"There was such love as she had dreamed, and she meant to go on believing in it and cherishing the thought that she was worthy of it."

― Edith Wharton, The Reef"

"But man is a fickle and disreputable creature and perhaps, like a chess-player, is interested in the process of attaining his goal rather than the goal itself."

― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"I can't light no more of your darkness."

― Elton John, don't let the sun go down on me

Chapter 16

After she left India's Scarlett spent the better part of Friday afternoon toting the contents of the vault back to the Inman Park house with Pork. She'd worn a path by the time she picked up Wade and Ella on her last run and explained that Leif had brought them something from his trip on the way back to the hotel.

"As soon as that big wall is painted and dry I want to hang my grandmother's portrait," Scarlett informed Tate, who was in the foyer supervising when she walked in with Wade and Ella. She feared it would be damaged on the floor.

She and the children then followed the heavenly smells back to the kitchen and found Prissy helping Babette take what appeared to be open-faced meat and olive pastries out of the oven.

"Le casse-croute - a snack," Babette said as she turned around. "And who do we have here?"

Scarlett introduced the children. Babette made over them both and handed Wade a pastry 'a pissaladiere' ' she called it - out of the oven. He blushed - she was a pretty young woman, after all - and thanked her before heading off to change to his new work clothes and hunt Tate, Scarlett suspected.

Babette leaned over to Ella. "What a darling little girl!" she said, her eyes bright and her tone merry, "and so very je ne sais quoi, just like your mother."

Ella smiled at her bashfully. She did look fetching in a periwinkle dress trimmed with yellow flowers and satin ribbons. "La pepee'!' " Babette said as she took Ella's hand and twirled her around.

"A doll?" Ella asked, and when Babette nodded, she answered prettily in French, and Babette laughed out loud and clapped her hands.

"And you speak French! With such a sweet little accent! Of course, you and your mother look very French you know," she said in a confiding tone. "You have the tilted eyes, and nose and mouth. And the color! So lucky to have your mother's eyes!"

Ella twisted her hands in her dress, not used to this type of attention. Scarlett had noticed her daughter's eyes deepening into a much more intense color for some time, as well as her hair, which was now a copper gold instead of just ginger. She looked at her child as if from someone else's perspective.

Yes, Ella had become less awkward-looking just over the past couple of months. She had Scarlett's face and a delicate chin, much like Ellen, and not Gerald O'Hara's determined jawline that Scarlett, Bonnie and Wade had inherited. The more Scarlett looked at her the more she realized that Ella had indeed bloomed and appeared delicate and dainty, in a mighty appealing way.

Ella managed to find her voice after a few seconds.

"I think you're beautiful," she said. "I love your hair," she added, stepping hesitantly around Babette to see the back. She had it fixed in an enchanting updo combination of braids, loose curls and twists.

"I can do your hair like mine some time," Babette showed a dimple in her cheek when she smiled. Prissy looked a tad indignant. She considered Ella her charge, and hair her specialty. "Or show Prissy how," Babette amended quickly.

Ella nodded. "May I help you here? Wade gets to do construction with Tate and Leif," she pushed her bottom lip out a tiny bit. Scarlett did a double-take. She'd never seen Ella pout.

"Ella," Scarlett said, "Babette is trying to become familiar with this kitchen and she has an event to plan for tomorrow."

"Oh, she is welcome," Babette said, "I haven't had a little girl to play with in so long, and we can practice French!"

Scarlett felt a tiny pang of jealousy herself. She had been practicing French with Ella. But Babette's was undoubtedly far better, she reasoned. Still. She wanted her time with Ella and Wade in the evenings. It had been too important after all the years she let others care for them. Even if Babette was better at French, she would have to find another way to help with Ella's studies.

"Of course, well, I'll be in the office if you need anything. Ella, you be sweet. Prissy, bring her to me if she gets restless."

"It is no problem. I am making shopping lists for tomorrow. Do you have any requests for the supper?" Babette dusted her hands off on her apron.

"For this one just do your favorites," Scarlett said. "I haven't really had time to look over the menus or the book Leif brought, but I like everything on the Commander's Palace menu."

Babette nodded. "I will bring you a list of dishes to look over in just a few minutes. I believe Leif is down in your wine cellar making a selection to complement the menu."

She smiled brightly at Ella. "Now une petite chou, you are my official helper! Would you like an apron for your pretty dress?"

"Did you just call me a little cabbage?" Ella giggled and Scarlett heard Babette's answering laughter as she headed back to the office. She had to smile. They needed laughter, all that they could get.

Two hours left of daylight. She had been immersed in cost analysis for about thirty minutes when she heard a noise in the foyer. The workers were attempting to hang the portrait and she went out to supervise it, getting it positioned in the exact right location, high on the wall but not too high, so that when someone entered the foyer it was immediately ahead in their line of sight.

She heard a noise and looked behind her to see Leif, Tate and Babette, mouths slightly agape, Ella and Wade beside them, grinning. They had seen the portrait plenty at Tara.

"My grandmother," Scarlett said. "And my great-grandmother!" Ella jumped up and down.

