Inspirations:

"You can choose your friends but you sho' can't choose your family, an' they're still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge 'em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don't."

― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

"What is drama but life with the dull bits cut out?"

― Alfred Hitchcock

Chapter 29

"What would I have to do?" Fanny's eyes widened.

"Besides dealing with the RSVPs to this weekend's happenings, just be me. Handle the door, accept deliveries. Run errands and solve problems and …"

Scarlett looked toward the door off the lobby that had formerly led to Rhett's study and her brow furrowed a bit. "Well, you could also set up the gift shop if you'd like? Just unpack the boxes and stock the shelves, I already have it laid out on a clipboard by the entrance. Hugh could come over from the store and help."

Fanny nodded, appearing a little uncertain. Scarlett patted her arm. "It's a small shop, Fanny, it won't be hard. You can look through the catalogs and see what you might suggest I carry as well. I've never catered specifically to visitors and tourists before, I'm learning too, and would love to hear your ideas. And as I said before, I will recompense you for your time and effort."

She still looked hesitant so Scarlett sweetened the deal. "Babette makes dinner and tea for Leif and Tate and I during the day so you would be joining them at those times as well. It's a good time to discuss what needs to be done. Tate usually requests—several—errands during the day." He was higher maintenance than Leif, truth be told. But that all fit well into her plan.

"You know men. They need our support." Scarlett gave her a sly smile.

Fanny looked at her from under her eyelashes. A hopeful glint.

"I see."

"So are you interested? It would help me ever so much."

"Yes, well, if you really need me, I can spare the time I suppose." Scarlett gritted her teeth and smiled, if a bit sourly. Fanny had to maintain her dignity, after all.

"Wonderful, then. I will go ahead and compensate you for the week as a thank you for doing such a special favor."

Fanny demurred of course, and only after Scarlett pleaded quite prettily and maintained that she wouldn't 'feel right' about being gone unless Fanny accepted payment did she concede.

"I appreciate it all, Scarlett. And what you did the other night, inviting me to your practice supper. I've been thinking about some other things Melly said.

"People haven't been kind to you for years, even though you've had a rough time of it. And I wasn't kind, even though you employed Hugh when he knew nothing about running a store." She shrugged and smiled in a somewhat contrite manner. "That job has kept my entire family afloat."

Scarlett hesitated. Her charm always worked in her favor—her pride, not so much. If she could swallow her pride a bit here and there, what could be gained?

It would only be pragmatic.

She met Fanny's eyes directly. "I felt I owed your family. I still do. I regret … so much. You know, I just wanted to run my business, to get some security for my folk, I didn't think I would get other people hurt and killed." How do you apologize for that?

Fanny shook her head somewhat frantically and Scarlett stopped, watching her. She knew how it felt for people to talk about Bonnie.

It was Fanny's turn to pat Scarlett on the arm. "I know. Melly told me what you did for her and Beau, how you were taking care of so many for so long."

Melly. Real tears came to her eyes at the name, which only helped her cause. Fanny continued.

"I was just too bitter to accept it for a while. But the truth is the men were spoiling to do what they did that night and would have kept on doing it until someone or something stopped them.

"I can't say that I don't hold you somewhat responsible. But you've offered me something here, and you helped my family through Hugh. No one can bring him back. It wouldn't be good for me or my family to hold the grudge, and you've suffered plenty.

"I do wish my boy had a father. I miss Tommy sometimes, but he was never right after the war. I made peace with it a while back. You know, I had another beau who was killed in the war, I was in love with him. Perhaps, if I help you out, get out in public, away from the small circle I usually socialize with, I will meet someone. Perhaps I've already met someone. Life goes on. You've always been an example of that for everyone."

Scarlett knew people made an example of her, alright.

"You and I have never been friends, but I've seen you over the years, Scarlett. I saw you that day we were waiting for the names of all the boys who were killed. I saw you so upset. And then the day everyone left Atlanta—well, Melly used to love to talk about you delivering Beau during the siege. I was in Macon but my mother saw you that day. Standing in the street watching everyone leave, with the food they could grab from the commissary. And you watched everyone leaving, but you stayed. You looked so young and lost, she told me.

