Eventually Tara ! It will be splitted in two chapters. Wait for the next one within two weeks :-)
Thank you, dear readers for your support, the ones who just enjoy reading this story, the ones who write comments, or favorite The Boutique Robillard. A special thank too to the Guests to whom I cannot reply unfortunately.
June 13, 1876, Tara, Clayton's County
Upon arrival at the Jonesboro depot, Duncan had rented a buggy.
Scarlett led him in the direction of her property, answering his many questions. He seemed to be curious about everything around them. She commented enthusiastically on the scenery and constructions that passed before their eyes.
She was at home, and was proud to show it.
"Tara! Can you stop the carriage at the side of the road, Duncan?"
Without waiting, he pulled the horse's reins to slow it down, and they stood for a moment without speaking, looking straight ahead. Towards the great white building. The man waited patiently for her to speak.
With a trickle of emotion that surprised her, she broke the silence: "It was in this very spot that I used to rest after returning from Twelve Oaks or the Fountain's. I was leaning against this tree here," she pointed to it. "And I was looking straight ahead, staring at Tara."
Without hesitation, Duncan got out of the buggy, urged her to do the same, and they both headed for the giant tree overlooking the valley.
Driven by an impulse, she said to him, "Close your eyes, listen and feel!"
With a knowing smile, he complied. Scarlett did the same. They stood. So close that her dress brushed the bottom of Duncan's pants.
"With my eyelids down, I listened to Tara living. It was the end of the day, at an hour when I should have been home from my escapades long ago. My game was to detect - no, to decipher - all the familiar smells and sounds around me: first the frantic palpitations of my heart because of my mad dash to try not to be late; at that hour, the slaves had finished their long day's work picking cotton. They were apostrophizing each other, one or the other engaging in a haunting song."
"I opened my lungs wide and inhaled the air around me like a horse sniffing its barn. Don't you think the smells are special here?" She laughed happily as she realized Duncan's surprised expression, who was obviously meant to please her but was still silent at the strangeness of her question.
"It's the perfume of Tara's soil. I wonder if your "Soft South" one is recognizable to you, of all other places. Even now, when I drive up to our plantation, my sense of smell detects the unique scent of Clayton County's oily humus."
She closed her eyes again, remembering. "I can hear Mammy's loudly voice, across the front porch of the house, indignant that my sisters and me, but especially me, were still hanging around outside. The wheels of Mother's cart screech up the driveway, signaling her return from one of her countless charity visits. My father's horse struggles to slow down its frenzied gallop, so stimulated is it by its master to go faster and faster. On other days, all was silence around me. But the silence at Tara could not compare to any other."
For a brief moment, she wondered why she had started such a confidence. The benevolent attention of the man next to her encouraged her to continue.
"It may sound strange, but the song of the birds flying over Tara seemed to me singular, familiar. The turmoil of war drove them away. The cycle of life has brought them back. Their chirping seems less carefree to me. Or surely it is I who am no longer so!" Scarlett laughed to herself. "But they still coo, croak, whistle or hoot. Indifferent to past tragedies. They've been here for ages. They will continue to fly over what is left of the property, when nature takes over, long after we are gone. Perpetuating life. Life on Tara."
She felt bad about revealing herself like this. It was such an intimate conviction. Or rather a phantasmagoria. Tara frozen for eternity. Now I'm starting to ramble like Ashley, she laughed inwardly.
Unconsciously, her footsteps had carried her next to 'her' tree, followed closely by Duncan. An oak tree that had always intrigued Scarlett, as it seemed to have survived the centuries. Its trunk, modified over time and coupled with other roots, had hollowed out in the middle, forming a protective shelter large enough for Scarlett to curl up in like a cat that had recognized its litter box.
She regained her childlike reflexes, and nestled into the deep recess. She ran her fingers over the cracked bark. "Wrinkled like a wise old man, gazing through the years at the world's clatter," Duncan commented.
She looked at him, a little surprised that he'd thought the same thing she had. "Yes. Long before my father built Tara, it was there, like a lookout. Then the landscape changed, covered with cotton fields surrounding our home. It witnessed the invasion of the Yankees and the ransacking of the plantation. They cut down the trees surrounding the building to make fire. Why was this specific oak spared? It is a mystery that makes it even more precious."
