It was with eager clarity that tinged her wakefulness as she recalled the revelation of last night. What possessed her to act so boldly on her affections? He may have thought her too brash, but the remembrance of his soft thanks to the warm kiss upon her hand left her giggling foolishly, her face in her pillow, and her legs swinging like a child. She fantasized about him seated at the dining table, waiting for her to descend as he spoke amicably with her father, and it propelled her off her seat and into her vanity bench.
"Oh!" she exclaimed at her reflection–her hair was certainly a mess. Reaching for her brush, she caught the thin slip of paper tucked underneath her candle and she smiled wondering what message could not possibly wait till the morning.
Dear Scarlett,
I am afraid I will have to leave for Charleston at dawn, so I will not be able to say farewell face to face. I appreciate your kindness from last night, especially when you were the one who needed the comfort. Now, I go back to the lion's den with your words in mind. I will write to you any updates to my status as a reputable gentleman because something tells me my father will not take my expulsion very well.
-RKB
Her shoulders drooped at the uninspiring contents of the letter– it certainly did not live to any of the romantic notions she had performed in her head. The speech was so brief and civil, like a letter from a distant acquaintance, though surely it must have been the lack of time that deprived his words of any affection? Her stubborn mind accepted no other explanation for she was sure no man kissed a woman as he had with her without caring, to some degree, for the lady in question.
Though, after the entire stint with Ashley, she could no longer discern if what he felt was indeed love or not, and that made confessing ever so harder, no matter how much she felt she may implode. She'd played the waiting game and temporarily settled for the laxness of the country, finally able to indulge in the company of her family that she had been deprived of ever since her stay in Atlanta. In the depths of her mind, she tried to think little of the upcoming letter.
A week or so later and her worn patience made her irritable, for the letter never came and the thought of him needled her more than she would have liked. Surely she could live a few months without seeing him as he so easily could without seeing her? Her family treaded carefully when speaking with her during this prolonged mood and she was sick of waiting helplessly by the window, staring blankly at the path that, day by day, dampened her spirit of any hope of his correspondence.
One afternoon, after an especially aggravating conversation with Suellen about her Mr. Kennedy, she decided she had enough of moping (and of her sisters) and went to supper that evening with cunning resolve.
As conversation lulled, she had said it in the most off-handed manner.
"I wish to take another trip to Charleston."
Ellen O'Hara acted as if she heard nothing. A graceful hand reached for a napkin and she wiped the side of her thin pressed mouth, her air of nonchalance nothing akin to the maelstrom of feelings within.
"You just went to Charleston, dear."
Scarlett squirmed in her seat, unnerved by this sudden disposition. "Yes mother, but I so want to go again. I found it very pleasant."
"Or is it someone you found pleasant? Now that Ashley has Melanie, you find someone else to latch onto!"
"Suellen," Ellen warned, putting down the napkin. "You shouldn't say such things. And Scarlett, it would be much too soon to impose on your aunts again."
"Oh, but I swear I won't be a nuisance! I am just so bored in the country! Pa, say something will you?"
Gerald laughed heartily. "If it's Charleston she wants, I don't see why not! It's no good for Scarlett to mope around here like a wallflower."
"Thank you, Pa," she smiled sweetly. "Besides, if it would be too much for Aunt Pauline and Eulalie, you could write Mrs. Butler and she would be happy to accept."
Seeing her eldest's defiance, in conjunction with Gerald's clear fondness for the idea, she sighed and hid her frown behind her napkin. Her passiveness was overwhelmed by the joint front, and no matter how much she dreaded the idea, she knew any more resistance would threaten the fragile barrier she diligently enforced between past and present. It was in her greatest interest that Ellen Robillard and Ellen O'Hara would remain eternally at odds, for how else could she carry on?
Looking into green, determined eyes, Ellen surrendered. "I'll write to my sisters tomorrow morning."
"Thank you, Mother," Scarlett beamed, already scheming.
Her aunts wordlessly passed the responsibility of Scarlett O'Hara over to the Butlers.
When she arrived in Charleston, word of Rhett's expulsion from West Point ran rampant from sewing circles to saloon tables, and the shame of having such a fitful son began to weigh heavily on the shoulders of Stephen Butler. In public, however, he did not show it and he continued to be the definition of an upstanding Southern gentleman, though at times too much so, as if throwing money at every church and charity would compensate for his son's many social grievances. Eleanor, who felt a tremor of some foreboding conflict, remained unchanged by the matter and had nothing to contribute when directly asked of the cause of her eldest's dismissal.