"I've seen how you've been since you lost your daughter, and you've been alone. Women are jealous of you and not just for your looks. You're fearless. You do what you want and damn the consequences.

"Working the way you always have—I don't have the nerve. Just working for you for a week will get me talked about."

Scarlett gave a choked laugh at the generosity of her speech, honestly touched. No woman of Fanny's social standing ever said such complimentary things to her.

"And if you don't mind me saying so, turning your house into a hotel is brilliant. Something about the way it was before, so dark, so huge and ostentatious, well, just looking at it gave people resentment. The way it is now, and the things you are doing can only help."

"Yes," Scarlett tried not to snap testily. "I was tacky new money and associated with Yankees, and there's not much worse in the South than those two things."

"Well, yes," Fanny admitted. "But General Hampton explained to me the other night—I think you had gone to the kitchen—how you have always served as a liaison between the Old Guard and the Yankees, and Mr. Butler too. How when you invited Governor Bullock to your crush that night it helped to form a valuable bridge, and eventually aided in his expulsion from office. Though the general did mention inviting him might have been a little excessive. 'You know our Scarlett,' he said. 'Not one to do things by halves.' " she laughed as she recalled.

"Of course, no one ever guessed it, it was so clever," Fanny continued admiringly. "And you never let on, even when people criticized you so and many wouldn't even speak to you for the longest." She looked slightly chagrined. "I wasn't supposed to mention it to anyone, not yet, anyway. But I wanted to let you know."

At a momentary loss for words, Scarlett sat dumbfounded. Hamp said all that! He was a wiley devil, that man, and to plant such a clever seed in the minds of folks! To tell Fanny, even in confidence, he had to know she would tell at least her mother, and then it would spread like lice through a grade-school picnic.

She gave Fanny a brilliant smile, one that had won her beaux and beneficial business deals both; subsequently, and quite neatly, she locked in her replacement for the week.

Fanny left, planning to stop and talk to Hugh at the store on her way to pick up her son. Having settled the matter of her replacement, Scarlett commenced packing up her office for the upcoming trip as soon as she got back from speaking with Ennis, who assured her he would complete all the necessary steps to get the foundation at least in place enough to start. She quickly assembled two bank boxes of what she deemed the most pressing paperwork and notes.

She also wanted to take a few more pieces of extra furniture, bedding, and draperies as well as some of Ella and Wade's outgrown toys and books from the old house to Tara. Those kinds of things would just age poorly in storage, and what for? She felt a twinge of guilt realizing how much of Rhett's money she squandered just to fill an enormous house. But no more. Time to move ahead!

She went looking for Ashley and found him in the kitchen chatting with Babette as she worked. She pulled him into her office and explained the need for him to cover her lessons on Wednesday night. He appeared fine with Phoebe and Prissy but his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline when she mentioned Belle.

"You can't be serious."

"I am so serious."

"Scarlett, you must know."

"Of course I know."

"Then why? How?"

Painstakingly, she explained the mixup with the furniture, and how Belle came by that night.

"She's retiring, and she was staring at the books, Ashley. Like a child at a toy store window. And, well, she managed to stay in business all these years without being able to read. That took a lot of work and nerve, it would have been so hard, and she had to hide it. People making fun of her and talking about her and no one cared to help her learn … "

Understanding dawned in Ashley's eyes. "I see."

Scarlett squared her shoulders. She may have been willing to forego a bit of her pride for possible gain, but she still despised pity. "And also I thought if I helped her it would help me to get over him. If I knew her and she knew me, then there wouldn't be all the wondering, do you understand? It will pull back the veil, at least somewhat. And she would have something forever I'd given to her, which would give me a certain strength of position. A power that might help me feel—free."

Ashley laughed. "And there's my girl." Scarlett snorted in derision. There was a time when she would have done anything to have been called his girl, but that time had passed.

"You love him more than you ever loved me." Scarlett looked at him, surprised at the remark.

"You never loved me at all," she pointed out.

"I most certainly did, just in my own way." Scarlett glared, albeit slightly, so he opted for humor.

"I saw Fanny in here a few minutes ago and it reminded me that I took a bullet for you once, that should count for something." Scarlett slapped him on the arm and he laughed again. What's with all the laughing, she wondered briefly. He hadn't laughed this much since Melly passed. Why, the man was nearly giddy.

