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For an instant Scarlett envisaged her trip to Atlanta and her conversation with
Rhett with Mammy glowering chaperonage like a large black Cerberus in the background. She smiled again and put a hand on Mammy’s arm.
「Mammy darling, you’re sweet to want to go with me and help me, but how on
earth would the folks here get on without you? You know you just about run Tara.」
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Margaret Mitchell GONE WITH THE WIND
「Huh!」 said Mammy. 「Doan do no good ter sweet talk me, Miss Scarlett. Ah
been knowin』 you sence Ah put de fust pa』r of diapers on you. Ah’s said Ah’s
gwine ter 『Lanta wid you an』 gwine Ah is. Miss Ellen be tuhnin』 in her grabe at
you gwine up dar by yo’seff wid dat town full up wid Yankees an』 free niggers an』
sech like.」
「But I』ll be at Aunt Pittypat’s,」 Scarlett offered frantically.
「Miss Pittypat a fine woman an』 she think she see eve』ything but she doan,」 said
Mammy, and turning with the majestic air of having closed the interview, she went
into the hall. The boards trembled as she called:
「Prissy, child! Fly up de stairs an』 fotch Miss Scarlett’s pattun box frum de attic
an』 try an』 fine de scissors without takin』 all night 『bout it.」
「This is a fine mess,」 thought Scarlett dejectedly. 「I』d as soon have a
bloodhound after me.」
After supper had been cleared away, Scarlett and Mammy spread patterns on the
dining-room table while Suellen and Carreen busily ripped satin linings from curtains and Melanie brushed the velvet with a clean hairbrush to remove the dust.
Gerald, Will and Ashley sat about the room smoking, smiling at the feminine
tumult. A feeling of pleasurable excitement which seemed to emanate from
Scarlett was on them all, an excitement they could not understand. There was color
in Scarlett’s face and a bright hard glitter in her eyes and she laughed a good deal.
Her laughter pleased them all, for it had been months since they had heard her
really laugh. Especially did it please Gerald. His eyes were less vague than-usual
as they followed her swishing figure about the room and he patted her approvingly
whenever she was within reach. The girls were as excited as if preparing for a ball
and they ripped and cut and basted as if making a ball dress of their own.
Scarlett was going to Atlanta to borrow money or to mortgage Tara if necessary.
But what was a mortgage, after all? Scarlett said they could easily pay it off out of
next year’s cotton and have money left over, and she said it with such finality they
did not think to question. And when they asked who was going to lend the money
she said: 「Layovers catch meddlers,」 so archly they all laughed and teased her
about her millionaire friend.
「It must be Captain Rhett Butler,」 said Melanie slyly and they exploded with
mirth at this absurdity, knowing how Scarlett hated him and never failed to refer to
him as 「that skunk, Rhett Butler.」
But Scarlett did not laugh at this and Ashley, who had laughed, stopped abruptly
as he saw Mammy shoot a quick, guarded glance at Scarlett.
Suellen, moved to generosity by the party spirit of the occasion, produced her
Irish-lace collar, somewhat worn but still pretty, and Carreen insisted that Scarlett
wear her slippers to Atlanta, for they were in better condition than any others at
Tara. Melanie begged Mammy to leave her enough velvet scraps to recover the
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Margaret Mitchell GONE WITH THE WIND
frame of her battered bonnet and brought shouts of laughter when she said the old
rooster was going to part with his gorgeous bronze and green-black tail feathers
unless he took to the swamp immediately.
Scarlett, watching the flying fingers, heard the laughter and looked at them all
with concealed bitterness and contempt.
「They haven’t an idea what is really happening to me or to themselves or to the
South. They still think, in spite of everything, that nothing really dreadful can
happen to any of them because they are who they are, O』Haras, Wilkeses,
Hamiltons. Even the darkies feel that way. Oh, they’re all fools! They』ll never
realize! They』ll go right on thinking and living as they always have, and nothing
will change them. Melly can dress in rags and pick cotton and even help me
murder a man but it doesn’t change her. She’s still the shy well-bred Mrs. Wilkes,
the perfect lady! And Ashley can see death and war and be wounded and lie in jail
and come home to less than nothing and still be the same gentleman he was when
he had all Twelve Oaks behind him. Will is different. He knows how things really
are but then Will never had anything much to lose. And as for Suellen and
Carreen—they think all this is just a temporary matter. They don’t change to meet
changed conditions because they think it』ll all be over soon. They think God is
going to work a miracle especially for their benefit. But He won’t. The only
miracle that’s going to be worked around here is the one I’m going to work on
Rhett Butler. ... They won’t change. Maybe they can’t change. I’m the only one
who’s changed—and I wouldn’t have changed if I could have helped it.」
Mammy finally turned the men out of the dining room and closed the door, so
the fitting could begin. Pork helped Gerald upstairs to bed and Ashley and Will
were left alone in the lamplight in the front hall. They were silent for a while and
Will chewed his tobacco like a placid ruminant animal. But his mild face was far
from placid.
