-five
“DARLING, I DON’T WANT ANY EXPLANATION from you and I won’t listen to
one,” said Melanie firmly as she gently laid a small hand across Scarlett’s
tortured lips and stilled her words. “You insult yourself and Ashley and me
by even thinking there could be need of explanations between us. Why, we
three have been—have been like soldiers fighting the world together for so
many years that I’m ashamed of you for thinking idle gossip could come
between us. Do you think I’d believe that you and my Ashley— Why, the
idea! Don’t you realize I know you better than anyone in the world knows
you? Do you think I’ve forgotten all the wonderful, unselfish things you’ve
done for Ashley and Beau and me—everything from saving my life to
keeping us from starving! Do you think I could remember you walking in a
furrow behind that Yankee’s horse almost barefooted and with your hands
blistered—just so the baby and I could have something to eat—and then
believe such dreadful things about you? I don’t want to hear a word out of
you, Scarlett O’Hara. Not a word.”
“But—” Scarlett fumbled and stopped.
Rhett had left town the hour before with Bonnie and Prissy, and
desolation was added to Scarlett’s shame and anger. The additional burden
of her guilt with Ashley and Melanie’s defense was more than she could
bear. Had Melanie believed India and Archie, cut her at the reception or
even greeted her frigidly, then she could have held her head high and
fought back with every weapon in her armory. But now, with the memory
of Melanie standing between her and social ruin, standing like a thin,
shining blade, with trust and a fighting light in her eyes, there seemed
nothing honest to do but confess. Yes, blurt out everything from that far-off
beginning on the sunny porch at Tara.
She was driven by a conscience which, though long suppressed, could
still rise up, an active Catholic conscience. “Confess your sins and do
penance for them in sorrow and contrition,” Ellen had told her a hundred
times and, in this crisis, Ellen’s religious training came back and gripped
her. She would confess—yes, everything, every look and word, those few
caresses—and then God would ease her pain and give her peace. And, for
her penance, there would be the dreadful sight of Melanie’s face changing
from fond love and trust to incredulous horror and repulsion. Oh, that was
too hard a penance, she thought in anguish, to have to live out her life
remembering Melanie’s face, knowing that Melanie knew all the pettiness,
the meanness, the two-faced disloyalty and the hypocrisy that were in her.
Once, the thought of flinging the truth tauntingly in Melanie’s face and
seeing the collapse of her fool’s paradise had been an intoxicating one, a
gesture worth everything she might lose thereby. But now, all that had
changed overnight and there was nothing she desired less. Why this should
be she did not know. There was too great a tumult of conflicting ideas in
her mind for her to sort them out. She only knew that as she had once
desired to keep her mother thinking her modest, kind, pure of heart, so she
now passionately desired to keep Melanie’s high opinion. She only knew
that she did not care what the world thought of her or what Ashley or
Rhett thought of her, but Melanie must not think her other than she had
always thought her.
She dreaded to tell Melanie the truth but one of her rare honest
instincts arose, an instinct that would not let her masquerade in false colors
before the woman who had fought her battles for her. So she had hurried to
Melanie that morning, as soon as Rhett and Bonnie had left the house.
But at her first tumbled-out words: “Melly, I must explain about the
other day—” Melanie had imperiously stopped her. Scarlett looking
shamefaced into the dark eyes that were flashing with love and anger, knew
with a sinking heart that the peace and calm following confession could
never be hers. Melanie had forever cut off that line of action by her first
words. With one of the few adult emotions Scarlett had ever had, she
realized that to unburden her own tortured heart would be the purest
selfishness. She would be ridding herself of her burden and laying it on the
heart of an innocent and trusting person. She owed Melanie a debt for her
championship and that debt could only be paid with silence. What cruel
payment it would be to wreck Melanie’s life with the unwelcome
knowledge that her husband was unfaithful to her, and her beloved friend a
party to it!
“I can’t tell her,” she thought miserably. “Never, not even if my
conscience kills me.” She remembered irrelevantly Rhett’s drunken remark:
“She can’t conceive a dishonor in anyone she loves… let that be your
cross.”
Yes, it would be her cross, until she died, to keep this torment silent
within her, to wear the hair shirt of shame, to feel it chafing her at every
tender look and gesture Melanie would make throughout the years, to
subdue forever the impulse to cry: “Don’t be so kind! Don’t fight for me!
I’m not worth it!”
“If you only weren’t such a fool, such a sweet, trusting, simple-minded
fool, it wouldn’t be so hard,” she thought desperately. “I’ve toted lots of
weary loads but this is going to be the heaviest and most galling load I’ve
ever toted.”