"That wasn't for me, that was for—I don't know what it was for, male stupidity I suppose."

At the sudden affront on Ashley's face she relented. "Perhaps a little for me, on your part anyway. I did appreciate it, Ashley, it was such a terrible thing." She saw Frank's body in Aunt Pity's parlor in her mind, an image she would never forget. Fanny surely was being the bigger person here.

Scarlett took another minute to explain Belle's unusual learning style, which Ashley listened to carefully. "I've heard of something like that before," he nodded. "I'll read up on what I can find about it before the class."

They ended with Ashley agreeing to stop by and display the books he had curated for the store, books on art and history and even a few on the Impressionist style seen throughout the hotel, as well as a couple on New Orleans architecture and Southern customs. Wealthy people would be frequenting the hotel, after all. Which reminded her, she needed to ask the children about their favorite books, so it wouldn't hurt to display a few of those either.

About that time Prissy wandered in the front door from her dinner break. Scarlett gestured her into the office.

"I'm telling Mr. Wilkes about class Wednesday night," she explained. "He will be conducting it for you and Phoebe and Miss Izzy."

"Oh," Prissy said. "I just saw Phoebe and she won't be at class Wednesday, I don't think. She hurt her foot going home last night."

"How'd she hurt it going home?"

Prissy shrugged. "Said Miz Wat—er—Miz Izzy let her ride just a couple of blocks and then told her she had to run an errand, for Phoebe to get out and walk the rest of the way, and then had her driver take off. Just left her there in the road. She stumbled and fell in the dark and cut her foot on a broken brick."

What an odd thing to do. Scarlett frowned slightly, then mentally shrugged. Far be it from her to understand the workings of that woman's world.

"But Phoebe gave me this, from Miz Izzy," Prissy took a small brown-paper wrapped package from her otherwise empty lunch pail. "Said it was a thank you."

Ashley looked at the package, and then at Scarlett, obviously waiting for her to open it. By the heavy weight she could tell it wasn't more drawings, and her curiosity got the better of her.

She pulled the paper away to reveal an oblong leather sheath of fine craftsmanship, stained dark wine in color. She pulled on the handle to reveal a knife.

Not just any knife, but a weapon of deadly beauty, with a hilt of polished ivory, inset with mother of pearl and silver filigree above the steel, so apparently razor-sharp Scarlett inadvertently pressed her teeth together as she laid it across the palm of her hand.

Actually more of a dagger than a knife, it fit, perfectly, obviously designed to do so.

"Miz Izzy said you should think about keeping it with you at all times. The clip on the side is so you can tuck it in your boot or," Prissy glanced at Ashley and her eyes flitted away. "Other places."

Scarlett stood momentarily speechless. The town madam just gifted her an object for a prostitute's defense, if a very fine one. She didn't know whether to be insulted or strangely touched. And why did Belle think she needed a knife?

Of course, it wasn't a common whore's weapon, she told herself, it was of far too fine construction. Then again, Belle wasn't common, as far as harlots went. Neither were her customers. Or at least, one particular customer.

Quickly she turned the dagger over and inspected it for engravings, examining the sheath also, noting it was lined in a thin sheet of protective metal. Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief. If there had been a certain set of initials, she wasn't sure who'd she'd throw that knife at first.

Well, all righty, then. She'd have to think about all that later, she was much too busy at the moment. Scarlett slid the questionable 'gift' on top of the box of files she'd been packing before Prissy walked in.

Ashley cleared his throat. She started, almost forgetting he'd been standing there.

"Scarlett," he said gently, "What is going on?"

Oh lord. She didn't need a suspicious Ashley in the mix.

"Nothing," she quipped. "I suppose a woman of her stature thinks this is an appropriate gift," she gave him a pointed look. "It could be worse." Not exactly sure how, but she knew it could be.

"She said you'd need it," Prissy offered. "Being in the hospitality industry now and everything."

Scarlett took instant umbrage. "The difference between my type of hospitality business and Miss–er–Izzy's is considerable."

A knock at the open door and they both looked up to see Leif. His eyes traveled from Ashley to Scarlett and Prissy to the knife. Scarlet made quick introductions and reluctantly Ashley excused himself. As he left the office Scarlett noticed he went back towards the kitchen instead of heading toward the front door. She'd never seen him take such an interest in cooking before. After all, the man had always seemed to live off books and air. He barely even ate.

