Note on Chapter 52.

As usual, this chapter didn't go as planned. I was going to devote it to Duncan, with a brief mention of Rhett returning to Charleston, but... it's the opposite: Duncan will come in - at last - at length in the next chapter. And, with the idea I have on my mind (not on paper yet), it might be surprising too...

As for Rhett... The chapter is called "Love Letter". I invite you to read carefully the letter and check the notes' numbers. Then, read my notes at the end of the chapter. Just know, as a teasing, that I have combined my two passions here: Scarlett and Rhett and...

Many thanks for your support that you continue to show me through your comments, your "like" and your loyalty to follow The Boutique Robillard.

ooooo

Chapter 52. Love letter

Sunday, July 11, 1876

A ray of sunlight has managed to seep through the half-drawn curtains. It is bursting on the glass. And has fun transforming the edges of its facets into a declination of iridescent rainbows. To finally ending up piercing the blond liquid with the power of the middle day's sun. By a sleight of hand worthy of an alchemist, the raw alcohol is transforming into a glittering ball of fire, amalgamating, in its center, a golden core.

Forming concentric circles that blink under the effect of the imperceptible variation of orientation of the luminous rays, the eye is hypnotized by the induced subliminal message: "Taste me, my old friend..."

The mischievous invitation is accepted, and the glass is immediately emptied.

How many have there been in the last two days? It is hard to count them as the hydration sequences - if we can call them that – have alternated with the cottony plunges into the protective limbo of sleep. Euphoria and stupefaction have never stopped fighting. Which will end, without the shadow of a doubt, with a raspy tongue and a throbbing headache.

The trembling hand is grabbing the nearby bottle to pour itself another glassful. The last one... Probably. Maybe...

This one will finally reach its goal - otherwise, there would be reason to despair of the legendary virtue of alcohol, that of forgetfulness.

To forget the tender words whispered in the dark; forget the twirling and adventurous hands; forget the fluttering of hearts, the lips that devour each other; the tongues that dance with joy - everywhere, everywhere...; forget the unique perfume of the skin, more intoxicating than all the glasses of alcohol ingested, and its taste... So delectable that it is always intense under the tongue; forget the ecstasy finally fulfilled, and its peaks of pleasure that are higher than the Mount Mitchell (*1) ; and forget the glances riveted one in the other in unison, where tenderness and love burn the prunes of thousand flames.

The body is twisting on the bed; the head is tilting from one side to the other of the pillow in denial. Because, how to empty the spirit of these enchanting hours which were only illusion? A deception that deflated in a second. Lies.

"Lies! Lies!" The word is dropped. Pronounced aloud, it frees itself, revolts and mutates into a cry of tragic pain.

Someone abruptly opens the door.

The scuffling of petticoats crunching under skirts is coming closer: "My lamb, Mama is here!"

oooOOooo

Mammy's comforting arms wrapped around her like the wings of the protective angel in the religious pictures of her childhood. She snuggled into the old woman's lap, as she had done so many times when she had a big child's heartache, knowing that she would be consoled, no matter what foolish things she had done.

The big hand in her hair had always had the gift of soothing her.. So she let herself cracking. The tension accumulated since four days escaped in thousand fracas with the brutality of a torrent forcing the dike.

Her body gave out. She was so shaky that Mammy tightened her grip.

"Oh Mammy! I am in so much pain!"

The reflexes of the nanny, attentive to the slightest injury, were awakened: "Where does it hurt, my lamb? Would you like me to serve you a soothing decoction?"

Still with her head buried in the folds of the starched apron, her denial was barely audible: "Nothing can soothe me. It is over. It is all over! I am heartbroken, Mammy!"

The old woman nodded. The moment she had seen Tara's former mistress arrive late the previous morning, she had immediately realized that her Scarlett was "upside down". The next few hours proved her right: she disregarded her ritual check of the plantation's crops as a pretext to frolic in her beloved Tara's fields. She shocked Will, who was about to present her with the operating accounts of the estate and assure her of the success of the agricultural cooperative of which she had been the instigator. Above all - a sign of bad temper that did not deceive anyone - she frustrated Suellen with their favorite game of fanning their respective furies with a few sly jabs of which the two sisters were fond.

