Gone With the Wind

"I'm glad you agree with me, Miss Scarlett. In a way, it's been on my conscience. Lots of folks have told me: 'Oh, forget about it, Frank,' but I can't I couldn't hold up my head if I thought I'd done what wasn't right. Do you think I did right?"

  "Of course," she said, wondering what the old fool had been talking about. Some struggle with his conscience. When a man got as old as Frank Kennedy he ought to have learned not to bother about things that didn't matter. But he always was so nervous and fussy and old maidish.

  "I'm glad to hear you say it. After the surrender I had about ten dollars in silver and nothing else in the world. You know what they did to Jonesboro and my house and store there. I just didn't know what to do. But I used the ten dollars to put a roof on an old store down by Five Points and I moved the hospital equipment in and started selling it. Everybody needed beds and china and mattresses and I sold them cheap, because I figured it was about as much other folks' stuff as it was mine. But I cleared money on it and bought some more stuff and the store just went along fine. I think I'll make a lot of money on it if things pick up."

  At the word "money," her mind came back to him, crystal clear.

  "You say you've made money?"

  He visibly expanded under her interest. Few women except Suellen had ever given him more than perfunctory courtesy and it was very flattering to have a former belle like Scarlett hanging on his words. He slowed the horse so they would not reach home before he had finished his story.

  "I'm not a millionaire, Miss Scarlett, and considering the money I used to have, what I've got now sounds small. But I made a thousand dollars this year. Of course, five hundred of it went to paying for new stock and repairing the store and paying the rent. But I've made five hundred clear and as things are certainly picking up, I ought to clear two thousand next year. I can sure use it, too, for you see, I've got another iron in the fire."

  Interest had sprung up sharply in her at the talk of money. She veiled her eyes with thick bristly lashes and moved a little closer to him.

  "What does that mean, Mr. Kennedy?"

  He laughed and slapped the reins against the horse's back.

  "I guess I'm boring you, talking about business, Miss Scarlett. A pretty little woman like you doesn't need to know anything about business."

  The old fool.

  "Oh, I know I'm a goose about business but I'm so interested! Please tell me all about it and you can explain what I don't understand."

  "Well, my other iron is a sawmill."

  "A what?"

  "A mill to cut up lumber and plane it. I haven't bought it yet but I'm going to. There's a man named Johnson who has one, way out Peachtree road, and he's anxious to sell it. He needs some cash right away, so he wants to sell and stay and run it for me at a weekly wage. It's one of the few mills in this section, Miss Scarlett. The Yankees destroyed most of them. And anyone who owns a sawmill owns a gold mine, for nowadays you can ask your own price for lumber. The Yankees burned so many houses here and there aren't enough for people to live in and it looks like folks have gone crazy about rebuilding. They can't get enough lumber and they can't get it fast enough. People are just pouring into Atlanta now, all the folks from the country districts who can't make a go of farming without darkies and the Yankees and Carpetbaggers who are swarming in trying to pick our bones a little barer than they already are. I tell you Atlanta's going to be a big town soon. They've got to have lumber for their houses, so I'm going to buy this mill just as soon as-- well, as soon as some of the bills owing me are paid. By this time next year, I ought to be breathing easier about money. I -- I guess you know why I'm so anxious to make money quickly, don't you?"

  He blushed and cackled again. He's thinking of Suellen, Scarlett thought in disgust.

  For a moment she considered asking him to lend her three hundred dollars, but wearily she rejected the idea. He would be embarrassed; he would stammer, he would offer excuses, but he wouldn't lend it to her. He had worked hard for it, so he could marry Suellen in the spring and if he parted with it, his wedding would be postponed indefinitely. Even if she worked on his sympathies and his duty toward his future family and gained his promise of a loan, she knew Suellen would never permit it. Suellen was getting more and more worried over the fact that she was practically an old maid and she would move heaven and earth to prevent anything from delaying her marriage.

  What was there in that whining complaining girl to make this old fool so anxious to give her a soft nest? Suellen didn't deserve a loving husband and the profits of store and a sawmill. The minute Sue got her hands on a little money she'd give herself unendurable airs and never contribute one cent toward the upkeep of Tara. Not Suellen! She'd think herself well out of it and not care if Tara went for taxes or burned to the ground, so long as she had pretty clothes and a "Mrs." in front of her name.

