Thanks, everyone, for your lovely reviews, and your prods. I'm very sorry this chapter was so long in the making. My last month of residency has been kicking a$$ - I've been working 7 am to midnight on most days. I hope it will get better. This chapter is raw, as in, hasn't been edited much, but I didn't want to make you wait even longer for the tea party. I hope you enjoy – and feel for Scarlett for having her gene pool intermingled with the likes of Rhett Butler.

Scarlett woke before Rhett on Sunday morning – an event that was almost unheard of, and was in itself an indication of her unquiet mind. She allowed herself to luxuriate in the soft sheets for a few more minutes, before pushing herself up with purpose. Her dark hair was in tangles, and her nimble fingers began the daily ritual of smoothing it into place. She looked down at Rhett, at the sharp plains of his face, the still-thick hair, now salt-and-pepper in color. Her lips curved into a slightly self-congratulatory smile. It had been quite ingenious of her younger self to marry a man who carried his age so well.

Swinging herself out of bed, she pulled on a simple, floral-patterned wrapper, and made her way into the kitchen. She could hear the faint noises of the cattle, and the men outside. Inside the house, there was the clatter of silver, and the quick sound of the servants' footsteps readying the house for another day. The rhythm of life at the Ranch reminded her of Tara; the carefree, determined Tara of before the War, and was unconsciously soothing.

Belle was already in the large kitchen, the throbbing heart of the house, drinking her coffee. Scarlett had expected, indeed even hoped to see her there. Surprisingly, Charles Butler was there as well, seated at the round table across from Belle, leafing through a newspaper. Something about the casual, domestic intimacy of their posture struck Scarlett as odd.

"Good morning," she announced, to the room at large.

They greeted her cordially. Scarlett felt as though she had interrupted something. To cover her confusion, she nodded to the maid, who poured coffee into a dainty porcelain cup, and set it in front of her with a flourish.

"I will need Mary to help dress me for church," Scarlett told Belle, in answer to her expectant look. Since the Ranch was more than adequately staffed, they had left their servants behind in Charleston for a well-earned break. Scarlett watched the maid leave the room, and stiffened her shoulders for the inevitable as she added, "And you and I need ….to talk. In private."

There was a glimmer of interest in Charles Butler's eyes, eyes that darted to Belle's face, and back to Scarlett. Belle looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Perhaps a walk by the pastures," Scarlett suggested, raising her eyebrows at Charles as she took a long drink of her coffee. He twisted his lips into the ghost of a smirk. Belle, apparently resigned, rose from the table. She was already dressed in her Sunday finery, ready for church. "Not right this minute," Scarlett said, imperviously, setting down her cup with a clash. It would not do to have this conversation while still in her wrapper. "I will meet you outside in thirty minutes, after Mary has helped me dress." She would have breakfast later, when her stomach was less unsettled.

Belle nodded, sitting back down, and watched Scarlett sweep from the room. "Time to pay the piper," Charles said, not unkindly, looking at Belle with Rhett's black eyes. The hot, bustling years of Atlanta passed through her mind like a never-ending freight train.

She sighed, heavily, and sat back down, tossing back her hair. There was a strange mixture of servility and mulishness in the gesture that was not lost on Charles, and he smiled with something like appreciation. In a manner of speaking, she had been his Scarlett: A creature of will, too proud and determined to go under when her world collapsed around her. In her own way, she had survived, even flourished. Like, perhaps, his brother, Charles admired stubborn grit in a woman more than the cerebral irony he saw personified by his niece Rose. Had he been in Thad's position, he would have chosen Charlotte.

"It ain't right," Belle muttered, shaking her head once more.

~~oo~~

Little more than half an hour later, Scarlett and Belle were making their way through the pasture trail. It was a fine, dewy morning, the acid humidity of late May yet hidden behind scattered, puffy clouds. Scarlett had taken care with her dress, and her hair, wearing an ensemble more than usually adorned with lace and pearls. Instinct had compelled her to puff up her status before this woman whose lack of taste equaled her own, but who would be impressed by the shimmering triple rows held together by a large emerald clasp surrounded by diamonds.