Instead, she shut herself up in her room, ignoring the ritual dinner shared with Tara's family. Only Mammy and the maid were allowed to enter this entrenched camp - the latter being in charge of supplying Tara's mistress with bottles of brandy - with strict instructions that this be done under the nose of the chief housekeeper.

Obviously, Mammy was not fooled by this childish ploy. Memories of the bad days in Peachtree Street, when she had witnessed the slow addiction of Mrs. Ellen's daughter, resurfaced. Her solitary descents to the first floor to numb her grief in the furtive satisfaction of a few swigs of alcohol to forget that her husband would not be home that night - again. The accident. Then came the real hell, the death of the little angel so adored by her parents - and by Mammy; the mad despair of the father, the tragic loneliness of the mother. Until the final blow, the divorce, which Mammy would never understand. Fortunately, the courageous Robillard granddaughter had managed to turn things around and win against her old alcoholic demons. How proud she had been of her! And then, all of a sudden, she collapsed. Heartbroken... Of course!

"It's Messie Rhett, isn't it? My Lamb, don't get the wrong idea in your head. You mustn't. This ain't over. Captain Butler loves you so much. There's no doubt about it. He'll come back. Everything will be all right. Don't cry anymore."

Hearing these words of reassurance, Scarlett jumped to her feet, and with her closed fist, struck her pillow feverishly: "But you don't understand! You cannot imagine what he is capable of! What he did to me!" She stood up abruptly and paced back and forth, for she had to get rid of the disappointment and rage that was overwhelming her. "He used the worst stratagems to get his way. But it has been all a lie! A lie!"

Her fist fell without bluntness on one of the doors of the armoire, clawing to the wrought iron of the hardware.

The old nurse rushed to check that she had not hurt herself and to try to calm her down. How could this little one have inherited so much of Messie Gerald's violent outbursts?

But Scarlett rejected the ease of pouring out her heart again. She caught her own haggard gaze in the dressing table mirror, her eyes reddened from crying so much, and the alcohol stains that had spoiled her blouse.

Oh, my gosh! He's not going to get me down again! And neither is the alcohol!

In a flash, she relived the days that had followed her return to Atlanta. Determined to shake off with a shrug all memory of the vulgar baseness that this pervert had shown behind her back, she arrived home full of confidence in her future.

For the next twenty-four hours she spent all her energy controlling with maniacal rigor the minutiae of the store with her two saleswomen. Emma Whising showed her the accounts, listed the sales, and dutifully named which customers-or potential new buyers-had visited the store. The seamstress and sewing retoucher had to interrupt their work to give her a detailed summary of the alterations in progress. Even Peter Calvet, who, between two handling operations, listed the next planned deliveries.

When she realized she was checking one by one the stock of mother-of-pearl buttons, she stopped dead in her tracks. All this fuss was ridiculous and had only one objective: to silence the tumult that was invading her brain.

Only one place would be able to appease her: Tara.

Then, after giving Emma Whising new instructions, she told her that she had to go away for four days in Tara.

The green eyes stared hard at the head saleswoman, "Outside of my family, no one can know where I have gone. Do you understand me, Emma? No one. The other employees, visitors to the store, friends, or those who claim to be my friends... Nobody! And if by any chance - but it will not happen - if Mr. Rhett Butler should happen to come in here and ask to see me, I categorically forbid you to report my whereabouts to him."

She concluded with a threat -but it was unnecessary, since poor Emma had begun to tremble, having never before been confronted with such coldness on the part of the owner of The Boutique Robillard: "If you should ever contravene this order and give the slightest hint of it, I shall regretfully take retaliatory measures."

Then, without a pang of remorse for having terrified her faithful assistant, she left the store, and told Prissy to pack her bags. She warned Pork to take her to the station tomorrow as soon as the first train left for Jonesboro. Disregarding the fact that it was Gerard O'Hara's former faithful servant, she forbade him, with a coldness equal to that accorded to Emma Whising, to reveal the destination of her journey. "Neither Prissy, nor Dilcey, nor Ella must know." Especially not Ella, she told herself, for she would be the easiest prey to her former father-in-law. At least she did not have to worry about Wade's silence since he was not present at Peachtree Street.

But, knowing the loyalty and affection that bound the butler to his former employer, she thought it cautious to be more astute in saying, "Captain Butler may make a short appearance. You know how highly I have always regarded you, Pork. Without your help, I could never have fought to save Tara. I count on your equal loyalty to me and to my father that he will not know where I have gone."

