Rhett set his cup on the tray.

Maxwell continued. "You have many powerful friends. I'd take it kindly if you spoke to them.”

After a moment, Rhett said, "I will.”

The young minister steepled his fingers. "Just how can I help you, Mr. Butler?”

At daybreak Scarlett woke to chanting: "Long John. Long John. Be a long time gone." Tara's workers were filing across the sunrise. As they had done so many times before, in good years and bad, they went down into the bottoms, spread out, and started to work.

Scarlett hurried downstairs into the kitchen, where Rhett and Rosemary faced an enormous breakfast and the beaming Mammy. "Rhett,”

Scarlett cried, "they're back. Tara's people are back.”

"Why, yes, my dear, they are.”

"But how?”

Her husband shrugged. "We've work to be done and they have families to feed. They've no reason to be afraid anymore. I said we'd pay a little more.”

Scarlett's stood up. "More? More? Why, they hardly earn what we're paying them now!" But even as she was speaking, her sore back reminded her of hoeing and plowing and stooping. She laughed at herself and said, "I suppose Tara can afford to pay a little more.”

After Taz returned from Atlanta, he and Rhett called a meeting of cotton planters. Tony Fontaine and his brother Alex came, and Beatrice Tarleton arrived on the stallion that had sired Will's orphan foals. Mr. MacKenzie, a dour Yankee who'd bought ruined plantations for a dime on the dollar and suspected he'd paid five cents too much, was accompanied by the shy Mr. Schmidt, who asked Mrs. Tarleton if she knew who'd lost a roan gelding he'd seen running loose.

Scarlett and Rhett greeted them at the door, and when everyone was settled in the parlor, Rhett introduced Taz. "Mr. Watling is a partner in a New Orleans cotton-factoring firm.”

"Well, I'll be dam — darned," Beatrice Tarleton said, "At long last, I get to meet Rhett's bastard. I've must say, young man, you don't favor your father!”

Accustomed to Beatrice's bluntness, her neighbors chuckled. The Yankee planters kept their expressions blank.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, madam," Taz said pleasantly. "In fact, my father was Colonel Andrew Ravanel. You may know of him?”

"I'll be damned." Beatrice settled back in her chair.

"Only if the Lord dislikes rude old women," Rhett sang from the back of the room. Taz explained their crops fetched poor prices because the British market was depressed and New England mills wanted well-packed, graded, carefully ginned cotton.

A planter's association was formed on the spot, with Rhett as president and Tony Fontaine as vice president. Tazewell Watling was asked to contract for ginning and warehousing in the association's name.

The field hands hoed the cotton bottoms and sowed the uplands in oats. Tara began to look like Tara again.

Rosemary spent most afternoons at Twelve Oaks.

Sunday, Belle Watling came to visit her son. After dinner, Taz drove Belle to the railroad station, leaving Rosemary and her brother on the porch. The children were playing at red indians on the lawn while fireflies blinked cryptic messages.

"It is so peaceful here," Rosemary said.

"On a summer evening, the countryside seems eternal.”

The children's play dissolved into giggles.

"You're thinking about Bonnie Blue?”

Rhett was quiet for a time. "I just wish I knew who Bonnie would have become.”

"Yes," his sister said. "My Meg would be a young woman today, worrying if she were pretty enough to catch a beau. Brother, life is too cruel.”

Rhett took a cigar from his case. "I sometimes think if there's any purpose for our being on earth, it's to testify about those we've lost." He nipped the end of his cigar. "You're seeing Ashley?”

"Ashley is a good, gentle man.”

When Rhett struck his match, his cheekbones were dramatic. "I suppose he is. But is the world good enough for Ashley Wilkes?”

Rosemary rested her chin on her hand. "Ashley is the man he is — as you are, Rhett.”

"I suppose so." Rhett leaned over the railing to call, "Children, time to come in. Time for prayers and bed.”