Without thinking, her hand stroked the wrinkled bark at his hips' height, instinctively recognizing a crevice, lined with moss.
Duncan followed her gesture with his eyes. He was only inches away from her. He placed his fingers where Scarlett's hand had wandered, and looked closer.
She saw him tracking the shape carved into the trunk, several times, until he read the outline. "A heart." His voice was muted.
Bending down, his long fingers pointed to the center. Where two signs had been carved long ago. Two letters, "S and A".
He read them as if with regret. Then he fell silent.
She commented absently, "I 'borrowed' - well, stole - a small knife from the kitchen, and I used to hid it in the same place, at the bottom of this trunk. It must still be there, buried under a bed of leaves and earth. All rusty, because so many years have passed... Every time I stopped to rest under the shade of its branches, I would go deeper into the same carvings, meticulously engraving in the same place, so that they would never fade. The oak tree altered. The mark remained."
"S and A, Scarlett and Ashley." His voice was atonic. A statement of fact. Unquestionable.
Out loud he concluded, "An indelible engraving." He turned his back on her. She barely heard him, "Indelible in your heart too, Scarlett?"
Disturbed by his comment, she made him turn around by brushing the sleeve of his jacket. In a tone that was meant to be definitive, she assured him, "Fortunately, I've discovered over time that love stories are not indelible."
He stared at her again, and his mouth mimed doubt. Scarlett was now enclosed in the cavity of the oak, for his arm barred the width of the recess.
Touching the heart again, he asked, "Has he seen it?"
"Never! We never stopped at the bottom of my tree. Besides, I never showed my shelter to anyone."
The blue of his eyes became more intense. Especially since their faces were almost touching now. The intimate warmth of the alcove enveloped them. Her nostrils tingled with pleasure as she inhaled Duncan's distinctive perfume. She hadn't noticed it when they'd danced together in Charleston. His scent was different from Rhett's, more sophisticated, more woodsy. A touch of green, like the smell of grass, of leaves lining the ground beneath their feet. Feral. Intoxicating.
His voice brought her out of her lethargy.
"Not even Rhett Butler?"
A saving laugh escaped her, easing the tension: "Especially not Rhett! He would have been able to take an axe and chop down the tree - and incidentally the compromising engraving - with his own hands. Besides..."
She wrenched herself free of the arm that locked her in. "Besides, Rhett Butler felt that Tara was not worthy enough of him to ever honor it with a visit."
Her chilling words echoed. Icy. How was is possible for her feverishly body temperature to be raised by the proximity of the handsome blond man against her a second before, and then, suddenly, her blood to seem to solidify. She shivered.
She perceived her companion's amazement. He really didn't have Rhett's talent for duplicity!
"Let us go. It is high time I introduced you to my people."
He stopped the horse near the steps and helped it off the buggy.
She looked at the imposing building, then turned to him. "This is Tara!" She couldn't help but lift her chin, defiantly. Waiting for his verdict. The same as Rhett's?
He swept his benevolent eyes over the façade: "Your house! Bright. Welcoming. Familiar. You are transfigured by it, just by pointing at it!"
She rewarded him with two pretty dimples to thank him for summarizing in a few words her own definition of Tara. Surprised and delighted. He understood her. The connection she had allowed to slowly establish between them suddenly seemed obvious to her.
She naturally passed her arm under his. "I thank you for calling my dear Tara that. Rhett was referring to it as a 'white elephant'. She wanted her tone to be light, humorous. She only managed to end on a bitter note.
He raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "Why this hurtful appellation? You love this plantation deeply."
She lifted her shoulders fatalistically, "Just to hurt me. Dare I admit it to you? It was my former husband's favorite game. He excelled at it. To my chagrin, I must admit that he often won the set. But fortunately, I didn't give him the pleasure of showing it to him... "
She felt his two hands on her shoulders. The azure blue of his irises was hypnotic. "I will not allow anyone to knowingly hurt you again, Scarlett."
The opening of the heavy front door cut short this definite statement.
"Mammy!" Scarlett hurried up the stairs, her dress preventing her from climbing them two at a time. She embraced her. As her Nanny murmured affectionately, "My lamb is back at Mrs. Ellen's house", she laid for a moment contentedly against the old woman's ample bosom. The latter's rough fingers tenderly stroked her hair.