  As Scarlett thought of Suellen's secure future and the precarious one of herself and Tara, anger flamed in her at the unfairness of life. Hastily she looked out of the buggy into the muddy street, lest Frank should see her expression. She was going to lose everything she had, while Sue-- Suddenly a determination was born in her.

  Suellen should not have Frank and his store and his mill!

  Suellen didn't deserve them. She was going to have them herself. She thought of Tara and remembered Jonas Wilkerson, venomous as a rattler, at the foot of the front steps, and she grasped at the last straw floating above the shipwreck of her life. Rhett had failed her but the Lord had provided Frank.

  But can I get him? Her fingers clenched as she looked unseeingly into the rain. Can I make him forget Sue and propose to me real quick? If I could make Rhett almost propose, I know I could get Frank! Her eyes went over him, her lids flickering. Certainly, he's no beauty, she thought coolly, and he's got very bad teeth and his breath smells bad and he's old enough to be my father. Moreover, he's nervous and timid and well meaning, and I don't know of any more damning qualities a man can have. But at least, he's a gentleman and I believe I could stand living with him better than with Rhett. Certainly I could manage him easier. At any rate, beggars can't be choosers.

  That he was Suellen's fiance caused her no qualm of conscience. After the complete moral collapse which had sent her to Atlanta and to Rhett, the appropriation of her sister's betrothed seemed a minor affair and one not to be bothered with at this time.

  With the rousing of fresh hope, her spine stiffened and she forgot that her feet were wet and cold. She looked at Frank so steadily, her eyes narrowing, that he became somewhat alarmed and she dropped her gaze swiftly, remembering Rhett's words: "I've seen eyes like yours above a dueling pistol. ... They evoke no ardor in the male breast."

  "What's the matter, Miss Scarlett? You got a chill?"

  "Yes," she answered helplessly. "Would you mind--" She hesitated timidly. "Would you mind if I put my hand in your coat pocket? It's so cold and my muff is soaked through."

  "Why-- why -- of course not! And you haven't any gloves! My, my, what a brute I've been idling along like this, talking my head off when you must be freezing and wanting to get to a fire. Giddap, Sally! By the way, Miss Scarlett, I've been so busy talking about myself I haven't even asked you what you were doing in this section in this weather?"

  "I was at the Yankee headquarters," she answered before she thought. His sandy brows went up in astonishment.

  "But Miss Scarlett! The soldiers -- Why --"

  "Mary, Mother of God, let me think of a real good lie," she prayed hastily. It would never do for Frank to suspect she had seen Rhett. Frank thought Rhett the blackest of blackguards and unsafe for decent women to speak to.

  "I went there -- I went there to see if -- if any of the officers would buy fancy work from me to send home to their wives. I embroider very nicely."

  He sank back against the seat aghast, indignation struggling with bewilderment.

  "You went to the Yankees -- But Miss Scarlett! You shouldn't. Why--why ... Surely your father doesn't know! Surely, Miss Pittypat --"

&nb
sp; "Oh, I shall die if you tell Aunt Pittypat!" she cried in real anxiety and burst into tears. It was easy to cry, because she was so cold and miserable, but the effect was startling. Frank could not have been more embarrassed or helpless if she had suddenly begun disrobing. He clicked his tongue against his teeth several times, muttering "My! My!" and made futile gestures at her. A daring thought went through his mind that he should draw her head onto his shoulder and pat her but he had never done this to any woman and hardly knew how to go about it. Scarlett O'Hara, so high spirited and pretty, crying here in his buggy. Scarlett O'Hara, the proudest of the proud, trying to sell needlework to the Yankees. His heart burned.

  She sobbed on, saying a few words now and then, and he gathered that all was not well at Tara. Mr. O'Hara was still "not himself at all," and there wasn't enough food to go around for so many. So she had to come to Atlanta to try to make a little money for herself and her boy. Frank clicked his tongue again and suddenly he found that her head was on his shoulder. He did not quite know how it got there. Surely he had not placed it there, but there her head was and there was Scarlett helplessly sobbing against his thin chest, an exciting and novel sensation for him. He patted her shoulder timidly, gingerly at first, and when she did not rebuff him he became bolder and patted her firmly. What a helpless, sweet, womanly little thing she was. And how brave and silly to try her hand at making money by her needle. But dealing with the Yankees -- that was too much.