Finally, she stopped, turning herself around. She had conducted thousands of business negotiations, and this was no different. It was, she thought, unfortunate that she was smaller than Belle, but her regal posture and her straight neck more than compensated for the difference in height.

"You will remember that you owe me a debt," Scarlett started suddenly, taking the other woman off guard. As she had intended, Belle looked cowed. "Your son's life." Scarlett paused to let the words sink in. "Had I not brought Dr. Harrison, Thad would have died, of the bullet or of wound infection. You said as much yourself, that night you came to our house."

Belle bowed her head. She, too was a shrewd businesswoman, and aware that she held no hand at all in these negotiations. She awaited her verdict in silence.

Scarlett studied her. Watched her squirm like the White Trash women in Atlanta had squirmed before her insults, and especially Rhett's. Under any other circumstance, she would have felt compassion. Now, she merely saw Belle's discomfort as a means to an end. "You will stop making things difficult for Thad and Rose," Scarlett pronounced, every bit a queen passing judgment on a supplicant.

Belle knew she was beaten even as she opened her mouth in a last, feeble protest. "You can't wan 'er to marry 'im. Rose kin have …anyone. She should have ….someone from Charleston. Someone like…..."

Class barriers, after all, were the property of the lower classes as much as the upper stratosphere. Belle had a right to insist Thad and Rose were not fitted for each other.

"She wants Thad."

Belle dropped her eyes. She knew, by the sinking feeling in her stomach, that she was here by Scarlett's grace as much as by Thad's. Should Scarlett see it fit to invoke ancient grief, her chance of remaining at the Ranch, or in the life of her son, were slim to none. Furthermore, she was quite right. She did owe her a debt. The most profound debt one woman could possibly owe to another.

"I won't interfere no more. An' keep my opinion to myself," Belle muttered, darkly. "It still ain't fittin' though. The likes of 'er marrying the likes of 'im." She hoped Scarlett would believe that she, Belle, thought Rose too far above her son to make for a successful marriage, but from the shrewd look the other woman gave her, she could tell Scarlett was not the least bit deceived. However, she also did not appear enraged.

"I think they will be very happy," Scarlett pronounced, cheerfully. She even petted her shoulder encouragingly, all smiles now that her objective had been achieved.

Belle sighed, albeit internally. She would do her best to call Gina off. She would fulfill her obligations, and her duty. However, it was highly unlikely Gina would allow herself to be called off. A bit unstable, Gina was. Especially if thwarted.

And that, after all, would not be Belle's fault.

~~oo~~

The drive to Church was remarkable only for the four Native boys that sat, in almost identical intervals, underneath large Ash trees that lined the roads. Scarlett had paid the first one no heed, but the second one raised eyebrows, and after the third and the fourth, she asked Rhett what in Dickens he thought they were doing. Her husband had studied the boys with his infuriatingly calm, penetrating gaze, and then had returned his black eyes to hers, with a glimmer of something alert and wary that Scarlett could not have recognized, because she had not seen him when he had been a soldier fighting in the War.

"Sentinels," he murmured, as if to himself.

She would have asked him to explain, had twenty-six years of marriage not taught her when questions would prove futile.

Two hours later, they were waiting in front of the church for the carriages to drive them back to the Ranch. Scarlett had taken the time to inspect the skinny, strawberry blonde girl that had sung the solo, this time without the absent Thad.

There was nothing about her that Scarlett would have expected to grab a boy's - her boy's - imagination. The girl had almost no figure, her small nose was dusted with freckles, and she looked uncomfortable in her staid church dress, and her ruthlessly pulled back hair. Only her voice was sweet and lilting, and Scarlett surprised her son staring at her with a slightly agape mouth as she sang. The girl, as best Scarlett could tell, did not return her son's tender feelings. At times, she almost fancied she was glowering at them.