Almost reluctantly, she left her protective wing: "I'm just passing through, Mammy. I'm leaving in the morning. I have a friend with me who wants to visit Tara."
She barely had time to turn slightly to point out the visitor with a sweeping gesture before she caught the suspicious look on her former nanny's face.
Duncan had climbed the stairs and was standing a respectable distance from them. He accepted, stoically, the inquisitive eye of the maid who inspected his attire from head to toe.
She finally gave a small grunt. Scarlett couldn't swear if she was happy with the examination or if she was offended by the presence of this stranger near "her lamb".
It made her laugh. She remembered how the beaux of her youth had been intimidated by Mammy's fierce scowl when they had had the misfortune to be caught in close proximity to Mrs. Ellen's eldest daughter.
She took pity on Duncan, who, being the Prince of Fashion that he was, held his hat pitifully with both hands to hide his nervousness. Despite the gray hair showing under her white kerchief, her former nanny had lost none of her impressive power to terrorize her little world.
She carefully selected each word to introduce the man with her, "Mammy, this is Mr. Duncan Vayton. He's the partner of my store in Atlanta. I wanted to show him Tara."
Seeing that Mammy's dark eye had not softened, Scarlett continued, "He designs beautiful dresses in Charleston."
Immediately the old employee's attention turned back to the young woman, forsaking the man who still hadn't said a word. "Charleston?" A single word, but heavy with meaning, if only by the tone of her voice.
Scarlett cut short further comment, but the shadow of the former master of Peachtree Street was very much present in this questioning. "Yes, Charleston!" Then she spoke good-humoredly to the patiently waiting one, "Duncan, this is my Mammy, so dear to my heart. Be kind to me, or she'll order the lightning to strike you!"
He nodded to Mammy in greeting, then burst out with a youthful laugh, "I'm very happy to meet you. I'm sure you'd get along just fine with my Mammy. She's enjoying a well-deserved rest on our plantation, but she's still tough on anyone who would threaten my humble self."
Then his eyes lingered on the bottom of her apron. "Mammy, could it be you who embroidered this trim? That work is remarkable!"
Scarlett was not fooled. This flattery was not without ulterior motive, and it would be judged as such by the old woman's discerning mind. Yet she gave the dressmaker an access of sincerity, for his smile was frank. And, she recognized, the exuberantly colored flowers decorating the white apron adorned with a lace girdle were successful.
To help Duncan in his risky venture to win over the surly employee, she explained, "His congratulations are genuine, Mammy. It's expert advice, because it's from the greatest designer in America, as named by the Atlanta newspaper. I agree with him. You look particularly elegant today."
While her nanny finally showed her satisfaction with a wide smile and thanked him, another image appeared before Scarlett's eyes. That of a beautiful bright red petticoat. Rhett the first had been determined to win the good graces of his wife's protector. She had laughed at him, and assured him, on their return from their honeymoon, that her Mammy would never, oh, never, ever accept this gift from a "mule harnessed like a horse." And, as expected, Mammy didn't let it bother her. It was only when Bonnie was born that she finally wore the garish underskirt. Was she going to show Duncan the same disdain? Scarlett struggled to suppress a mocking expression.
As she led the dashing tailor into the hall of the house, she whispered to him, "I must warn you that conquering Mammy will be more difficult than doing so with the billionaire at the Iron Palace in New York!"
In reply, with laughing eyes, he assured her, "I am patient, Scarlett. Earning the favor of your beloved Mammy is certainly more ambitious. But far more rewarding."
Intermingled voices on the first floor were getting closer.
Still whispering, she warned him, "You are about to meet my younger sister, Suellen. Watch out! She bites. And..."-she looked at him mutinously-"I give you permission to do the same!"
As she descended the stairs followed by her daughter Susie, Suellen did not hide her surprise, then her annoyance, at the sight of her sister, accompanied by a man. Dismissing any greeting, she reproached her curtly: "You should have told me you were coming. Unless sending a telegram is too expensive for your purse!"
Scarlett struggled to suppress a burst of laughter. Her mother, from the sky where she was watching them, was certainly devastated to find that the Southern Ladies' rules of hospitality, methodically instilled in her daughters, had not been assimilated by her second daughter.
