Inspiration:

Well, the good ol' days may not return

And the rocks might melt and the sea may burn

I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings

Coming down is the hardest thing

—Tom Petty

A/N This chapter is getting unwieldy, so I am posting it in three parts. Expect another one by Monday, no joke, and the third, which is all Rhett, mid-week. Not messing with you; they are all but done. And I am exhausted, haha.

Disclaimer: I don't own jack.

Chapter 30

Scarlett watched Leif walk out with a frown on her face. He'd acted—offended? Perhaps not quite offended, but there was something there. She guessed she might have gone a little far but also felt she needed to know if he had a significant woman in his life, for reasons she very much did not want to think about right then.

Trying to redirect that somewhat unsettling train of thought, she picked up the knife again, fascinated despite herself, and slid the blade out of its sheath. Couldn't help but admire it, she turned it over again to inspect the artistry. As she slid it back in, she noticed something off-white between the leather and the metal lining. She tugged on it; another folded note, two pages, flattened as small and tight as imaginable.

Going to her desk, she smoothed out the creases and examined the pages. One looked to have been torn out of a personal journal. She read over it, front and back, not fully comprehending the meaning of the disjointed phrases. Then she looked at the page of drawings, her eyes flying open at the depictions. Hurriedly she folded the pages back and stuffed them in the bottom of her locked office drawer, behind the spare bottle of brandy she kept hidden there.

She had so much to accomplish that the rest of the afternoon flew by. Leif and Tate walked back through after an hour or so, and they discussed business for a few minutes. Leif appeared thoughtful and a little preoccupied, but she attributed that to their prior conversation. He said he had some late-day errands to run and disappeared again.

As evening approached, Prissy took the children home for supper. Scarlett sent word to Dilcey that she would be working late and dining with Babette, and she and Prissy could pack her bags later if there was time.

She also sent a message to General Hampton at the governor's mansion informing him that she was leaving town for a few days. So she was somewhat surprised when he came to call just before Babette served an early light supper of chilled vegetable soup, cold rare roast beef with freshly grated horseradish, and, for dessert, mousse au citron.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your meal, please pardon my manners," he said as he stood at the door to the dining room, where the new doorman directed him. Despite the disruption, he remained the picture of stateliness, as always. Leif, Tate, and Babette were seated at the table as well. "I just wanted to speak with you for a moment as you are leaving town, but I can come back later if you'd prefer."

Scarlett rose from her seat. "No, please join us, I insist."

General Hampton demurred, but upon much prompting, did graciously accept. He seated himself and proceeded to an amiably discourse with the rest of the table on current events and happenings about town.

The others excused themselves after finishing the meal. Leif left on yet another errand as Scarlett and Hamp made their way to the office. Babette and Tate said they needed to discuss the addition of yet another oven and how the kitchen would accommodate it.

"Wade Hampton will be sorry he missed your visit," Scarlett remarked as she took a seat behind the desk and gestured for the general to sit down across from her.

"I regret it as well, but perhaps the boy and I can spend some time together when you return." Scarlett offered to have after-dinner drinks brought in, but he declined with a wave of his hand.

"I won't be long, and I know you are preparing to leave. I just wanted to tell you how valuable the information you gave me the other day appears to be."

"As it turns out, there's more." She explained the newest information and the 'gift' as she showed him the knife and papers from Belle.

"Well, I must say, in addition to everything else I've heard of your talents, you're a most resourceful young woman. These latest developments are quite apropos to my reason for being here."

He sat down and drew a cigar from his inside jacket pocket, looking to her for approval. At her nod, he lit it and inhaled deeply, reminding Scarlett of Rhett.

"Out of an abundance of caution, I have taken the liberty to procure you a watchman, after a fashion."

"A watchman?" Scarlett's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. "You mean a guard? Whyever would you do that?"

"There's no reason to be excessively concerned," he assured her. "It's merely a precaution, considering the sensitive nature of your position with the party."

"So some ruffian is following me around now? I don't need vagabonds and rogues loitering about the hotel before it even opens, Hamp. Bad for business." She was nothing if not ever a pragmatist.

"No, not a ruffian. You might notice a former officer of mine escorting you about town from a distance, however."

"Pardon me?"

"I may have commissioned a former confederate officer to, let us say, look out for your welfare. And that of your family. Here at the hotel and your home."

"That's a fair many people and a mighty large territory for one man to cover."

'Well," Hamp took another deep drag from his cigar. "There may be more than one sentinel, let us say, on guard."

She felt panic rising. "More than one? Does my entire family have sentinels? And my home is being watched?"

"I have nothing to indicate that there is any threat at this time. As I said, we're practicing precaution here."

