Note: To all of you, dear readers, I offer my best wishes. A very good year, good health - we need it... - and fine readings.
Wednesday, June 30, 1876, Charleston, Butler house at the Battery
Scarlett left Charleston the next day. Rhett waited two days to respond to the proposal of the Curator of the Louvre Museum, on the latest offer of a loan list of Egyptian antiquities.
He intercepted Rosemary who was busy serving tea. "I met at a friend's house a charming young lady, Matisson. You must surely know her, don't you?"
His sister looked at him curiously. "Indeed, we have sometimes crossed paths during associative activities. Her husband..."
Rhett cut her off: "Let's not talk about her husband. He's a boor. She, on the other hand, is very well educated. She's an art history lover, especially on the evolution of the architectural styles that have shaped Charleston. Wouldn't you think it would be a good idea to share her knowledge with the members of your educational club?"
It had been said nonchalantly. But Eleonor Butler's daughter was not fooled by her twisted brother's thought patterns.
"That is indeed a good idea. But... why the sudden interest in this married woman? I know you well enough to know that you did not make this suggestion at random. Let me warn you about possible schemes that could taint again..."
Rhett's thunderous laughter put an end to her sanctimonious advice. "My dear sister, you've always had a talent for surprising me with your vivid imagination. Especially when it comes to my love life."
She blushed, offended that he read her so clearly.
"Do not be afraid. Far be it from me to corrupt the virtue of a great lady of our venerable city. My offer is most respectable and without ulterior motive. Her eloquence in this matter has simply impressed me. Since she has shown me her friendship, I have decided to break the monotony of her existence by giving the Charleston ladies the benefit of her erudition. How about inviting her to tea so you can discuss it?"
Rosemary looked at him suspiciously. Her brother was not in the habit of acting for the good of the community gratuitously, without the end result being to his benefit. But even though she suspected that this sudden interest in the insipid Gladys Matisson was hiding something, she nodded:
"I must admit that many of our members would be interested in such a topic. I will invite her to come next week to discuss the teaching program for the upcoming fall session."
"Wait until I get back. I'd like to be here when she comes, because I'd like to talk to her about a possible exhibition on antebellum architecture in South Carolina. I'll be back in Charleston in a couple of weeks."
Rosemary had a puzzled expression. It was obvious that her brother was hiding his intentions from her. Then she reassured herself. It was better that he was interested in the women of Charleston than the women of Atlanta.
Eleonor had remained silent during the exchange between her two children. But the last sentence pushed her to say :
"I am saddened that you chose not to be present for our Independence Centennial celebration on the 4th of July. You should stay with us, my Son. A historic day like this should be spent with family. You should be among your own. Not isolated among strangers in Atlanta!"
Rhett had to appeal to the ancestral rules of respect that a son owes to his mother not to answer her sharply. Frustrated that he could not explode his rage, he crushed his cigar in the ashtray. His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched, he hammered in a metallic voice: "Bonnie is in Atlanta. My stepchildren - no, my children are in Atlanta. And Scarlett is in Atlanta. My family is there."
He left her, paralyzed by this merciless observation.
He put his jacket back on, grabbed his hat and slammed the door behind him.
ooooOOOoooo
Saturday evening, July 3, 1876, Atlanta, Peachtree Street
We will discuss this in Atlanta... Her answer came after a few seconds. It was said politely, with a smile, in the light tone that Scarlett used in society, heard by all the guests at Rebecca Paxton's table, who had been taken aback by the announcement of an imminent trip to Washington between Rhett and his former wife.
Only this one detected the thousand emerald green flashes which aimed him with fury. The battle is going to be hard... the former husband of Scarlett O'Hara amused himself inside.
Ms. Scarlett Vayton...
From the second Scarlett flashed her engagement ring in front of him, he knew his chances of winning her heart back were slim. Scarlett wouldn't have accepted this jewel if she hadn't made the irrevocable decision to tie her fate to this man. A stranger who would become Wade and Ella's new stepfather. A seducer to whom she could legitimately give more than a kiss, to whom she would open her bed and give him the right to make love to her. How long would this engagement last before she became Mrs. Scarlett Vayton? He was not surprised by her decision. Bitter, disillusioned, desperate, devastated, but not surprised. Besides, what woman would have refused to marry such a handsome man?
But, deep inside him, a small flame was not resigned to being extinguished.
Rhett Butler had never admitted defeat. Except for the tragic fate of his little girl. How many times had he played his life as a simple poker game, moving forward with the brutality of a buffalo ready to destroy everything in its path in order to reach its goal? In his troubled youth, in the slums of New Orleans; during the war as a blockade breaker, taunting the enemy's machine gun with impudent recklessness every day; until his most bitter, primal struggle, to have Scarlett named after him. Scarlett Butler.