  "I won't tell Miss Pittypat, but you must promise me, Miss Scarlett, that you won't do anything like this again. The idea of your father's daughter --"

  Her wet green eyes sought his helplessly.

  "But, Mr. Kennedy, I must do something. I must take care of my poor little boy and there is no one to look after us now."

  "You are a brave little woman," he pronounced, "but I won't have you do this sort of thing. Your family would die of shame."

  "Then what will I do?" The swimming eyes looked up to him as if she knew he knew everything and was hanging on his words.

  "Well, I don't know right now. But I'll think of something."

  "Oh, I know you will! You are so smart -- Frank."

  She had never called him by his first name before and the sound came to him as a pleasant shock and surprise. The poor girl was probably so upset she didn't even notice her slip. He felt very kindly toward her and very protecting. If there was anything he could do for Suellen O'Hara's sister, he would certainly do it. He pulled out a red bandanna handkerchief and handed it to her and she wiped her eyes and began to smile tremulously.

  "I'm such a silly little goose," she said apologetically. "Please forgive me."

  "You aren't a silly little goose. You're a very brave little woman and you are trying to carry too heavy a load. I'm afraid Miss Pittypat isn't going to be much help to you. I hear she lost most of her property and Mr. Henry Hamilton's in bad shape himself. I only wish I had a home to offer you shelter in. But, Miss Scarlett, you just remember this, when Miss Suellen and I are married, there'll always be a place for you under our roof and for Wade Hampton too."

  Now was the time! Surely the saints and angels watched over her to give her such a Heavensent opportunity. She managed to look very startled and embarrassed and opened her mouth as if to speak quickly and then shut it with a pop.

  "Don't ten me you didn't know I was to be your brother-in-law this spring," he said with nervous jocularity. And then, seeing her eyes fill up with tears, he questioned in alarm: "What's the matter? Miss Sue's not ill, is she?"

  "Oh, no! No!"

  "There is something wrong. You must tell me."

  "Oh, I can't! I didn't know! I thought surely she must have written you -- Oh, how mean!"

  "Miss Scarlett, what is it?"

  "Oh, Frank, I didn't mean to let it out but I thought, of course, you knew -- that she had written you --"

  "Written me what?" He was trembling.

  "Oh, to do this to a fine man like you!"

  "What's she done?"

  "She didn't write you? Oh, I guess she was too ashamed to write you. She should be ashamed! Oh, to have such a mean sister!"

  By this time, Frank could not even get questions to his lips. He sat staring at her, gray faced, the reins slack in his hands.

  "She's going to marry Tony Fontaine next month. Oh, I'm so sorry, Frank. So sorry to be the one to tell you. She just got tired of waiting and she was afraid she'd be an old maid."

  Mammy was standing on the front porch when Frank helped Scarlett out of the buggy. She had evidently been standing there for some time, for her head rag was damp and the old shawl clutched tightly about her showed rain spots. Her wrinkled black face was a study in anger and apprehension and her lip was pushed out farther than Scarlett could ever remember. She peered quickly at Frank and, when she saw who it was, her face changed -- pleasure, bewilderment and something akin to guilt spreading over it. She waddled forward to Frank with pleased greetings and grinned and curtsied when he shook her hand.

  "It sho is good ter see home folks," she said. "How is you, Mist' Frank? My, ain' you lookin' fine an' gran'! Effen Ah'd knowed Miss Scarlett wuz out wid you, Ah wouldn' worrit so. Ah'd knowed she wuz tekken keer of. Ah come back hyah an' fine she gone an' Ah been as 'stracted as a chicken wid its haid off, thinkin' she runnin' roun' dis town by herseff wid all dese trashy free issue niggers on de street. Huccome you din' tell me you gwine out, honey? An' you wid a cole!"

  Scarlett winked slyly at Frank and, for all his distress at the bad news he had just heard, he smiled, knowing she was enjoining silence and making him one in a pleasant conspiracy.

  "You run up and fix me some dry clothes, Mammy," she said. "And some hot tea."

  "Lawd, yo' new dress is plum ruint," grumbled Mammy. "Ah gwine have a time dryin' it an' brushin' it, so it'll be fit ter be wo' ter de weddin' ternight."