Melanie sat facing her, in a low chair, her feet firmly planted on an
ottoman so high that her knees stuck up like a child’s, a posture she would
never have assumed had not rage possessed her to the point of forgetting
proprieties. She held a line of tatting in her hands and she was driving the
shining needle back and forth as furiously as though handling a rapier in a
duel.
Had Scarlett been possessed of such an anger, she would have been
stamping both feet and roaring like Gerald in his finest days, calling on
God to witness the accursed duplicity and knavishness of mankind and
uttering blood-curdling threats of retaliation. But only by the flashing
needle and the delicate brows drawn down toward her nose did Melanie
indicate that she was inwardly seething. Her voice was cool and her words
more close clipped than usual. But the forceful words she uttered were
foreign to Melanie who seldom voiced an opinion at all and never an
unkind word. Scarlett realized suddenly that the Wilkeses and the
Hamiltons were capable of furies equal to and surpassing those of the
O’Haras.
“I’ve gotten mighty tired of hearing people criticize you, darling,”
Melanie said, “and this is the last straw and I’m going to do something
about it. All this has happened because people are jealous of you, because
you are so smart and successful. You’ve succeeded where lots of men, even,
have failed. Now, don’t be vexed with me, dear, for saying that. I don’t
mean you’ve ever been unwomanly or unsexed yourself, as lots of folks have
said. Because you haven’t. People just don’t understand you and people
can’t bear for women to be smart. But your smartness and your success
don’t give people the right to say that you and Ashley—Stars above!”
The soft vehemence of this last ejaculation would have been, upon a
man’s lips, profanity of no uncertain meaning. Scarlett stared at her,
alarmed by so unprecedented an outburst.
“And for them to come to me with the filthy lies they’d concocted—
Archie, India, Mrs. Elsing! How did they dare? Of course, Mrs. Elsing
didn’t come here. No, indeed, she didn’t have the courage. But she’s always
hated you, darling, because you were more popular than Fanny. And she
was so incensed at your demoting Hugh from the management of the mill.
But you were quite right in demoting him. He’s just a piddling, do-less,
good-for-nothing!” Swiftly Melanie dismissed the playmate of her
childhood and the beau of her teen years. “I blame myself about Archie. I
shouldn’t have given the old scoundrel shelter. Everyone told me so but I
wouldn’t listen. He didn’t like you, dear, because of the convicts, but who is
he to criticize you? A murderer, and the murderer of a woman, too! And
after all I’ve done for him, he comes to me and tells me— I shouldn’t have
been a bit sorry if Ashley had shot him. Well, I packed him off with a large
flea in his ear, I can tell you! And he’s left town.
“And as for India, the vile thing! Darling, I couldn’t help noticing from
the first time I saw you two together that she was jealous of you and hated
you because you were so much prettier and had so many beaux. And she
hated you especially about Stuart Tarleton. And she’s brooded about Stuart
so much that—well, I hate to say it about Ashley’s sister but I think her
mind has broken with thinking so much! There’s no other explanation for
her action…. I told her never to put foot in this house again and that if I
heard her breathe so vile an insinuation I would—I would call her a liar in
public!”
Melanie stopped speaking and abruptly the anger left her face and
sorrow swamped it. Melanie had all that passionate clan loyalty peculiar to
Georgians and the thought of a family quarrel tore her heart. She faltered
for a moment. But Scarlett was dearest, Scarlett came first in her heart, and
she went on loyally:
“She’s always been jealous because I loved you best, dear. She’ll never
come in this house again and I’ll never put foot under any roof that
receives her. Ashley agrees with me, but it’s just about broken his heart that
his own sister should tell such a—”
At the mention of Ashley’s name, Scarlett’s overwrought nerves gave
way and she burst into tears. Would she never stop stabbing him to the
heart? Her only thought had been to make him happy and safe but at every
turn she seemed to hurt him. She had wrecked his life, broken his pride
and self-respect, shattered that inner peace, that calm based on integrity.
And now she had alienated him from the sister he loved so dearly. To save
her own reputation and his wife’s happiness, India had to be sacrificed,
forced into the light of a lying, half-crazed, jealous old maid—India who
was absolutely justified in every suspicion she had ever harbored and every
accusing word she had uttered. Whenever Ashley looked into India’s eyes
he would see the truth shining there, truth and reproach and the cold
contempt of which the Wilkeses were masters.
Knowing how Ashley valued honor above his life, Scarlett knew he
must be writhing. He, like Scarlett, was forced to shelter behind Melanie’s
skirts. While Scarlett realized the necessity for this and knew that the
blame for his false position lay mostly at her own door, still—still—
Womanlike she would have respected Ashley more, had he shot Archie
and admitted everything to Melanie and the world. She knew she was
being unfair but she was too miserable to care for such fine points. Some of
Rhett’s taunting words of contempt came back to her and she wondered if
indeed Ashley had played the manly part in this mess. And, for the first
time, some of the bright glow which had enveloped him since the first day
she fell in love with him began to fade imperceptibly. The tarnish of shame
and guilt that enveloped her spread to him as well. Resolutely she tried to
fight off this thought but it only made her cry harder.