In the detached tone that she knew would further horrify the unfortunate Will's wife, she replied with a feigned embrace and a broad smile, "I am very glad to see you too, my dear sister. I made an impromptu decision to come to Tara last night. It was therefore materially impossible to warn you. Let me introduce you to my friend and business acquaintance Mr. Duncan Vayton, of Charleston."
Then turning to Duncan, who was wearing his most respectful gentlemanly smile, she said, "This is my younger sister, Mrs. Suellen Benteen, and her daughter Susie.
The latter dared to come forward at last, no longer fearing her mother's wrath, kissed her aunt effusively and made a little curtsy to the handsome stranger, then left them.
Suellen had only glanced curiously at the man until now, all in her bitterness directed at her sister. The contrast in attitude was all the more striking when she heard the name. "Duncan Vayton? Are you the famous fashion designer who has been in the papers lately?"
Scarlett was amused by Suellen's wide, saucer-like eyes, so stunned was she by the presence of this celebrity in her home.
Like a perfect gentleman, he bent down to kiss her hand without his lips touching her skin, and smiled, "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Benteen. I am sorry to appear before you without prior invitation. My only justification for this visit is my whirlwind trip to Atlanta to talk to my real estate agent. I took the liberty of insisting to Mrs. O'Hara to admire the restoration of your plantation. The result is remarkable. Thanks to you, I find myself immersed once again in the charm of our beloved antebellum colonial properties."
While listening to him, Suellen had regained some semblance of her good manners to direct them into the living room.
Scarlett satisfied her sister's curiosity, which must have been bubbling: "Alongside his prestigious Haute Couture workshop, Mr. Vayton has a project to restore the gleam of Georgian homes that suffered during the war. I suggested that he visit Tara to see the exceptional restoration work your husband has done, with my help." The last three words were a sharp dig at her ungrateful sister who was all too likely to forget the hundreds of thousands of dollars the elder O'Hara had poured into saving the family home.
She noticed her sister's neck turning red. It was an emotional reaction, probably due to the pleasure of Duncan's compliment, mixed with the rage of not being able to respond nastily to her undisguised hint.
"Suellen, if you don't mind, I'm going to serve us some refreshments and small sandwiches. Then, Duncan, I'll give you a tour of our family home and explain how it was renovated."
He was uncomfortable. He must have sensed the tension between the two sisters. He was about to speak when Suellen said in a smooth voice: "I do apologize. I am failing in all my duties as hostess. I'll go to the kitchen and prepare a tray for you. See you in a bit!" Her lips expected to draw the most seductive of smiles. Scarlett saw only a poor imitation of herself.
She did not repress a sigh of relief, intercepted with complicity by her companion. "Until she returns, let me show the best part of the house."
She directed him to the library.
"This is my favourite room, my mother's office. As far back as I can remember, that's where my mother used to work, after her long day at work."
"What was your mother like?" The request had been uttered almost timidly, as if he were afraid to lift the veil of Scarlett's intimacy.
"Perfect. The most perfect of the great ladies." If there was one certainty Scarlett could hold on to, after everything had fallen apart around her, drama after drama, it was this. "My mother managed Tara and all the beings that inhabited it. On the outside, of course, Gerald O'Hara was the master of the plantation. But, in reality, that was just a facade. Even though I loved my father deeply, I must admit it. She was the attentive wife, seeing to it that her husband had a good table, and a nice welcome every evening; she was the strict mother of three daughters, providing for our education, seeing to it that we too would one day become great ladies." Scarlett could not suppress a little giggle, laughing at the poor result.
"She was first and foremost the true mistress of Tara. She was the one who managed the accounts with a firm but discreet hand, provided for the welfare of the slaves by making sure they were well fed and cared for, and listened to the families in need. She was even concerned with the salvation of our souls!"
Scarlett couldn't help but laughed. "She'd be sorry at the magnitude of the task to save mine now!"
Duncan joined in the hilarity. "I'm sure your negotiating skills will earn you your place in heaven directly!"
"So, this was your favorite place?" Duncan swept his eyes over the space with interest.
Encouraged by his invitation to confide, she approached a large armchair and stroked the armrests polished by years of friction: "When I was a child, I sometimes hid behind this bergere which had the power to transport me far away, to France. It belonged to my grandfather Robillard's ancestors. A relic of the rich times of the Savannah family. I had managed to escape Mammy's surveillance. Hidden by the armchair's back, I stood silently watching my mother go through her books. By the way, I guess that I got my mastery of bookkeeping from her."