  She went into the house and Scarlett leaned close to Frank and whispered: "Do come to supper tonight. We are so lonesome. And we're going to the wedding afterward. Do be our escort! And, please don't say anything to Aunt Pitty about -- about Suellen. It would distress her so much and I can't bear for her to know that my sister --"

  "Oh, I won't! I won't!" Frank said hastily, wincing from the very thought.

  "You've been so sweet to me today and done me so much good. I feel right brave again." She squeezed his hand in parting and turned the full battery of her eyes upon him.

  Mammy, who was waiting just inside the door, gave her an inscrutable look and followed her, puffing, up the stairs to the bedroom. She was silent while she stripped off the wet clothes and hung them over chairs and tucked Scarlett into bed. When she had brought up a cup of hot tea and a hot brick, rolled in flannel, she looked down at Scarlett and said, with the nearest approach to an apology in her voice Scarlett had ever heard: "Lamb, huccome you din' tell yo' own Mammy whut you wuz upter? Den Ah wouldn' had ter traipse all dis way up hyah ter 'Lanta. Ah is too ole an' too fat fer sech runnin' roun'."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Honey, you kain fool me. Ah knows you. An' Ah seed Mist' Frank's face jes' now an' Ah seed yo' face, an' Ah kin read yo' mine lak a pahson read a Bible. An' Ah heerd dat whisperin' you wuz givin' him 'bout Miss Suellen. Effen Ah'd had a notion 'twuz Mist' Frank you wuz affer, Ah'd stayed home whar Ah b'longs."

  "Well," said Scarlett shortly, snuggling under the blankets and realizing it was useless to try to throw Mammy off the scent, "who did you think it was?"

  "Chile, Ah din' know but Ah din' lak de look on yo' face yestiddy. An' Ah 'membered Miss Pittypat writin' Miss Melly dat dat rapscallion Butler man had lots of money an' Ah doan fergit what Ah hears. But Mist' Frank, he a gempmum even ef he ain' so pretty."

  Scarlett gave her a sharp look and Mammy returned the gaze with calm omniscience.

  "Well, what are you going to do about it? Tattle to Suellen?"

  "Ah is gwine ter he'p you pleasure Mist' Frank eve'y way Ah knows how," said Mammy, tucking the covers about Scarlett's neck.


  Scarlett lay quietly for a while, as Mammy fussed about the room, relief flooding her that there was no need for words between them. No explanations were asked, no reproaches made. Mammy understood and was silent. In Mammy, Scarlett had found a realist more uncompromising than herself. The mottled wise old eyes saw deeply, saw clearly, with the directness of the savage and the child, undeterred by conscience when danger threatened her pet. Scarlett was her baby and what her baby wanted, even though it belonged to another, Mammy was willing to help her obtain. The rights of Suellen and Frank Kennedy did not even enter her mind, save to cause a grim inward chuckle. Scarlett was in trouble and doing the best she could, and Scarlett was Miss Ellen's child. Mammy rallied to her with never a moment's hesitation.

  Scarlett felt the silent reinforcement and, as the hot brick at her feet warmed her, the hope which had flickered faintly on the cold ride home grew into a flame. It swept through her, making her heart pump the blood through her veins in pounding surges. Strength was coming back and a reckless excitement which made her want to laugh aloud. Not beaten yet, she thought exultantly.

  "Hand me the mirror, Mammy," she said.

  "Keep yo' shoulders unner dat kivver," ordered Mammy, passing the hand mirror to her, a smile on her thick lips.

  Scarlett looked at herself.

  "I look white as a hant," she said, "and my hair is as wild as a horse's tail."

  "You doan look peart as you mout."

  "Hum. ... Is it raining very hard?"

  "You know it's po'in'."

  "Well, just the same, you've got to go downtown for me."

  "Not in dis rain, Ah ain'."

  "Yes, you are or I'll go myself."

  "What you got ter do dat woan wait? Look ter me lak you done nuff fer one day."

  "I want," said Scarlett, surveying herself carefully in the mirror, "a bottle of cologne water. You can wash my hair and rinse it with cologne. And buy me a jar of quince-seed jelly to make it lie down flat."

  "Ah ain' gwine wash yo' ha'r in dis wedder an' you ain' gwine put no cologne on yo' haid lak a fas' woman needer. Not w'ile Ah got breaf in mah body."

  "Oh, yes, I am. Look in my purse and get that five-dollar gold piece out and go to town. And -- er, Mammy, while you are downtown, you might get me a -- a pot of rouge."