Prissy excused herself and after she left Leif shut the door and leaned against it, dwarfing it, his hands deep in his pockets. "That was your childhood friend?" His words were pronounced carefully. "The man you loved?"

She looked at him quickly. He'd been unpacking wine in the cellar again and wore a white shirt with no cravat and the top two buttons were undone. There was a slight sheen of sweat across his collar bone and she could see a hint of golden hair peeking out at the base of his neck. "Yes, he was my friend. I thought I loved him for a very long time. Have you been listening to gossip?"

He pushed off the door with his shoulders, such a completely male thing to do. "One doesn't really need to listen to hear it."

Scarlett studied the box she'd been packing. "I didn't cheat on my husband—well, any of my husbands, if that's what you're asking." Not physically, anyway. Actually, she hadn't ever thought much of doing anything beyond kissing and being held by Ashley, truth be told.

He nodded, still watching her. He leaned over and swiped slowly at her chin with his thumb. A large thumb. Yet a gentle one.

"Ink," he said simply, letting his touch linger just a tad longer than necessary, before dropping his hand away.

"Did you ever, well, did you ever step outside your marriage?" Her cheeks reddened at her boldness, but she made herself meet his eyes. They'd talked about worse things that night they drank all the expensive wine with Tate and Babette after their poker game. Well, she had.

He barked a laugh. "I wouldn't be standing here before you if I had." He grinned then, merriment in his eyes. "Not with, let us say, all of my—appendages."

Her blush deepened. Europeans! So frank at times. Hard to get used to, at least for a Southern girl.

"But, no. We had a happy marriage, a good marriage. There would have been no sense in jeopardizing that for such mischief. And we were quite compatible that way.

"I loved her very much, and you remind me of her in many ways. She was fiery. Like you, and spoke her mind. And she was quite beautiful, of course."

"She's been gone, what did you tell me, eight years?" He nodded. "And you've never remarried, so …" her voice trailed off.

"Are you asking me if I have a mistress?"

A pause. "Yes." Dear God.

"Not at the moment." She raised her eyebrows.

"Atlanta isn't New Orleans. There's opportunity for such liaisons, but it's not quite as simple and forthright. Plenty of provisions are available, of course."

Oh lord, her face was flaming now. Of course, he bought women, that's what unattached men did. Not always unattached ones, she reminded herself sourly. And he had recognized Belle if not exactly placed her. Ladies were supposed to act as if they didn't know of such things, but she had crossed that bridge and good a while back.

Totally flustered, Scarlett turned back to pack up her box. She opened her mouth to apologize for her forwardness when he continued.

"Speaking of which," he picked up the dagger, which she had laid on the corner of the desk and all but forgotten about. "This is a weapon one such lady of the night might find very useful at times, albeit it an outstanding example. Wherever did you get it?"

"It was a gift," she said. 'From someone who, um, owed me a favor."

He gave her an intent look then, one that penetrated. Neither spoke for a beat, and he set the dagger down.

"It can be soothing to a man," her eyes snapped to him at the term 'soothing' yet he continued, "to spend time with that kind of woman, one whose job it is to please and flatter, when his bed is otherwise empty and he doesn't want to be alone.

"But I would rather be with someone I love, if that's what you were asking before," he said, and then, as if they had been discussing the dinner menu, he turned and walked out of the room.

OOOOooooOOOOoooo

Mrs. Butler walked to the edge of the palazzo and looked down, where she saw her driver standing on the sidewalk beside the buggy, waiting to take her on afternoon calls as he did every day.

"Woodrow, have you seen my son?"

"Yes ma'am," Woodrow said. "He left walking to his attorney's a while back." He adjusted the horse harness as he spoke. "He's a mite angry because I wouldn't let him take his horse or the carriage like you said not to."

"Thank you, Woodrow."

"And he was carrying a valise when he left out of here."

Elizabeth gripped her hands together tightly. "How long has he been gone?"

Woodrow shook his head. "An hour or so, maybe. I lose track of time just standin' here with the buggy."

