"Mr. Kennedy, it's Scarlett. She needs our help."

"Miss Melanie, we want to apologize. We shouldn't have carried on the way we did." The twins had followed her, and the other boys, right behind them, also murmured their apologies.

"We're just so glad to see someone from home," Brent said.

"And we really do want you to eat supper with us," Stuart added.

"I'm sorry," Melanie replied. "I kept trying to tell you that there isn't going to be a party tonight. You see, Scarlett needs help. . ."

"Scarlett!" the twins yelped with glee. "Now she was more fun than any girl you ever did see. What a time it's gonna be when Scarlett gets here."

Melanie gave up on the twins and turned back to Frank.

"Mr. Kennedy, will you help?"

Frank's eyes darted around seeking anywhere else to look.

"I don't see how I could, Miss Melanie," he said sorrowfully. "I'd just make things worse if I tried. And Scarlett could get mad quicker and stay mad longer than any woman I ever saw."

There was a deep sadness in him.

"I'm sorry, Miss Melanie, but I married Scarlett until death us do part. And it did. I just can't do anything more.

"Please excuse me."

He turned and slowly walked away, avoiding her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Melly." Once again Charles was at her side. "I should have warned you.

"It was really hard for Frank when he first came here and learned about. . . Er, when he knew. He's happy now. And he'll be glad to see Scarlett again. But I think it's Scarlett's sister Suellen that he's really looking for."

Melanie was once more surrounded by family and friends.

"You see," they implored. "It's just as we said. We love Scarlett, too, but there's nothing we can do.

"Be happy with us, Melly," they urged. "Scarlett will come soon and we'll all be together again. We'll be together forever and what wonderful times we'll have."

"No," Melanie replied fiercely. "I can't abandon Scarlett. I won't.

"I love you all, but you're wrong. There is something I can do for Scarlett and I will."

They listened in shock and horror as Melanie told them the course of action she had determined to take.

"No, Melly, no! Oh, please no!"

"Melanie, Melanie, no one has ever before contemplated such a thing. If you even dare try. . ."

"Melly, the dangers. . ."

But there was no dissuading her. For love of Scarlett she would dare anything.

"Then I'm going with you, Melly," Charles declared.

"No Charles, you will not!" Melanie was adamant. "Where I go, I go alone."

They looked their love and admiration at this frail but resolute woman who had willingly chosen a journey more dreadful than death itself. Away from the love and security they offered. Away from the comfort of her own people. Into uncharted realms where unknown and unimaginable terrors awaited. Into fathomless regions where her gentle soul might well be forever extinguished.

"Daughter, if we never meet again. . ." Colonel Hamilton intoned.

"No Papa," Melanie interrupted. "Don't say it. I will come back. I must go and do this thing, but when it is done and Scarlett and Captain Butler are reunited, then I will return!"

"And I thought we were brave," Raif Calvert whispered.

"Three cheers for Miss Melanie," Brent Tarleton called. "Hip hip hooray. Hip hip hooray. Hip hip hooray."

"Yee-aay-ee," Stuart responded with a Rebel yell.

Dallas McLure came to attention and saluted her, as one soldier to another.

And with a single exertion of her implacable will, Melanie departed from their midst. As they vanished from view her last sight was of Bonnie waving farewell and calling out, "I luv you, Aunt Melly."

***

For all the grim foreboding, Melanie's journey was surprisingly effortless. There was nothing more involved to it than the leaving of one room and the walking down a long corridor to another. It was the mystery of what awaited her in that other room that made the journey so terrible. Yet in spite of the dread of unknown dangers, her love for Scarlett drove her onward with unfaltering steps to the very end of the corridor.

The room she peered into was bright and cheery, flooded with sunshine from unseen windows. The furniture was of fine mahogany and carved rosewood, and there were little Tiffany lamps that glowed in the light. Two imposing bookcases rested against the back wall.

And in the center of the room a diminutive, attractive woman with lovely auburn hair sat at an oversized writing table. On the table's edge were neatly stacked sheaves of paper, and in front a cup-like holder containing several pens. The woman was busily writing, scratching out her words with a stylish pen whose golden nib sparkled as it danced across the paper. As Melanie appeared in the doorway, she paused and looked up. And the room's cheery brightness was reflected in her smile.

"Why Melanie. How wonderful of you to visit me. Come and sit here beside me."

Melanie nearly giggled with relief. That dreadful apprehension and all of it so unnecessary. All the imaginary terrors melted away in the warmth of a single smile.

"Thank you, Miss Mitchell. You're so kind. But I can see you're busy and I don't want to impose."

"Impose, Melanie? Now what in the world is an imposition? And please, call me 'Peggy.'

"Come and sit here. I want to show you what I'm writing."

Melanie took the proffered seat and accepted the pages Margaret Mitchell handed her.

"Corinne Buchanan lives during the Great Depression," she explained. "You don't know about the Depression, dear. That was a part of my time, not yours.

"But it was terrible enough for those who had to endure it. As much so as the war and reconstruction were for your generation."

