Part II
Just as Ellen Robillard had at fifteen, at twenty-eight Scarlett Butler had collapsed to shed all her childish tears in one dark night of the soul, to rise up again as a woman. Her steel will, so often bent to her temper or obstinacy, tempered into resolve, and carried her through.
This quiet resolve, along with a rather large check, bought her what all her anger never could have—Careen's share of Tara. With her controlling share of the property, like her mother, Scarlett set about skillfully transforming what Will and Suellen had run as a functional large farm back into a plantation which, starting with a plan from Scarlett's orderly mind, was beginning to be something better than it had been before. As much thought and planning was put into rebuilding and landscaping as she put into the cotton crop and books, and it showed. Tara slowly regained an air of easy grace, of beauty, and of symmetry.
Scarlett, too, changed. The furnishings she chose to redecorate Tara with were not the gaudy, overwrought monstrosities she'd furnished the Peachtree house with. She chose simple, timeless pieces that blended well with the look of the property. Even her style of dress changed. Gone were the frills and fripperies, in favor of elegant, clean lines that only served to emphasize the graceful, mature air with which she now carried herself.
If she was unhappy, no one noticed. Placing aside residual fears, she bought two horses from Beatrice Tarleton, and took to riding out with Wade each afternoon. This could not make up for all lost time, but it was a start on the road to amends. He was pleased with her idea to send him to school in Charleston, and spoke to her for the first time of his desire to attend University.
Ella was an easier matter. As her mother had before her, she enlisted Mammy's help in molding her silly daughter's behavior into that of a proper young lady. While Ella had grown into a pretty girl with pink cheeks and bouncy curls, she was much more easily persuaded into good behavior than Scarlett had been. It took little effort and a few tea parties with Scarlett to begin to form a bond with her daughter.
When she and Wade left for Charleston in September, rumors of Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler's exploits had preceded her to the city, bourn from the Old Guard to the even more elite society of that old costal town. But the Scarlett who arrived in Charleston did not live up to any of the scandalous gossip they'd heard. She stayed with her proper, polite mother-in-law, who brought her along to teas and social circles during the two weeks she was in town. Everyone exclaimed that they would have known right away she as a Robillard.
What Eleanor Butler had been told of the state of their marriage by Rhett, Scarlett had no idea. But the hospitality she received was not in any way hostile, and she was treated as a daughter. They chatted politely about Rhett's frequent long journeys out of the country, and how pleased Scarlett was to be able to take the time to work on rebuilding her family's property. The elder Mrs. Butler was sorry to see her return to Georgia, and Scarlett admitted that she was reluctant to leave, but she followed her plans and returned to Tara, venturing only as far afield as Jonesboro before the date of her appointed meeting with Rhett in Atlanta.
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Rhett fled Atlanta like the hounds of Hell were at his heels. He tarried only long enough in Charleston to make his excuses to his mother and notify his lawyer of his departure. Even he was unsure of where he was going, only knew that Europe seemed the best choice. Most of the long sail to Dover was passed in intoxication, as he tried unsuccessfully to drink away memories of Scarlett. He should haven known it wouldn't work; he'd tried it several times before.
London had been one of Rhett's favorite cities, but now, it held too many memories. Too many times he'd fled here to sell cotton and try to forget Scarlett. The last time he'd been here was with Bonnie. The memories overwhelmed him, and rather than helping him forget, only caused him to remember.
Across the Channel he fled, to Paris. Once he'd wanted to bring Scarlett here, and now he came to forget her; no memories of her tainted the city for him. Yet he could not help but think of when he passed shop windows displaying a green silk dress, or a particularly cunning hat.
He tried to busy himself in the cafes and salons, the art expositions and horse races. They all passed in a colorful whirl and blurred together. The world was indeed a marvelous place, full of much grace and beauty. In the cobblestoned streets of Paris, Rhett found the life of calm and dignity he'd been chasing.
Yet something was still missing. While he found it pleasurable to listen to symphonies and talk of art, to drink fine wine and watch swift horses race, there was a void in his heart. There was no one at his side, to appreciate his sharp comments or share his bed.
Briefly, he thought he'd found his match at one of the salons, a petite blonde with dancing hazel eyes, who could comment sharply on literature while immaculately serving tea. Laure had captured his attention at Mme. De Gilles' salon almost as swiftly as Scarlett had long ago at Twelve Oaks. She had returned his flirtations and returned his witty banter with equal tartness. He escorted her out several times, to the ballet and to the races, and but each time was left less impressed. Her sharp tongue, which had seemed to possess the honesty and candor he'd encouraged in Scarlett, grew sharper; rather than speaking with frank intelligence, she spoke with malicious glee.
Finding that the life of beauty and calm he'd discovered in Paris was but a veneer, he ran once more. This time Venice was his refuge. On to Florence, once he found that the veneer was just as present over the canals. But he found it again in Florence, and left the city for the south of France.
For a time he lost himself in sporting, drinking, and games of chance along the Riviera. Soon, though, this too came to bore him. One evening he sat on the terrace, finishing a bottle of wine and watching the last of the ships enter the harbor for the evening. Life, he was beginning to realize was not so very different wherever he went in the world. Society maintained strict rules and hypocrisy no matter where he traveled, though the rules might vary slightly and the vices might be different. He could tolerate the rules and hypocrisy if only there were a reason to stay settled, an fine as all of these cities were, and as much as they offered, they were lacking the one thing he wanted. Scarlett.
But could he go back to her? He'd brought her nothing but misery in the last few years. They'd parted with her declaring her love for him, but was it true? No, he knew it was; Scarlett was skilled in many ways, but she was terrible at lying to him. She'd meant what she told him, and it frightened him all the more. He'd witnessed what her "love" for Ashley had done to her life, to their marriage, to Ashley Wilkes. While he couldn't live without her, he wasn't sure he could live with that, either.
Rhett sighed and finished the bottle of wine, then threw it against the stone of the terrace. It provided satisfaction, but no answers. Alcohol never had provided him with any, nor had it provided him much comfort, truth be told.
In the clear light of the Mediterranean morning, he admitted to himself what his heart had known for years. Scarlett was essential to him, and he needed her in his life. If she'd meant what she said, if she was willing to try, he would try again. With honesty this time, for he'd had enough of the polite lies and quiet hypocrisies of the world.
Rhett spent the few remaining months before his rendezvous with Scarlett in Atlanta traveling through Europe, a new lightness to him. He knew what lay ahead of him, knew that in mere months time, there would be a second chance at happiness. For now, he embraced the happiness available to him. This time, when he passed through Paris on the way to Calais, he actually appreciated the sparkle of light at play in the controversial new art.