“Don’t! Don’t!” cried Melanie, dropping her tatting and flinging herself
onto the sofa and drawing Scarlett’s head down onto her shoulder. “I
shouldn’t have talked about it all and distressed you so. I know how
dreadfully you must feel and we’ll never mention it again. No, not to each
other or to anybody. It’ll be as though it never happened. But,” she added
with quiet venom, “I’m going to show India and Mrs. Elsing what’s what.
They needn’t think they can spread lies about my husband and my sister-
in-law. I’m going to fix it so neither of them can hold up their heads in
Atlanta. And anybody who believes them or receives them is my enemy.”
Scarlett, looking sorrowfully down the long vista of years to come, knew
that she was the cause of a feud that would split the town and the family
for generations.
* * *
Melanie was as good as her word. She never again mentioned the subject to
Scarlett or to Ashley. Nor, for that matter, would she discuss it with
anyone. She maintained an air of cool indifference that could speedily
change to icy formality if anyone even dared hint about the matter. During
the weeks that followed her surprise party, while Rhett was mysteriously
absent and the town in a frenzied state of gossip, excitement and
partisanship, she gave no quarter to Scarlett’s detractors, whether they were
her old friends or her blood kin. She did not speak, she acted.
She stuck by Scarlett’s side like a cocklebur. She made Scarlett go to the
store and the lumber yard, as usual, every morning and she went with her.
She insisted that Scarlett go driving in the afternoons, little though
Scarlett wanted to expose herself to the eager curious gaze of her fellow
townspeople. And Melanie sat in the carriage beside her. Melanie took her
calling with her on formal afternoons, gently forcing her into parlors in
which Scarlett had not sat for more than two years. And Melanie, with a
fierce “love-me-love-my-dog” look on her face, made converse with
astounded hostesses.
She made Scarlett arrive early on these afternoons and remain until the
last callers had gone, thereby depriving the ladies of the opportunity for
enjoyable group discussion and speculation, a matter which caused some
mild indignation. These calls were an especial torment to Scarlett but she
dared not refuse to go with Melanie. She hated to sit amid crowds of
women who were secretly wondering if she had been actually taken in
adultery. She hated the knowledge that these women would not have
spoken to her, had it not been that they loved Melanie and did not want to
lose her friendship. But Scarlett knew that, having once received her, they
could not cut her thereafter.
It was characteristic of the regard in which Scarlett was held that few
people based their defense or their criticism of her on her personal
integrity. “I wouldn’t put much beyond her,” was the universal attitude.
Scarlett had made too many enemies to have many champions now. Her
words and her actions rankled in too many hearts for many people to care
whether this scandal hurt her or not. But everyone cared violently about
hurting Melanie or India and the storm revolved around them, rather than
Scarlett, centering upon the one question—“Did India lie?”
Those who espoused Melanie’s side pointed triumphantly to the fact
that Melanie was constantly with Scarlett these days. Would a woman of
Melanie’s high principles champion the cause of a guilty woman, especially
a woman guilty with her own husband? No, indeed! India was just a
cracked old maid who hated Scarlett and lied about her and induced
Archie and Mrs. Elsing to believe her lies.
But, questioned India’s adherents, if Scarlett isn’t guilty, where is
Captain Butler? Why isn’t he here at his wife’s side, lending her the
strength of his countenance? That was an unanswerable question and, as
the weeks went by and the rumor spread that Scarlett was pregnant, the
pro-India group nodded with satisfaction. It couldn’t be Captain Butler’s
baby, they said. For too long the fact of their estrangement had been public
property. For too long the town had been scandalized by the separate
bedrooms.
So the gossip ran, tearing the town apart, tearing apart, too, the close-
knit clan of Hamiltons, Wilkeses, Burrs, Whitmans and Winfields.
Everyone in the family connection was forced to take sides. There was no
neutral ground. Melanie with cool dignity and India with acid bitterness
saw to that. But no matter which side the relatives took, they all were
resentful that Scarlett should have been the cause of the family breach.
None of them thought her worth it. And no matter which side they took,
the relatives heartily deplored that India had taken it upon herself to wash
the family dirty linen so publicly and involve Ashley in so degrading a
scandal. But now that she had spoken, many rushed to her defense and
took her side against Scarlett, even as others, loving Melanie, stood by her
and Scarlett.