Scarlett felt somewhat blindsided as she sat and processed this new information. Before she could ask any more questions, the general continued.

"I only mentioned it so you wouldn't be alarmed if you noticed them."

"Well, thank you for that," this somewhat tartly. "How am I supposed to tell the observers from the rapscallions who may be after me?"

"That's why I brought it up. Perhaps you should meet him, er, them. I could arrange that when you return to town."

"Will they be following me to Tara?"

"No, there's no danger in the country. We might see that you get on the train."

"If someone approaches me, how will I know?"

"We'll need a signal; a codeword should do. Is there one you would prefer?"

"You're the master of espionage," imparted a tad more sharply than she intended. "You decide."

He glanced at the door, a small smile curving his lips.

"Mousse au citron. That will be the codeword."

"That's the codeword? The last thing you ate?" No wonder we lost the war. She shook her head. This is General Wade Hampton, show some respect. She mentally upbraided herself. All this new information was making her exceedingly grouchy.

"Yes." he intoned dryly. "Most likely more significant during war times, when enjoyable meals were so few and far between."

"I also have a list of a few more names for your project." He retrieved a letter from that same inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to him as he stood, obviously with no more to say this evening.

"You are perfectly safe, Mrs. Butler. On my honor. I will make sure of it."

She couldn't very well ask for more than that, although she couldn't resist a parting shot.

"Are all Charleston men so very high-handed, or is it merely a trait you share with my wayward husband?"

He chuckled deeply. "I can't answer for all male Charlestonians, Scarlett. But, you indeed are something to see when you're riled up.

"And if I may take further liberty, I would like to say one more thing. You were born for more, shall I say, excitement and intrigue than you have allowed yourself in the past. Bigger, better things than merely the fruits of your commercial success and parties and dresses. You radiate with it. Let yourself have it."

A tad shocked, she nodded. He believes in me. He has faith. In a manner, no one else, certainly no other man other than her father, ever really had.

She did have one more issue to address, however.

"Oh, General," she said as he turned to the door. A lifted eyebrow. "Hamp," she amended. "I took the opportunity to speak with Mrs. Fanny Welborn the other day, and she had the most interesting information to convey."

He paused, waiting for her to continue. Did not seem surprised, she noted.

"She indicated that you'd told her and a group of very old Southern family representatives that my husband and I had been working with—outsiders to the Cause, let us say—for some time, with certain ulterior motives as to benefit the Democratic Party."

He inclined his head.

"And that my association with these outsides, particularly an unpopular former governor, was purposely designed to aid our society."

He waited politely for her to continue.

"And I was wondering why you would make such statements when it could be argued that they were diametrically opposed to what actually took place."

"Oh yes, I do remember a conversation to that effect," he offered in quite an off-hand manner. Scarlett all but snorted, stopping herself just in time before pressing on.

"Did you spread a rumor that was less than fact for my benefit, General Hampton?"

He gave her a keen look then. "As I recall, I worded such a statement in a manner that the people I was addressing at the time might have been left with the impression that you and your husband consorted both professionally and personally with certain undesirable persons, and in the process gained information and relationships that behooved the Democratic Party.

"I didn't actually say you did it on purpose. I merely indicated that those activities built a bridge. As evidenced by the progress we have made," he indicated the letter he'd just given her as well as the ones Belle sent with the knife. "They did."

Scarlett's eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Gift horses and all that, as Tate would say.

"Semantics are invaluable in this business, Scarlett. Keep that fact ever most in your mind as we go forward."

As he walked away, she wondered exactly what business he meant.

When she heard the front door close, Scarlett sat down heavily in her office chair, where she rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers and thought about simpler times just a short while ago when all she had to worry about was her ruined reputation and broken marriage. Then she stared into space for a few minutes before standing and venturing back out to the lobby.

"Are you finally done for the day, duckie?" Tate came out of the kitchen with Babette, holding wine glasses. "We've sent everyone else home."

Leif appeared as well, brandishing a couple of bottles of wine.

"Our favorite vintner sent us a case of this," he pulled a wine key out of his pocket and proceeded to uncork a bottle. "Gratis due to our large orders this week. I think that should mean it is for our personal use."

Scarlett studied the label, her eyes widening as she recognized it. How generous! She felt slight discomfort. Did they buy that much from the vintner that he would give so generously?

She started to shake her head as Leif put the first glass in front of her, but Tate would have no part of it.

"It's your last night before you go to Tara. We won't see you until Friday. So let's have a glass of wine and …"

"Play cards!' Babette clapped.

And so they did. They played and talked and laughed, just as easy as the night out on the veranda. Scarlett gave up on a blank expression and decided to just frown throughout the game, which amused her fellow players to no end. She lost and won and perhaps broke even, but they were playing with nails again, so no harm done.

