-four
THE SUN SHONE INTERMITTENTLY the next morning and the hard wind that
drove dark clouds swiftly across its face rattled the windowpanes and
moaned faintly about the house. Scarlett said a brief prayer of thanksgiving
that the rain of the previous night had ceased, for she had lain awake
listening to it, knowing that it would mean the ruin of her velvet dress and
new bonnet. Now that she could catch fleeting glimpses of the sun, her
spirits soared. She could hardly remain in bed and look languid and make
croaking noises until Aunt Pitty, Mammy and Uncle Peter were out of the
house and on their way to Mrs. Bonnell’s. When, at last, the front gate
banged and she was alone in the house, except for Cookie who was singing
in the kitchen, she leaped from the bed and lifted her new clothes from the
closet hooks.
Sleep had refreshed her and given her strength and from the cold hard
core at the bottom of her heart, she drew courage. There was something
about the prospect of a struggle of wits with a man—with any man—that
put her on her mettle and, after months of battling against countless
discouragements, the knowledge that she was at last facing a definite
adversary, one whom she might unhorse by her own efforts, gave her a
buoyant sensation.
Dressing unaided was difficult but she finally accomplished it and
putting on the bonnet with its rakish feathers she ran to Aunt Pitty’s room
to preen herself in front of the long mirror. How pretty she looked! The
cock feathers gave her a dashing air and the dull-green velvet of the bonnet
made her eyes startlingly bright, almost emerald-colored. And the dress was
incomparable, so rich and handsome looking and yet so dignified! It was
wonderful to have a lovely dress again. It was so nice to know that she
looked pretty and provocative, and she impulsively bent forward and kissed
her reflection in the mirror and then laughed at her own foolishness. She
picked up Ellen’s Paisley shawl to wrap about her but the colors of the
faded old square clashed with the moss-green dress and made her appear a
little shabby. Opening Aunt Pitty’s closet she removed a black broadcloth
cloak, a thin fall garment which Pitty used only for Sunday wear, and put it
on. She slipped into her pierced ears the diamond earrings she had brought
from Tara, and tossed her head to observe the effect. They made pleasant
clicking noises which were very satisfactory and she thought that she must
remember to toss her head frequently when with Rhett. Dancing earrings
always attracted a man and gave a girl such a spirited air.
What a shame Aunt Pitty had no other gloves than the ones now on her
fat hands! No woman could really feel like a lady without gloves, but
Scarlett had not had a pair since she left Atlanta. And the long months of
hard work at Tara had roughened her hands until they were far from pretty.
Well, it couldn’t be helped. She’d take Aunt Pitty’s little seal muff and hide
her bare hands in it. Scarlett felt that it gave her the final finishing touch
of elegance. No one looking at her now would suspect that poverty and
want were standing at her shoulder.
It was so important that Rhett should not suspect. He must not think
that anything but tender feelings were driving her.
She tiptoed down the stairs and out of the house while Cookie bawled
on unconcernedly in the kitchen. She hastened down Baker Street to
avoid the all seeing eyes of the neighbors and sat down on a carriage block
on Ivy Street in front of a burned house, to wait for some passing carriage
or wagon which would give her a ride. The sun dipped in and out from
behind hurrying clouds, lighting the street with a false brightness which
had no warmth in it, and the wind fluttered the lace of her pantalets. It was
colder than she had expected and she wrapped Aunt Pitty’s thin cloak
about her and shivered impatiently. Just as she was preparing to start
walking the long way across town to the Yankee encampment, a battered
wagon appeared. In it was an old woman with a lip full of snuff and a
weather-beaten face under a drab sunbonnet, driving a dawdling old mule.
She was going in the direction of the city hall and she grudgingly gave
Scarlett a ride. But it was obvious that the dress, bonnet and muff found no
favor with her.
“She thinks I’m a hussy,” thought Scarlett. “And perhaps she’s right at
that!”
When at last they reached the town square and the tall white cupola of
the city hall loomed up, she made her thanks, climbed down from the
wagon and watched the country woman drive off. Looking around carefully
to see that she was not observed, she pinched her cheeks to give them color
and bit her lips until they stung to make them red. She adjusted the bonnet
and smoothed back her hair and looked about the square. The two-story
red-brick city hall had survived the burning of the city. But it looked
forlorn and unkempt under the gray sky. Surrounding the building
completely and covering the square of land of which it was the center were
row after row of army huts, dingy and mud splashed. Yankee soldiers
loitered everywhere and Scarlett looked at them uncertainly, some of her
courage deserting her. How would she go about finding Rhett in this enemy
camp?
She looked down the street toward the firehouse and saw that the wide
arched doors were closed and heavily barred and two sentries passed and
repassed on each side of the building. Rhett was in there. But what should
she say to the Yankee soldiers? And what would they say to her? She
squared her shoulders. If she hadn’t been afraid to kill one Yankee, she
shouldn’t fear merely talking to another.
She picked her way precariously across the stepping stones of the muddy
street and walked forward until a sentry, his blue overcoat buttoned high
against the wind, stopped her.
“What is it, Ma’m?” His voice had a strange mid-Western twang but it
was polite and respectful.