Despite her best intentions, she had forgotten to let Rhett know about the Baker's invitation, what - she told herself - with all the drama concerning Belle and Rose. So one can only imagine the depth of embarrassment she was forced to plunge when the Baker and his wife came up to them after the ceremony to thank them, profusely, for the honor they had bestowed on them by accepting their invitation.

"Stella has talked of nothing else all week", the Baker's wife chirped mendaciously, but brightly. "So delighted!" She was a plump, fair-faced woman, her skin naturally rosy, and her hat laden with a neck-bending array of flowers. It sat conspicuously like a satisfied spider on top of hair which had probably once been the same strawberry blonde as her daughter's, but was now streaked liberally with premature grey.

Rhett, who was a remarkably quick study, merely raised his eyebrows at his wife.

"The ….delight is entirely …..ours," he drawled, and Scarlett, flushed red, wished to sink beneath the floor-boards. "We are equally anticipating this afternoon's ….tea?" He turned to Scarlett, and she could see the decided twinkle his eyes. "It was tea, was it not, my love? One grows so forgetful with old age."

"Fiddle dee dee," Scarlett said, with just the right amount of wifely reproof in her voice. "My husband and I will be there with the boys at four! And we cannot wait to make the acquaintance of…" What was the chit's name, again?

"Stella, Madam," the schoolmistress replied, pulling forward her daughter, who did her best to resist. When her mother prodded her, Stella mumbled something that could have been a greeting, but kept her eyes firmly trained on the floor. "A bit shy," her mother explained, hurriedly.

Rhett smiled. "Shy? I can see that. Just like my sons." He called to Gerry, who had been testing out the acoustics of the church by letting out a fairly decent imitation of the Rebel Yell. The Baker's wife nodded her confused assent. When the boys joined them, and the introductions had been completed, Rhett lifted his hat most urbanely, and ushered his family into the carriages.

When they had closed the doors, and the horses pulled forward, Scarlett bestowed an anxious glance at her husband. "You are not …angry, Rhett, are you? I swear I meant to tell you, but first one thing and then another drove it out of my mind!"

"I could ask for no better entertainment this afternoon than tea at the Bakers," he told Scarlett, the entire mirth of the situation painted plainly over his visage. "It will be ….a novel experience, and at my age, novel experiences are few and far between."

He leaned back comfortably, still grinning. Scarlett, who in reality had no idea what had caused this expansive mood, looked relieved. Perry looked star-struck, Dan impassive.

Gerry rolled his eyes.

~~oo~~

At four ten, the horses trotted once more through the dusty Main Street, to deliver the Mr. Rhett Butlers to the Griffin Residence. Rhett had expected the anxiousness with which their arrival had been anticipated. The parlor, newly decorated with fresh flowers, spoke of a week of determined cleaning. The young maid who had answered the door wore a formal uniform, reminiscent of feudal English country estates. By her unhappy look, she felt herself to be something of a caricature.

Scarlett cast another look at Rhett. His unholy glee seemed to be rising to dangerous proportions.

Mrs. Griffin ushered them into the parlor, where tea and other refreshments were waiting. As one would expect in the parlor of a baker, the amount of cakes, pastries, muffins and other deserts left nothing to be desired. Stella, still in her Sunday's best, had been seated next to Perry, who was still young enough to satisfy his cravings for cherry pie before feasting his eyes on her.

The conversation between the young people did not quite flourish. Stella, who had been compelled to the invitation without her consent, stared down at her plate, or, at best, addressed one of her younger sisters. Perry, who was by nature neither shy nor introverted, did not quite know what to say. He was not yet experienced enough to guess at what topics a young girl might be interested in. He tried talking about Charleston, or Europe, as he had seen Rose do with Thad, and drew a blank. He jumped to several other topics, watching her with the intent concentration his father had always had available for the inner workings of the other gender. None of them met her approval, if her offhanded answers were anything to go by.

"I have a pig named Stripes at the Ranch," he finally said, running out of ideas. Strangely enough, that caught her attention.

"You do?" The blue eyes regarded him narrowly, but with the first spark of interest he had ever inspired. Perry was elated.