Duncan simply nodded in agreement. He'd seen in their brief encounters that she was perfect with numbers.
The young woman went back into her memories: "More than once, I've caught her in the middle of writing, her head raised in the direction of the park. Not moving. Staring into the distance. Sad. So sad. How many times did I ask myself: why? She should be happy with us. My father adored her like an idol. Careen, Suellen and I worshipped her. I know this will sound childish, but she was a saint to me, equal to the Virgin Mary. So why was she so downcast? And then, finally, after her death, I got the beginnings of an explanation."
Scarlett's eyelashes moistened. "It still hurts. To be aware that our love, my adoration, was not enough for her. Dare I tell you...?"
She hesitated. Duncan had moved closer, sensing her weakness. His presence was reassuring. She felt like telling him what Rhett had never bothered to ask: "As she laid dying, her body having lost the battle with diphtheria, she rambled. She was talking incoherently. I walked through the burning inferno of Atlanta to find her eventually lying peacefully, dead only a few hours before. I was told..."
She stopped, her throat closing. Duncan moved toward her. Then, without her really knowing how, she found herself in his arms.
It was warm. Tender. She nestled against his chest, seeking the security of her childhood. Her voice was muffled now, her lips pressed against his silk waistcoat, "My father, terrified, never left her side anymore. She could have spoken his name in her delirium, or her mother's or her daughters', me... No. Her last word, whispered with the desperate energy of her last breath, was for a stranger to our family. Philippe. We didn't matter enough to her to give us a place in her heart before she left us..."
Scarlett suppressed a sob. She felt hands clasping her. They moved down her spine and slowly up her shoulders, like stroking a cat's back to make it purr. She reared up and stretched with pleasure. Adventurous lips brushed the top of her hair, then risked to her neck. He snatched a thin strand escaped from her bun. Then his luscious mouth deposited the silky hair moistened by his saliva on the bare skin, just at the birth of her neck. Scarlett shivered and clutched the designer's waistcoat a little tighter.
She reveled in the numbness that covered every pore of her skin, like a soft anesthetic. She vaguely heard his tender voice stammering, "It's all right now. I am here. My ardent Scarlett! I want to take your pain. Take it out of your head. Absorb it. Make it mine so that your mind is filled with nothing but sweet memories."
The hairs of his moustache teased the back of her neck, his hot lips hovering over her and then parting to gently grasp the thin skin. In the misty cocoon Scarlett was loosing herself in, her nerve connections focused on where Duncan's greedy mouth sucked at the epidermis, rolling it languidly under his tongue, mimicking the extraction of the roots of the evil that tormented Ellen's daughter.
"So tender! Your skin is so tender, my ardent..."
She heard vaguely, "Scarlett, the snack is ready. I'll wait for you in the living room."
Duncan made an effort to calm his ragged breathing, came to his senses and released her. He was shaking. Or was it her?
He readjusted his jacket, then pretended to stroke Scarlett's hair one last time, smiling shyly.
Scarlett hunched her shoulders to regain composure. She hoped her burning cheeks wouldn't draw too much attention from her sister. Now they had to face her.
"Mr. Vayton, you must be dying of thirst! There's fresh lemonade and cold tea. Help yourself. Please try the ham with this morning's baked bread. I make it myself," added Suellen proudly.
Scarlett couldn't believe it! A magic wand had transformed her sour sister into a generous and cheerful hostess. Or was it a newspaper article?" Scarlett scoffed inwardly. She admired her unsuspected acting skills, which went so far as to give her older sister a cordial facade. Or at least she was trying.
As they finished eating, she once again admired the ease with which Duncan moved and charmed those around him, even the most resistant. Suellen was the most obvious example. She was smiling sweetly at him.
But... wasn't she giving him discreet glances? Suspecting this, Scarlett thought of poor Will, who was never entitled to his wife's affability. I wouldn't be surprised if she was doing this to annoy me, or even to make me jealous. Scarlett suppressed a contemptuous laugh. Fiddle-dee-dee! Not a chance, sister! The look that handsome Duncan can't help but give me is too hot for your little game to ruffle a single hair on his moustache...
Scarlett felt that this little ploy had gone on long enough. "I thank you for the delicious snack, Suellen. Now I'll show Duncan around the plantation and its surroundings. Time is short."