When she woke next morning, Scarlett stretched luxuriously. The linen sheets caressed her like a lover. Waiting for Rhett to come to her was excruciating but so delicious. One day, one day soon ...

After breakfast, Scarlett carried her coffee onto the front porch, where Rhett was on the porch swing. "Your dahlias are lovely.”

"My mother disliked them. Ellen said dahlias were 'all show.' “

He laughed, "Isn't 'show' a flower's duty?”

"Perhaps. Rhett... I...”

When he touched his finger to her lips, shivers ran down her spine.

"Hush now. Don't spoil it.”

In the river fields, the cotton blooms peeked like snowflakes amid the green.

Rhett said, "I want to host a barbecue. Just like old times. We'll invite everybody. Do you remember the barbecue where we met?”

"I am hardly likely to forget.”

"There I was, innocently napping, and when I sat up, my eyes lit on the loveliest girl I'd ever seen. And she hurled crockery at me!”

Scarlett slipped her hand into his. "I've always been sorry I missed," she whispered. And they laughed at their silly joke.

Preparations began.

"But the Fourth of July is a Union holiday," Scarlett objected.

Rhett said. "Dear, we are the Union now." Rhett made plans as if no Southerner could possibly object to celebrating the anniversary of the day Vicksburg fell and Gettysburg was lost.

Apparently, Rhett had gauged sentiment correctly, because no one refused Tara's invitations, and Beatrice Tarleton asked if she could bring her visiting grand-niece with her.

Mammy and Dilcey went through the poultry yard like Grim Reapers.

Rhett bought hams. Early tomatoes were commandeered from gardens near and far; lettuce and pole beans were picked, new potatoes dug.

Ashley asked the fiddler who had been Twelve Oaks' principal musical ornament to lead their orchestra. "Yes, sir, Mr. Wilkes. Be like it used to be.”

Tara's stove roared until Mammy complained that the kitchen was "hotter than Tophet." She and Dilcey baked apple, chess, pecan, and rhubarb pies.

Rhett set the children to churning ice cream they stored in tall tin canisters in the icehouse.

Since they hadn't played together in years, Ashley's musicians practiced at Tara and barbecue preparations were accompanied by fiddle, two banjos, and a mandolin.

The Fourth of July dawned cool, with no rain clouds on the horizon.

Pork had the buggy at the Jonesboro station for the noon train. Listening to Pork and Peter argue over who should drive her, Miss Pittypat beamed. "My," Pitty said, "isn't this just like old times!”

Although the invitations stated 2:00 P.M., some guests arrived before noon. Of course they asked to help. Of course they got in the way.

Neighbors rolled up Tara's lane in battered farm wagons. Atlanta gentry rented every rig in the Jonesboro Livery.

Aunt Pittypat fretted, "Dear Rhett, do you think ... well, do you think it's entirely proper? It is July Fourth and so many of us recall this date unhappily...”

When Rhett kissed her cheek, Miss Pittypat forgot what else she meant to say.

If any Southerner objected to the Fourth, they didn't say so, and the Yankee planters Rhett had invited were too courteous to recall the past.

At a country barbecue on a hot afternoon in Clayton County, Georgia, the War finally and entirely ended.

At two on the dot, Reverend Maxwell and his wife drove up in their plain Baptist buggy. Rhett greeted them in the turnaround, tipping his hat to Mrs. Maxwell. "So glad you could join us today, Reverend. We are honored.”

The Reverend said, "Thank you. I have heard so much about your beautiful plantation.”

"You know Dilcey, of course. She'll show you around.”

The Fourth of July and a little too much brandy tipped the balance for Tony Fontaine, who marched to Rhett with fire in his eyes. "Damn it, Rhett!”

Rhett clasped Tony's shoulder and said. "Tony, everybody's here for a good time. I'd take it unkindly if you spoiled our fun.”

Tony looked past Rhett's smile to his cold, intelligent eyes. "Rhett!