“I want to see a man in there—he is a prisoner.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the sentry, scratching his head. “They are
mighty particular about visitors and—” He stopped and peered into her
face sharply. “Lord, lady! Don’t you cry! You go over to post headquarters
and ask the officers. They’ll let you see him, I bet.”
Scarlett, who had no intention of crying, beamed at him. He turned to
another sentry who was slowly pacing his beat: “Yee-ah, Bill. Come’eer.”
The second sentry, a large man muffled in a blue overcoat from which
villainous black whiskers burst, came through the mud toward them.
“You take this lady to headquarters.”
Scarlett thanked him and followed the sentry.
“Mind you don’t turn your ankle on those stepping stones,” said the
soldier, taking her arm. “And you’d better hist up your skirts a little to keep
them out of the mud.”
The voice issuing from the whiskers had the same nasal twang but was
kind and pleasant and his hand was firm and respectful. Why, Yankees
weren’t bad at all!
“It’s a mighty cold day for a lady to be out in,” said her escort. “Have you
come a fer piece?”
“Oh, yes, from clear across the other side of town,” she said, warming to
the kindness in his voice.
“This ain’t no weather for a lady to be out in,” said the soldier
reprovingly, “with all this la grippe in the air. Here’s Post Command, lady
— What’s the matter?”
“This house—this house is your headquarters?” Scarlett looked up at the
lovely old dwelling facing on the square and could have cried. She had
been to so many parties in this house during the war. It had been a gay
beautiful place and now—there was a large United States flag floating over
it.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing—only—only—I used to know the people who lived here.”
“Well, that’s too bad. I guess they wouldn’t know it themselves if they
saw it, for it shore is torn up on the inside. Now, you go on in, Ma’m, and
ask for the captain.”
She went up the steps, caressing the broken white banisters, and pushed
open the front door. The hall was dark and as cold as a vault and a
shivering sentry was leaning against the closed folding doors of what had
been, in better days, the dining room.
“I want to see the captain,” she said.
He pulled back the doors and she entered the room, her heart beating
rapidly, her face flushing with embarrassment and excitement. There was a
close stuffy smell in the room, compounded of the smoking fire, tobacco
fumes, leather, damp woolen uniforms and unwashed bodies. She had a
confused impression of bare walls with torn wallpaper, rows of blue
overcoats and slouch hats hung on nails, a roaring fire, a long table covered
with papers and a group of officers in blue uniforms with brass buttons.
She gulped once and found her voice. She mustn’t let these Yankees
know she was afraid. She must look and be her prettiest and most
unconcerned self.
“The captain?”
“I’m one captain,” said a fat man whose tunic was unbuttoned.
“I want to see a prisoner, Captain Rhett Butler.”
“Butler again? He’s popular, that man,” laughed the captain, taking a
chewed cigar from his mouth. “You a relative, Ma’m?”
“Yes—his—his sister.”
He laughed again.
“He’s got a lot of sisters, one of them here yesterday.”
Scarlett flushed. One of those creatures Rhett consorted with, probably
that Watling woman. And these Yankees thought she was another one. It
was unendurable. Not even for Tara would she stay here another minute
and be insulted. She turned to the door and reached angrily for the knob
but another officer was by her side quickly. He was clean shaven and young
and had merry, kind eyes.
“Just a minute, Ma’m. Won’t you sit down here by the fire where it’s
warm? I’ll go see what I can do about it. What is your name? He refused to
see the—lady who called yesterday.”
She sank into the proffered chair, glaring at the discomfited fat captain,
and gave her name. The nice young officer slipped on his overcoat and left
the room and the others took themselves off to the far end of the table
where they talked in low tones and pawed at the papers. She stretched her
feet gratefully toward the fire, realizing for the first time how cold they were
and wishing she had thought to put a piece of cardboard over the hole in
the sole of one slipper. After a time, voices murmured outside the door and
she heard Rhett’s laugh. The door opened, a cold draft swept the room and
Rhett appeared, hatless, a long cape thrown carelessly across his shoulders.
He was dirty and unshaven and without a cravat but somehow jaunty
despite his dishabille, and his dark eyes were snapping joyfully at the sight
of her.
“Scarlett!”
He had her hands in both of his and, as always, there was something hot
and vital and exciting about his grip. Before she quite knew what he was
about, he had bent and kissed her cheek, his mustache tickling her. As he
felt the startled movement of her body away from him, he hugged her
about the shoulders and said: “My darling little sister!” and grinned down
at her as if he relished her helplessness in resisting his caress. She couldn’t
help laughing back at him for the advantage he had taken. What a rogue
he was! Jail had not changed him one bit.
The fat captain was muttering through his cigar to the merry-eyed
officer.
“Most irregular. He should be in the firehouse. You know the orders.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Henry! The lady would freeze in that barn.”
“Oh, all right, all right! It’s your responsibility.”
“I assure you, gentlemen,” said Rhett, turning to them but still keeping a
grip on Scarlett’s shoulders, “my—sister hasn’t brought me any saws or files
to help me escape.”
They all laughed and, as they did, Scarlett looked quickly about her.
