his way. It was his duty to guide him, and he had been too remiss in it.

He opened the door to his brother's room. A scent of rust and sickness came to his nostrils, and he was almost tempted to turn back. It was the scent of waste, the scent of his powerlessness. He clenched his fists and took a step forward.

Sunlight was dripping from the window, so bright it was easy to see the specks of dust dancing around and cast their shadows on the floor. The parquet had seen better days, with cracks and rough edges all around, and it appeared almost to break by each step. It seemed thus quite surprising that the old furniture was still very much in place, but that was another problem. Thankfully at last, the room was quite Spartan, with the minimum comfort for a wounded soldier.

To see a Butler son in such a place... It was something very queer. Yet, it had been true more than once. He had lived it, after all, and sometimes without any roof to shelter him.

But to see the golden boy reduced to such extent, when so many things had been expected from him... That was unfathomable.

His brother was on a rustic bed, certainly much smaller than what he had been used to. His arm was greatly bandaged, as well as his head, and his gaze had a biting irony in it, as if life to him was no more than a joke where he was in the losing end.

"So, you came to see me, after all."

"That surprises you, doesn't it?"

"You certainly make sure everything you do is surprising."

Rhett did not answer. Quietly, he drew a chair closer to the bed and sat, looking at the tiredness on his brother's features, and the flickering light in his eyes, almost resentful, yet fonder than he remembered.

He did not ask how he was going. It was obvious, would be an insult to his own sense of observation, and Ross' health as well.

He did not ask either how this had happened. He already knew it. Knew how his younger brother had been injured in the battlefield, declared unable to continue and in a fuzzy had somehow followed the way to Atlanta, until he was not strong enough to continue, and little Jeremiah had to hold him and find shelter for his master.

As for why...

That was too soon for such questions. So he let him do the talking.

"I envy you, you know. I've always envied you. You do things your way, and you never look back.. you break all chains that should bind you."

"A very nice vision perhaps." But untrue. Some chains can't be broken, even if I want to. I am here, after all, he thought.

Yet, Ross did not seem to listen.

"You're not a marrying man… nor a family man…" He coughed, but it seemed it was in Rhett's throat that something was truly aching. "Is that because you are afraid to belong ? Going from mistress to mistress, place to place… "

"Not afraid, no. "

"Then why are you always running ? I've heard you had it good with that Irish family, and yet…"

He was into something, that brother of his, and it put Rhett ill-at-ease. However, the word 'run' was not it. No, he was no coward. He just did not like to be tied in one place. Someone like Ross could not understand it.

Ross shook his head, laughed a little.

"That's silly. No, you're not that complex of a person," His brother smiled, almost fondly. "You have adventures, riches… love…"

Now, that was something he liked better.

Yet, the pleasantness could not lessen the sting of the love, as Scarlett's glare continued to haunt him.

"I quite like that pretty picture you draw, as I've said..."

Ross' eyes grew hazy, the smile a bit drowsy.

"Pretty indeed. Like two bright blue eyes that seem to understand you in the face of a lovely person. Like little hands, lady's hands, with soft gestures, guided by a soft voice."

"Are you in love, brother ?"

Sharpness came back, and he straightened.

"I'm married."

"That's not my question."

"A gentleman can love a lady, while being mindful of his duty. "

Rhett smirked.

"How chivalrous of you. Yet, that still makes three people in a bed. Not unpleasant, of course. Having two women in the same bed can be quite pleasurable."

"You're indecent. Would you have a wife that thinks of another while she's with you?"

"That's different."

"It's not. But you don't know. You have no wife. You only see by your own pleasure," He replied, before admitting. "I envy you for that. Sometimes, I feel… as if I'm not living my own life…"

Many repetitions, all leading to the same thing...

"And what would you do, little brother, if you could live it?"

Ross smiled again.

"I want to see the golden cities. You remember, all these stories our mammy told us? A golden city, hidden, kept secretly against these conquistadors who would want to violate her? So pure, so rich. Living under pagan way, and not being punished for it. Debauchery, blood sacrifices… oh, Father didn't like when she talked about it, because he knew you would turn it as a model. You, you saw it as an adventure, but I... I would like to study it. To describe it on paper, so that I should never be afraid of it anymore. I've seen too many things, Rhett. I can't go back."

He paused, and his gaze went to the only window, thoughtful.

"Do you remember about the way the sun would shine on them, making it feel as if the hair was on fire ?"

"You mean the buildings?"

"… yes I mean the buildings."