Pork bowed his head, rocked from one foot to the other in reluctance to lie to Captain Butler-even by omission-but his righteousness toward Tara's mistress prevailed: "I'm not going to tell him anything, Ma'am Scarlett. My lips are sealed."

Reassured, Scarlett devoted an hour of attention to Ella, telling her that she had to go on a business trip for a few days and that Prissy would take good care of her as usual.

Everything was set. Ready for Tara - and ready to let her sorrow go, hidden away from everyone, to lick her wounds like an injured beast.

She straightened up and squared her shoulders to give herself good composure, because it was necessary to mask the dizziness caused by her last libations. She decided to reassure Mammy who was watching her like oil on fire: "It is nothing. I am just exhausted, overwhelmed by work... Do not worry. I am going back to Atlanta because I have clients waiting for me. I shall tell Wade and Ella that you kiss them. I would love for you to come to Peachtree Street for a few days. Prissy, Pork and Dilcey would be over the moon to see you!"

Faced with the suspicious look of the old woman who knew all the tricks the eldest O'Hara daughter had used since childhood, Scarlett told her the magic formula - an unmistakable sign that everything was getting better: I am hungry, Mammy. Could you ask the cook to heat up some soup?"

In fact, after drinking so much the last twenty-four hours, only a warm liquid would be accepted by her overworked stomach.

Rhett had said that he would only make a short visit to New Orleans - I do not want to imagine to whom... - and that he would leave for Charleston the next day. If he had ever had the urge to stop by Atlanta on his way back to see Harry at the Museum, and in the process scheme to try to manipulate me again, it could only have been yesterday. Since he must urgently wrap up his business in Charleston, the lane is clear: I can go back to Atlanta without fear - and finally turn the page on the infamous Captain Butler!

oooOOooo

Saturday, July 10, 1876, New Orleans

"Goddamn it! I am not going to come back to her with my tail down like an obedient dog when she dismissed me like the last of the lackeys! She deserves to languish for a while so that she understands that she can't play with my old heart with her incomprehensible whims!"

This is what he had been saying - with some more or less vulgar variations - to his friend Charles since this morning to this evening spent together in New Orleans, after the first meeting of the Southerners' Art Club.

They had set the rules for the organization of the galleries - knowing that Charles would not have to worry about accounting and administration, so that he could focus on what he was good at, artistic animation.

"What a pleasure it will be to run these two galleries! You can be sure that the members of the Southerner's Art Club will rush to offer me their best creations! However, they will probably be frustrated because I will be very selective in my choice of paintings and sculptures. We need to present the finest - and therefore most expensive - art to the finest art lovers. Because, while Butler and Le Moyne Exclusive Masterpieces Gallery has the noble goal of revitalizing and shining a light on Southern culture, neither you nor I have any ambition to turn ourselves into philanthropists."

This prospect was so far from their characters that they burst out laughing simultaneously.

"After visiting the studios of all the members, I will make a first thematic selection when the two museums open. As for the French painters, it is up to you!"

Rhett dismissed the problem with a wave of his hand: "As they are part of an innovative pictorial movement, I shall emphasize on shipping the most spectacular ones. But it is you, the famous artist - he patted him vigorously on the shoulder to tease him - who will have the final say in choosing the few pieces that will be exhibited in our two museums, and those that will be sold in our galleries."

Now that they had settled the infrastructure of their association, Charles Le Moyne de Bienville thought it was time to distract his friend by indulging in their favorite vices: poker, alcohol and women. There was plenty of them here as they ended their evening in the most decadent gambling den in New Orleans.

Nevertheless, Rhett only showed interest in cards and whiskey. To the great displeasure of the most debauched young hostesses, always so anxious to please these two patrons of the establishment, so seductive and rich.

Charles noticed the unabashed trick of one of them who had been Rhett's "toy" on several occasions. To entice him, she almost put her generous breasts widely revealed under Captain Butler's nose when she bent down to serve him a drink. But the man who carried with him the reputation of an inveterate womanizer only paid attention to the glass once again filled to the brim. Obviously, the pleasure of the flesh was not part of his concerns right now.

His friend was not surprised because, since his arrival last night when he had announced, livid, that she was going to marry another, the Charlestonian had not stopped slipping Scarlett's name into the conversation for a yes or a no.