Good Heavens, was she going to have to talk to Rhett before six Yankee
officers! Was he so dangerous a prisoner they wouldn’t let him out of their
sight? Seeing her anxious glance, the nice officer pushed open a door and
spoke brief low words to two privates who had leaped to their feet at his
entrance. They picked up their rifles and went out into the hall, closing the
door behind them.
“If you wish, you may sit here in the orderly room,” said the young
captain. “And don’t try to bolt through that door. The men are just
outside.”
“You see what a desperate character I am, Scarlett,” said Rhett. “Thank
you, Captain. This is most kind of you.”
He bowed carelessly and taking Scarlett’s arm pulled her to her feet and
propelled her into the dingy orderly room. She was never to remember
what the room looked like except that it was small and dim and none too
warm and there were hand-written papers tacked on the mutilated walls
and chairs which had cowhide seats with the hair still on them.
When he had closed the door behind them, Rhett came to her swiftly
and bent over her. Knowing his desire, she turned her head quickly but
smiled provocatively at him out of the corners of her eyes.
“Can’t I really kiss you now?”
“On the forehead, like a good brother,” she answered demurely.
“Thank you, no. I prefer to wait and hope for better things.” His eyes
sought her lips and lingered there a moment. “But how good of you to
come to see me, Scarlett! You are the first respectable citizen who has
called on me since my incarceration, and being in jail makes one
appreciate friends. When did you come to town?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“And you came out this morning? Why, my dear, you are more than
good.” He smiled down at her with the first expression of honest pleasure
she had ever seen on his face. Scarlett smiled inwardly with excitement
and ducked her head as if embarrassed.
“Of course, I came out right away. Aunt Pitty told me about you last
night and I—I just couldn’t sleep all night for thinking how awful it was.
Rhett, I’m so distressed!”
“Why, Scarlett!”
His voice was soft but there was a vibrant note in it, and looking up into
his dark face she saw in it none of the skepticism, the jeering humor she
knew so well. Before his direct gaze her eyes fell again in real confusion.
Things were going even better than she hoped.
“It’s worth being in jail to see you again and to hear you say things like
that. I really couldn’t believe my ears when they brought me your name.
You see, I never expected you to forgive me for my patriotic conduct that
night on the road near Rough and Ready. But I take it that this call means
you have forgiven me?”
She could feel swift anger stir, even at this late date, as she thought of
that night but she subdued it and tossed her head until the earrings danced.
“No, I haven’t forgiven you,” she said, and pouted.
“Another hope crushed. And after I offered up myself for my country
and fought barefooted in the snow at Franklin and got the finest case of
dysentery you ever heard of for my pains!”
“I don’t want to hear about your—pains,” she said, still pouting but
smiling at him from tip-tilted eyes. “I still think you were hateful that night
and I never expect to forgive you. Leaving me alone like that when
anything might have happened to me!”
“But nothing did happen to you. So, you see, my confidence in you was
justified. I knew you’d get home safely and God help any Yankee who got
in your way!”
“Rhett, why on earth did you do such a silly thing—enlisting at the last
minute when you knew we were going to get licked? And after all you’d
said about idiots who went out and got shot!”
“Scarlett, spare me! I am always overcome with shame when I think
about it.”
“Well, I’m glad to learn you are ashamed of the way you treated me.”
“You misunderstand. I regret to say that my conscience has not troubled
me at all about deserting you. But as for enlisting—when I think of joining
the army in varnished boots and a white linen suit and armed with only a
pair of dueling pistols— And those long cold miles in the snow after my
boots wore out and I had no overcoat and nothing to eat… I cannot
understand why I did not desert. It was all the purest insanity. But it’s in
one’s blood. Southerners can never resist a losing cause. But never mind my
reasons. It’s enough that I’m forgiven.”
“You’re not. I think you’re a hound.” But she caressed the last word until
it might have been “darling.”
“Don’t fib. You’ve forgiven me. Young ladies don’t dare Yankee sentries
to see a prisoner, just for charity’s sweet sake, and come all dressed up in
velvet and feathers and seal muffs too. Scarlett, how pretty you look!
Thank God, you aren’t in rags or mourning! I get so sick of women in
dowdy old clothes and perpetual crêpe. You look like the Rue de la Paix.
Turn around, my dear, and let me look at you.”
So he had noticed the dress. Of course, he would notice such things,
being Rhett. She laughed in soft excitement and spun about on her toes,
her arms extended, her hoops tilting up to show her lace trimmed
pantalets. His black eyes took her in from bonnet to heels in a glance that
missed nothing, that old impudent unclothing glance which always gave
her goose bumps.
“You look very prosperous and very, very tidy. And almost good enough
to eat. If it wasn’t for the Yankees outside—but you are quite safe, my dear.
Sit down. I won’t take advantage of you as I did the last time I saw you.”
He rubbed his cheek with pseudo ruefulness. “Honestly, Scarlett, don’t you
think you were a bit selfish that night? Think of all I had done for you,
risked my life—stolen a horse—and such a horse! Rushed to the defense of
Our Glorious Cause! And what did I get for my pains? Some hard words
and a very hard slap in the face.”
