Colum’s voice faded slowly on the last word, and Scarlett felt her eyes sting. She was spellbound by his story and his voice.

They walked on in silence for a while. Then Colum said, “It was a noble dream your father had to build a new Tara in this new world of America. He must have been a fine man indeed.”

“Oh, he was, Colum. I loved him very much.”

“When next I go to Tara, I’ll think of him and of his daughter.”

“When next you go? Do you mean it’s still there? It’s a real place?”

“As real as the road beneath our feet. It’s a gentle green hill with magic in it and sheep grazing on it, and from the top you can see for great distances all around the same beautiful world the High Kings saw. It’s not far from the village where I live, where your father and mine were born, in County Meath.”

Scarlett was thunderstruck. Pa must have gone there, too, must have stood where the High Kings stood! She could picture him sticking out his chest and strutting the way he did when he was pleased with himself. It made her laugh softly.

When they reached the Robillard house she stopped reluctantly. She would have liked to walk for hours listening to Colum’s lilting voice. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything,” she told him. “I feel a million times better now. I’m so sure you’ll make the Bishop change his mind.”

Colum smiled. “One thing at a time, Cousin. First the fierce MacMahon. But what name shall I tell him, Scarlett? I see the band on your finger. You’re not O’Hara to the Bishop.”

“No, of course not. My married name is Butler.”

Colum’s smile collapsed, then returned. “It’s a powerful name.”

“In South Carolina it is, but I don’t see that it’s done me much good here. My husband’s from Charleston, his name is Rhett Butler.”

“I’m surprised he’s not helping you with your troubles.”

Scarlett smiled brightly. “He would if he could, but he had to go up North on business. He’s a very successful businessman.”

“I understand. Well, I’m happy to stand in as your helper, as best I can.”

She felt like hugging him, the way she used to hug her father when he gave her what she wanted. But she had an idea you shouldn’t go around hugging priests, even if they were your cousin. So she simply said good night and went into the house.

Colum walked away whistling “Wearing o’ the Green.”


“Where have you been?” Pierre Robillard demanded. “My supper was quite unsatisfactory.”

“I’ve been at my cousin Jamie’s house. I’ll order you another tray.”

“You’ve been seeing those people?” The old man quivered with outrage.

Scarlett’s anger swelled to meet his. “Yes, I have, and I intend to see them again. I like them very much.” She stalked out of the room. But she did see to a fresh supper tray for her grandfather before she went up to her room.

“What about your supper, Miss Scarlett?” Pansy asked. “You wants I should fetch you a tray upstairs?”

“No, just come up now and get me out of these clothes. I don’t want any supper.”

Funny, I don’t feel hungry at all, and I only had a cup of tea. All I want now is some sleep. All that crying wore me out. I could hardly get out the words to tell Colum about the Bishop, I was crying so hard. I believe I could sleep for a week, I’ve never felt so washed out in my life.

Her head felt light, her whole body heavy and relaxed. She sank into the soft bed and plunged at once into a deep refreshing sleep.

In all Scarlett’s life, she had faced her crises alone. Sometimes she had refused to admit she needed help, more often there had been nowhere she could turn. It was different now, and her body recognized the difference before her mind did. There were people to help her. Her family had willingly lifted her burden from her shoulders. She wasn’t alone any more. She could allow herself to let go.


Pierre Robillard slept little that night. He was disturbed by Scarlett’s defiance. Just so had her mother defied him, so many years before, and he had lost her forever. His heart had broken then; Ellen was his favorite child, the daughter most like her mother. He didn’t love Scarlett. All the love he had was in the grave with his wife. But he wouldn’t let Scarlett go without a fight. He wanted his last days to be comfortable, and she could see to it. He sat erect in bed, his lamp finally fading when the oil was gone, and he planned his strategy as if he were a general facing superior numbers.

After a fitful hour of rest shortly before dawn, he woke with his decision made. When Jerome brought his breakfast, the old man was signing a letter he had written. He folded and sealed it before he made room across his knees for the tray.

“Deliver this,” he said, handing the letter to his butler. “And wait for a reply.”


Scarlett opened the door a crack and stuck her head through. “You sent for me, Grandfather?”

“Come in, Scarlett.”