He thought of another way to cheer him up: "When you are in Paris to organize your selection of artists, you might be tempted for other "selections". Do not forget to say hello for me to Madame Yvette and her young and luscious 'protégées'. I remember a little brunette... um... It was a pleasure to strip her like a daisy flower... If my memory serves me right, you too helped yourself with her... " He laughed and winked at his partner in debauchery.

But the latter contented himself with a disenchanted mimic: "You know, right now, the profligacy... I do not have the heart for that anymore." Then he swallowed dry the golden alcohol.

Charles decided it was time to dig up the abscess: "Are you finally going to tell me what happened with your Scarlett? You look like hell..."

He shook his head, as if to get his mind right. "I brought her to Washington to sign off on the finalization of the Government funds for our Foundation Bonnie Blue Butler Arts Museums ."

"The perfect alibi!"

"Yes, to you I can admit it... I could not believe my luck! After I made the fatal mistake of getting divorced, I was able to enjoy her presence for four days. Do you realize, Charles? It was - he stopped, unable to find his words - ecstatic! You should have seen her! Unimpressed for a minute to be received at the White House; imperious in the face of Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, who did not know what to do to please her; implacable towards the Foundation's accountants who were terrified by her authoritarianism and stood their ground against their new President; and, not surprisingly, a formidable negotiator when she managed to extract information from a competing merchant."

"I am not surprised. You have been telling me about her 'exceptional' business qualities for years. But I assume that if you are so upset just talking about this getaway, you did not limited yourselves to professional …interactions..."

Rhett leaned back against the back of the chair, head back, eyelids closed.

"That bad?" teased his friend.

Indulging in this complicit exchange, he replied eloquently, "Better than that. Can you imagine such a wild beauty when she danced the set dance as naturally as an Irish girl straight from the moors, in the middle of the Willard's ball? And when I led her onto the dance floor for the Habanera..."

"The Habanera? You made her dance the Habanera? What a scandal for a respectable Southerner!" Charles was amused at Captain Butler's enthusiastic excitement.

"Oh yes! Not an inch dared to separate us. Her body was following my every move, and when she was arching her back, it was so... - he swallowed loudly - so erotic!" Without realizing it, he stuck the back of his hand against his lips to pinch the skin.

His friend became agape from just imagining the picture described by the distraught lover. "Now it is set: despite all your roadblocks and you insane jealousy in case she would find me handsome – he blinked an eye to emphasize his teasing - this time, you will not be able to stop me and being introduced to this enchantress, because I am going to be on hand in Atlanta to open the gallery. If I needed to find motivation for this event, the mere prospect of meeting the goddess who has been leading you around by the short hairs for ages would be enough to get me on the first train to Georgia's capital! In any case, to your words – or your silences - I see that, since our last conversation, the rapprochement with the former Mrs. Butler is on the right track."

"This 'rapprochement' Washington have exceeded my expectations. I took advantage of every minute of our day in Washington to entertain her. We had so much fun! Before the Irish ball, we even went to the theater." He laughed heartily at the memory: "Can you believe that she knows "You naughty naughty men!" by heart?"

"What? Don't tell me you dared to take her to see The Black Crook!"

To give himself time to respond, Rhett pulled out his cigar cutter to sever the end of his new havana. "Yeah.. I mean, actually she was the one who pushed me to go to the National Theater because... you know..."

"Oh yes, I understand! And so, I assume the petulant Clementina was on the stage..."

He sighed, "Yes, and I must admit I had a few fumes when they ran into each other later backstage... Nevertheless, it all worked out. Clementina knew how to behave. She had better - his intonation became briefly threatening - or else... Scarlett showed only her usual possessive reflex to make sure of her hunting preserve, but without it affecting her one iota. During the whole show, she was radiant with pleasure. And when she discovered the golden grotto of Stalacta, I swear that the luminous artifices transforming the glass pebbles into gold were ridiculously dull compared to her hypnotic emerald eyes."

"Well, I have witnessed your skill with women more times than I can count. But I must admit I am amazed at this turn of events: the dance, the show... Will you tell me the rest?"

"Do not count on me to give you details. Let's just say... we got close on the way home, in the varnish I rented."

"No more less! A private varnish!"