That day, he had reached his Grail. Or so he had thought the day after Frank Kennedy's death. But soon he had wanted to change the rules of their agreement on a "friendly" marriage. He had not been content with what Scarlett was willing to give him, crumbs of tenderness while she reserved her Passion for another. Sick of love, for twelve long years, he had been on the lookout for the slightest inflection of feeling from his wife towards him, the smallest caress which she gratified him with a detached gesture, as she could have done the same for Wade's dog.
He had showered her with gifts, from the flashiest jewels to the most expensive whims.
Anything but a declaration of love to the woman he adored. A confession that would have ended up stripping him to the bone. Of which Scarlett would have enjoyed to finish by ridiculing him with her crystalline laugh.
Yes, her fortune had not been enough. She wanted something else. Someone else. Her fallen knight in oxidized armor.
So he chose to make her suffer. Mercilessly. As relentlessly as the evil that was eating away at him. To the ultimate point where not even hatred remained, but an atrophy of all emotion. A dry heart. And that day in November 1873. Those horrors uttered with cruel indifference. A bundle of notarized, informal documents. Committing their fate to both of them. No, all four of them, since he had abandoned his two stepchildren at the same time. Cutting their bond with the surgical precision of the sharpest blade.
On the evening of July 3, 1876, he found himself in the same place where he had made the biggest mistake of his life.
When Melanie died, he had not believed in the sudden transfiguration of the unfaithful wife into a lover of her husband. No, rather in the reflex of a spoiled child having for whim to covet what did not belong to her. And when her beautiful Ashley was accessible, offered by the generous wife before leaving, this one lost the temptation of the forbidden fruit.
Had she really loved him at that moment, when she had made her declaration of love, devastated by Melly's death? The question persisted, nagging. Almost three years later, had she fallen in love with Vayton? He had every reason to believe so.
Yet despite the intangible evidence that she was going to remarry, Rhett was determined not to give up. There was an indestructible bond between them. Bonnie. Wade and Ella. But also so much complicity, teasing smiles, half-hearted understanding, passionate confrontations... Then, despite her vengeful eyes, she had shown, since the evening of the fashin show, small signs of attention towards him. As if these had escaped her shell of marked indifference towards her former husband. My little nurse, Rhett amused himself.
There were two clues that reinforced his hope that anything was still possible:
As of last Tuesday, Duncan Vayton was no longer the unassailable perfect man. He had a flaw. He would dig it out as soon as he returned to Charleston.
On the other hand, the more he thought about it, the more he found that Scarlett's eagerness to reveal her engagement ring was a gesture of defiance. However, if her former husband had become indifferent to her, she would not have found any amusement to provoke him with Ashley and the indecent episode of the spoon, and especially to parade with her new beau in front of him. But she had had fun, he was certain of it now.
She had to agree to accompany him to Washington. To renew their tight complicity, and to be face to face...
Then he would convince her. He had to! He would finally tell her that he loved her. If she would give him a chance, if the four of them could be a family again. He had been so hungry for her for the last three years. No! For much longer. Dreaming of breathing the same air, smelling her heady perfume from room to room, inadvertently brushing against an ebony curl or her pearly skin...
God, I love her like an old fool!
Rhett stood tall before knocking on the door of his former house. He was going to find a way to stop this wedding. Faith of Rhett Butler!
ooooOOOoooo
No sooner had he banged the knocker than Pork opened the door.
A wide, happy smile greeted him. "Messiah Rhett, how nice to see you back. Ma'am Scarlett is in her office."
His former employer thanked him, put his hat down in the hallway and headed for the library.
The door was ajar. Slightly, but enough that Rhett dispensed with knocking on the paneled wood to signal his presence.
The curtains had been partially drawn, but the windows were open to let the air finally cool down after the hot day.
She had not lit the large chandelier, preferring, as usual, the indirect lighting of the oil lamps scattered near the sofa, her desk and the standing escritoire. One day, she had confided to him that this subdued atmosphere was the best guarantor of the silence necessary to her concentration.
In the same way, she preferred to work standing up, with her account book on the mahogany writing board. Probably because this active woman wanted to be free to move around without the comfort of an office chair causing her to slacken off.
The play of lights and shadows, the flame of the lamps quivering on the effect of the net of outside air, illuminated by intermittence her slackened bun at this hour, transforming the strands of hair into incandescent wisps to then fix themselves on her face.
Her task absorbed her so much that her eyebrows were furrowed with reflection. Her fingers juggled between the wooden pencil essential to perform the calculations, and the ink penholder that sealed the writings on the squared pages.