Unaware of the climate surrounding the Butler clan, she did not realize that her arrival had only stoked the flames, and sprinkles of her name were peppered into the gossip mill. This unexpected wedge came at such an inopportune time, going at odds with his intention to keep the rumors surrounding his family under wraps, thus the head patriarch did little to hide his dislike of her every visit.
"I don't think your father likes me very much," Scarlett muttered, feeling the stern glare focused on her ever since she stepped foot onto his lawn. Rosemary's head lay gently on her lap, her energy drained from the excitement of her arrival.
He merely laughed. "The rest of us have been in that boat for very long. One man to strike from your long list of admirers does no harm, does it?"
"Oh, hush. He isn't even doing anything. It seems he stepped out on the porch just to glare at me."
His head turned, as if to confirm her observation and smiled. "Do you really not know why he may dislike you?"
"I suppose," she replied, cautiously. "I threw my bonnet at him once, though that hardly garners anything."
He shook his head. He spoke so off-handedly, with constrained humor, that she could hardly pinpoint his true sentiments:
"My dear, he blames you for my expulsion."
"Me?" she gaped. "Great balls of fire, what do I have to do with any of that? Do you suppose he's out of his mind?"
She glanced back again, intimidated by his refusal to look away, to back down from such petty matters. At the same time, he looked so much like the man beside her that it emboldened her to return his fierce gaze, disturbed by the resemblance. When she faced Rhett once more, she could not help but see his father. Now that she paid attention, she noticed how his expression had been tinged with a permanent bitterness.
His eyes narrowed as if he could read her thoughts. "The expulsion was one thing and he's been trying desperately to keep it under wraps, or hoping that soon people would find someone else to gossip about, but he wasn't betting on that something else being rumors of marriage for his misbehaved son. Now, no one can seem to shut up about it."
"Marriage?! With who?" she exclaimed, poorly masking her envy.
He ignored her. "You know, I don't really understand why he is so mad when he proposed that you marry me last time you were here. It is what he wanted, but alas, it is expected from such a fickle man. But then again, he wants me to marry someone he can control and he realized quickly that you don't heed easily to orders. Alas, you've become an obstacle, a thorn in his side that needles and inflames."
"I would not like to imagine myself as such, so I'd thank you to stop. And do you blame me for reacting to him in this way? This family is anything but–" She stopped herself at his warning gaze.
"I find it unsettling that there is a bit of truth in his belief, but he is convinced that I continue to defy him because you have offered me the forbidden fruit. Or perhaps a comparison to the serpent is more appropriate?"
For a moment, he appeared slightly apologetic, briefly considering that perhaps his venom was entirely misguided. In an attempt to mollify her, he reached for her hand, pausing as she pulled away.
Her eyes flashed furiously. "Are you saying I deceived you? I am not responsible for you, the expulsion is entirely on your own hands, if he cannot realize that, he must be a fool."
"Don't take offense to the comment, it is a bit ridiculous. You're right, the entire West Point debacle was my own doing, though don't be quick to absolve yourself of your influence just yet. You made quite the impact here, Scarlett."
Patting his little sister's head, he then leaned down to kiss her hand politely before departing beyond the gate, leaving her with a plethora of riddles and non-answers that she grew to despise. Her impact? She may have diverted his first discretion, but he is his own man capable of acting of his own volition, and no matter what she did, the rift widened into a chasm, seemingly overnight. She, a mere crack upon the rocks. As the gate closed, she heard rustling behind her, and peering back, his father stood, and like a mimic, retreated back into the depths of the Butler house.
Eleanor, tired of waiting for the two girls to return inside, walked out to find them laid out peacefully on the grass, swathed by their billowing skirts, and eyes fluttered shut, untouched by the worsening hostility that plagued the residence. The sight comforted her, like calm within the storm, and she relished in the remnants of serenity that she could forage within her own home. She took perch beside them, straightening her skirts, and eyed the girls whose rested faces seemed so painfully similar, so young and unassuming, with not a hint of spiritedness that the two typically bore. Her hand gravitated towards a tendril of raven hair that hovered over the older one's eye and she brushed it away, gently smoothing the wrinkle formed between thin brows. The girl hummed, drawing closer to the maternal warmth.