"Well, just hold on, I'm coming down," she said, turning to head out the room and get her bonnet and gloves. She figured the walk to be somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark to Meeting Street from her house on the Battery. There was a chance her son would still be talking to his attorney when she got there.

OOOOooooOOOOoooo

Sweat poured down Rhett's face more from exertion than the heat. Tom Coddington saw him coming up the sidewalk and opened the door.

After the briefest of salutations, he got right to it.

"I need my mail, particularly anything from Atlanta."

And there it was, right on top, a letter from Scarlett explaining the Inman Park house purchase, but not much else. A key to the front door, enclosed. He took a deep breath. Well, at least she had a home and wasn't living with Pitty, although he couldn't have explained why he felt relieved at that knowledge. Inman Park was a nice, newer neighborhood, with large, fine homes, but nothing over the top quite like the mansion. The hotel, he reminded himself.

He looked through the rest of his mail, the usual business notifications. Only the one letter from her. He shuffled through the pile once more, looking for that telltale handwriting on the envelopes, and couldn't quite place his feeling of disappointment that there were no others.

"You look a little drawn," Tom observed when he finished. "I heard about the boat accident."

"I am getting back to rights."

"Have you completed your divorce statement?" Tom walked over to his brandy decanter and gestured toward Rhett.

Rhett looked blankly at him. He'd forgotten all about that damn statement. He shook his head at the brandy.

"I haven't worked on it. I'm leaving for Atlanta shortly, and plan to rest there. Perhaps I will be able to find the time there while I recuperate."

OOOOooooOOOOoooo

Hours later and they'd been searching for him all over town. Drained and dog-tired, Elizabeth Butler asked Woodrow to make one more circle around the train station.

And there he sat with the sun setting behind him. Bone-weary and just as spent-looking as she felt, yet whole and upright on a bench with his valise by his feet.

Relief sank her shoulders. She stepped down from the buggy and walked slowly so as not to trudge and then took a place down on the bench beside him. They were both silent for several minutes while she discreetly struggled with catching her breath. Then they sat, mother and son, both staring at the empty train station platform before she started to speak at a measured pace.

"When you were born I thought I was the luckiest woman ever to grace the earth. You were my first, a boy, and so perfect. Your father had his heir and that alone made him happy. And you were a beautiful child from the beginning, so precious to me.

"From the time you were a baby, it became quite obvious that we weren't dealing with an ordinary child. And as a boy you were simply a delight. Everyone commented on it. Met all your milestones early, so alert and engaging. You laughed and chortled and played. Extremely bright. Our days spent with you filled with joy." Her eyes lit up with memories.

"I fail to see why we need to go over all this—"

"Because I need to do it," she interjected, "and you obviously need to sit here and rest before going any further, and Woodrow needs to water the horse."

She cleared her throat. "Those first years were some of the best of my life. And so smart and talented! My life was rife with pride and just—exultation, that you were actually mine." She glanced at him sideways. "You experienced the same with your dear little girl."

A barely perceptible movement of his head.

"You grew to look at everything with such fresh, intelligent eyes. Figuring the world out, and fairly soon, you made it clear that you wouldn't accept trite answers or explanations on face value. Anything. Questions, questions, questions, 'Why Mama, Why?' and where and how and this is when you were just a toddler!

"But then it became bittersweet as your defiant nature emerged. You weren't even an adolescent. Always so precocious."

She gave him a wry look and he just raised his eyebrows.

"And I could see him looking at you. Thinking of his father. West Point sealed your fate in several ways but there were shenanigans before that, I don't have to tell you about your troubled youth." She raised her hand as if to touch his arm, then let it drop.

"Arguments, all the time, over the tiniest of issues. You didn't care what they were going to cost you. You would not concede. You had to win. The children feel the relationship between parents, good or bad. And I knew you felt it.

"Dark times, and I was between the two of you, trying to make peace, only succeeding a fraction of the time. The worst part was feeling you withdraw and seeing you develop that malice, that silky mean streak of yours, but I felt powerless to stop it. Your wit became a weapon. You were pushing me away too, and there was nothing I could do. It was excruciating.

"And then when you left—"

"When my father threw me out of my family home," he interjected. "If we have to talk about it, let's call it like it was." She breathed deep through her nose at this, but continued.