"I saved him when he was just a piglet," he expanded, happily. "Hid him in the carriage house, so Cousin Thad couldn't turn him into bacon. After all, he was my friend." He laid particular, hopeful emphasis on that last word. It had the desired result. She turned fully towards him, causing her mother to exclaim how well they were all getting along.

Unfortunately, the remark immediately returned Stella to all of her former sullenness. Her father, desperate for something to break the impasse, suddenly said, "Stella love, why don't you take the young gentlemen in the pony carriage and show them the Injun pool? Right pretty there, and cooler under them trees than in here. Come back in an hour and let us grown-ups talk."

Stella obeyed, if somewhat ungraciously. Perry, Dan and Gerry followed her outside, where a liveried coach-man was waiting beside a shaggy pony hitched before a buggy that had probably once been used to deliver pies. One could still see faint writing under the emperor-blue coat that had been freshly applied.

"He looks funny," Gerry remarked. He, more than any of the others, had noted the incongruity between the driver and his vehicle.

"That's John," Stella explained, with a dismissive wave at the older man. "Drives my parent's pie wagon. Mother made him wear one of Mrs. Brown's uniforms, from when her husband was workin' for rich people in ….." she paused, realizing she did not know. " …somewhere." She tossed the yellow tresses, which flared rich gold in the sunlight. "She wants you to think we're like you."

"Our drivers don't dress up funny like that," Perry wondered, the subtleties of her remark lost on him. He had not been privy to the many nighttime conversations she had had to endure. This is your chance, Stella. With the unspoken undertone, our chance.

They got into the wagon, and John, no happier to be wearing the uniform than his young mistress was to see him in it, clucked to the pony. The poorly sprung buggy rumbled around the street, but the boys looked about themselves happily. The weather was nice, and they were young, and had a whole life before them.

Stella, eschewing the more traditional sight-seeing points, told John to turn into a narrow road, that lead out of the town into the hills, and was soon lost under the foliage of high Pine trees. About half a mile further, the road suddenly opened into a glimmering blue pool underneath large grey rocks.

"Stop", Stella ordered. Before the shaky vehicle had come to a full stop, she had already jumped out, depriving Perry of the opportunity to offer her his hand. The other boys followed, for once more sedately.

"The Injun Pool," Stella announced, with a vague, sweeping gesture that encompassed her surroundings. It was immediately obvious why the water hole carried that name. A group of Native boys, dark and slender like seals, had assembled at the far shore of the small lake. They were standing in a circle, paying the newcomers no heed. They were staring at something on the ground before them, occasionally prodding it with sticks.

"Let's go look what's going on," Perry said, excitedly. He briefly forgot the girl by his side in his quest for adventure. He ran forward, easily pulling ahead of the others with his long strides.

As he broke into the ring of the other young boys, he saw what it was that had captured their interest. A young bobcat kitten, obviously injured, was sitting on the ground before them. One leg had been chewed off, either virtue of a larger predator, or perhaps a metal trap. The boys were prodding at it with sticks. The small cat, obviously in terror of its life, attempted to growl and scratch at its tormentors. Millennia of evolution had honed both boys and cat into their mutual roles, and Perry, too, felt the hunting instinct pounding in his temple at the sight of this small, injured adversary. He looked around for a stick.

The others had caught up. "Oh, the poor thing", Stella remarked, horrified. Her voice drew the bloodlust from Perry's brain like a siphon.

"Uhm, well," he said, trying to gather his bearings. The other boys looked at him with faint derision, as if they understood the nature of his dilemma. Before he could make up his mind, another voice, also male, but older, broke in. It called out words, hard guttural words, in a language the white children could not understand, but ones that the Native boys obeyed immediately. Heads hung, and, without further argument, they trotted off in a tight pack.

A young Native man, chronologically only a few years older than the twins, materialized out of the trees.

"I am Okla," he said by the way of greeting, in perfectly articulate English.