She sat down. The conversation was not going in quite the direction she
hoped. He had seemed so nice when he first saw her, so genuinely glad she
had come. He had almost seemed like a human being and not the perverse
wretch she knew so well.
“Must you always get something for your pains?”
“Why, of course! I am a monster of selfishness, as you ought to know. I
always expect payment for anything I give.”
That sent a slight chill through her but she rallied and jingled her
earbobs again.
“Oh, you really aren’t so bad, Rhett. You just like to show off.”
“My word, but you have changed!” he said and laughed. “What has
made a Christian of you? I have kept up with you through Miss Pittypat but
she gave me no intimation that you had developed womanly sweetness.
Tell me more about yourself, Scarlett. What have you been doing since I
last saw you?”
The old irritation and antagonism which he roused in her was hot in her
heart and she yearned to speak tart words. But she smiled instead and the
dimple crept into her cheek. He had drawn a chair close beside hers and
she leaned over and put a gentle hand on his arm, in an unconscious
manner.
“Oh, I’ve been doing nicely, thank you, and everything at Tara is fine
now. Of course, we had a dreadful time right after Sherman went through
but, after all, he didn’t burn the house and the darkies saved most of the
livestock by driving it into the swamp. And we cleared a fair crop this last
fall, twenty bales. Of course, that’s practically nothing compared with what
Tara can do but we haven’t many field hands. Pa says, of course, we’ll do
better next year. But, Rhett, it’s so dull in the country now! Imagine, there
aren’t any balls or barbecues and the only thing people talk about is hard
times! Goodness, I get sick of it! Finally last week I got too bored to stand
it any longer, so Pa said I must take a trip and have a good time. So I came
up here to get me some frocks made and then I’m going over to Charleston
to visit my aunt. It’ll be lovely to go to balls again.”
There, she thought with pride, I delivered that with just the right airy
way! Not too rich but certainly not poor.
“You look beautiful in ball dresses, my dear, and you know it too, worse
luck! I suppose the real reason you are going visiting is that you have run
through the County swains and are seeking fresh ones in fields afar.”
Scarlett had a thankful thought that Rhett had spent the last several
months abroad and had only recently come back to Atlanta. Otherwise, he
would never have made so ridiculous a statement. She thought briefly of
the County swains, the ragged embittered little Fontaines, the poverty-
stricken Munroe boys, the Jonesboro and Fayetteville beaux who were so
busy plowing, splitting rails and nursing sick old animals that they had
forgotten such things as balls and pleasant flirtations ever existed. But she
put down this memory and giggled self-consciously as if admitting the truth
of his assertion.
“Oh, well,” she said deprecatingly.
“You are a heartless creature, Scarlett, but perhaps that’s part of your
charm.” He smiled in his old way, one corner of his mouth curving down,
but she knew he was complimenting her. “For, of course, you know you
have more charm than the law should permit. Even I have felt it, case-
hardened though I am. I’ve often wondered what it was about you that
made me always remember you, for I’ve known many ladies who were
prettier than you and certainly more clever and, I fear, morally more
upright and kind. But, somehow, I always remembered you. Even during
the months since the surrender when I was in France and England and
hadn’t seen you or heard of you and was enjoying the society of many
beautiful ladies, I always remembered you and wondered what you were
doing.”
For a moment she was indignant that he should say other women were
prettier, more clever and kind than she, but that momentary flare was
wiped out in her pleasure that he had remembered her and her charm. So
he hadn’t forgotten! That would make things easier. And he was behaving
so nicely, almost like a gentleman under the circumstances. Now, all she
had to do was bring the subject around to himself, so she could intimate
that she had not forgotten him either and then—
She gently squeezed his arm and dimpled again.
“Oh, Rhett, how you do run on, teasing a country girl like me! I know
mighty well you never gave me a thought after you left me that night. You
can’t tell me you ever thought of me with all those pretty French and
English girls around you. But I didn’t come all the way out here to hear you
talk foolishness about me. I came—I came—because—”
“Because?”
“Oh, Rhett, I’m so terribly distressed about you! So frightened for you!
When will they let you out of that terrible place?”
He swiftly covered her hand with his and held it hard against his arm.
“Your distress does you credit. There’s no telling when I’ll be out.
Probably when they’ve stretched the rope a bit more.”
“The rope?”
“Yes, I expect to make my exit from here at the rope’s end.”
“They won’t really hang you?”
“They will if they can get a little more evidence against me.”
“Oh, Rhett!” she cried, her hand at her heart.
“Would you be sorry? If you are sorry enough, I’ll mention you in my
will.”
His dark eyes laughed at her recklessly and he squeezed her hand.
His will! She hastily cast down her eyes for fear of betrayal but not
swiftly enough, for his eyes gleamed, suddenly curious.
“According to the Yankees, I ought to have a fine will. There seems to
be considerable interest in my finances at present. Every day, I am hauled
up before another board of inquiry and asked foolish questions. The rumor
seems current that I made off with the mythical gold of the Confederacy.”
“Well—did you?”
“What a leading question! You know as well as I do that the
Confederacy ran a printing press instead of a mint.”
“Where did you get all your money? Speculating? Aunt Pittypat said—”
“What probing questions you ask!”