"You can say you know someone will survive hardship and danger because you feel they are strong, but you don't ever really know. We are all made of flesh and blood no matter our personal strengths. I told everyone who asked that I was sure you would survive and flourish, but the truth is, I wasn't. No one ever knows for certain beforehand."

Rhett recalled a rickety wagon holding a weak and immeasurably weary woman, fresh from childbirth, her newborn, and a toddler, with no one save two frightened and exhausted teenage girls to shepherd them all past uncounted threats to their welfare, amidst miles and miles of desperate men, and certain wartime peril.

"No," he said quietly. "No, you didn't know."

"I thought the pain and worry would destroy me. But I had two other, younger children. And I had to go on. I had no money of my own, and what was I going to do, follow you with them? Of the four of us, you were the most likely to succeed on your own."

And her brow wrinkled. "Impervious. That's the word to describe you. Nearly invincible, at least in your own mind. And you had the skills you needed, a head for business, a poker player, a good shot, your looks and cleverness.

"I hoped and I prayed. Every day. For my precious boy, my first-born son. The bond is different with you than the other two. Of course I love you all the same. But you had all the firsts, and they engrave deeper in the heart. All so new, and those firsts."

She didn't have to tell him about how the firsts marked one's heart.

"But I couldn't care for you. Didn't know what you were facing, if you were hungry, needed clothes, if you were hurt. All the things I knew before, and took care of, when you let me. You were such an independent young man, but you would let me fuss over you a bit.

"And then you were gone, and took a piece of me with you."

No reply.

"I saw the scar when they brought you home. That long one on your belly."

Ah.

"Was it a war wound?"

He could say yes and spare her and himself any further discussion. He could make up a battle story, as he had with Wade. He could even tell the same one he'd told that child on the day of his sister's birth.

"No."

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He went back to staring across the train platform. "Perhaps one day."

"So it was when you were trying to make your way on your own. An altercation with another man."

He nodded after a beat.

"It was a serious wound in a vulnerable place. You could have died. And I wasn't there to help you."

"I was a grown man, Mother. And I got help."

"And you're a grown man now. With multiple wounds."

A muscle twitch in his cheek. "I was lucky then, and I'm lucky now. I'll be fine."

"Why won't you let me take care of you?"

"Why didn't you take up for me when I needed it?"

And there it was. Out, before he could stop it.

"Oh, but I did. You were gone by then, but we argued for weeks. Then I just quit talking to him for a long while. Which was a relief. I could barely stand to look at him."

"He didn't give me time to do anything and then you were gone. We'd hear word only now and again. But you had something to prove, and you were off bound and determined on proving it and —well, you know how it was. I didn't see or hear from you for years.

"I prayed for you every day. Every single morning and every night the last words I uttered before I went to sleep were 'Dear God, look out for my baby boy.' "

"He struck my name from the bible," Rhett gave her a rueful smile. "That meant I didn't exist, so what was there to fuss over?"

"From the Butler bible, you were still in my family's bible. Besides, I wrote it back in the next day."

Rhett had the grace to look slightly surprised. "Did he know?"

"Of course."

His face hardened. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing," she huffed. Then amended it at his look. "Nothing he hadn't done before."

His father had been a gentleman. He'd never seen him hit his mother, nor heard anything beyond angry, hushed voices arguing into the night. But she looked some mornings after like a wheel without its tread.

"Oh there was a fight. But he couldn't erase you with his ugliness," she huffed again. "Besides, it was silly. You're my son, and nothing can undo that."

"I forgave you a long time ago."

"And I, you," she countered. "But there is a distance between us."

"Aren't there always distances between a mother and her son?"

"Yes, but not this much. You know what I mean. An unnatural distance."

A silence stretched.

"Are you trying to get to Atlanta?"

"I missed the last train today. There's a holdup in Marietta with the engine and the eight o'clock won't be running. I could ride up to Wilmington and then back down but it would double the travel time. Not sure my body could take it."

"You also missed your painkiller dose."

"No,'' he said, patting an inside pocket. "I stopped by the apothecary. Not ready to go without it yet."

"That's where you've been all afternoon? The apothecary?"

"I had several errands that I had to attend to on foot," he gave her a pointed glare. "The telegraph office not being the least of them."

"I saw the newspaper. That's your house? Your home with Scarlett." It was not a question.