"This is beautifully written," Melanie said. "You can feel Corinne's desperate efforts to obtain just the right ingredients for the pie she wants to enter in the contest at the County Fair. And nothing more to win for it than a blue ribbon. A little thing perhaps, but after all these other setbacks, she just can't bear to not even have a chance to win at something."

"Yes, that's what I want the reader to feel."

"It makes me feel cold," Melanie commented thoughtfully. "As if this were a Winter day. But wouldn't a County Fair be in Autumn, after the harvest."

"You're very perceptive, Melanie. The Depression was like a terrible Winter. In the coldest depths of January we can look at a calendar and number the days until Spring. But there was no calendar to guide us through the Depression. It often seemed as though we would never again feel the warmth of Summer."

"I would love to read this when it's finished, Peg. . . I'm sorry, but I just can't call you that. It's the way I was raised. May I go back to calling you 'Miss Mitchell' instead?"

"Of course, dear. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. Certainly you may call me 'Miss Mitchell' if you wish. And I'm so glad you like my story.

"The strong-willed, courageous woman. With all her strengths and faults. In triumph. In adversity. In every possible setting of time and place. It's always intrigued me. I'm going to devote the next four or five million years, at least, to writing about heroines, and really get to the bottom of the subject."

"Miss Mitchell," Melanie said, "You probably know why I'm here."

"Yes, dear. You're worried about Scarlett."

"Miss Mitchell, I've come to beg of you. Please, please bring Captain Butler back to her."

Margaret Mitchell looked kindly into Melanie's imploring eyes, but did not answer.

"It was hard to leave your people, wasn't it?" she said after studying her for several moments.

"Yes, it was," Melanie agreed. "Very hard. They tried so to keep me with them.?"

"What did they say?"

Melanie wrinkled her brow. "They kept on telling me that Scarlett would one day join us. And that no matter how difficult her life in the world might be, she would find joy and happiness here. Just as they had."

"And were they happy, Melanie?"

"Yes, I'm sure they really were. It was as if the war had never come and taken away everything. And everyone could live life on their own terms. Twelve Oaks was beautiful again. Tara, too. New Tara.

"I'm afraid I didn't help things, though. I wish now I hadn't spoken to Mr. Kennedy that way. Or wept so when poor Dallas was talking. It's only right that he should miss his sisters.

"And I do hope I didn't start a feud between the Tarletons and the Fontaines."

"You didn't," Margaret Mitchell smiled. "It's just their way. Getting lickered up and picking quarrels, and shooting each other."

Again she paused for several moments. And when she continued her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I hated myself for what I did to them. At Gettysburg.

"And I cried. Did you know that, Melanie. I actually cried when I took Carreen and Mrs. Tarleton and Scarlett down to the boys' graves.

"'They were lovely and pleasant in their lives. . .'" she quoted.

"'. . .and in their death they were not divided.'" Melanie completed the epitaph.

"Those rowdy, hot headed, tempestuous, magnificent boys," Margaret Mitchell shook her head. "They could have lived. It would have been so easy. Just write the story a little differently, change a word or two, and the twins come home from the war unscathed. All the boys come home."

Margaret Mitchell picked up a stack of papers, flipped through them and then returned them to their place. She took Melanie's hand and sighed, "When I was young I read novels and met wonderful characters who I came to love. And when they died I despised the authors who could have let them live.

"And then I became an author myself and created my own wonderful characters. And killed them. Do you know why the twins had to die?"

"Please tell me, Miss Mitchell."

"Because that's how we make the readers understand. These are fictional characters, Melanie. They only live in the pages of the books we write, and they die without the shedding of blood.

"But the war was not fiction. The war was all too real. Hundreds of thousands of living, breathing human beings perished during those four years. They left loved ones behind. They left behind an abiding grief and pain.

"Most everyone from that time is now gone. Gone with their memories and grief. We hardly even know their names. So as authors we have to give the readers someone to love and lose. We have to take the war out of the dusty, old history books and make it personal or else they'll never understand what it felt like."

Melanie said nothing in reply. She only stroked Margaret Mitchell's hand.

Margaret Mitchell smiled at her. "You know, the others are right. Far better that you should return to them, and know contentment with them, and just wait for Scarlett to come. She will come eventually.

"But to ask an author to go back to a work she has pronounced as finished, and change what's written. . . Melanie, it's no small request you're making!"

"I know that, Miss Mitchell," Melanie replied with an anxious look. "And I'm grateful that you would consent to even hear me. But I repeat that request.

"Please bring Captain Butler back to Scarlett!" she implored passionately.

"You and Scarlett are like two sides of the same coin," Margaret Mitchell said thoughtfully. "Different, yet eternally bonded together.

"You are each a reflection of the other. And of me. I put so much of myself into both of you. Good qualities, bad qualities, qualities taken to the extreme. I envied Scarlett for her daring and fortitude, but I also envied you for your gentleness and humanity.

