A woman with black hair and cat-green eyes reclined on the cheap wooden chair as regally as a queen on her throne. By her side was a slender blond man, his long legs crossed at the knee. His gray eyes were fixed on the woman and his brow furrowed as she poured herself yet another glass of wine. She felt his eyes on her and smiled.

"If only Mother could see me now, I'm sure she would have been mortified." She peered out the window, marveling at the snow that blanketed the drab landscape.

"When was the last time it snowed around here?"

"As far as I know, it has never snowed in Georgia."

"Henry and Beau will be coming home," he said, looking at her hopefully, but she did not take the bait. He sighed. "Have you heard from Wade?"

She took a sip, swallowed.

"Do they even have mail in Timbuktu?" She laughed lightly. "Who knew that I would raise such a flight risk? I didn't know Charles to have that in him; then again, I'm no stranger to running away from my problems."

"That isn't true." But she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Someone ought to let the boy know that there's no use in running. I knew one man who did just that and his mistakes caught up with him in the end."

"I take it that he hasn't been writing back."

"He's been more than happy to take my money, but not much else. I know how he must have felt now. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that he drank as much as he did."

"Scarlett…"

"Wade's a man. He'll do what he wants; after all, I've never been able to stop any man from doing what he pleases. What woman could?"

She licked her red lips with her scarlet tongue.

"Do you remember when I asked you to run away with me?"

"You were tired. You had been out in the fields all day. You would never have left them behind," he replied soothingly.

"I don't know about that, Ashley. If you had given me some sign, I think I would have done it and to hell with all of them, even Tara be damned."

He gazed at her, his eyes veiled with sadness. "I wasn't there to protect you from that Yankee, to stand by your side that night, to shield you from idle gossip, and it seems that I can't even protect you from yourself."

"I don't need you to protect me. I don't need anyone. I never have."

"Not even Rhett?"

She was raising the glass to her lips but at the mention of his name, she hesitated.

"You know, I'm not sure if I even care anymore. You'd think I would remember at least one happy moment." She shrugged. "But I don't."

He watched as she set the glass down and folded her hands in her lap.

"All I remember is him carrying on like he was the only one who lost a child and the rest of the town feeding into that delusion. Apparently it was too much to ask to have a calm, dignified funeral; he had to go kicking and screaming. Even Suellen was able to pull it together for Pa, although Will probably deserves all the credit for that. If it hadn't been for him, Beatrice and her girls would have torn her to pieces and I'm not sure if I would have stopped them."

"They were jealous of your strength, of your ability to move forward despite all that you've been through. I don't think you or anyone has appreciated how rare a gift that is."

"That's nice and all," she said impatiently, "but you don't see what I'm getting at."

"This has nothing to do with strength and everything to do with common sense. She was dead. Nothing he and I could do would change that. Apparently, we have to make fools of ourselves to be 'properly' mourning. Beatrice was more broken up over Nelly than her four boys, but I didn't hear anyone saying that she was cold and heartless."

"But perhaps they were right; I ought to have thrown myself onto the casket, screaming to high heavens and tearing my face to shreds. It would have made for an interesting headline and perhaps my reputation would have been restored to its former glory." She went for another refill but the bottle was empty.

"He's a lot older, you know. He may have given up on spirits but that man smoked a pack a day." She turned to him, her smile as sour as the wine she was drinking. "Do you think they'll expect me to show up at the funeral?"

He stared at her in silent disbelief. "You're right," she said. "His mother would have me thrown out as soon as I stepped foot in Charleston."

Her eyes were glass. He ran an agitated hand through his hair as he looked about the room.

"How are things at Tara?" She peered over the rim of her glass.

"Will's doing his best but I don't know how long he will be able to keep things running."

The livestock, the lifeblood to any farmer, had come down with a strange affliction. The cows would cease grazing and wander aimlessly through the fields with their tongues lolling and as the plague took hold of their hosts' fevered minds, their limbs would turn to water before they finally collapsed, moaning and convulsing as a river of white foam spewed from gaping red mouths. Swarms of locusts would rip through Will's carefully tended fields every year, feasting on the ripe cotton buds as greedily as a child. Suellen and the children would wake up with soiled bed linens, their arms covered in painful sores and the red earth of Tara had become a mire of blood, the red clay oozing through the floorboards and cracks in the walls and dyeing the water a deep crimson. Suellen had even brought a priest to bless the house to no avail and whispers had begun to spread throughout the County that a curse had befallen Tara.

"Will doesn't say much but I know the poor man's at his limit. We brought in all of those experts and they had nothing to say except that we change our feed. The fools...I've been doing some real damage to my savings to keep the place afloat but it seems that all the money in the world cannot save a lost cause."

"I'm sure everything will be alright. It must be an off-season-"

She laughed. "Tell me about it. It seems that Pa was the only one who could truly handle her. The place is entailed so Will will never give up on her, that's for certain; Sue will fight tooth and nail if it means getting her slice of the pie."

"Why don't you write to Ella? I'm sure she will know what to do-"

"Agricultural Studies. Ridiculous thing to even consider, let alone study. I didn't understand why she was so eager to enter that program. The girl was never fond of school, but I suppose she had to get away somehow and it's better to be a learned woman than to be sold to some stranger like a horse and bred like a cow."

She set her empty glass down and made to leave, but he stood first and placed one hand on each arm of her chair, boxing her in.

"Scarlett, I hate to see you like this. You don't have to be a stranger. The Picards are having a party and the entire town is invited. Renee had been asking for you and Ella at their last one."

She snorted. "That hovel of theirs needs a fresh coat of paint, that anemic boy of theirs needs a good spanking, and as for their excuse of a college fund: I could probably find more money tucked in between my sofa cushions."

"But send Doctor Meade my regards; he was there during my time of need, after all."

Those eyes that had sparkled like emeralds had become as hard and cold as flint. The babyish softness had faded from that heart-shaped face, bringing into prominence the sharp cheekbones and angular jaw. The only vestige of that girlish beauty was that soft cherry mouth on which lingered the taste of wine and she now carried with her the smell of dead roses.

She was shrugging on her cloak now and he watched in silence as she struggled to button it.

"Do you remember what I had offered to you that day?"

She scoffed. "Of course. My memory is one thing that hasn't gone yet."

"My offer still holds. All you have to do is say 'yes.'"

She stood, her eyes never leaving his face and he braced himself for the inevitable lashing but as she drew close, he did not see that flash of hot anger, the defiance and pain that had roiled in those green orbs the first time he had posed the question. Instead, her eyes searched his with a pitying look. She raised a hand to his cheek but paused in midair before withdrawing.

"Merry Christmas Ashley," she whispered, turning on her heel.

...

She could hear the laughter trickling from the windows and closed her eyes as she inhaled the aroma of roasted pork and butter rum. She felt the sting of the cold on her cheeks, but the wine was fire through her veins. As she reached the front door, she fumbled in the dark for the key and as she crossed the threshold, a scrawny female barreled towards her, meowing piteously. Scarlett drifted past her and the female trailed her mistress's weaving steps, issuing a series of pitiful shrieks to no avail; when she tried to bat at her skirts, Scarlett kicked it aside.

She blindly groped her way through the dark dank halls, the scent of cold and rot filling her nostrils. She found herself in her room and kicked off her shoes, her scarf, gloves, and cloak falling to the floor in a heap. She slipped under the covers and closed her eyes, smiling as she slipped back into that long sweet dream, the one where she was still alive, the one where he would finally come home.