He nodded.

"You never liked it."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Neither did you."

"No, it wasn't my style. All the rage in the magazines a few years back, though. There's been a couple like that built here since Reconstruction."

"I built it for her. It was what she wanted."

Elizabeth nodded.

"You must have cared a great deal for her to build such a huge, grand place."

"Yes."

"Big gestures are good," she smoothed out her skirt. "Yet sometimes women just want the loving attentions and sweet words."

Rhett opened his mouth to tell his mother he knew very well what women want, but then wisely shut it.

"It looks like she's done something wonderful with it. Amazing, actually."

"Hotel Robillard," this mockingly. "Wonder what the aunties will have to say about her using their family name."

"Yes, I visited with them briefly this afternoon on the street when I was looking for you. They'd seen the advertisement. It's in the Savannah paper as well."

"And? Are they threatening to disown her over it?"

"A bit. I tried to talk them down. They've never shown her much appreciation. You know they sneaked money she sent them to me during the bad times. And your father ate food purchased with that money, although he never knew it."

Mother and son smirked at each other in their hallmark way. Not everything about his looks came from the pirate.

"But they've had an, er, unexpected visit from family, shall I say," she cleared her throat. "And some other surprising news, which rather tempered their response as well."

Rhett felt in his pocket for a cigar that wasn't there and made a sound of discontent. He couldn't care less about Scarlett's aunts' company and news. He never really understood his mother's friendship with the snooty old biddies, although he suspected part of their closeness had to do with his mother's limited social circle after his expulsion from Charleston. He'd only asked because he had always derived a perverse pleasure when they gave Scarlett a hard time.

"She's something else, just like you. Moving on, making the best of it."

"She's taking some chances, mother. Trying to improve her reputation in a rather radical way, digging around nefarious money deeds during and after the war. She may be in danger, so headstrong. She's dealing with people who could be trying to use her to hurt me. I'm sure she has no idea the hornet's nest she's stirring up."

"Oh, and is that all?"

He half-rolled those dark eyes at her. "And I feel a tad beholden to help as I aided in the destruction of her reputation to start with." She raised her eyebrows. He'd never admitted to it, at least not to her.

"There are the children to consider as well."

"It's not all about the children."

"It's all but over. I wanted her to love me and she didn't."

"Except now she does."

He shrugged. "I wanted you to be stronger."

"I wanted to be stronger, too." She touched his arm. "You're going to hurt yourself traveling at this point. It's too soon."

"I'll be fine."

"Let yourself recover in my home. Your family home, for one week. And I'll let you go without a fuss."

He started to argue when he suddenly realized he was at a train station, after his accident, just as Scarlett had been. He put her on that train with Wade and Ella, pale and still with healing ahead of her. Truth is, he had wanted her gone because looking at her hurt and made him feel guilty. Mostly though, he had wanted to interfere with her business; specifically, who she did her business with.

And here he was, just bare days after his accident, wanting to get on a train himself, in pain and with healing ahead; again to interfere with her business—not so much the business, as who she was doing business with.

He would have laughed at the irony if he hadn't felt so defeated all of a sudden.

"Give me a week." She gave him her most pleading look, full of pain and regret.

A thought came to him, a forgotten memory. Of his mother tending to a badly skinned knee, serving him peach ice cream with cinnamon cookies, and then making him a milk toddy sans bourbon of course, and reading a book after. She forever read books to him, using voices and animated gestures. It's where his literary appreciation came from, so yes, she did do some things right. He remembered the smell of her, neroli oil and jonquils, how he would sink into the softness of her arms. He must have been five, six. The feelings of safety were palpable.

Were all mothers and fathers haunted for life by remorse for their mistakes? Some more than others, he thought with considerable bitterness.

"I can't guarantee a week. I intend to be in Atlanta before the grand opening."

"A couple of days, then."

He set his jaw and looked away. Every inch of him from the waist up seemed to hurt, even his shoulder, which he didn't know was injured. The bump on the back of his head throbbed and his forehead wound ached. He didn't even want to think about his torso. New bruises seemed to appear on the hour. He wanted to take the laudanum but was afraid that he would fall on the walk home if he did. How he despised being infirm. It set his teeth on edge. He missed whiskey with a passion he'd not imagined possible beforehand. Even in the army, he managed to keep a small personal supply here and there. Money always talks.