Soon everyone found themselves yawning and Babette excused herself for the night, followed by Tate. Leif, however, seemed to be in no hurry to leave. She went to the office to lock up, and when she turned to find him right behind her, she squeaked.

He stood back and regarded her with an air of both anticipation and apprehension, holding a small, circular brass box with a hinged lid.

"I procured an item for you. I was waiting until the hotel opening, but since you're leaving beforehand," he handed her the box.

Scarlett met his eyes for just a moment before looking back to open the box and reveal a ring. A rather hefty and unusual one, with a large domed oval jadeite center stone, surrounded by smaller peridots and tiny pearls and pink quartz stones.

What was Leif thinking? She couldn't accept it, a piece of jewelry like this, so different from her engagement ring, but alike somehow, if only by the sheer size of it.

Yet she looked closer. The stones were gorgeous, but the ring itself, rather odd. The setting was gold, but the band itself appeared to be made of brass. Nestled in the velvet of the box were what appeared to be tiny brass beads, a miniature cleaning brush, and—she squinted her eyes slightly to look closer—a removable bullet chamber?

"It's a gun," Leif said, "albeit a small one. La Femme Fatale." He reached for the box. "Allow me."

He unscrewed and pulled the gemstone top off to reveal the inner workings of the weapon. Slowly he loaded the tiny bullets in the chamber, his large fingers surprisingly dexterous with the fine work, then replaced it and the jeweled cover.

"Of course, it's French, designed for women of quality to carry when traveling, particularly alone."

"But why—"

"I purchased it last week in New Orleans, but special ordered a new setting with these stones from Stilson's here in town. I just picked it up this evening.

"The pink quartz reminds me of your cheeks, the pearls your skin, and of course the jadeite and peridots are your eyes, the way they change color and deepen with emotion.

"I thought about emeralds, of course, but decided they would have been too transparent and the bullet chamber might have shown through, so I went with the jadeite."

He took the ring out of the box. "May I?" she nodded mutely as she handed the box back to him. She held out her hand automatically, an air of bewilderment around her.

It fit perfectly. He smiled. "Your jeweler knew your size."

Oh dear God. Albert Stilson would be highly familiar with her ring size. Rhett dropped several fortunes in his store over the years.

"Without the cover, it would have looked ugly and clunky, and I didn't think you would wear it," he said before she could ask. "Mr. Stilson, and Prissy, I might add, agreed. So I had a more attractive alternative created."

At the look on her face, he continued. "He is very well aware I purchased it, as your business partner, for your protection, of course. As a jeweler, he practices circumspection. No one else will know."

Scarlett breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't thought about it, but of course, a jeweler would be tactful, if only to protect his trade. Rhett Butler wasn't the only man in the whole of Atlanta with a mistress. Merely the most blatant one.

"I was going to wait until the grand opening, but I saw the knife you received this afternoon," a pointed look here, "and figured perhaps I should go ahead."

She sat down, staring at the ring. She popped the top off again and examined the inner workings.

"How does it shoot?"

"You should wear it on your non-dominant hand." He took it off her right ring finger and put it on her left, atop her wedding band, in a gesture so quick she didn't have time to protest. He then led her by said hand to the window by her desk, which he opened.

"Now aim for that tree. Pull back on the little hammer with your other hand, and shoot."

She did. Despite the fact he was standing right behind her, nearly touching, and may have either blown a strand of her hair out of the way, or pushed it with the very tips of his fingers. The touch was so light and fleeting she couldn't be sure.

"Excellent. Amazing, actually for your first try."

"It's not my first try." He chuckled in response as he moved a fraction of an inch away.

"I can't wear it on my left hand," she said as she removed the ring. "I'll have to practice with it on my right."

He nodded. "I'll get you more bullets. Use it at close-range, and I would aim for the face. Those bullets are too tiny to kill anyone, of course, but they could slow them down considerably. Give you time to run or grab your knife."

A silence fell between them.

"Someone is watching the hotel. And my family. The general …"

"I know." Leif moved to lean against her desk, his feet stretched out before him, his golden hair loose for once around his head. He reminded her of a lion, relaxed, yet eyes alert and a certain tension in his body, poised to pounce.

"I've noticed someone hanging about from a distance for the last few days. I figured that's what he wanted to talk to you about, in addition to your other," here he hesitated, "mutual concerns."

She nodded, feeling strangely subdued. All the general's assurances felt a tad hollow. And they hadn't discussed exactly what she had been doing with Hamp, although she could tell he was curious.