"Mother," she murmured and Eleanor smiled, the simple word alleviating the tension built up from mediating the complicated men in her life.
"No, dear, it's Mrs. Butler. You two have been out here awfully long and dinner is ready."
She stretched, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Sorry, the time must have passed me by."
She nudged the little one's shoulder, whose face twisted with disdain at the unwanted disruption.
"I'm not hungry!" Rosemary cried, burying her face in the grass.
Scarlett patted her back. "No use in crying, now get up, before colonies of ants decide to make your face their new home."
Her small head startled up in alarm, her face dusted with a thin layer of grime.
Eleanor laughed and helped the girl up, dusting her skirts. "Now go clean up for dinner, we don't want to upset your father now, do we?"
He's already upset, Scarlett thought dryly. Though, considering his earlier (misplaced) accusations, she would not be surprised if a crumpled dress and dirt-ridden face were the tipping point.
Rosemary nodded and clumsily ran back to the house, and swiftly her attention deferred to Scarlett. Immediately, she felt embarrassed, conscious of her many shortcomings that only flourished under the gaze of such a distinguished lady. Amidst the silence, she waited for words of scrutiny–for her lousy posture, her inappropriate behavior with her son, perhaps she even shared her husband's view that it was her to blame for the expulsion! Dear God, she must have shooed Rosemary away to warn her never to step foot on the Butler plantation ever–
"You know, you are so like your mother."
Her eyes went wide at the compliment, her jaw slackened with disbelief. So divorced was Ellen from the common man in Scarlett's eyes that the comparison of mother to daughter seemed outright ludicrous, even approaching blasphemy!
"But mother is kind and pure, I could only hope to have an ounce of her goodness."
Eleanor misread her naivety for typical Southern humility—so unaware was she of her deeply rooted idolization, the pedestal on which she was placed, and the entrenched, innate desire to be her mother's daughter. The tenets of being a lady were a ubiquitous presence, reminded constantly by her mother, and infused itself into every action, every thought, every word of her being.
And while she was successful in mimicry, she failed to truly believe.
"I have no doubt about Mrs. O'Hara's good heart, but what I mean is that you share her vivacity, her strong will."
Scarlett could only frown, perplexed. "I'm sorry, but it seems like you are speaking of someone else entirely."
"Oh," Eleanor uttered. "I suppose I speak of the old days. It seems time has passed me by."
"But, do tell me. Was Mother truly like that back then? What happened?"
Eleanor Butler was a woman who shared Ellen's passiveness, firm in the belief that one's business was their own, and that gossip was a pastime wrongly spent. She looked away, fearful to overstep a boundary that she had no right to violate, especially at the odds of such a willful youth.
"Really, I can't say, it isn't my place–"
"Please, Mrs. Butler, if you won't I'm sure everyone else will take this to their graves. Shouldn't I know about my own family?"
Seeing the pleading look on her face only reminded the woman of how secrecy and dishonesty wreaked havoc upon her own home. How often had untruths blighted the ties between Rhett and her husband, rotting the thread until there was barely anything holding it together? Her bubbling guilt, knowing that part of the trouble could be credited to her aversion to interference, coupled with the fondness Eleanor had for the girl, almost as if she were her own daughter, overwhelmed her and she caved in.
"Before I go on, remember that this is all in the past now. You mustn't hold your mother in contempt–it'll only dig up old wounds."
Scarlett nodded, though the warning was quickly forgotten.
She then was introduced to the name Philippe Robillard.
Rhett was unsure of what he'd find when his distraught mother confided in him that evening. She had not gone into detail of their conversation, only imploring that he must speak to the girl, and in her words, 'to undo the damage which her meddling had begotten.' At the top of the stairs, he was greeted with the sound of soft sniffling and a neglected tray of food, untouched since he had left the house. He swept down to retrieve the platter and knocked firmly on the guest room door.
"I'm coming in," he announced and nudged the door open, seeing a crumple of fabric on the bed that swallowed her form, absorbing much of the cries that had ceased once he entered the room. It was dark, without a candle lit, and the hallway infused a delicate haze of light in which he could almost barely discern the reddened cheeks and puffy eyes.
For good measure, he left the door wide open.
"You should eat, Scarlett, there's no use starving yourself," he prodded, placing the tray beside her still body. "Here, take this."