Poor, foolish little Ross, Rhett thought. He tried to hide, but the feeling was written deeply on his face, carved in the regularity of his features the more he did so. First love, it seemed, and that was perhaps why. He was not one for strong feelings, his brother. It unsettled his quiet world based on duty, pulled him apart.

Love makes us all fools, he thought. And yet, always, we plunge, always we run, we hope. Would they love us back? Would it burn?

Ross hesitated, before finally gesturing him to look at the drawer of his nightstand. There laid an envelope, not sealed yet.

"Could you… could you please give that letter for me?"

Rhett quirked a brow, looking at the tenderly written words, with a slight tremor in the end of the name. He raised his eyes on his brother, but to no avail. He could not bear to meet his eyes.

"That... does not seem like a first letter to a stranger, Ross."

Ross attempted a smile.

"Oh, so there's actually something you don't know, brother?"

… But the joke did not take. It never did. And knowing him, Rhett knew he would change the subject, and certainly back to his many faults. It had become an almost amusing habit, and he saw the struggle twisting his brother's mouth for a moment, before he went to it.

"Father is furious. I've told you he would."

Rhett rolled his eyes.

"Of course he is."

"It goes much beyond what was acceptable..."

"Oh, so it was acceptable to throw me out?"

"You know you made it so." He insisted "Please, Rhett, hear me out. I don't even know what he can do, what he would be ready to do. Mother knows nothing of it, or she doesn't want to know. He's ruining us, Rhett, and he clearly intends to ruin you in the process."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"You should," Ross insisted. "God, even Rosemary is afraid of him. After you went away, she made such a fuss! Rhett, if you really said you would give up on the name, why didn't you? You've once told me you were more than that name, and you could step on it for all you cared. So why? It's because of that same girl, isn't it? The one you made the bet about..."

"… Has my son."

He stared.

"You're a scoundrel."

Ross was certainly about to lecture him further, but something seemed to stop him as he looked at his older brother, looked at the proud features in front of him, the chin up and the piercing eyes, so much like their father. He realized.

"You love her, don't you?"

Rhett said nothing. He had been admitting it to so many people, and yet, the person who should know it seemed still unaware.

Thankfully, he added. Else, she would be unbearable, especially now when she wanted him, but did not love him.

Ross sighed.

"For all that matters... You are my brother..."

He felt strangely touched by that, and cut it before it became unpleasant.

"Save your sentimentality for better moments, Ross. You'll be sorry if I take you to the word."

Atlanta, in the same afternoon

Miss Pittypat Hamilton was ill from her usual rheumatisms. Uncle Peter was tending her so very tenderly, like a father to a child, berating her if she ever moved out of the bed.

On such a day, with only Miss O'Hara and Miss Tarleton as her guardian, it was certainly quite a peaceful day for Edward Goldin to spend some time with his betrothed, and try to bring her some comfort to her many worries.

Sat by her side on the couch, he was glad to see her lean on him, have such a trust in him that she would not hide, that she would allow him to think with her, to laugh with her.

Her present worry was about Miss O'Hara, and he reflected that undoubtedly, the O'Hara girls were quite the trouble.

"Suellen is so quiet, these days. Randa said she had seen him many times talk with a little boy at the back of the house. She said she's sending letters to someone."

He smiled to her, reminiscing of another correspondence.

"Dear, haven't we used the same process?"

Judging by the way she widened her eyes at this, Edward saw she had not thought of the possibility, which surprised him.

"You think... She's in love?"

"That's a possibility."

"But why would she hide?"

"Why did we hide?"

She dismissed it with a chuckle.

"Well, it's not quite the same. At first, I just wanted to send you back that book..."

"And my own friend replied instead, and infuriated you..."

This was said thoughtfully, and would have driven a laugh from his lips, and yet as the image of Eugenio came to his mind, he found it died down quickly, and he frowned. Where could he be, now? What regiment? He did not know at all. Eugenio had thought not telling him would only worry him. And yet, not knowing felt even worse.

Melanie squeezed his hands, and he raised his head. Her brows had knotted together, and he knew then that she was worried about him.

He smiled at her and squeezed back. She was not to worry about him. After all, weren't they together, about to be married? At the thought, he kissed her hand, and delighted in seeing her blush, yet welcoming the attention.

She did not press him. She knew now was not the time, and he would tell her when he was ready. So instead, she made a show of returning to her own concerns. But he knew better. Yet, it did not help that once returning to it, it became even bigger than it was.

"Oh, I don't even know what's going under my own roof! Why would Mrs. O'Hara think of me?" She worried, dread darkening her face as she thought of possible scenarii Edward could very much imagine himself, looking at her. "And Scarlett..."

"What would your friend say? She cares for you, and it's quite obvious she does not for her sister..."