"Of course. How could you imagine that I had have Scarlett sleeping on a bench only hidden by a curtain, with all the libidinous looks from all the men who are drawn to her like honey!"

Charles took on a falsely contrite air, swallowing his laughter: "Excuse me, of course! Your Scarlett deserves only gilded carriages and kings' castles."

"If I could, I would have offered her the World on a platter, I would have gotten the Moon! - The tone became bitter - Failing that, I covered her with the most sumptuous jewels. That had no effect on winning her love. And today... another one is about to do the same with perhaps even more expensive gifts and "Haute Couture" silks... - He swallows with difficulty - If I believe her lapidary sentence, he has won. "

In all the years that the two friends had shared adventures, sorrows and joys, Charles had been able to determine, by the weight of silence, the mood of the Charlestonian - in this case, a deep distress that he had witnessed only twice, at the death of his daughter and at his divorce.

"Are you sure? Perhaps you are jumping to conclusions. I think she gave you the date of the announcement of her engagement to Vayton to taunt you. If they were really serious, why would they keep their engagement a secret? After what you told me about your stay in Washington, it makes me think that she decided to play with your nerves before finally agreeing to fall back into your arms. Reassure me! The heroic former blockade breaker is not going to give in to a dress maker, is he?"

Rhett cleared his throat to keep from expressing his doubts, "No, I am not going to let him win so easily. I have to get him off his pedestal so she understands that she would be making a huge mistake by choosing him. But how to do that..." He ran his fingers through his hair so feverishly that he pulled out a few strands in the process.

Charles nodded, defeated to witness such desperate passion. "You still have her under your skin." His sentence did not deserve a question mark, not even an exclamation point. Just a simple full stop.

In the depths of his black eyes, the flames of passion were burning. Temporarily stripped of his nonchalant mask to let his torment shine through, Rhett stared at him intensely, with a mixture of bewilderment and wonder, for help in unraveling the mystery that bound him forever to the former belle of Clayton's county: "After all these years, "she still fascinates, you know.'" (*2)

Unable not to be moved by such surprising candor in the extravagant, powerful, and often cruel man that was Rhett Butler, he decided to tease him once more, "It does seem that you left out a direct object complement in your sentence."

Rhett pretended not to understand. Then his fist slammed into the table: "Damn it! Even if I have to double lock her in to convince her, Scarlett will be Mrs. Butler again!"

Oooo00oooo

Monday, July 12, 1876, Atlanta

When he stepped onto the station platform, he chuckled quietly, mocking his bravado denials of the previous day to Charles. For, of course, he was back in Atlanta, ready to run into Scarlett's arms "like a little dog, tail down."

Although "the tail down" is a pure view of the mind. How I am in a hurry to tighten her against me, to feel her heat, her smell...

He suspected that he would have to fight her initial reluctance. But, with a languid kiss, he would erase from her mind all the bad ideas that had passed through her head in the last minutes of their trip... It could not be otherwise. He loved her too much. And, after the night spent in the small bedroom in the wagon, he was sure that Scarlett shared his feelings. Her look, her hands, her moans under his caresses could not lie to him. How happy they would be now!

He would demand that she writes right away a letter to Vayton to cancel any plans for marriage. He would not go back to Charleston without making sure of it.

She is mine. The most fascinating woman in the world will become my wife again!

He hurried along, carrying only a light bag in his hand. He had arranged for his suitcases, which had accompanied him from Washington, to be transported directly to the depot at the Charleston station.

A remnant of reason urged him to make a stop at the National Hotel to change his clothes so that he would be fresh and dashing when he met her.

He arrived in front of Scarlett's house, their former home.

He frowned as he looked at the front of the building: Scarlett's office was pitch black. It was true that he had arrived in Atlanta late, but this was usually the time when the tireless businesswoman was immersed in her accounts.

At the first knock, Pork opened the door. Amidst the usual sincere and smiling words of welcome to see the former master of Butler House again, Rhett had the strange feeling that the loyal employee was embarrassed.

"Good evening Pork! Good to see you. Is Madame Scarlett not in her office?"

The butler seemed to take a long time to place the hat on the hook of the coat rack. Then, exaggerating his drawl, he replied without looking Captain Butler in the eye: "I'm sorry, Messie Rhett. Ma'am Scarlett is not here. She's away on a business trip."

Very incongruous expression in the mouth of Pork... Am I wrong or does he seem to be reciting his lesson?