Her head lifted a centimeter upwards to peer at the offered handkerchief and took it with trembling fingers. Her 'thank you' was muffled by her blowing her nose. Moving like a corpse, she sat fully up, her eyes analyzing the unfamiliar surroundings, and he watched her shoulders droop at the realization that she was in Charleston. Alas, her gaze landed upon the food and she took to small, quiet spoonfuls, avoiding his eyes, hating how it seemed to dissect her every move. The sound of silverware on porcelain grated against her ears, her head heavy with fatigue, and she slammed the spoon upon the tray, the loud clattering echoing within the silent room. He watched, saying nothing.
"How did your parents meet?" she murmured, dazedly staring at the wall across from her.
His brow raised. "It was all arranged, my dear. Seemed beneficial for both sides, so there, they tied the knot and were done with it. And yours?"
The question disarmed her and she fell to her back soundlessly. Her green eyes seemingly searched the ceiling for answers, until she squeezed them shut as if even the darkness provided too much stimulation for her tired eyes.
"My mother was in love with her cousin and after he died, she threatened to join the convent if my grandfather did not let her marry Pa."
"Ah," he breathed out.
"Oh, she must've despised me all this time and I had no idea. I thought her to be a saint, I thought she was perfect, and now!" she groaned in frustration, tossing her head into her pillow.
"I wondered what my mother could've possibly said that had upset you so much. But, let's not be too hasty, Scarlett. Surely, your mother does not hate you, that sort of sentiment is difficult to hide and you wouldn't think so highly of her if she truly did."
She went on, crazed. "What she feels towards me must only be by obligation. She must think of him when we aren't looking–and poor Pa who worships the land she walks on!"
Rhett did not know why the situation she described irritated him so much. He shook her shoulder.
"Sit up and listen to me carefully. Your mother may still love another, but that does not mean she cannot care for you and your family. Hell, she looked as if she wanted to strangle me if I did so much as to touch a hair on your head. And your father is not a fool, he must have known about her circumstance, yet he loves her in spite of it. Don't judge the poor woman and hold the past against her–it's all done and over with. She's no saint."
She looked down guiltily. "She was to me. I thought one day I would be just like her. But turns out she's only a fraud and I'm the fool who fell for it."
"So what now? You go home and tell her all the things you tell me? It will only hurt her, Scarlett, she must have forgotten about her grief by now. Some matters are irreconcilable. Don't do something you might regret. Besides, shouldn't this put you more at ease? You are more like your mother than ever. She's not perfect, neither are you, yet you're both good women in different ways."
"Am I good? Do you truly think so?"
Her query was so plainly stated, absent of her usual coyness, and he clutched her hand within his own.
He replied honestly.
"Yes."
He saw her entire body relax.
"Thank you," she whispered and intertwined her fingers through his own, invigorated by his sheer warmth. Reveling in his proximity, she forgot her distress for just a moment and continued to smile, only to notice the stiff, restrained manner of his touch. Upon further observation, while she knew after hours of crying she must look a fright, she noticed just how weary he was, unhelped by the deep shadows imprinted upon his face, the unspoken burden clear as day.
She bit her lip. "But what about you, Rhett? Is it so bad between you and your father? Can't things be fixed?"
He sighed and leaned back into the armchair.
"Who knows, but whatever the case is, I'm not the sort to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together and spend my life telling myself that the mended whole is as good as new. What's broken is broken, and I wish I could remember the good parts but those memories are far and few in between."
He pinched her chin affectionately. "But don't worry about it, Scarlett. This will all sort itself out."
Upon hearing heavy footsteps, his hand slipped away, despite her protest, and he urged her to feed herself again–the soup cold and unappetizing against her unwilling mouth. From her downcast eyes, she saw his father's shadow pass by, the stern silhouette invading the confines of the room through the threshold, however brief, to give a momentary glance to the scene that greatly uninterested him. And soon he was gone.
Rhett's jaw tightened as he realized no matter if they were caught in an ardent embrace or sat amicably as they were, that supreme apathy, which rendered Stephen Butler superior to others, would have persisted. With the realization of his father's indifference, his own contrived attempt at propriety fled and he stood, clutching her face between her palms.
Eyes fluttering shut, she called his name, and he followed the siren call.
Author's Note: Thank you for your patience, I apologize for my sporadic updates! All the reviews were very encouraging and I pushed myself to finish this chapter!
Ad interim (Latin). for the intervening time; temporarily