Duncan nodded, and addressed their hostess, "Indeed. I'm looking forward to getting to know Tara, but I'll be sorry to leave at five o'clock to catch the last train back to Atlanta!"
Suellen put on a sorrowful face, "Oh, that's a pity! Couldn't you stay until tomorrow morning? I've invited a friend of mine to dinner tonight. She's staying with our neighbours, the Tarletons, for a short time. She wants to come and visit Scarlett's shop in Atlanta because she heard she could admire some of your designs there. She would be so happy to meet you! Wouldn't you do my husband and I the honor of sharing a meal with us and Scarlett? Of course, it's only a modest dinner, but you would be fulfilling my friend's dream."
Scarlett caught Duncan's gaze on herself, as if waiting for her to speak. She didn't have time, though, because her sister was relentless. "If you'll do me the great pleasure of agreeing, I'll have the guest room upstairs ready. Then you can leave in the morning with Scarlett. Say yes, Mr. Vayton, please!" Her tone was charming.
Scarlett found it hard to hide her amazement. Mrs. Benteen, allergic to anything remotely related to the scandalous Atlanta divorcee, begging a friend of hers, who was also single, to spend the night in the family home, without her deeming it contrary to decency? Scarlett laughed under her breath. Obviously, only the famous prince of fashion was capable of creating such a miracle!
Duncan stared at her. Waiting. She spoke up, "Duncan, that's an excellent idea. That way we'll have more time to walk around Tara, and you can converse with my brother-in-law, who's the biggest lover on the plantation - after me, of course. Will you agree to stay tonight?"
Scarlett crossed her blue irises, which twinkled with pleasure. Of course he's not going to miss such an opportunity to extend our tête à tête. And, I must admit, I'm even more excited about the prospect than I thought I would be... At the memory of her neck moist with Duncan's saliva, a sweet stirring traveled to the small of her loins.
Through a haze she heard, "I gladly accept your invitation, Mrs. Benteen!"
June 13, 1876, 2 p.m., Atlanta, Peachtree Street
The carmine heart delicately hemmed in with a satin purple, open and so inviting that you want to plunge your lips into it and inhale its singular fragrance.
He had specifically chosen it, from the flowers displayed by the florist, because its heady scent enveloped you without escape.
The employee had offered to remove the thorns. He refused, amused: a rose without thorns, as implausible as a summer sky without a storm, or a Scarlett without a tantrum.
He had not been tempted to buy a voluminous bouquet, such as the vulgar ostentation of the pretentious Vayton. No! A single rose would suffice. A deep red, with universal significance, as intense as his love for his former wife.
He had convinced himself that this afternoon he would finally admit to the only woman in his life that he loved her. And it didn't matter about Wilkes and his antics at the reception the other night! As for Scarlett, her teasing and shameless behavior in front of him was so outrageous and foreign to her personality that perhaps it had some other purpose than to indulge the grotesque advances of her pitiful knight. Did she mean to hurt him? In this she had fully succeeded.
Fortunately, he had been able to control himself, thanks to the intervention of the charming Taisy, and Scarlett had seen nothing but fire. In any case, Rhett's mere presence in their former common home was obviously irritating her, tormenting her to the point of wanting to make him jealous. He concluded that she was not as indifferent as she boasted.
It was the moment or never to upset the former Mrs. Butler's certainties and carry her away in the whirlwind of his passion.
He hesitated for a moment to ring the entrance bell. How strange to have to announce himself to enter what had once been his home!
Rhett ran a hand through his hair to straighten a stray lock. If all went as he hoped, by provoking regular promiscuity as he had patiently programmed it, one day he would get back the key to that heavy door. He would force his way into Scarlett's heart and bring back his family together.
"Messiah Rhett!" Pork greeted him with a broad smile.
"Good afternoon, Pork. Can you let Madam Scarlett know I'm here?"
With an apologetic look, the faithful employee announced that she had left this morning.
Rhett felt a pang in his heart. Where was she? No! She can't be with him? Stupid. She was probably at a friend's house.
"Alright. Put this rose in a soliflore, please, and this cake on a tray." He handed him the small package from Merriweather Bakery. "Is Miss Ella in the house?"
"She's safely in the playroom."