He pushed him to tell the destination of this business trip. But Pork had a gesture of impotence...

"I assume Miss Ella is already asleep at this hour. And Wade?"

"Mr. Wade will be back this weekend."

Frustrated, he promised to return the next day.

He found himself in the solitude of the night, walking back to the hotel. His good spirits, his eagerness to see her again, his optimism of a reconciliation, all of this was slipping away like shifting grains of sand.

How to wait until tomorrow? A browsing to Belle's was out of the question.

He was tempted to ask the bar of the National Hotel for a bottle of whiskey, but he changed his mind: it was really not appropriate to appear puffy-eyed in front of Scarlett - if she was finally back the next day.

The night was long...

What is she up to? And what is this sudden "business trip" all about? Why did she do it? Above all, why had her mood changed from burning lover to icy fury?

Rhett felt like smashing the glass cabinet in his usual suite at the National Hotel to vent his anger, so lost was he in his conjecture. The assurance of a future together, which he had so optimistically clothed himself in, was unraveling by the hour, by the minute... What if he could not make her see reason? What if he could not make her admit that she loved him and that their happiness was within reach?

At 9:00 am precise time, Rhett pushed open the door to the elegant Boutique Robillard store.

He immediately intercepted the twitch of the saleswoman's lips when she noticed his presence. Am I becoming paranoid?

There became no longer any doubt when the woman matched Pork's answer exactly: "Mrs. O'Hara is away on business trip."

Where? Until when? Rhett decided not to play the game of a silence for one question. He understood: Scarlett had given clear instructions to her employees that no information was to be disclosed.

For a moment, he was tempted to bang his fist on the table in this hushed atmosphere and not take gloves with this pimpled woman in order to force her to tell him the truth. But a customer was looking at the fashion accessories. It was not wise to make a scandal to tarnish the reputation of Scarlett O'Hara's establishment.

His frustration grew, especially since he was pressed for time. He had only one day to spare. There was no way he could delay his stay in Atlanta. If he did, the planning of the tasks to be accomplished in Charleston, before he left for France, would be compromised. He could not afford it; too many financial and logistical interests were at stake.

Fortunately, he received a warm welcome from Harry Bennett.

The City of Atlanta's Director of Arts and Culture showed him the progress of the museum's work, which was well on its way to completion. Satisfied, Rhett appreciated the attractive and secure spaces.

"I cannot wait for the opening of this temple of art that will reach far beyond Georgia. How proud the City of Atlanta will be to be the home of this cultural jewel! It is all thanks to you, my friend!" He patted his shoulder affectionately.

"Let us go visit the space that will house the Butler and Le Moyne Exclusive Masterpieces Gallery. I am curious to see the good bet you found for us."

They just had to cross the street to enter a building of character in red bricks.

"Bright, spacious, and within easy reach of the exhibition crowd, what more could you ask for! What a wise idea you had to block with the owner any further negotiations! I will repay you a hundredfold, my friend."

Harry smiled with satisfaction. There was no doubt that this little service would be handsomely rewarded by the wealthy businessman.

Rhett took note of the renovation work that would be done while he was in France. "As soon as I return to Charleston, I will instruct my lawyer to finalize the deed of sale with the owner of the building. Later on, the head of the best construction company - a supplier of Scarlett's - will appraise with me the renovation work that needs to be done. But, it's noon, and Art can wait. Time for the earthly foods!"

Over a gourmet meal and the best red wine available in the restaurant's cellar, the two friends enjoyed conversing, Harry recounting the latest cultural events. Then it lowered his voice to disclose the juicy gossip that was splashing the reputation of a good Atlanta family - real or not.

"My dear Harry, I hope you will give the benefit of your verve and erudition to my best friend and associate Charles Le Moyne de Bienville. He is a brilliant gentleman from one of the oldest families in New Orleans, and above all he is a great artist. He will be the president of the art galleries. So you will meet him often. I am sure you will be won over by his personality. If I add that he is also my best poker partner, you will understand that he is good company."

"I have no doubt. It will be my pleasure to welcome him with dignity to our community. Besides, wasn't it through you - and Taisy, I confess - that I met the most... the most... I cannot find words to describe her, for Scarlett is beyond description."

Rhett nodded dreamily, "Brilliant, brave, beautiful, intelligent, bewitching, yes, Scarlett is all of those things. And so much more..."