Damn him! Of course, he had the money. She was so excited it became
difficult to talk sweetly to him.
“Rhett, I’m so upset about your being here. Don’t you think there’s a
chance of your getting out?”
“‘Nihil desperandum’ is my motto.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means ‘maybe,’ my charming ignoramus.”
She fluttered her thick lashes up to look at him and fluttered them down
again.
“Oh, you’re too smart to let them hang you! I know you’ll think of some
clever way to beat them and get out! And when you do—”
“And when I do?” he asked softly, leaning closer.
“Well, I—” and she managed a pretty confusion and a blush. The blush
was not difficult for she was breathless and her heart was beating like a
drum. “Rhett, I’m so sorry about what I—I said to you that night—you
know—at Rough and Ready. I was—oh, so very frightened and upset and
you were so—so—” She looked down and saw his brown hand tighten over
hers. “And—I thought then that I’d never, never forgive you! But when
Aunt Pitty told me yesterday that you—that they might hang you—it came
over me of a sudden and I—I—” She looked up into his eyes with one swift
imploring glance and in it she put an agony of heartbreak. “Oh, Rhett, I’d
die if they hanged you! I couldn’t bear it! You see, I—” And, because she
could no longer sustain the hot leaping light that was in his eyes, her lids
fluttered down again.
In a moment I’ll be crying, she thought in a frenzy of wonder and
excitement. Shall I let myself cry? Would that seem more natural?
He said quickly: “My God, Scarlett, you can’t mean that you—” and his
hands closed over hers in so hard a grip that it hurt.
She shut her eyes tightly, trying to squeeze out tears, but remembered to
turn her face up slightly so he could kiss her with no difficulty. Now, in an
instant his lips would be upon hers, the hard insistent lips which she
suddenly remembered with a vividness that left her weak. But he did not
kiss her. Disappointment queerly stirring her, she opened her eyes a trifle
and ventured a peep at him. His black head was bent over her hands and,
as she watched, he lifted one and kissed it and, taking the other, laid it
against his cheek for a moment. Expecting violence, this gentle and lover-
like gesture startled her. She wondered what expression was on his face but
could not tell for his head was bowed.
She quickly lowered her gaze lest he should look up suddenly and see
the expression on her face. She knew that the feeling of triumph going
through her was certain to be plain in her eyes. In a moment he would ask
her to marry him—or at least say that he loved her and then…. As she
watched him through the veil of her lashes he turned her hand over, palm
up, to kiss it too, and suddenly he drew a quick breath. Looking down she
saw her own palm, saw it as it really was for the first time in a year, and a
cold sinking fear gripped her. This was a stranger’s palm, not Scarlett
O’Hara’s soft, white, dimpled, helpless one. This hand was rough from
work, brown with sunburn, splotched with freckles. The nails were broken
and irregular, there were heavy calluses on the cushions of the palm, a half-
healed blister on the thumb. The red scar which boiling fat had left last
month was ugly and glaring. She looked at it in horror and, before she
thought, she swiftly clenched her fist.
Still he did not raise his head. Still she could not see his face. He pried
her fist open inexorably and stared at it, picked up her other hand and held
them both together silently, looking down at them.
“Look at me,” he said finally raising his head, and his voice was very
quiet. “And drop that demure expression.”
Unwillingly she met his eyes, defiance and perturbation on her face. His
black brows were up and his eyes gleamed.
“So you have been doing very nicely at Tara, have you? Cleared so much
money on the cotton you can go visiting. What have you been doing with
your hands—plowing?”
She tried to wrench them away but he held them hard, running his
thumbs over the calluses.
“These are not the hands of a lady,” he said and tossed them into her
lap.
“Oh, shut up!” she cried, feeling a momentary intense relief at being
able to speak her feelings. “Whose business is it what I do with my hands?”
“What a fool I am,” she thought vehemently. “I should have borrowed
or stolen Aunt Pitty’s gloves. But I didn’t realize my hands looked so bad.
Of course, he would notice them. And now I’ve lost my temper and
probably ruined everything. Oh, to have this happen when he was right at
the point of a declaration!”
“Your hands are certainly no business of mine,” said Rhett coolly and
lounged back in his chair indolently, his face a smooth blank.
So he was going to be difficult. Well, she’d have to bear it meekly, much
as she disliked it, if she expected to snatch victory from this debacle.
Perhaps if she sweet-talked him—
“I think you’re real rude to throw off on my poor hands. Just because I
went riding last week without my gloves and ruined them—”
“Riding, hell!” he said in the same level voice. “You’ve been working
with those hands, working like a nigger. What’s the answer? Why did you
lie to me about everything being nice at Tara?”
“Now, Rhett—”
“Suppose we get down to the truth. What is the real purpose of your
visit? Almost, I was persuaded by your coquettish airs that you cared
something about me and were sorry for me.”
“Oh, I am sorry! Indeed—”
“No, you aren’t. They can hang me higher than Haman for all you care.
It’s written as plainly on your face as hard work is written on your hands.