"Perry Butler. Sir." There was something about the young man that Perry couldn't identify, something his father or cousin might have called the dignity of office. They all instinctively stood up straighter. "My brothers Dan, and Gerry. And our …friend, Stella Griffin."

Okla smiled at them in turn. Then, he knelt down beside the kitten. It was not yet particularly big, but larger than a domestic kitten of similar age. Its three remaining paws were large and padded, and the distinctive tail that gave the name to the breed was short and bobbed. Tawny eyes with round black pupils looked out of a fierce little face with striped markings between the ears. "Hurt," he said, in his soft, modulated voice. "But no longer bleeding." Whatever inflicted the injury had effectively staunched the blood flow, as well.

Stella's hand was reaching out involuntarily, as if to pet the kitten. A brown hand fell on her arm. "Not tame yet," Okla admonished, gently. He pulled a woven blanket from around his shoulders, and wrapped the growling kitten into it, so that no more than the head was showing. Sitting on the ground, he then placed it between his knees, and rubbed the injured leg with a black salve from a bag attached to his belt. The kitten, thus immobilized, could neither bite nor scratch, and resorted to growling impotently. The nature of the sounds it made, more than anything, declared it to be feral.

When Okla was done, he looked up at the children. "We cannot leave him to die", he said, gently. "If he has no care, we must kill him quickly, before another animal finds him."

"No!" Stella exclaimed, horrified. "We can't! It's only a baby."

"We will take him home," Perry announced, blissfully aware of his chance to appear as a hero, and not about to let it pass. "Give him to me!" He held out his arms for the kitten, which glared at him. He took the kitten, and the blanket, with a gentleness that belied his age, pressing it carefully against his chest. He was not about to give the sharp claws any more room to move than necessary.

Okla almost smiled. "Bobcats may become tame when they are caught young enough," he agreed, gently. "But he will always require a lot of caution, because he was born to the Wild. And he will need a lot of care, before he is better."

"We'll take good care of him", Dan nodded, loathe to appear as interested as he was. A bobcat was a creature that he had not had in his keeping before, and he was eager to learn more about them.

"Mother will kill you," Gerry said, shaking his head at all of them. Whatever suspicions he may previously have had about his brothers' mental state were now confirmed. "You can't take home a bobcat. It's dangerous."

"It's only a kitten," Perry announced, grandly. His daring was greatly inflated by the admiring look in the young girl's eyes. "And it has only three legs. It won't be able to hunt, will it? Or chase anything. We can keep it in the stable next to Stripes."

"If Cousin Thad hasn't made bacon out of Stripes, that thing will."

"He's only a baby," Stella repeated, reprovingly. She tried to take the kitten out of Perry's arm, but drew back when it yowled at her. Perry saw that the cat's reaction only increased his standing in her eyes, and he almost kissed the furry head in jubilation.

Okla's eyes held them, one by one, as if testing their mettle. Finally, he nodded. "Put this on his leg twice a day," he told Dan, handing him the wooden container that held the black salve. "Feed him ground meats and water. And take care."

He watched them as they made their way back to the buggy. The kitten, having surrounded his life to the God of Bobcats, hid his head in the blanket, and ceased to struggle. John, the driver, raised his eyebrows at them, but asked no questions.

"Don't come crying to me when he bites," Gerry announced, as he settled himself on his seat.

"You were brave," Stella said to Perry, paying his brother no heed. "Can I come visit him?" She looked longingly at the kitten.

"It was nothing," Perry said, grandly. "And of course you can visit him. Come to the Ranch, when he's settled in." Things were going even better than he had hoped.

The kitten barely stirred during the remainder of the ride back. Stella proved to be an animated companion, providing an interesting perspective on life in this town, and the goings-on at the Ranch from the perspective of an outsider. Her uncle Vince, Perry learned, was one of Thad's men.

It was only when they pulled up in front of the Bakery that Perry gave a second thought to his mother's reaction.

He took a look at the kitten, whose pointy ears were emerging from the blanket. They were starting to develop black tufts. "Oh well," he thought. "Dad will understand!"