A/N: Once upon a time, there was an eighth grade history teacher who was finishing her master's degree and forgot about fan-fiction for an unforgivably long period of time. That being said, that selfsame teacher/student has reached a period of rest we like to call "Spring Break"; so, I am so very excited to unveil this chapter (which was really fun to write, by the way) and as of tomorrow (hopefully) the next installment of "Somewhere in Time". So. I hope that I've not been too terribly missed...BUT I know that there are other writers 10x more brilliant than I who have been holding you (and me) over….

That being said, I still love reviews (who doesn't?) - so, if you're inclined… = )

Chapter 19:

After four days of searching, Ashley's initial enthusiasm had passed. He would admit to no more than that to Belle, who was just as determined as he had been the first day; while he thought determination was a less powerful tool, he thought that in this case, it was the one best fitted for the job. It had taken him barely half a day to find out that the man they were looking for had made a wreck of Belle and that what was called for was a monumental job of restoration.

Although it was only seven thirty in the evening, he had seen Belle to her hotel room and told her that he was going into his own room to read. He had offered her books, among other things, which she declined with good humor saying, "I couldn' read them even if I wanted to, Ashley, but I'm might tire'd as it is, so I'm thankin' you."

Ashley had said goodnight then, and gone to his room and closed the door, not saying whether he intended to read or not, but finding himself too exhausted to do any sort of activity besides lying restlessly in bed.

He was curious, after all…he was a man. What was Belle doing in the room adjacent to his? He recalled the first night of their mutual acquaintance. They had shared a train car and he, gentlemanly, had offered her the cot. She had accepted gratefully, and had fallen asleep fully dressed. His eyes had moved over and over the sprawled out figure which appeared so lost in exhaustion that it seemed doubtful it would ever move again. As he followed the outline of her face, he realized with an intense stab of panic that he was attracted to her, an emotion that filled him with the pain of betrayal. His poor dead wife! Melly had been the only real pleasure in his life, along with the son she gave him. Melly had befriended this woman at his feet, a relationship that had inadvertently grown over the years, to the point where Belle had risked her life and reputation on his behalf. If Belle had not been a woman of dubious morals, Ashley might have thought that Melly had engineered the entire thing purposefully. As it was, after the calamitous events he had witnessed in Washington, he had fallen prey to morbid guilt. He had never liked Rhett Butler much, but by God, he did not wish the man dead!

The next day came early, and on the way to the dining salon, Ashley knocked on Belle's door to wake her. She said through the door that she would be right down. Once out in the street, Belle with her oilcloth bag filled to the brim with money and the new dress they had purchased in Atlanta and he with his notepad, pencil, and the revolver he kept snug in the inner pocket of his waistcoat, the two separated, agreeing to return at the street corner adjacent to the tobacconist's shop. Ashley ended up waiting longer for Belle, despite him having gone to Jacobs' law office, which refused to see him in the door, and then to the local sheriff, who didn't even check out his statement, before finally, defeated, trying his luck at the bank, which refused him entry as well.

Belle was nearly running and stammered, "I'm so sorry I kept you."

He nodded, "It's fine."

"You figger anything out?"

He shook his head. "No such luck. You?"

She nodded, and smiled one of the first real smiles he had seen out of her. "I did find out something. See there, that big, fine place thataway? I used ter work there. Well, you know. 'Fore Rhett set me up in business, like." She shook her head and pretended to smack her cheek. "I'm sorry, Mister Wilkes…Ashley. I didn't mean ter say none of that in front of you…I ain't got no sense-"

"It's fine," he interrupted. "What did you learn?"

She whispered, "Well, I saw my boy. He's near eighteen years now. 'Most a man. Hell. He is a man. Plays poker over there in that house, and he tells me that Jacobs is workin' for the U-S of A now. And got paid a truckload to sell out Rhett. All 'count of Rhett's bein' 'filiated with a man by name of-"

Ashley cut her off and put a finger to her lips. "I'm sorry, Belle," he muttered. "I just saw-"

"What?" she said worriedly, her eyes following his.

"Nothing," he surmised. "Let's walk this way."

He took her arm and continued to take in his surroundings, seeing nothing out of the ordinary in the swirl of patrons on the busy street. But still, Ashley had a lingering suspicion that they were being followed. He saw a man with familiar looking tan shoes leaning against the front of the tobacconist's shop, staring silently up at them. Ashley, worried, told Belle that he thought that he had seen that very man before, and Belle wanted to get going right away. Ashley drew himself up and grabbed her by the arm, saying that they had better step on it.

Belle looked behind her and told him that the man was moving, and that a second man had joined him in pursuit.

Ashley turned his head quickly, "The one on the left I've seen before. He was on the Atlanta train with me." Belle thought that he seemed worried, so she squeezed his hand.

"It's gonna be fine, you hear?" she said emphatically.

They headed toward Belle's old house, which wasn't far, and Belle reported that the men had ceased in their pursuit. Ashley was relieved, but not about to let his guard down, even as all that was good and honorable within him let out a horrified shudder as he walked, in broad daylight, into a bad house on the arm of Atlanta's most notorious madam. If only Melly could see him now…at least it was for a good cause, he surmised.

Belle introduced him to her son then, a boy called Eric who was quite the hellion, in the words of his proud mama. Despite Ashley's initial suspicion that Belle's son might have been fathered by none other than Rhett, he was fairly convinced that it was not so. Eric was a big man, like Rhett, tall and broad shouldered, but with a thatch of bright red hair and crystal blue eyes. At his arm was a plump, sweet-voiced whore with a French accent. Right off, the whore said to make himself at home, and Ashley felt his knees go slightly weak at the sight of so many fine physical specimens of the female. But Belle jabbed him in the stomach.