Half of Atlanta was kin to or claimed kin with Melanie and India. The
ramifications of cousins, double cousins, cousins-in-law and kissing cousins
were so intricate and involved that no one but a born Georgian could ever
unravel them. They had always been a clannish tribe, presenting an
unbroken phalanx of overlapping shields to the world in times of stress, no
matter what their private opinions of the conduct of individual kinsmen
might be. With the exception of the guerrilla warfare carried on by Aunt
Pitty against Uncle Henry, which had been a matter for hilarious laughter
within the family for years, there had never been an open breach in the
pleasant relations. They were gentle, quiet spoken, reserved people and not
given to even the amiable bickering that characterized most Atlanta
families.
But now they were split in twain and the town was privileged to witness
cousins of the fifth and sixth degree taking sides in the most shattering
scandal Atlanta had ever seen. This worked great hardship and strained the
tact and forbearance of the unrelated half of the town, for the India-
Melanie feud made a rupture in practically every social organization. The
Thalians, the Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of the
Confederacy, the Association for the Beautification of the Graves of Our
Glorious Dead, the Saturday Night Musical Circle, the Ladies’ Evening
Cotillion Society, the Young Men’s Library were all involved. So were four
churches with their Ladies’ Aid and Missionary societies. Great care had to
be taken to avoid putting members of warring factions on the same
committees.
On their regular afternoons at home, Atlanta matrons were in anguish
from four to six o’clock for fear Melanie and Scarlett would call at the same
time India and her loyal kin were in their parlors.
Of all the family, poor Aunt Pitty suffered the most. Pitty, who desired
nothing except to live comfortably amid the love of her relatives, would
have been very pleased, in this matter, to run with the hares and hunt with
the hounds. But neither the hares nor the hounds would permit this.
India lived with Aunt Pitty and, if Pitty sided with Melanie, as she
wished to do, India would leave. And if India left her, what would poor
Pitty do then? She could not live alone. She would have to get a stranger
to live with her or she would have to close up her house and go and live
with Scarlett. Aunt Pitty felt vaguely that Captain Butler would not care
for this. Or she would have to go and live with Melanie and sleep in the
little cubbyhole that was Beau’s nursery.
Pitty was not overly fond of India, for India intimidated her with her
dry, stiff-necked ways and her passionate convictions. But she made it
possible for Pitty to keep her own comfortable establishment and Pitty was
always swayed more by considerations of personal comfort than by moral
issues. And so India remained.
But her presence in the house made Aunt Pitty a storm center, for both
Scarlett and Melanie took that to mean that she sided with India. Scarlett
curtly refused to contribute more money to Pitty’s establishment as long as
India was under the same roof. Ashley sent India money every week and
every week India proudly and silently returned it, much to the old lady’s
alarm and regret. Finances at the red-brick house would have been in a
deplorable state, but for Uncle Henry’s intervention, and it humiliated
Pitty to take money from him.
Pitty loved Melanie better than anyone in the world, except herself, and
now Melly acted like a cool, polite stranger. Though she practically lived in
Pitty’s back yard, she never once came through the hedge and she used to
run in and out a dozen times a day. Pitty called on her and wept and
protested her love and devotion, but Melanie always refused to discuss
matters and never returned the calls.
Pitty knew very well what she owed Scarlett—almost her very
existence. Certainly in those black days after the war when Pitty was faced
with the alternative of Brother Henry or starvation, Scarlett had kept her
home for her, fed her, clothed her and enabled her to hold up her head in
Atlanta society. And since Scarlett had married and moved into her own
home, she had been generosity itself. And that frightening, fascinating
Captain Butler—frequently after he called with Scarlett, Pitty found
brand-new purses stuffed with bills on her console table or lace
handkerchiefs knotted about gold pieces which had been slyly slipped into
her sewing box. Rhett always vowed he knew nothing about them and
accused her, in a very unrefined way, of having a secret admirer, usually the
bewhiskered Grandpa Merriwether.
Yes, Pitty owed love to Melanie, security to Scarlett, and what did she
owe India? Nothing, except that India’s presence kept her from having to
break up her pleasant life and make decisions for herself. It was all most
distressing and too, too vulgar and Pitty, who had never made a decision for
herself in her whole life, simply let matters go on as they were and as a
result, spent much time in uncomforted tears.
In the end, some people believed whole-heartedly in Scarlett’s
innocence, not because of her own personal virtue but because Melanie
believed in it. Some had mental reservations but they were courteous to
Scarlett and called on her because they loved Melanie and wished to keep
her love. India’s adherents bowed coldly and some few cut her openly.
These last were embarrassing, infuriating, but Scarlett realized that, except
for Melanie’s championship and her quick action, the face of the whole
town would have been set against her and she would have been an outcast.