「This goin』 to Atlanta,」 he said at last in a slow voice, 「I don’t like it. Not one
bit.」
Ashley looked at Will quickly and then looked away, saying nothing but
wondering if Will had the same awful suspicion which was haunting him. But that
was impossible. Will didn’t know what had taken place in the orchard that
afternoon and how it had driven Scarlett to desperation. Will couldn’t have noticed
Mammy’s face when Rhett Butler’s name was mentioned and, besides, Will didn’t
know about Rhett’s money or his foul reputation. At least, Ashley did not think he
could know these things, but since coming back to Tara he had realized that Will,
like Mammy, seemed to know things without being told, to sense them before they
happened. There was something ominous in the air, exactly what Ashley did nut
know, but he was powerless to save Scarlett from it. She had not met his eyes once
that evening and the hard bright gaiety with which she had treated him was
457
Margaret Mitchell GONE WITH THE WIND
frightening. The suspicions which tore at him were too terrible to be put into
words. He did not have the right to insult her by asking her if they were true. He
clenched his fists. He had no rights at all where she was concerned; this afternoon
he had forfeited them all, forever. He could not help her. No one could help her.
But when he thought of Mammy and the look of grim determination she wore as
she cut into the velvet curtains, he was cheered a little. Mammy would take care of
Scarlett whether Scarlett wished it or not.
「I have caused all this,」 he thought despairingly. 「I have driven her to this.」
He remembered the way she had squared her shoulders when she turned away
from him that afternoon, remembered the stubborn lift of her head. His heart went
out to her, torn with his own helplessness, wrenched with admiration. He knew she
had no such word in her vocabulary as gallantry, knew she would have stared
blankly if he had told her she was the most gallant soul he had ever known. He
knew she would not understand how many truly fine things he ascribed to her
when he thought of her as gallant He knew that she took life as it came, opposed
her tough-fibered mind to whatever obstacles there might be, fought on with a
determination that would not recognize defeat, and kept on fighting even when she
saw defeat was inevitable.
But, for four years, he had seen others who had refused to recognize defeat, men
who rode gaily into sure disaster because they were gallant And they had been
defeated, just the same.
He thought as he stared at Will in the shadowy hall that he had never known
such gallantry as the gallantry of Scarlett O』Hara going forth to conquer the world
in her mother’s velvet curtains and the tail feathers of a rooster.
458
Margaret Mitchell GONE WITH THE WIND
CHAPTER XXXIII
A COLD WIND was blowing stiffly and the scudding clouds overhead were the
deep gray of slate when Scarlett and Mammy stepped from the train in Atlanta the
next afternoon. The depot had not been rebuilt since the burning of the city and
they alighted amid cinders and mud a few yards above the blackened ruins which
marked the site. Habit strong upon her, Scarlett looked about for Uncle Peter and
Pitty’s carriage, for she had always been met by them when returning from Tara to
Atlanta during the war years. Then she caught herself with a sniff at her own absent-mindedness. Naturally, Peter wasn’t there for she had given Aunt Pitty no
warning of her coming and, moreover, she remembered that one of the old lady’s
letters had dealt tearfully with the death of the old nag Peter had 「 『quired」 in
Macon to bring her back to Atlanta after the surrender.
She looked about the rutted and cut-up space around the depot for the equipage
of some old friend or acquaintance who might drive them to Aunt Pitty’s house but
she recognized no one, black or white. Probably none of her old friends owned
carriages now, if what Pitty had written them was true. Times were so hard it was
difficult to feed and lodge humans, much less animals. Most of Pitty’s friends, like
herself, were afoot these days.
There were a few wagons loading at the freight cars and several mud-splashed
buggies with rough-looking strangers at the reins but only two carriages. One was
a closed carriage, the other open and occupied by a well-dressed woman and a
Yankee officer. Scarlett drew in her breath sharply at the sight of the uniform.
Although Pitty had written that Atlanta was garrisoned and the streets full of
soldiers, the first sight of the bluecoat startled and frightened her. It was hard to
remember that the war was over and that this man would not pursue her, rob her
and insult her.
The comparative emptiness around the train took her mind back to that morning
in 1862 when she had come to Atlanta as a young widow, swathed in crêpe and
wild with boredom. She recalled how crowded this space had been with wagons
and carriages and ambulances and how noisy with drivers swearing and yelling and
people calling greetings to friends. She sighed for the light-hearted excitement of
the war days and sighed again at the thought of walking all the way to Aunt Pitty’s
house. But she was hopeful that once on Peachtree Street, she might meet someone
she knew who would give them a ride.
As she stood looking about her a saddle-colored negro of middle age drove the
dosed carriage toward her and, leaning from the box, questioned: 「Cah』ige, lady?
Two bits fer any whar in 『Lanta.」
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Margaret Mitchell GONE WITH THE WIND
Mammy threw him an annihilating glance.
「A hired hack!」 she rumbled. 「Nigger, does you know who we is?」
Mammy was a country negro but she had not always been a country negro and
she knew that no chaste woman ever rode in a hired conveyance—especially a
closed carriage—without the escort of some male member of her family. Even the
presence of a negro maid would not satisfy the conventions. She gave Scarlett a
glare as she saw her look longingly at the hack.
「Come 『way frum dar, Miss Scarlett! A hired hack an』 a free issue nigger! Well,
dat’s a good combination.」
「Ah ain』 no free issue nigger,」 declared the driver with heat. 「Ah b』longs ter Ole
Miss Talbot an』 disyere her cah』ige an』 Ah drives it ter mek money fer us.」
「Whut Miss Talbot is dat?」
「Miss Suzannah Talbot of Milledgeville. Us done move up hyah affer Old
Marse wuz kilt.」
「Does you know her, Miss Scarlett?」
「No,」 said Scarlett, regretfully. 「I know so few Milledgeville folks.」
「Den us』ll walk,」 said Mammy sternly. 「Drive on, nigger.