Harry laughed gently at him, "Still inexhaustible on that subject, can you? Damn Rhett!"

The meeting with the building contractor was a success. The restoration, according to Rhett's instructions, would be finished well before his return from France. Charles would have plenty of time to organize their Atlanta gallery to his liking.

If he had been able to overcome his impatience with Harry's company, Rhett was starting to feel restless again. The clock was ticking. The possibility of seeing his former wife was becoming remote, especially since his train to Charleston was leaving in two hours.

"Where the hell are you Scarlett?" He did not realize that he had been talking to himself in the middle of the street.

His last hope laid at Peachtree Street. Perhaps she was back?

He moved in that direction with a firm step. Either way, he wanted to see Ella. He missed her. He missed Wade. He missed Scarlett... In a rage, Rhett stomped his cigar on the sidewalk.

Warned by Prissy, Ella ran to meet him. Her sincere joy at seeing him again warmed his heart. The little girl spoke eloquently about her latest activities, the birthday parties she had attended and her little problems with a friend.

Rhett listened with the utmost seriousness, happy to hear her babble with an infectious joy that only Ella was capable of. But Scarlett's daughter's clear eyes became clouded when she learned that her former stepfather was just passing through.

"So fast? I miss you so much, Uncle Rhett! Just yesterday, Bridget was asking me when we were finally going to perform the string puppet show I keep telling her about."

Rhett did not know what to say. It was not up to him, unfortunately. If he had followed his former wife's instructions, he would not have been allowed to be in his house at that very minute talking to their daughter. On this point, too, it was out of the question for him to obey her capricious orders.

"I must unfortunately leave for Charleston again, as I must go to France on business trip. I promise you that, as soon as I return, we will arrange a performance of Thomas Holden's puppets. In the presence of your Mother, of course." He cleared his throat, "By the way, where is she? I need to talk to her."

"Mother told me she was going on a business trip - like you, Uncle Rhett. But she did not tell me where. I only know it is not for long."

Rhett did not need to look into his stepdaughter's eyes to be sure she was telling the truth. His little Ella would never lie to him. The only person who had been truthful about that specific topic since yesterday...

It was obvious that Scarlett had put up a wall of silence around him and double-locked any information that would be useful to her former husband in finding her.

The tied throat, he settled in Scarlett's office, absently caressing a shawl that she had abandoned on an armchair.

He sat down in her office chair, grabbed a sheet of paper, and wrote.

ooooOOoooo

Tuesday, July 13, 1876, Atlanta

When Scarlett returned from Tara, she went straight to her store. Emma Whising told her immediately about Mr. Butler's visit, confirming that she had followed her instructions.

She was hardly surprised that Rhett had taken the time to interrupt his trip to stop in Atlanta. For the Museum, of course...

Looking for her at the train station, Pork had given her the same story, though his mute displeasure at being forced to lie to Messie Rhett was deafening.

Her daughter embraced her and told her how happy she was to see her Uncle Rhett again.

"Did he ask to see me?"

"Yes, Mother. I told him you were on a business trip."

Perfect. Everything went as planned...

"All right, Ella. Mammy sends her love. Come taste the delicious cakes she baked for you."

Pork clarified, "Messie Rhett left an envelope for you in the lobby."

Surprised, she looked at it on the sideboard. He used one of my envelopes! What a nerve!

With her fingertip, she followed the curls of the "S" of "Scarlett", drawn with a determined gesture.

She scanned the envelope warily, with precautions similar to those one takes when approaching a bush in which one suspects the presence of snakes.

She grabbed it. Her hands were shaking. Did he regret what he did? Was he apologizing? Did he write he loved her?

An insidious litany was turning in her head, with the virulence of a wild ride: Lies! Lies!

That was enough to get her out of the spell she was once again ready to fall into:

Enough epistolary declarations! The first one was eloquent enough to judge your turpitude!

She clenched her jaws, then, without any further hesitation, headed for the kitchen.

Dilcey, her eyes wide with surprise, wondered why the Mistress of the House had thrown a piece of paper into the incandescent hearth of the stove with such rage.

If her resolve had wavered, she would have been able to read the few words drawn in the elegant handwriting of the one who had become her lover again, for the space of a night.