You wanted something from me and you wanted it badly enough to put on
quite a show. Why didn’t you come out in the open and tell me what it
was? You’d have stood a much better chance of getting it, for if there’s one
virtue I value in women it’s frankness. But no, you had to come jingling
your earbobs and pouting and frisking like a prostitute with a prospective
client.”
He did not raise his voice at the last words or emphasize them in any
way but to Scarlett they cracked like a whiplash, and with despair she saw
the end of her hopes of getting him to propose marriage. Had he exploded
with rage and injured vanity or upbraided her, as other men would have
done, she could have handled him. But the deadly quietness of his voice
frightened her, left her utterly at a loss as to her next move. Although he
was a prisoner and the Yankees were in the next room, it came to her
suddenly that Rhett Butler was a dangerous man to run afoul of.
“I suppose my memory is getting faulty. I should have recalled that you
are just like me and that you never do anything without an ulterior motive.
Now, let me see. What could you have had up your sleeve, Mrs. Hamilton?
It isn’t possible that you were so misguided as to think I would propose
matrimony?”
Her face went crimson and she did not answer.
“But you can’t have forgotten my oft-repeated remark that I am not a
marrying man?”
When she did not speak, he said with sudden violence, “You hadn’t
forgotten? Answer me.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” she said wretchedly.
“What a gambler you are, Scarlett,” he jeered. “You took a chance that
my incarceration away from female companionship would put me in such a
state that I’d snap at you like a trout at a worm.”
“And that’s what you did,” thought Scarlett with inward rage, “and if it
hadn’t been for my hands—”
“Now, we have most of the truth, everything except your reason. See if
you can tell me the truth about why you wanted to lead me into wedlock.”
There was a suave, almost teasing note in his voice and she took heart.
Perhaps everything wasn’t lost, after all. Of course, she had ruined any
hope of marriage but, even in her despair, she was glad. There was
something about this immobile man which frightened her, so that now the
thought of marrying him was fearful. But perhaps if she was clever and
played on his sympathies and his memories, she could secure a loan. She
pulled her face into a placating and childlike expression.
“Oh, Rhett, you can help me so much—if you’ll just be sweet.”
“There’s nothing I like better than being—sweet.”
“Rhett, for old friendship’s sake, I want you to do me a favor.”
“So, at last the horny-handed lady comes to her real mission. I feared
that ‘visiting the sick and imprisoned’ was not your proper rôle. What do
you want? Money?”
The bluntness of his question ruined all hopes of leading up to the
matter in any circuitous and sentimental way.
“Don’t be mean, Rhett,” she coaxed. “I do want some money. I want you
to lend me three hundred dollars.”
“The truth at last. Talking love and thinking money. How truly
feminine! Do you need the money badly?”
“Oh, ye— Well, not so terribly but I could use it.”
“Three hundred dollars. That’s a vast amount of money. What do you
want it for?”
“To pay taxes on Tara.”
“So you want to borrow some money. Well, since you’re so businesslike,
I’ll be businesslike too. What collateral will you give me?”
“What what?”
“Collateral. Security on my investment. Of course, I don’t want to lose
all that money.” His voice was deceptively smooth, almost silky, but she did
not notice. Maybe everything would turn out nicely after all.
“My earrings.”
“I’m not interested in earrings.”
“I’ll give you a mortgage on Tara.”
“Now just what would I do with a farm?”
“Well, you could—you could—it’s a good plantation. And you wouldn’t
lose. I’d pay you back out of next year’s cotton.”
“I’m not so sure.” He tilted back in his chair and stuck his hands in his
pockets. “Cotton prices are dropping. Times are so hard and money’s so
tight.”
“Oh, Rhett, you are teasing me! You know you have millions!”
There was a warm dancing malice in his eyes as he surveyed her.
“So everything is going nicely and you don’t need the money very badly.
Well, I’m glad to hear that. I like to know that all is well with old friends.”
“Oh, Rhett, for God’s sake…” she began desperately, her courage and
control breaking.
“Do lower your voice. You don’t want the Yankees to hear you, I hope.
Did anyone ever tell you you had eyes like a cat—a cat in the dark?”
“Rhett, don’t! I’ll tell you everything. I do need the money so badly. I—I
lied about everything being all right. Everything’s as wrong as it could be.
Father is—is—he’s not himself. He’s been queer ever since Mother died
and he can’t help me any. He’s just like a child. And we haven’t a single
field hand to work the cotton and there’s so many to feed, thirteen of us.
And the taxes—they are so high. Rhett, I’ll tell you everything. For over a
year we’ve been just this side of starvation. Oh, you don’t know! You can’t
know! We’ve never had enough to eat and it’s terrible to wake up hungry
and go to sleep hungry. And we haven’t any warm clothes and the children
are always cold and sick and—”
“Where did you get the pretty dress?”
“It’s made out of Mother’s curtains,” she answered, too desperate to lie
about this shame. “I could stand being hungry and cold but now—now the
Carpetbaggers have raised our taxes. And the money’s got to be paid right
away. And I haven’t any money except one five-dollar gold piece. I’ve got
to have money for the taxes! Don’t you see? If I don’t pay them, I’ll—we’ll
lose Tara and we just can’t lose it! I can’t let it go!”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this at first instead of preying on my
susceptible heart—always weak where pretty ladies are concerned? No,
Scarlett, don’t cry. You’ve tried every trick except that one and I don’t
think I could stand it. My feelings are already lacerated with
disappointment at discovering it was my money and not my charming self
you wanted.”