Her eyes followed him as Leif looked out the still-open window. The wind picked up, blowing leaves about the lawn. The promise of a shift in the weather hung in the air.

"Storm's blowing in," he said, leaning forward to pull the window shut. "There's one out in the Caribbean wreaking all types of havoc. Should reach inland in the next few days."

Oh no. Rhett. She hadn't thought of him in the past few days, been so busy. Was he battling the storm, is that why he was late? She quickly dismissed the thought. Rhett would be fine. He was always fine. The man had always been virtually indestructible.

She looked back at Leif. Time to pay the piper. "Do you know my husband?"

"Yes." Expecting the question, apparently.

"How?"

"From New Orleans. Several years back. We had a bit of a run-in."

"Business or personal?" Her mouth felt unnaturally dry.

"It started as a business deal that then became personal."

She waited. His eyes flitted away. "Perhaps I'll let him explain it to you first."

A business deal that became personal. Suddenly she got that pit of her stomach feeling. Leif wouldn't tell her because it would hurt her. Which could only mean one thing in her mind.

I have to be better. I have to be better than what broke me.

He watched as the expressions flit across her face.

"My husband–"

"When your husband leaves a woman like you alone for weeks and months on end, he should expect other men to show interest and perhaps even want to look out for her," he interjected. "If he has any sense, he'll be thankful."

"He doesn't care. He hates me. The only comfort I have, and it's a small one, is that he hates himself more." The visceral pain in her solar plexus intensified.

"But he might use it against me in case we sever our marriage contract."

"Ah." That gave him pause, but only for a second.

"Well, it's not a piece of jewelry, per se. It's a well-hidden weapon. And I'm not afraid of Rhett Butler."

You should be. God knows I am. Not that I'll ever let him know.

He rose from his position at the desk and bent toward her, leaning in close. His proximity both unnerved and comforted her. She wasn't sure, but she suspected he inhaled her scent.

"I won't let anyone hurt you if I can help it."

"But—"

"I won't."

He straightened even taller and smiled, eyes lit and sparkling. Such a beautiful man, she thought as she caught her breath, which she would bet an entire pile of nails did not go unnoticed. He lifted an eyebrow in a manner that could only be described as mischievous.

"Not that you can't take care of yourself. You're now fairly well-armed, and you're Scarlett O'Hara. I feel deep sympathy for the man who tries to cross you. If one ever does, I can only hope I am present to witness the show."

OOOOooooOOOOoooo

.

Fun Facts:

As excerpted from the Antique Animal Jewelry website post, Dec. 23, 2020:

Believe it or not, back in the 1800s there was a kind of ring that doubled up as a diminutive firearm. Yes, that's right - a ring that was also a miniature gun. Known initially as Le Petit Protector - which was the first documented example of this kind of gun - a later, smaller ring known as 'La Femme Fatale' soon took over in popularity. This rare and unique little ring is the subject of this week's blog.

Carrying a gun for personal protection was quite a popular fashion throughout Europe in the early 1800s. The derringer, the pen-gun, the cane gun, all these James Bond-esque contraptions, and more, were being sold in small shops across Europe and the US. In France, there were revolutions and wars, the reign of terror, and the conquests of an Emperor. In England, there were highwaymen and robbers, thieves, and disbanded soldiers. In Germany, there were wars and destitution, occupation, and rebellion. All had a reason to fear for their personal safety or to suspect their wallets, watches, or jewelry might be lifted from them in hard times; so carrying a small gun seemed a sensible fashion for any man. But, what about the women?

Well, that's where the miniature ring gun comes in. Produced in France in small quantities during the latter half of the 19th century, these rings were large enough to be worn on any finger and were often sold in small, oval-shaped jewelry boxes, suggesting that their target audience was predominantly women. While men carried larger guns in pockets and on belts, women wore these rings to protect themselves. While some believe they were mostly worn by prostitutes and spies - professions in which a woman was most likely to be attacked - there is ample evidence that they were popular among women in general, whether for making a journey alone or providing security while wearing expensive jewelry or carrying a heavy purse. - end of excerpt

Closing A/N: So, that ring is perfect for Scarlett, eh? As stated before, this chapter was getting so hefty I divided it up. Expect the next one by Monday evening, no kidding, it will be done! I'm in Highlands, NC right now on vacay and that helps productivity immensely. Also hiking all the waterfalls. Nature is healing and inspiring, and getting away from my big old house and all the projects does help with creativity. I hope that wherever you are, dear reader, you can find some comfort in nature as well.

So sorry for the extreme delay. My muse is a flighty heifer, but she's my muse, and I have to cater to her whims. Would love to hear from you, and take heart, much action straight ahead in this little ole tale! Peace, misscyn