Tate choked on a laugh. "Of course she is."

"La Dame Robillard, the inspiration for this project," Scarlett said. "Married thrice, took the occasional lover, didn't wear -" she looked at the children here, "anything she didn't feel like wearing." Well, I already mentioned the lovers, she thought a tad despondently.

Leif walked over to the painting and lightly traced the bayonet scar with one finger. He was the only one tall enough to do so. He turned and looked at Scarlett with one brow raised.

"Yankees," she said. "We're lucky it survived at all." He nodded and stood back.

"You do favor quite remarkably," he said. Her cheeks pinkened as his gaze lingered just a moment on the abundant cleavage on display in the portrait.

"It's perfect Scarlett!" Tate looked like he wanted to jump up and down with Ella. Quite a feat, considering the masculinity he normally projected. "You do have a bit of an eye, you know. Don't let anyone tell you that you don't. It just needs to be reined in and tweaked here and there."

Scarlett felt bashful. That was new. "Yes. Her first name was Solange, her maiden name Prudhomme. I've been thinking of naming the restaurant one of those," she continued, a bit flustered.

"Oh yes, now that is a Frenchwoman," Babette breathed as she leaned in toward the painting. "I like the name Solange for a restaurant." She looked more closely. "Ah, that is where Miss Ella comes from, nobility, I assume?" She looked at Scarlett, who nodded.

Babette gestured between Scarlett and the painting. "You three are nearly almost identical from the mouth up," she said, "but Miss Ella has this woman's nose and chin."

"I always thought it was her father's nose," Scarlett said, crinkling her eyes at the portrait.

"I have my father's hair, don't I, Mother?"

"Yes you do, darling."

"The hair, perhaps, and the skin tone, but besides that - she is just like this woman. Look at the bridge of her nose and the shape of her nostrils," Babette continued. Scarlett studied the portrait and then Ella's face. Her nostrils did appear to be deepening. A slight shiver went up her spine as she thought of a grown Ella leveling her with that aristocratic sneer.

Babette glanced at Scarlett again. "Your nose is similar, although smaller and not as pronounced. Everything else is the same except for the jawline and the color of your eyes."

"Yes," Scarlett said, "the jawline is my father's. No one is sure where the eye color originated."

"Ah," Babette smiled. "It is Irish magic! You have the mystique of the French woman and the Irish faery to boot. No wonder every man you meet is smitten," she glanced laughingly at Leif, who scowled, albeit slightly in response. Scarlett raised an eyebrow at that.

"Not as much as you might think," she said dryly. Babette smiled.

"Don't forget the accent and the charm," Tate added. "She's quite the threat." I love my new friends, Scarlett thought, my vanity could use some soothing.

"I like the name Solange," Babette added. "Better than Prudhomme. Doesn't flow as well off the tongue." Scarlett nodded. She hadn't thought of that.

A ruckus sounded outside the front door, which opened to reveal Pork and one of the workers carrying banker's boxes. "There's more outside," Pork panted. He was getting a little long in the tooth for toting. "General Hampton's man is out there to explain."

Scarlett directed Pork to the office and headed out the door. A wagon was parked in front, with Hamp's personal assistant, the liaison from his last visit, standing beside it.

"Good evening Mrs. Butler," he said. "General Hampton sent his regrets. He wanted to deliver these records personally, but he did tell me to relay the message to you that he will be by in a few hours to direct you further."

A few hours? Scarlett inwardly groaned. She'd wanted to head home at dusk. She spoke with the man a few more minutes while workers continued to unload the boxes. After he drove off she turned to shut the door when Pork stopped her.

"Hole up," he said, gesturing to her own wagon that had been parked behind the general's. "There's one more. Jus' picked it up at the train depot."

Scarlett walked to the wagon to look closer, even though she could tell from the door it was a big wooden crate, with NASSAU TO ATLANTA stamped all over it in red.

Rhett. He was on his way home.

OOOOooooOOOOoooo

Happy Thanksgiving! I am writing this from a balcony in Savannah, perfumed by tea olive trees. It's like 78 degrees. Gotta love the Georgia coast.

My current surroundings are inspiring, so I hope to finish another chapter at least before the end of the weekend. Thank you to all that have reviewed. At the risk of being called a review ho, please drop me a note in the form of a review and let me know your thoughts. Not just for me, for any story you enjoy, if you have a sec. There's only a handful of us writing for GWTW currently that I can tell, yet a couple hundred people appear to be reading.

Your words mean the world to fic writers. It's the only consideration we receive for the hours we put in, and it does spur us on! I appreciate constructive criticism as well, especially if I have made a glaring continuity error. Please let me know.

Gah! I feel like I'm panhandling for Wikipedia, apologies. Peace and joy and have a wonderful Turkey Day, y'all!

11/30/20 Update: Chapter 17 will be a couple more days in the making. I should stop trying to promise chapters. They never cooperate, and 17 has General Hampton in it, and for some reason, he takes extra time. It won't be too long, please bear with me. Peace, misscyn