She remembered that he frequently told bald truths about himself when
he spoke mockingly—mocking himself as well as others, and she hastily
looked up at him. Were his feelings really hurt? Did he really care about
her? Had he been on the verge of a proposal when he saw her palms? Or
had he only been leading up to another odious proposal as he had made
twice before? If he really cared about her, perhaps she could smooth him
down. But his black eyes raked her in no lover-like way and he was
laughing softly.
“I don’t like your collateral. I’m no planter. What else have you to
offer?”
Well, she had come to it at last. Now for it! She drew a deep breath and
met his eyes squarely, all coquetry and airs gone as her spirit rushed out to
grapple that which she feared most.
“I—I have myself.”
“Yes?”
Her jaw line tightened to squareness and her eyes went emerald.
“You remember that night on Aunt Pitty’s porch, during the siege? You
said—you said then that you wanted me.”
He leaned back carelessly in his chair and looked into her tense face and
his own dark face was inscrutable. Something flickered behind his eyes but
he said nothing.
“You said—you said you’d never wanted a woman as much as you
wanted me. If you still want me, you can have me. Rhett, I’ll do anything
you say but, for God’s sake, write me a draft for the money! My word’s good.
I swear it. I won’t go back on it. I’ll put it in writing if you like.”
He looked at her oddly, still inscrutable and as she hurried on she could
not tell if he were amused or repelled. If he would only say something,
anything! She felt her cheeks getting hot.
“I have got to have the money soon, Rhett. They’ll turn us out in the
road and that damned overseer of Father’s will own the place and—”
“Just a minute. What makes you think I still want you? What makes you
think you are worth three hundred dollars? Most women don’t come that
high.”
She blushed to her hair line and her humiliation was complete.
“Why are you doing this? Why not let the farm go and live at Miss
Pittypat’s. You own half that house.”
“Name of God!” she cried. “Are you a fool? I can’t let Tara go. It’s home.
I won’t let it go. Not while I’ve got a breath left in me!”
“The Irish,” said he, lowering his chair back to level and removing his
hands from his pockets, “are the damnedest race. They put so much
emphasis on so many wrong things. Land, for instance. And every bit of
earth is just like every other bit. Now, let me get this straight, Scarlett. You
are coming to me with a business proposition. I’ll give you three hundred
dollars and you’ll become my mistress.”
“Yes.”
Now that the repulsive word had been said, she felt somehow easier and
hope awoke in her again. He had said “I’ll give you.” There was a diabolic
gleam in his eyes as if something amused him greatly.
“And yet, when I had the effrontery to make you this same proposition,
you turned me out of the house. And also you called me a number of very
hard names and mentioned in passing that you didn’t want a ‘passel of
brats.’ No, my dear, I’m not rubbing it in. I’m only wondering at the
peculiarities of your mind. You wouldn’t do it for your own pleasure but you
will to keep the wolf away from the door. It proves my point that all virtue
is merely a matter of prices.”
“Oh, Rhett, how you run on! If you want to insult me, go on and do it
but give me the money.”
She was breathing easier now. Being what he was, Rhett would naturally
want to torment and insult her as much as possible to pay her back for past
slights and for her recent attempted trickery. Well, she could stand it. She
could stand anything. Tara was worth it all. For a brief moment it was mid-
summer and the afternoon skies were blue and she lay drowsily in the thick
clover of Tara’s lawn, looking up at the billowing cloud castles, the
fragrance of white blossoms in her nose and the pleasant busy humming of
bees in her ears. Afternoon and hush and the far-off sound of the wagons
coming in from the spiraling red fields. Worth it all, worth more.
Her head went up.
“Are you going to give me the money?”
He looked as if he were enjoying himself and when he spoke there was
suave brutality in his voice.
“No, I’m not,” he said.
For a moment her mind could not adjust itself to his words.
“I couldn’t give it to you, even if I wanted to. I haven’t a cent on me.
Not a dollar in Atlanta. I have some money, yes, but not here. And I’m not
saying where it is or how much. But if I tried to draw a draft on it, the
Yankees would be on me like a duck on a June bug and then neither of us
would get it. What do you think of that?”
Her face went an ugly green, freckles suddenly standing out across her
nose and her contorted mouth was like Gerald’s in a killing rage. She
sprang to her feet with an incoherent cry which made the hum of voices in
the next room cease suddenly. Swift as a panther, Rhett was beside her, his
heavy hand across her mouth, his arm tight about her waist. She struggled
against him madly, trying to bite his hand, to kick his legs, to scream her
rage, despair, hate, her agony of broken pride. She bent and twisted every
way against the iron of his arm, her heart near bursting, her tight stays
cutting off her breath. He held her so tightly, so roughly that it hurt and
the hand over her mouth pinched into her jaws cruelly. His face was white
under its tan, his eyes hard and anxious as he lifted her completely off her
feet, swung her up against his chest and sat down in the chair, holding her
writhing in his lap.