"Edward!"

"I speak truly. She would understand. I think she would even be amused by the scandal."

"Oh, you don't know her as I do!" She winced, and once again the fingers fidgeted. "Sure, I could see her teasing Suellen about it, and Suellen would have brought it on herself, being herself so... Displeasing sometimes. But Scarlett is not that cruel. She's just too strong for others, and so very confident. I wish I was like that I still worry about Scarlett though. I don't have any news..."

"Dear Melanie... I worry about you. What can I do to clear that shadow on your brow?"

She smiled, as if amused, touched and a little surprised that he would still turn to her in such way.

"My happiness would be perfect if I knew it would be alright for her. If only Mr. Butler..."

"Darling, you can be responsible for everyone's happiness," He said soothingly, drawing circles on her hand with his thumb. "You need to have faith."

She nodded.

"Yes. Yes, they will find their way back together. I know it!" And indeed, it looked very much as if she had no doubt about it. "But it's still sad to see Scarlett so upset..."

Their little conspiration was put for a short time to a stop, when Randa appeared for a moment to take a book. She stared, suspicious, especially on him, so much that they dared not draw a breath.

Melanie was the first to relax, giggling like a girl having been caught, and he blushed in return. But he did not relax as well, though he was definitely caught by the ridicule in the situation, with Melly laughing like that.

"Your friend is still eyeing us."

She laughed even more. "Oh, Randa. She's worried about me."

"I can understand that," He said, before allowing himself a more comfortable posture. That woman was gone now, and she had huffed at her friend's reaction. "Precious Melanie. Can't you see there are people that care for you, and would like you to be well?"

"I care for you as well… I can see you're still worrying…"

Very few things went past her when it came to the happiness of those she loved, he noted.

"I do, indeed, and I hope…!"

"In which regiment is he, dear? I want to know, so I would know with you your good news, and your bad ones, so I could be with you…"

Dear Melly! How could he tell her Eugenio was fighting her own kind?

So he lied.

"I don't know."

"That means he's in the enemy's side."

Randa. Always lurking in the corner, watching them. Glaring less and less, yet wary, and he could not understand why.

After all, shouldn't he be the one angry after the harassment he had suffered from her and her sisters?

He was trying so hard... But would it be enough for these people who acted as if they could smell the Cracker blood on him?

He sighed.

"I despair in ever making her accept me. Yet, I know I must, for you would not be at ease completely accepting me,"

"She will. And I do. With all my heart."

His hand pressed her, blue eyes glistening with joy.

"You're too good for me." He whispered. "These eyes, these hands, they are doing so much for the others. How many wounded have you soothed? How many found hope again in seeing these warm brown eyes that I love? How many burdens had these shoulders carried silently?"

Her hand between his, he felt the guardian of her happiness, already failing her by his lack of purpose.

Now, maybe, he thought. But I'll find a way.

The fingers were a little cold, yet she had not said anything about it. He rubbed them and put a kiss on her.

Would she really tell him if she was in personal distress? No, perhaps not. For others, she was sad, yet for herself, she held on. He kissed her knuckles and sighed.

"Melanie. I promise you. I'll find a way to carry these burdens with you. I may be quite an idle man now, going back to my pen and paper, but I'll find it."

She looked at him with an indulgent smile.

"Have I ever asked you for it? You are enough, as you are. Your pen and paper are enough for me. Life is easier when you are there. You are bright and honorable, and so kind..."

Oh, how could he not love her?

"And you... You make my life so colorful, so much clearer than I had thought it was... Dear, to see the world as you do!" He kissed her brow. "You deserve everything."

"I deserve to be Mrs. Edward Goldin..." She retorted, before blushing. "Oh, I should not have said so. What would you think of me?"

"That you are so adorable, and make me love you more by the minute?"

"You both are disgusting." Rose the offended comment of Randa. "My, it makes me disgusted to have to listen to you!"

They both grinned at one another.

"Soon."

"Soon."

...

Tara Plantation, July 4th

Wild raspberries had been picked, a delightful treat that tickled pleasantly Scarlett's taste buds and smeared around Wade's mouth. The juice had even dripped on his thick black hair, giving it wet rosy glow. He laughed and laughed, and she laughed with him. She embraced him and leaned back, kissing him all over, her lips pressing his silky, fresh baby skin in a tender frenzy that for once provoked no protestation from the boy.

Life. It was life !

"Wade..." Scarlett whispered, her cheek against his. "I love you. I love you so much... You'll be whatever you want to be. And I'll still love you."

There, something changed, as if she was finally grasping what she had failed to for so long, without quite knowing what it was. She smiled, euphoric, and he followed.