Damn it! I just can't...”

"You'll be leaving, then. So sorry. It was good of you to come.”

Tony Fontaine said, "But damn it, Rhett!”

"So good of you to come.”

So Tony Fontaine and his protesting wife departed. Although everyone knew what had happened, nobody remarked about it. Polite Southerners don't notice what they oughtn't.

To his dismay, MacBeth was in livery, and when Pork said, " 'Bout time niggers dressin' like they should," MacBeth cursed him blue. Belle Watling's loose gown flattered her figure.

Ashley Wilkes and Rosemary described Twelve Oaks' gardens in more detail than Uncle Henry wanted to hear.

Hickory smoke from barbecue pits curled through the boxwoods and a breeze off the river kept mosquitoes at bay. Guests lined up at buffet tables.

"Won't you take a little ham, Reverend? An end piece?”

"Thank you, Dilcey.”

These pleasures were enhanced by memories of prior occasions oh so long ago.

As dusk thickened, the men were drinking harder, so Rhett had Reverend Maxwell's buggy brought around.

"Mr. Butler," Maxwell said, "thank you for a memorable afternoon.”

As the sun dipped behind the hills, women put on shawls and the orchestra tuned instruments. Rhett and Taz brought exotically labeled boxes onto the side lawn. "You stay on the porch," Rhett admonished the children. "Ella, Beau, Louis Valentine: If you step onto the lawn, you'll have to watch from indoors.”

"Can I help?" Wade asked.

"If you do exactly as Taz and I say.”

Chinese rockets soared into the night sky over Tara, streaking and exploding and showering streamers. At each explosion, the children cried, "Ohhhh." Ella covered her ears and adults applauded.

After the last rocket was fired, the children rushed onto the lawn to investigate their burned shells and marvel that anything so homely could have contained such beautiful stars.

The parlor, center hall, and dining room became the ballroom Ellen O'Hara had asked Gerald for. The orchestra set up on the stairs. Although Rosemary put the younger children in bed, within minutes they were peeking down through the balustrades.

In his Sunday suit and stiff celluloid collar, Wade dogged Tazewell Watling and hoped no grown-up would ruffle his hair. His great-aunt Pittypat said, "Wade, you are the very image of dear Charles!" A tear tracked down her old wrinkled cheek.

Beneath the portrait of Scarlett's grandmother, Beatrice Tarleton and Alex Fontaine were discussing a loose horse several men had seen. Mrs. Tarleton disbelieved. "I know every roan between here and Jonesboro.”

Beatrice's daughters were somewhere about. Her sons, Brent and Stuart and Tom — Scarlett's ardent suitors before the War — were now just sad memories.

Scarlett sighed.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Rhett took her hand. "Darling, if there are ghosts here tonight, they want us to be happy.”

The little orchestra interspersed waltzes with reels. To the older guests' dismay, the musicians refused to play "them old-timey" quadrilles.

After Taz danced with his mother, he partnered Beatrice's grand-niece Polly — a brown-haired, shy slip of a thing.

Belle Watling glowed with pleasure. "Look at my boy," she whispered to no one in particular. "Lord, will you just look at him.”

Beatrice Tarleton inclined her head to the woman beside her, "Miss Watling," she said, hoarsely, "things are not as they were.”

" I ...”

"I believe it's for the best. I don't know what got into people. All that needless straitlaced respectability. Did we actually think God cared if a man got a peek at our legs? Tell me, Miss Watling" — Beatrice looked Belle square in the eye — "are all men the same?”

Belle coughed and patted her throat. "Gracious," she said. Then she leaned in confidentially, "There's men and men, don't you know.”

Ashley and Rosemary sat on the porch swing, discussing nothing really — but enjoying their conversation immensely.

Desserts were served on tables on the lawn, but once the breeze died, the mosquito hordes descended and everyone carried their plates indoors.