“Darling, for God’s sake! Stop! Hush! Don’t yell. They’ll be in here in a
minute if you do. Do calm yourself. Do you want the Yankees to see you
like this?”
She was beyond caring who saw her, beyond anything except a fiery
desire to kill him, but dizziness was sweeping her. She could not breathe; he
was choking her; her stays were like a swiftly compressing band of iron; his
arms about her made her shake with helpless hate and fury. Then his voice
became thin and dim and his face above her swirled in a sickening mist
which became heavier and heavier until she no longer saw him—or
anything else.
When she made feeble swimming motions to come back to
consciousness, she was tired to her bones, weak, bewildered. She was lying
back in the chair, her bonnet off, Rhett was slapping her wrist, his black
eyes searching her face anxiously. The nice young captain was trying to
pour a glass of brandy into her mouth and had spilled it down her neck.
The other officers hovered helplessly about, whispering and waving their
hands.
“I—guess I must have fainted,” she said, and her voice sounded so far
away it frightened her.
“Drink this,” said Rhett, taking the glass and pushing it against her lips.
Now she remembered and glared feebly at him but she was too tired for
anger.
“Please, for my sake.”
She gulped and choked and began coughing but he pushed it to her
mouth again. She swallowed deeply and the hot liquid burned suddenly in
her throat.
“I think she’s better now, gentlemen,” said Rhett, “and I thank you very
much. The realization that I’m to be executed was too much for her.”
The group in blue shuffled their feet and looked embarrassed and after
several clearings of throats, they tramped out. The young captain paused in
the doorway.
“If there’s anything more I can do—”
“No, thank you.”
He went out, closing the door behind him.
“Drink some more,” said Rhett.
“No.”
“Drink it.”
She swallowed another mouthful and the warmth began spreading
through her body and strength flowed slowly back into her shaking legs.
She pushed away the glass and tried to rise but he pressed her back.
“Take your hands off me. I’m going.”
“Not yet. Wait a minute. You might faint again.”
“I’d rather faint in the road than be here with you.”
“Just the same, I won’t have you fainting in the road.”
“Let me go. I hate you.”
A faint smile came back to his face at her words.
“That sounds more like you. You must be feeling better.”
She lay relaxed for a moment, trying to summon anger to her aid, trying
to draw on her strength. But she was too tired. She was too tired to hate or
to care very much about anything. Defeat lay on her spirit like lead. She
had gambled everything and lost everything. Not even pride was left. This
was the dead end of her last hope. This was the end of Tara, the end of
them all. For a long time she lay back with her eyes closed, hearing his
heavy breathing near her, and the glow of the brandy crept gradually over
her, giving a false strength and warmth. When finally she opened her eyes
and looked him in the face, anger had roused again. As her slanting
eyebrows rushed down together in a frown Rhett’s old smile came back.
“Now you are better. I can tell it by your scowl.”
“Of course, I’m all right. Rhett Butler, you are hateful, a skunk, if ever I
saw one! You knew very well what I was going to say as soon as I started
talking and you knew you weren’t going to give me the money. And yet
you let me go right on. You could have spared me—”
“Spared you and missed hearing all that? Not much. I have so few
diversions here. I don’t know when I’ve heard anything so gratifying.” He
laughed his sudden mocking laugh. At the sound she leaped to her feet,
snatching up her bonnet.
He suddenly had her by the shoulders.
“Not quite yet. Do you feel well enough to talk sense?”
“Let me go!”
“You are well enough, I see. Then, tell me this. Was I the only iron you
had in the fire?” His eyes were keen and alert, watching every change in
her face.
“What do you mean?”
“Was I the only man you were going to try this on?”
“Is that any of your business?”
“More than you realize. Are there any other men on your string? Tell
me!”
“No.”
“Incredible. I can’t imagine you without five or six in reserve. Surely
someone will turn up to accept your interesting proposition. I feel so sure of
it that I want to give you a little advice.”
“I don’t want your advice.”
“Nevertheless I will give it. Advice seems to be the only thing I can give
you at present. Listen to it, for it’s good advice. When you are trying to get
something out of a man, don’t blurt it out as you did to me. Do try to be
more subtle, more seductive. It gets better results. You used to know how,
to perfection. But just now when you offered me your—er—collateral for
my money you looked as hard as nails. I’ve seen eyes like yours above a
dueling pistol twenty paces from me and they aren’t a pleasant sight. They
evoke no ardor in the male breast. That’s no way to handle men, my dear.
You are forgetting your early training.”
“I don’t need you to tell me how to behave,” she said and wearily put on
her bonnet. She wondered how he could jest so blithely with a rope about
his neck and her pitiful circumstances before him. She did not even notice
that his hands were jammed in his pockets in hard fists as if he were
straining at his own impotence.
“Cheer up,” he said, as she tied the bonnet strings. “You can come to my
hanging and it will make you feel lots better. It’ll even up all your old
scores with me—even this one. And I’ll mention you in my will.”
“Thank you, but they may not hang you till it’s too late to pay the
taxes,” she said with a sudden malice that matched his own, and she meant
it.