"It's too soon, Rhett. I have the buggy here, let's go home. Walking would be better, but it's later now and not much traffic. I'll tell Woodrow to go especially slow and easy." She held out her hand.

He rose, steadily but slowly, and took it, helping her up. There was no train tonight at any rate. "I'll have to send a confidential letter or two by courier in the morning."

"In addition to the telegrams?"

"Yes." He did not elaborate.

"And I want peach ice cream and cinnamon cookies for dessert tonight. If I'm going to stay I intend to be indulged."

"Peaches aren't in season yet."

"You have a few hours to figure something out, someone's bound to have some preserves, and there's always that damn brandy on the sideboard. Perhaps you can put it to use as a flavoring."

She chuckled lightly, albeit in relief, as they made a careful path to the carriage.

OOOOooooOOOOoooo

Fun Facts:

When I searched on men and prostitutes I found this little gem of a research project blurb:

But why would a man turn to a prostitute—as opposed to a girlfriend, wife or other consensual female lover—to satisfy his need for a social bond? One reason may be that real relationships with women are risky and complicated, features that men do not always want and cannot always handle. Prostitutes are far less exacting than girlfriends and wives and may even be soothing to the psyche. - Scientific American

Yes, the article actually used the term 'soothing' so I had to use it. It went on to say–

Some believe the practice serves as a salve for common psychological afflictions, such as an unfulfilled appetite for sex, love or romance.

And now the author uses 'salve'. I suspect a theme here.

In my mind, Rhett's mother served something like Biscoff cookies, my fave, the cinnamon cookies served by airlines for years. I feasted on them all the way to Italy about six years ago; when I got back I could only find them for sale through Amazon. But then they started showing up in Walgreens and Target, and when I looked it up to write this chapter I found that they were created in 1932 and had only been made in Belgium up until 2017 when the only other factory in the world was built in North Carolina! Where I live, no wonder I see them everywhere now.

On a random yet oddly appropriate note, did you know graham crackers were created to discourage sexual urges? Apparently they have just enough cinnamon to come up on a cinnamon cookie search. Creator Sylvester Graham thought they were so bland and unexciting that eating them would keep people from masturbating. Obviously he had not foreseen the invention of campfire s'mores, an orgasmic culinary experience if there ever was one. See there, Mr. Graham? That's what you get. MYOB, sir.

Confession - I am a yard sale fanatic. After a year of Covid and no yard sales my daughter and I have been hitting them heavy for the last month or so. I am not a collector, I usually just pick up practical or whimsical things. This morning I found a 'Heritage Doll' at the sweetest little old ninety-year-old lady's sale. According to the paper tag, Heritage Dolls, also called Church Dolls, were made by grandmothers during the Civil War. They were so minimal and lightweight little girls were allowed to carry them to church because if they were dropped they made no noise during the service. The little old lady had a ten-cent tag on it. I gave her two dollars, and still, it broke my heart. But I did tell her I would treasure it and put it in a story, which made her little eyes light up. And brought tears to mine.

I passed on a three-dollar vintage Victorian moustache cup last week, and have been kicking myself ever since. Never fear, I took a picture and it will be showing up in the story somehow. If you recall, Scarlett rearranged some moustache cups at that infamous bazaar before the dance.

Another random comment: I have not gotten any alerts from ff dot net in about a month, not for stories, not for chapters, not for reviews, favorites or followers. Anyone else?

A/N It's all coming to a head, peeps. Stay with me. Next chapter will be out much faster, no worries. I actually have a little momentum going, hallelujah! And this one, although late, was 7000-plus words, so that counts for something!

If I could catch my muse I'd buy her a gel mani-pedi, a massage and a bottle of Patron Silver. My personal favorite. She's a slippery little sucker, though. Only comes around when she's in the humor.

The three days Scarlett spends at Tara will be pivotal. Maybe one chapter, maybe two. And then the very next chapter will be the beginning of our much delayed and anticipated, er, reunion. After a fashion, that is. Once again, I thank you for your readership and your reviews and kind words. Particularly the kind words. They inspire me and spur me on. And yes, soothe my psyche haha.