Rhett was already climbing the stairs. His heart was pounding. Too many memories upstairs...
The door to the recreation room was open. His throat knotted, his eyes sought out a blue velvet dress, a cascade of black curls. The figure turned around.
No wrinkled nose, no puffed cheeks, no cheerful "Daddy! But a beautiful green-eyed child who quickly turned her surprised expression into joy: "Uncle Rhett, how happy I am that you're here!" And she threw herself into his arms.
How good the tenderness made him feel! Scarlett's daughter... his daughter since she was a little girl. "I promised you I would come and show you how the puppets work. Are you alone this afternoon?"
"Wade is at Uncle Ashley's house but he'll be here any minute. Mother asked him to keep me company today."
Rhett asked the question that had been nagging at him, making an effort not to display his anxiety, "Is Scarlett with him?"
"No, Mother left this morning for Tara. She'll be back in the morning."
He hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath, waiting for the answer. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. Alone in Tara. Everything was fine then...
"Let's go!" he said cheerfully. "I can't wait for us to bring these puppets to life."
They stood on the stage of the little theater, Ella climbing two steps up. He was about to explain to her how these dolls could be activated when Wade pushed open the front door and caught his sister playing with their former stepfather.
The latter pretended not to have noticed the teenager's immediate scowl. He went to meet him and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, "Good to see you, Son. There's a delicious chocolate cake waiting for you and your sister for snack's time. Mrs. Merriweather assures me that it is her baker's specialty. But first, as I promised your sister, we're going to practice handling these authentic professional puppets. It will take us some time to animate them properly. The problem is that for these two models you see here, it takes two of us to pull the wires. Therefore, it won't be possible for Ella and I to have two silhouettes involved at the same time. So I thought..." He hesitated, he didn't have the heart to be rejected again by his stepson - "I thought... It would be very nice of you if you agreed to help us. We would learn together for an hour or two at the end of the week. If you don't have any other activity scheduled, of course."
Wade's whole attitude exuded distrust of his mother's former husband. Once again, Rhett railed against himself for ignoring his stepchildren for three years.
He couldn't hide his bitterness when he added, "Or, if you'd rather not be in my presence, you could help your sister when you get home from school."
He was beginning to lose hope when Ella came to his rescue, "Please say yes, Big Brother! The three of us would have so much fun."
Rhett dared to raise the stakes: "I wanted to surprise you when eating dessert later. But I might as well announce it now: You remember meeting Mr. Bennett, the Director of Entertainment for Atlanta City Hall, at your birthday party, Ella. He is a great admirer of the man who made your puppets, Thomas Holden. Do you realize that his show has been touring all over the United States, and has even ended up in the Wild West! As we speak, he is probably performing in Paris or London."
He paused for a moment, and found that Wade was listening to him. Was really listening to him. "So, Mister Benett has suggested something to me that might please you. When we're ready, we could, if you agree, do a little performance in front of other children. He told me that he would have liked to own Mr. Holden's famous puppets himself. Between you and me, I think he was a little jealous that you had received such a gift."
Ella opened her eyes wide. Green eyes. How he wished Scarlett was in this hall, with them.
"I'm lucky you gave me them. But, you know, Uncle Rhett, the thing I like most about this theater is that it gives me a chance to spend some time with you. And it would be so nice, Wade," - she turned to him - "if you would help us. Then we could share an activity, like when I was smaller with Bo..." She stopped, put her hand over her mouth in a panic. Uncle Rhett was going to be sad when he heard his favorite daughter's name. So he was going to leave, and he wouldn't come back.
Rhett had clenched his fist mechanically. Then he noticed her misty eyes, the trembling of her lips. Instinctively, as when she was a little girl, he took her in his arms and tenderly caressed her cheek: "It's all right, Ella. I'm glad to be with you too," - looking at Wade - "to be with you. I've missed you."
Wade didn't seem to react to the regrets, but he did lay a hand on his sister's shoulder, "Good, I agree to help you. How are we going to do this, Uncle Rhett? Before we put on a show, we have to learn how to make them move."
With a tightness in his heart, the fallen stepfather noted that Wade had just started gracing him with the title "Uncle Rhett" again. He thanked him modestly with a firm handshake, man to man. "Deal, Son. And you're right, it's not going to be easy. But, between the three of us, we'll get it done. We could work every Sunday, at a time to suit you, Wade, or to suit your Mother's plans. Then, after we've studied the mechanics of the movements, we'll write a script and plan the gestures in connection with the action. What do you think?"