"Want me ter get us a table?"

He nodded. "You know the way around this…establishment?"

"Aww, shucks, Mister Wilkes, that's all I get? I did catch you lookin' just then." She teased him.

He rolled his eyes. "I…I never…"

"I know," she soothed, patting his arm. "I know you ain't been unfaithful ter Miz Wilkes."

Ashley grimaced, a stab of guilt hitting him. Although the temptation of Scarlett was forever out of his system, he felt somewhat complacent in Rhett's situation - as if, if he had been out of the picture, all of Rhett's current troubles could have been prevented.

Belle jabbed him in the arm this time. "She asked what'r you havin'?"

"Err…sherry?"

Belle rolled her eyes. "He wants him a shot of bourbon with two tequila chasers. I'll have me a Grand Duke's Nectar."

"What did you just order?"

"I figger you better start drinkin' like a man, or somebody'll throw you out."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me, sug."

"Sug? I -" he was about to argue, but he was cut off completely by her lips connecting with his, by her tongue laying siege to his…God, why was he so hungry for it? Perhaps it was because he had never been kissed in such a way, and by such a woman…and then he saw what she was up to - their men had followed them, and were seated at the bar, whispering to the barmaid, who looked nervous.

"Jes' play along," Belle whispered, before wrapping her hand around his…unmentionables, and stroking him in a way in which made him likely to explode from desire, she wrapped an arm around him, then whispered in his other ear. "I'm so, so, sorry. Miz Wilkes rollin' over in her grave. And I'm-"

"Shut up," he ordered, wanting her to stop talking and kiss him again.

"Look," she said, motioning toward the bar.

The men had gotten up and were moving toward them, slowly, already close.

"Get up nice and easy," Belle instructed, "…jes' like we're goin' upstairs, like."

Ashley nodded and followed her, not changing his pace, but putting his hand on his jacket pocket and ascertaining that the revolver was safely there.

Belle stopped and jerked her head around. One of the men had grabbed her by the shoulder. She made a move, as if she were going to butt him with her kneecap. The point of her shoe connected, and the man howled, thrashing out to hit her and called for Stebbins. Stebbins was Ashley's man from the train, and he had seen him coming. He hit him twice, as hard as he could, which was not hard enough to fall his opponent. The other man had gotten a hold of himself, and had knocked Belle to the ground. Her boy Eric had come out of the private dining room and was yelling for everybody to stay calm, but then saw his mother facedown on the floor and lunged at her assailant.

Meanwhile, Ashley had been struck, and his nose was bleeding profusely.

"Lookee here, Stebbins," the other brute said, "I'm gonna let the whore have it now- hit me will you? You dumb bitch!"

"Belle!" Ashley lunged in front of her, seeing the knife in the other man's hands.

"Mist' Wilkes! NO!" Belle screamed. But Ashley's mouth had been slashed and his arm cut open. He clutched at his arm, dripping with blood.

"Touch her-"

"Ain't that sweet, Stebbins? He's got hisself a girlfriend."

"They'll have plenty of time to get to know each other in jail, eh?"

But Eric had come from behind, and gotten on the back side of Stebbins and the other fellow with the knife. He had a gun in his hands, as did the three other men who had his back.

Ashley didn't dare move himself, but he felt Belle's shaking hands on his injured arms and her mumbling of "S-s-weet Jesus, Miz Wilkes…"

"We are agents of the Federal government!" Stebbins was protesting.

"You're in a sportin' house, buddy," Eric said casually. "There's an unwritten law about fools like you…don't matter where you come from, who your daddy is, so to speak. Ain't nothing seperatin' you from me, or you from the crocodiles that live out in the bayou. You saw that swampy lake, I take it? Well, that'll be your permanent place if I catch you boys near my Ma again. Get out, boys. While you can."

They started backing off slowly, not taking their eyes off of Ashley and Belle, although once they reached a certain distance, they refocused their attention on the men with pistols. When they were close to the door, they took off running and Eric immediately rushed to Belle's side, and told her that there was a doctor somewhere upstairs, who would be down in a jiffy.

Ashley tried to speak, but as he did, blood bubbled up in his mouth and Belle shushed him.

"He needs a doctor now!" she cried.

Ashley shook his head. "Jacobs, got to…go."

Eric nodded. "I know, Mister Wilkes. Ma told me what was going on. Jacobs is here in town somewhere. Close. And the feds think that they have their man and you're fixin' to spoil it. Ma, you got to tell the law. The constable, he's a loyal Confederate, he'll understand - get you safe up to Washington so you can tell 'em that whole trial's a sham. Them boys is criminals, and they should hang for it!"

"Ain't no damn use," Belle was trembling. "Ain't gonna listen to us about nothing. I'm what I am and…even if we was ter testify and bring these guys ter the law, I'm a whore, ain't nothin' better than a whore and -"

Ashley glanced at her, her red hair freed from its pins and hanging loose about her shoulders. Her handsome, unpainted face, and her curvaceous figure…like a Renaissance painting…not a Madonna, perhaps, not even an Aphrodite…no Belle was earthy and warm and yet, deeply sensual and…she was Persephone, he decided, the Queen of the Underworld. Fitting.

"Belle," he muttered through bloodstained teeth. "I have a plan."