She was so diligent that she didn't notice him entering the room.
"Um..." He cleared his throat two feet behind her.
She was startled, turned around and gave him her most sincere smile. That she transformed at once into a mimic of marked indifference.
"Rhett Butler at this late hour! Are the gambling dens unusually closed tonight in Atlanta?"
Deciding it was better not to pick up on the sarcasm, he casually placed a kiss on the corner of her lips.
Taken by surprise by this intimate gesture, she did not react.
"I prefer to come to you at this hour, which is conducive to cordial discussions."
Raising her eyes to the ceiling in feigned surprise, she then pretended to dive back into her calculations.
"From the speed with which you add up the amounts, I am pleased to see that business has been good."
She lifted her pencil and looked at him with a satisfied expression: "The last two weeks have broken records in the store - and, even if my modesty must suffer, despite my absence. Just think, I've sold a dozen dresses. So much so that I'm going to have to place a rush order with my supplier Johnson Ready-to-Wear to restock."
Without realizing it, she regained the euphoric tone she always used when she was proud to tell him about her latest juicy sales at the sawmill or Kennedy's store. "I've even conceded to sell - at a premium - two of Duncan's exclusive models. That bothers me because these are a limited run." She looked dreamy: "Unless he exceptionally agrees to resume production of his experimental line for ready-to-wear."
Her former husband had no trouble reading her train of thought. She was working out arguments to convince the overworked couturier to favor restocking The Boutique Robillard. It was better, for his own serenity, that he did not imagine the means of persuasion contrary to decency that she was ready to employ...
"The grand ladies of Atlanta and surrounding areas rushed into the store to snatch up the most beautiful finery to parade around tomorrow at the Centennial barbecue. My two saleswomen, Emma and Patricia, were at a loss for words. My two seamstresses had to extend their work days into the late evening in order to adjust each outfit to the customers' measurements. As for my delivery man, Peter Calvet, he wore out the horse by making deliveries in the neighborhood.
Carried away by his favorite businesswoman's enthusiasm, Rhett teased her, "I could bet you charged a lot of money for your employees' overtime."
" Fiddle-dee-dee! My prices are the fairest. But I'm looking forward to the next shipment of merchandise Duncan will import from France, because my accessory departments have been raided. When your eyes are on the lookout for Atlanta beauties tomorrow, which I'm sure they will be," she added with a pinch, "you should know that their finest sunshades, lace gloves, silk scarves and pearl purses are from The Boutique Robillard. Only to you can I confess the shameless markups I've made on these Parisian frivolities. I really wonder when I'll be able to import more."
The opportunity to take the wind out of his rival' sails was too good: "No need to wait for Vayton's shipment. The day after the party, you will be able to order from your Parisian supplier. I will include your boxes in the first shipment of antiques and paintings that will leave the port of Le Havre in a month. In fact, I came here tonight to talk to you about the progress of the work. In three months, if all goes according to plan, the Bonnie Blue Butler Arts Museum in Atlanta will open its doors. With the help of Henry Bennett, I am in the process of recruiting the Museum's Curator, someone with knowledge, innovation and integrity. Just what we need in a position like this. As for the Charleston Museum, the development and securing of the facility will be carried out promptly as we have agreed to use a pre-existing exhibit building."
Scarlett did not hide her astonishment, "When you revealed to me your desire to create a museum in Bonnie's honor, I didn't think it would see the light of day so soon."
Rhett's brow furrowed: "It's been more than two years since I first had the idea that our beloved daughter's name should never be forgotten. What better way than through art to let everyone know that there was an angel on this earth, as lovely as she was beautiful? She would have been, I am sure, an artist, so much did she radiate imagination."
His voice broke. He was again lost in his sorrow.
Scarlett felt her pupils drown. Without being aware of it, she moved closer to the desperate father and put her head against his chest to nestle in.
With his left hand, Rhett wrapped his arms around her waist. With the other, he stroked her hair in a repeated, tender motion, as an experienced trainer does to soothe a wild thoroughbred.
His former wife's two hands clutched at his jacket, pulling it aside to better enjoy the soothing warmth through his shirt.
They stayed like that for a few moments, or a few minutes. They had lost track of time.
It was the first time since their daughter's death that they mourned her together.
He barely heard her as she whispered, "This pain that paralyzes me to the point where I can't breathe sometimes, do you think it will ever subside, Rhett?"
The latter's forehead was parched with wrinkles, a bitter crease at the corner of his mouth. "I wish you all the best, Scarlett. As for me, I live with it, like an old friend. I know it will never leave me until my final blow."