The first and only love letter Rhett Butler ever wrote to her.

ooooOOooo

"My Darling!

Or maybe I should start my letter with "Scarlett!" because your name alone embodies for eternity the most beautiful of tender words.

I shall not mention here your cruel tirade made before our separation on the train. I do not understand it and I do not accept it.

You will not marry Duncan Vayton because you cannot throw away the chance of happiness for the two of us - the four of us with our children.

I know that I am guilty of this situation. Until my last breath, I will curse my decision to divorce.

"I am forever punished by the gods for being given the fire and trying to put it out. The fire, of course, is you." (*3)

I can admit it to you without shame now:

From our eventful meeting at Twelve Oaks, "I fell in love at once. You were like a mirage of beauty of the ages, irresistible like the pull of gravity." (*3)

Scarlett, "I love you badly like a disease." (*3) "A disease I cannot - I do not - want to cure.

Our luminous night together proved it, if any were needed: we are two infernos trying to burn each to a cinder, but whose passion will devour with eternal flames until our last breath.

Because you love me, Scarlett! I read it in your eyes! Your goddess body could not lie. It answered my own desire. You love me!

As for myself, would I dare to tire you to repeat on and on that "I love you beyond all telling"? (*3)

If I had the pure bliss of being next to you at this moment, I would kneel down in front of you.

But I must be content with this piece of paper to ask you solemnly: Will you accept to be my wife again, Mrs. Scarlett Butler? Forever!

I only aspire to one thing: the union of our hearts, minds and bodies. I want to stay faithfully by your side. To spoil you, to make you laugh, to support you, to encourage you, to admire you, to reunite our family with Ella and Wade; and to cherish you - so much cherishing you...

"Home is where Scarlett is. I want to come home." (*4)

I will wait patiently for your answer - but how can I calm a bubbling heart and arms that tremble with the desire to embrace you?

Send me a telegram or a letter. Until July 19, I will be at the Battery. Then you can reach me at the Hôtel Meurice, Rue de Rivoli in Paris. All you have to do is say "Yes".

From now on, I will count the minutes that separate me from you from those when we will finally be reunited. For ever.

Your loving Rhett."

It took only a second for the envelope and its precious document to burst into flames - with a fervor as violent as the words they contained.

Scarlett had long since returned to her room when they were reduced to a pile of ashes.

ooooOOoooo

Notes on Chapter 52:

(*1) Mount Mitchell: the highest mountain peak in the southern United States, east of the Mississippi River.

(*2) Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor are at the center of this chapter, because their couple was, along with Scarlett and Rhett, my "great loves" as a young teenager. I have just writing a post on my blog about this teens addiction.

In order for Richard Burton's authentic words to merge with Rhett's letter, I used his verbatim to Elizabeth Taylor, disclosed inside the two books below.

About Rhett's sentence to Charles: "She still fascinates, you know!", it is the one whispered by Richard Burton to the actor John Hurt, who came for dinner and stay in his guest cottage, in Switzerland, two days before his death on August 5, 1984. "The next morning, during their conversation, he whispered to his friend, sotto voce so that Sally (his sixth wife) wouldn't overhear: 'She still fascinates, you know." (source : Burton, by Hollis Alpert, quoted in Furious Love.)

He had said the same thing three weeks earlier to his brother Graham Jenkins who came to see him on the set of Ellys Island in London (source Richard Burton my brother, Graham Jenkins).

(*3) The sentences in Rhett's letter shown in italics are those of Richard Burton, from his love letters, given by Elizabeth Taylor to Nancy Schoenberger and Sam Kashner for Furious Love, and also from Richard Burton's diaries, The Richard Burton diaries, edited by Chris Williams)

(*4) In the last letter to Elizabeth Taylor dated August 2, three days before his death, Richard Burton had written that "Home is where Elizabeth is. And he wanted to come home." (source: Furious Love, by Nancy Schoenberger and Sam Kashner.)

She discovered the letter only when she returned to Bel Air from London, where she had attended a mass to commemorate the death of Richard Burton. In the fragments of this letter revealed to the two journalists by Elizabeth Taylor (which she kept in a bedside drawer until her death), he says he was happiest in life when he was with her, and wonders if they might have another shot together. (source: Furious love, by Nancy Schoenberger and Sam Kashner). When Elizabeth Taylor died, that letter was buried with her accordingly to her wish.