She was surprised to see that there was someone in the room. Her grandfather never had guests. The man bowed, and she inclined her head.

“This is my lawyer, Mr. Jones. Ring for Jerome, Scarlett. He’ll show you to the drawing room, Jones. Wait there until I send for you.”

Scarlett had hardly touched the bell pull before Jerome opened the door.

“Pull that chair up closer, Scarlett. I have a great deal to say to you, and I don’t want to strain my voice.”

Scarlett was mystified. The old man had all but said “please.” He sounded kind of feeble, too. Lord, I hope he’s not getting ready to die on me. I don’t want to have to deal with Eulalie and Pauline at his funeral. She moved a chair to a spot near the head of the bed. Pierre Robillard studied her from under lowered eyelids.

“Scarlett,” he said quietly when she was seated, “I am almost ninety-four years old. I am in good health, considering my age, but it is not likely in simple mathematics that I will live much longer. I am asking you, my grandchild, to stay with me for the time I have left.”

Scarlett started to speak, but the old man raised one thin hand to stop her. “I haven’t finished,” he said. “I do not appeal to your sense of family duty, even though I know that you have acted responsibly toward the needs of your aunts for many years.

“I am prepared to make you a fair offer, even a generous one. If you will remain in this house as its chatelaine and see to my comforts and conform with my wishes, you will inherit my entire estate when I die. It is not inconsiderable.”

Scarlett was dumbfounded. He was offering her a fortune! She thought about the obsequiousness of the bank manager, wondered just how much her grandfather was worth.

Pierre Robillard misunderstood Scarlett’s hesitation while her mind worked. He thought she was overcome with gratitude. His information did not include a report from the same bank manager, and he was unaware of her gold in the vaults. Satisfaction glimmered in his faded eyes. “I do not know,” he said, “nor do I wish to know what circumstances have led you to consider dissolving your marriage.” His posture and voice were stronger now that he believed he had the winning position. “But you will abandon any idea of divorce—”

“You’ve been reading my mail!”

“Anything that comes under this roof is rightfully my business.”

Scarlett was so enraged she couldn’t find words to express it. Her grandfather continued to speak. Precisely. Coldly. His words like icy needles.

“I despise rashness and stupidity, and you have been stupidly rash, leaving your husband without thought for your position. If you had had the intelligence to consult a lawyer, as I have done, you would have learned that South Carolina law does not encompass divorce for any reason. It is unique among the United States in this respect. You have fled to Georgia, it is true, but your husband is legally resident in South Carolina. There can be no divorce.”

Scarlett was still concentrating on the indignity of strangers pawing over her private letters. It must have been that sneak Jerome. He put his hands on my things, went through my bureau. And my own blood kin, my grandfather, put him up to it. She stood up and leaned forward, her fists pressed on the bed beside Pierre Robillard’s skeletal hand.

“How dare you send that man into my room?” she shouted at him, and she pounded on the thick layers of quilts.

Her grandfather’s hand darted upward as quickly as a snake’s striking. He caught her two wrists in the bony grip of his long fingers. “You will not raise your voice in this house, young woman. I detest noise. And you will conduct yourself with suitable decorum, as my granddaughter should. I am not one of your shanty Irish relations.”

Scarlett was shocked at his strength, and a little frightened. What had become of the feeble old man she’d almost felt sorry for? His fingers were like iron bands.

She burst out of his grip, then backed away until the chair stopped her. “No wonder my mother left this house and never came back,” she said. She hated her voice for its fearful quaver.

“Stop being melodramatic, girl. It tires me. Your mother left this house because she was headstrong and too young to listen to reason. She’d been disappointed in love and she took the first man who asked her. She lived to regret it, but what was done was done. You’re not a girl, as she was; you’re old enough to use your head. The contract is drawn up. Bring Jones in here; we will sign it and proceed as though your unseemly outburst had never occurred.”

Scarlett turned her back on him. I don’t believe him. I won’t listen to that kind of talk. She lifted the chair and carried it back to its usual place. With great care she set it down so that the feet fit the indentations they had made in the carpet over the years. She no longer felt afraid of him or sorry for him or even angry with him. When she turned to face him again, it was as if she’d never seen him before. He was a stranger. A tyrannical, sneaky, boring old man whom she didn’t know and didn’t care to know.