The warm breath of the young woman crossed his linen shirt. Her suffocating heat exalting her unique smell, recognizable among all, flooded him in burning and icy waves, making him shiver to the point that he began to tremble.
As much to calm himself as to soothe his wife, he whispered affectionate words to her interspersed with kisses on her silken hair. "My soft, don't cry any more. Our Bonnie is in Heaven with Melanie. She is not in pain. She wants to see you smile. She so loved to provoke your laughter! I am here, my sweet. So soft..."
This tender word, which he had reserved for her during their nights of love, made her react. She withdrew her hands from the chest of her former husband, as if the flames of a burning fire were going to consume her.
Stepping back, she mechanically put back in her bun a lock of hair that had escaped, and settled back in front of her writing desk, nervously manipulating her pencil.
Separated from the warmth of her body, Rhett shivered. That was probably the last time I held her in my arms. Soon she'll seek comfort in someone else. He shoved his fist into his pocket to calm his emotion.
He thought it best not to comment on this moment of intimacy that he had dreamed of for so many days and nights, and resumed their initial conversation.
"Everything is falling into place. Our contacts are enthusiastic. The Metropolitan Museum of Art is more than happy to collaborate with us. With its five years of young existence, it is not in a position to lend a large collection of works to the Louvre, but its director is eager to work in harmony with our foundation (*1). As for the financial plan, I would like to talk to you about it calmly so that you can review the balance of debits and contributions from our patronage partners. I will introduce you very soon to the team of accountants and financials who will report to you on their management."
Scarlett pouted, "The title of President of the Bonnie Blue Butler Arts Museums Foundation Management Fund is prestigious. I understand why you bestowed it on me, for our daughter. However, to be honest, I would not fit in. This position carries an overwhelming responsibility."
He cut her off to erase her doubts: "Don't have any doubts. Your place is legitimate. I know your budgetary rigor. You'll be perfect for this role. The accountants the Foundation employs are the best in the business. They will perform their duties efficiently and independently, under my direction. But their productivity will be further optimized with the implementation of a monthly, or bi-monthly, one-day supervision. As a seasoned businesswoman, you know that the best technique to ensure loyalty is iron control. You will be assisted in this step by my two best business managers who will ensure the accuracy of the accounts. But you will be the one with the cleaver to stop wasteful spending."
Scarlett's posture had relaxed.
He concludes his plea by teasing her, "All you have to do is look at them with your striking fierce eyes, as you know so well how to do, and they will comply with your wishes, lest lightning strike them!"
His mocking chuckle was met with a pout. "Well, I can free up one day a month. For now..."
Her intonation had slowed on the last two words. She took on an ostensibly mysterious air, waving her left ring finger, as if unaware of it. The carvings on the emerald cameo were deepened by the flickering flame of the lamp.
Rhett pretended not to understand her reference to her future status as a married woman.
His cruel Scarlett, amusing herself by throwing small provocative signs at him, like a cat throwing the sparrow she is about to finish off...
He cleared his throat: "To complete our funding program, the federal government has agreed to contribute generously to the enormous cost of insuring the treasures on loan from the Louvre. That is why our presence in Washington next Wednesday is imperative."
Scarlett began to get upset : "This is crazy! Couldn't you have told me before? I need to make arrangements for my store, the children..."
"You have acknowledged that your first saleswoman has proven herself perfectly capable of profitably running your business. As for Ella and Wade who will be on vacation, they will be pampered by Dilcey, Prissy and Pork. It's a short trip, Scarlett. You'll be back before they have time to get bored. We will take the train on Monday night, spend Tuesday night in the best hotel in Washington, and leave the capital as soon as our meeting is over. The journey will be tiring, but we shall be able to rest in our sleeping compartments. This brief excursion to this city of power will invigorate both you and me, I am sure. I am already looking forward to it..."
His eyes were tingling at the mere mention of it.
A loud sigh was the only response from the young woman. He had won... this set of game.
He continued to try his luck: "We'll have time to discuss the practical details of our trip tomorrow. If you don't mind, I plan to accompany Wade and Ella to the parade. We're going to have a great day. And you have given me a challenge: I'll be able to count the number of sunshades straight out of the Robillard's Boutique with you at the barbecue!"
Wearily, Scarlett approached the sideboard, filled two glasses, one with brandy, the other with whiskey. She really needed to calm her nerves.
Concealing the winner's satisfaction, he moistened his fleshy lips on the glass, and made a secret wish : To the party tomorrow, and to Washington for two days... Together... Both of us together...
Note on Chapter 39:
(*1): The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York officially opened its doors in 1870.