"I won't force you to be something else, I'll give you everything you want," She continued eagerly, excited. "You are my everything. You are the true love of my life."

The boy looked at her with the same excitement, and she thought he could understand anything. He cocked his head.

His mouth opened. "Pa."

She paled.

His eyes widened; his lip trembled.

Her heart faltered and she swayed him back and forth, anguish replacing the joy in her heart.

It was not enough. It was far from enough!

"Pa! Pa Pa Pa!"

At each 'Pa', he was hitting her with his tiny fist, and she felt the punishment of it deeply, like a mass on her soul.

This is all your fault, Rhett! She wanted to shout.

"Scarlett… what are you doin' here, Puss?"

She froze.

Pa!

"Oh, pa!" She turned, feeling suddenly like a naughty little girl. She dropped quietly her son on her skirt and looked at him, looked at that usually debonair and fierce little Irish man. He leaned over her form, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

"There, me lass… You've always been a wild thing. So now you still need me, don't you ?"

"I've always needed you." She replied softly as he used his grip on her to sit by her side. The old knees cracked as they bent, and she saw him wince for a moment.

"No, you did not. And I have failed you, haven't I?"

Pa's fist clenched, and Scarlett felt a painful pang at seeing it so old, almost vulnerable.

"I should have forced him…"

She put her hand on it.

"Oh, Pa! No, you did not! No one could have forced him to do something he didn't want," She protested vigorously, before sobering. "And I wouldn't have wanted that. I still don't, for it would make him despise me more than he certainly does."

Her flesh and heart had been weak, but her mind was of steel.

"No marriage can truly change a man. You said that to me once."

Pa's body relaxed, but he looked at her through narrowed eyes.

"Have I? So you've been listening, lass?"

"How is that surprising?"

He said nothing to that, but she expected nothing.

Oh, wouldn't he look at Wade?

"Pa… look at my little one. Isn't he strong? Isn't he beautiful ?"

"Yes, yes, Puss…"

But he still would not look at him.

So Scarlett put into his arms the little boy. First, Gerald O'Hara blinked, as if terribly perplexed in front of this other being. On his face came the redness of surprise and anger, and his chin began to tremble.

"Where are your manners, lass, if you drop your child on me like that ?!" He bellowed, and Wade roared in return. A joyful little roar, little cub trying to be a lion. Surprised by such reaction, Gerald's legendary outburst faded (like always), and with his usual good nature took over, light overcoming the dullness that had settled in his blue eyes as he finally met his grandson's. "Oh, but he's fierce! Fierce and swarthy like a pirate !"

He was conquered, as Scarlett knew he would. If only he had looked.

There was plays and teasing, and suddenly it stopped.

"It's his son, isn't it, lass?"

She said nothing. Pa sighed.

"I thought it. That's why I hoped… but the damage has been done. I should be angry with you, Puss. But I find I can't. You're not the one I'm truly angry with."

It surprised her that he would say such a thing, but before she could ask it, he had already turned his attention to Wade. A wistful smile was on his lips.

"We shall all get on very well, shall we not, little lad?" He tickled his chin, and Wade laughed. But it was Scarlett he was looking at as he continued. "Though I think you might want to leave soon."

"How so?"

"The Battle of Gettysburg, lass. Vicksburg too. It is said lists will come for the deceased. I'm sure you would like to be with your friends to give them comfort if need be."

The words were sharper. He was reminding her of her duty. If need be, indeed.

How dared he question it?

We need you, had said Randa. The words were still ringing in her mind.

Tara could wait, as it had always waited. No man had been taken from them. Randa's brothers were, though. Of course, knowing them, they would be fine. They knew how to shoot and were fierce and strong. If only they weren't so trigger-happy though. She could still remember them fighting the Fontaines…

She paused, then shrugged.

Boyd Tarleton was the most level-headed of the Tarleton boys. He would know how to calm them.

"Of course, I will be there!"

But instead of a reply in the same tone, Gerald O'Hara's shoulders relaxed. She had not disappointed him.

"Good," he said. "Good. You still got that from me."

She remained perplexed, until finally he sighed and continued.

"For so long, it seems you've been many things, learning from many people, but me."

This unusual remark made her ill-at-ease for a moment. There was truth in what he said, she had tried to deny that part of herself. She snorted fondly and mussed his crisp white hair, before putting her chin on his shoulder and looking at him with a mutinous smile.

"Silly Pa! You've been having foolish ideas all this time?!"