"Melanie, it isn't only war that people don't understand. It's also love. So many people think love is just a feeling. They talk about 'falling in love' as if it's akin to falling into a hole.

"But you know better. Love is an act of our will. We love people because we choose to love them. And the choices we make have consequences. There are so many who never think about that, and they bring misery on themselves. Perhaps in Scarlett and Rhett they can learn how tragic the consequences are if they make bad choices. Why take away a lesson that may help someone for the sake of a happy ending?"

Melanie carefully studied Margaret Mitchell's face as she considered her answer. When she had prepared her argument, she spoke calmly.

"Miss Mitchell, you gave me a love of Charles Dickens. Remember?"

"Yes, dear. It was at the barbecue at Twelve Oaks. You and Ashley were deep in conversation. Scarlett was trying to eavesdrop. Unsuccessfully because Charles was trying to propose to her. She told him to hush and heard you say that Mr. Thackeray. . ."

"'. . .is not the gentleman Mr. Dickens is.'" Melanie smiled sweetly, repeating her own words. "Scarlett thought I was so silly."

"Yes, she did. Of course I remember. I wrote it."

"Do you remember the reason Mr. Dickens wrote a second ending to Great Expectations?" Melanie asked.

Margaret Mitchell immediately realized where Melanie's argument was leading. But she smiled tolerantly and replied, "Mr. Bulwer-Lytton urged him to do so."

"Yes. And what was the difference between the two endings?" Melanie asked.

"In the original ending, Estella marries a doctor after the death of Bentley Drummle, and the only time she and Pip ever meet again is a chance encounter on a London street.

"But in the second ending, there is no doctor to come between them, and when Pip and Estella meet on the ruined grounds of Satis House. . ."

"'I took her hand in mine,'" Melanie quoted, "'and we went out of the ruined place; and as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the evening mists were rising now. . ."

"'. . .And in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me,'" Margaret Mitchell picked up the quotation, "'I saw no shadow of another parting from her.'

"Oh Melly, you've found my Achilles Heel. I love that book."

"Which ending do you prefer, Miss Mitchell?"

"The second one, of course."

"And why do you prefer the second ending?" Melanie probed, sensing victory within her grasp.

"Because Pip and Estella deserve to be together. After reading through the entire book we know they do. And besides that. . ."

"Yes," Melanie urged. "Besides that. . ."

"I like happy endings," Margaret Mitchell confessed.

Melanie said nothing. But with unblinking eyes she implored her to take the obvious step.

"Very well, Melanie," Margaret Mitchell surrendered with a sigh. "I shall write a new ending to Gone With The Wind. Scarlett and Rhett will be reunited.

"But understand one thing. This new version is for you alone. To everyone else the story will remain just as it has always been."

"I do understand, Miss Mitchell," Melanie said happily. "And thank you. Thank you so very much."

Margaret Mitchell patted her hand. "In the new story you won't die, but you will be very ill for several weeks. So of course Rhett will not leave Atlanta. Not while you are still in danger.

"And in due time, your child will be born. A little girl."

Melanie closed her eyes and purred with joy.

"Rhett will come to love this child as if she were his own. And Scarlett will now realize how much she loves and needs you. So she will love the child too. And this mutual love will draw them back together."

She looked at Melanie consideringly. "You realize you must leave and return to the world. Pain and hardship await you there. Much pain."

"Yes, I know," Melanie answered. "I'm ready to go."

Margaret Mitchell smiled. "But in time you will come back to your friends and enter into all the comfort and happiness they promised.

"And when you do. . . Tell John Wilkes to invite me to some of his parties! I like barbecue, too."

"Oh yes. I will, Miss Mitchell. Thank you so much for all you've given me.

"And I'll drop a few hints to the twins," she added in a conspiratorial whisper, "to save the waltzes for you."

"You've never seen an Apache dance have you, Melly?" There was a mischievous twinkle in Margaret Mitchell's eyes as she gazed off in the distance. Then she shook her head and turned back to Melanie with a smile.

"No, No. . . Not at Twelve Oaks."

Margaret Mitchell picked up Corinne Buchanan and deposited her on the edge of the table with the other stacks.

"You can help me, Melanie. Now we don't want to ramble all over the countryside, so we'll begin with the final paragraph. We'll set that up as our guide post and work our way toward it as we fill in the rest."

"The final paragraph," Melanie said.

"Yes. Something like this: 'It was perhaps inevitable that such a love as theirs could only endure through tribulation and adversity. Beyond the horror of war, beyond the living nightmare of reconstruction, Scarlett's and Rhett's love had been tried and proven in the fierce fires of their own passions. Theirs would never be a comfortable marriage. Tempests and storm clouds would ever darken their horizons. But in the furnace of their love the dross was at last consumed, and the refined gold now shown forth, pure and untarnished. And as dawn broke through the trees and the red earth of Tara gleamed in the morning light, they could see no shadow of a future parting.'"

Tears of happiness sparkled in Melanie's eyes. "That's so beautiful."

And reaching for pen and paper, "Let me write it down."

The End