Ella clapped enthusiastically. Wade simply nodded, a smile on his face.
"Well, let's get started. First, let's examine how each body is made: a judicious mix of wood, cardboard, and paper maché. Underneath the quilted fabric covering, there is some lead so that the doll follows the slightest inflection of our fingers, without losing its center of gravity." He paused, "This is going to seem a little complicated at first, Ella. But you'll see that it will be easy after a few sessions. I have faith in you. And so does Wade, of course!"
She nodded, her eyebrows furrowing slightly in concentration.
"Now, let's see why it all seems magical. Look at their joints, just like a human body. These are made of a leather strap. And, on most of these joints is hung a wire. As you go along, you'll learn how to move their head, shoulders, pelvis, knees, and hands. The most complicated part will be to synchronize the whole thing. But, at this stage, the three of us will have decided what each character is going to do, by moving this or that joint. One last and most important thing, all the wires go up to a wooden platform that controls the whole thing. With one hand, you have to hold the crown. With the other hand, you move the wires. Now, I suggest we practice for an hour for this first time. Then you'll have earned your share of the chocolate cake! So let's start to work!"
Scarlett's children were so focused and curious to enter the puppeteer's magical world, that they naturally doubled the one hour of scheduled exercises. Wade stood next to his sister, one step below. With an expert hand, their stepfather was teaching them to hold the crown with their arm almost outstretched, then to move the strings randomly to see how the whole body reacted. He himself was surprised by the sensitivity of this mass of fabric and wood to each subtle undulation of the thread.
Laughter alternated with more or less successful attempts at crazy stunts. So much so that Wade suggested that they create a clown show.
Finally, Rhett blew his whistle to end the game. Ella's outstretched arm was beginning to feel heavy. "You've passed this great exercise brilliantly, Ella. As for you, Wade, you deserve the title of burlesque artist because you have such a taste for pirouettes!"
Laughing, they sat down in the living room, where Pork had set up the plates surrounding the tantalizing pastry. Mrs. Merriweather's employee had generously covered his handiwork with a delicious and... messy hazelnut glaze. With their mother not around to remind them of their manners, and their stepfather amused by the situation, they chose to forsake forks and spoons and eat with their hands. Their plates empty, each ended up licking their fingers to enjoy the last sliver of caramelized hazelnut, savoring the transgression of having deviated from good manners in complete freedom. They busted out laughing when they realized that the only adult in that room was doing the same.
More than the cake, Rhett relished this moment of quiet, smiling intimacy with his stepchildren. His children. Only one more person to make everything perfect again.
The hour was advancing. Wade would soon be going back to his boarding school, accompanied by Beau. Before leaving Rhett, he said, "I had a good time. See you on Sunday then? Could we meet in the morning, as I have plans to visit a friend in the afternoon."
Rhett nodded, "Perfect. I'll be there at ten," and he wished him a good week of study. He felt like hugging him, so moved that he had reconnected with his stepson. But he refrained. He didn't want to frighten him. He had to be as patient with his stepchildren as he was with Scarlett.
Before leaving Ella, he made sure that Prissy was there to look after her, as her mother had demanded.
"Don't worry, Uncle Rhett. Before she left, Mother even selected the dress I'll wear tomorrow. That's too bad..." She paused.
"What's the pity, Ella?"
With a pout, the little girl admitted, "It's a shame I'll never get the opportunity to wear my princess dress. But perhaps Mr. Vayton will make me another one, just as beautiful but easier to put on for the winter? I wish Mother would suggest it to him tonight."
"Tonight?" Rhett's blood ran cold. He must have misheard. Vayton?
Ella's green eyes looked into her stepfather's tormented ones, "Yes, tonight. Mr. Vayton left this morning for Tara with Mother. She'll have plenty of time until tomorrow to tell him about it."
She kissed him tenderly on the cheek and went briskly up the stairs, followed closely by Prissy.
Rhett had remained motionless. The world had just frozen.
Disclaimers : I do not own the story and the characters of Gone with the Wind which belong to Margaret Mitchell. I created the "world" of Duncan Vayton and Blanche Bonsart.