Only a few miles, and she would be home. Only a few…

The shoes had been torn to shreds, and the skin had roughened. Not the feet of a lady. Nor the hands, the skin... From days under the sun, the magnolia-white skin had reddened, peels crumbling as if to reveal what she really was.

What was she really?

Hetty blinked. The heat put a heavy weight on her lids, and she wanted to sleep. Oh, to slip under fresh blankets, and not to worry anymore!

Would they recognize her? Would they take her back?

They had to take her back. She was from their blood, after all... She was one of them.

What could she do if they did not want her? What was she?

She stopped for a moment. Her breathing was uneven, her heart pounding with difficulty. She felt each beating with a sting, yet could not name it fear. It was much more than that.

She had to believe it.

Only a few miles, and she would be home, to Fairhill. Then, everything would be alright.

...

...

Tara Plantation, July 5th

"Oh, do you have to take Carreen as well? Don't you think it will be an inconvenience for Miss Pittypat and Melanie?"

"We'll make room. I believe my bed is large enough to welcome her as well," Scarlett jested. "She adores Wade, and Wade adores her. As I do."

The idea was somehow pleasant. To have Carreen's soothing presence at her side, to have someone she cared for in that bed, and that could soothe her worry.

The image seemed comforting, yet she knew she craved another warmth.

"If you say so... And perhaps..." Ellen O'Hara hesitated, before giving in with a still timid smile at her eldest daughter. "Yes, perhaps, it would be good for her to see something else. Here it will be so very busy and dull for her."

For a moment, she stared away, her gaze getting lost.

There were still times like this though, when Scarlett did not feel her mother was with her, with them, and it made her worry for her as much as she worried for herself, for what she might become.

She took her mother's hands in sudden urgency. The jest was gone from her face.

"Oh, Mother, does the longing ever stop?"

Ellen was startled.

"No. No, it doesn't," Her mother finally said. "It comes and goes, a beloved ghost who follows you, puts his hands on your ears and eyes and tells you to sleep. And yet, you can't sleep, for you want to turn. But if you turn, there will be nothing you can catch, nothing you can see. You have to keep living though. One step at the time."

"And take the best you can," The daughter insisted, and her concern made the mother smile.

"I suppose I have to remember it."

They embraced each other one last time. Scarlett closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the calming perfume of lemon verbena. Her arms pressed harder, hands taking comfort in the sensation of the solid, yet delicate structure of Ellen's shoulders. She smiled. It felt warm and good. However, the body she pressed shook for a moment and she was once again confronted to the vulnerability behind the appearance of quiet strength.

"Please come back soon," Whispered Ellen.

"I will. Please take care of yourself. You're doing too much. You're always doing too much."

"They need me, Scarlett. "

There was steel in that soft appearance, Scarlett knew that, and she could see it in the way her mother held herself, so poised, so noble. Yet, even steel could be broken.

So, she insisted. It had worked for her, when Randa said it. She had felt like a duty to come back to her friends when they needed her. So why not Mother?

"Pa needs you. We need you."

Ellen's black eyes looked at her with unusual sharpness, and then Scarlett realized completely the change had not only been on her part.

"It is the duty of a mother to care for her child, not the contrary. Have I failed you so ?"

Her heart warmed and she shook her head. Pa had said things like that recently, and she wondered how much she had changed, for them to make such a statement.

But who was she otherwise? Who was she without Rhett? He had always been on her mind, guiding her even when she did not want it, and the question, which should have been simple, was beginning to be hard to answer as she grew older.

For so long, she had placed Rhett as her guardian, and despite knowing his many flaws, she had still looked up to him. While wanting to be his equal, she had not felt like it.

She would not ask for him to see her as it. She would prove it.

He would not teach her any other lesson. She was strong enough to learn by herself.

She squared her shoulders. No. She was Scarlett O'Hara. She was Wade's mother, Randa and Melly's friend. She was a daughter, a granddaughter, and a sister, and she needed to take strength from it as well.

Making Rhett the center of her universe would be giving him something greater than he deserved! Why, it could only make his conceit grow!

Her teeth bit the insides of her mouth, and she felt the taste of blood on her tongue. The rustiness of it brought her back to the world. She smiled to her mother and kissed her cheek.

"No, mother… You did not fail me. You've done all you could. I am no one's failure. I know that now."

One last time, she turned back and look at Tara, feeling it had changed before her eyes. The rosy glow had faded now, and she could see the shadows, the dark corners. There would be a time when she would have to look at it, delve into it. Yet, not now. The veil was shredded now. Her eyes were disillusioned, but her arms strong. Her strength was coming back.

She was no prey anymore. She would not allow herself to be it, not even for Rhett.

Even if it meant she had to be the hunter.