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Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast 15 страница



 

No, it didn’t seem right to learn all these smart tricks, use them so briefly and then put them away forever. How wonderful it would be never to marry but to go on being lovely in pale green dresses and forever courted by handsome men. But, if you went on too long, you got to be an old maid like India Wilkes and everyone said “poor thing” in that smug hateful way. No, after all it was better to marry and keep your self-respect even if you never had any more fun.

 

Oh, what a mess life was! Why had she been such an idiot as to marry Charles of all people and have her life end at sixteen?

 

Her indignant and hopeless reverie was broken when the crowd began pushing back against the walls, the ladies carefully holding their hoops so that no careless contact should turn them up against their bodies and show more pantalets than was proper. Scarlett tiptoed above the crowd and saw the captain of the militia mounting the orchestra platform. He shouted orders and half of the Company fell into line. For a few minutes they went through a brisk drill that brought perspiration to their foreheads and cheers and applause from the audience. Scarlett clapped her hands dutifully with the rest and, as the soldiers pushed forward toward the punch and lemonade booths after they were dismissed, she turned to Melanie, feeling that she had better begin her deception about the Cause as soon as possible.

 

“They looked fine, didn’t they?” she said.

 

Melanie was fussing about with the knitted things on the counter.

 

“Most of them would look a lot finer in gray uniforms and in Virginia,” she said, and she did not trouble to lower her voice.

 

Several of the proud mothers of members of the militia were standing close by and overheard the remark. Mrs. Guinan turned scarlet and then white, for her twenty-five-year-old Willie was in the company.

 

Scarlett was aghast at such words coming from Melly of all people.

 

“Why, Melly!”

 

“You know it’s true, Scarlet. I don’t mean the little boys and the old gentlemen. But a lot of the militia are perfectly able to tote a rifle and that’s what they ought to be doing this minute.”

 

“But-but-” began Scarlett, who had never considered the matter before. “Somebody’s got to stay home to-” What was it Willie Guinan had told her by way of excusing his presence in Atlanta? “Somebody’s got to stay home to protect the state from invasion.”

 

“Nobody’s invading us and nobody’s going to,” said Melly coolly, looking toward a group of the militia. “And the best way to keep out invaders is to go to Virginia and beat the Yankees there. And as for all this talk about the militia staying here to keep the darkies from rising-why, it’s the silliest thing I ever heard of. Why should our people rise? It’s just a good excuse for cowards. I’ll bet we could lick the Yankees in a month if all the militia of all the states went to Virginia. So there!”

 

“Why, Melly!” cried Scarlett again, staring.

 

Melly’s soft dark eyes were flashing angrily. “My husband wasn’t afraid to go and neither was yours. And I’d rather they’d both be dead than here at home-Oh, darling, I’m sorry. How thoughtless and cruel of me!”

 

She stroked Scarlett’s arm appealingly and Scarlett stared at her. But it was not of dead Charles she was thinking. It was of Ashley. Suppose he too were to die? She turned quickly and smiled automatically as Dr. Meade walked up to their booth.

 

“Well, girls,” he greeted them, “it was nice of you to come. I know what a sacrifice it must have been for you to come out tonight. But it’s all for the Cause. And I’m going to tell you a secret. I’ve a surprise way for making some more money tonight for the hospital, but I’m afraid some of the ladies are going to be shocked about it.”

 

He stopped and chuckled as he tugged at his gray goatee.

 

“Oh, what? Do tell!”

 

“On second thought I believe I’ll keep you guessing, too. But you girls must stand up for me if the church members want to run me out of town for doing it. However, it’s for the hospital. You’ll see. Nothing like this has ever been done before.”



 

He went off pompously toward a group of chaperons in one corner, and just as the two girls had turned to each other to discuss the possibilities of the secret, two old gentlemen bore down on the booth, declaring in loud voices that they wanted ten miles of tatting. Well, after all, old gentlemen were better than no gentlemen at all, thought Scarlett, measuring out the tatting and submitting demurely to being chucked under the chin. The old blades charged off toward the lemonade booth and others took their places at the counter. Their booth did not have so many customers as did the other booths where the tootling laugh of Maybelle Merriwether sounded and Fanny Elsing’s giggles and the Whiting girls’ repartee made merriment. Melly sold useless stuff to men who could have no possible use for it as quietly and serenely as a shopkeeper, and Scarlett patterned her conduct on Melly’s.

 

There were crowds in front of every other counter but theirs, girls chattering, men buying. The few who came to them talked about how they went to the university with Ashley and what a fine soldier he was or spoke in respectful tones of Charles and how great a loss to Atlanta his death had been.

 

Then the music broke into the rollicking strains of “Johnny Booker, he’p dis Nigger!” and Scarlett thought she would scream. She wanted to dance. She wanted to dance. She looked across the floor and tapped her foot to the music and her green eyes blazed so eagerly that they fairly snapped. All the way across the floor, a man, newly come and standing in the doorway, saw them, started in recognition and watched closely the slanting eyes in the sulky, rebellious face. Then he grinned to himself as he recognized the invitation that any male could read.

 

He was dressed in black broadcloth, a tall man, towering over the officers who stood near him, bulky in the shoulders but tapering to a small waist and absurdly small feet in varnished boots. His severe black suit, with fine ruffled shirt and trousers smartly strapped beneath high insteps, was oddly at variance with his physique and face, for he was foppishly groomed, the clothes of a dandy on a body that was powerful and latently dangerous in its lazy grace. His hair was jet black, and his black mustache was small and closely clipped, almost foreign looking compared with the dashing, swooping mustaches of the cavalrymen near by. He looked, and was, a man of lusty and unashamed appetites. He had an air of utter assurance, of displeasing insolence about him, and there was a twinkle of malice in his bold eyes as he stared at Scarlett, until finally, feeling his gaze, she looked toward him.

 

Somewhere in her mind, the bell of recognition rang, but for the moment she could not recall who he was. But he was the first man in months who had displayed an interest in her, and she threw him a gay smile. She made a little curtsy as he bowed, and then, as he straightened and started toward her with a peculiarly lithe Indian-like gait, her hand went to her mouth in horror, for she knew who he was.

 

Thunderstruck, she stood as if paralyzed while he made his way through the crowd. Then she turned blindly, bent on flight into the refreshment rooms, but her skirt caught on a nail of the booth. She jerked furiously at it, tearing it and, in an instant, he was beside her.

 

“Permit me,” he said bending over and disentangling the flounce. “I hardly hoped that you would recall me, Miss O’Hara.”

 

His voice was oddly pleasant to the ear, the well-modulated voice of a gentleman, resonant and overlaid with the flat slow drawl of the Charlestonian.

 

She looked up at him imploringly, her face crimson with the shame of their last meeting, and met two of the blackest eyes she had ever seen, dancing in merciless merriment. Of all the people in the world to turn up here, this terrible person who had witnessed that scene with Ashley which still gave her nightmares; this odious wretch who ruined girls and was not received by nice people; this despicable man who had said, and with good cause, that she was not a lady.

 

At the sound of his voice, Melanie turned and for the first time in her life Scarlett thanked God for the existence of her sisterin-law.

 

“Why-it’s-it’s Mr. Rhett Butler, isn’t it?” said Melanie with a little smile, putting out her hand. “I met you-”

 

“On the happy occasion of the announcement of your betrothal,” he finished, bending over her hand. “It is kind of you to recall me.”

 

“And what are you doing so far from Charleston, Mr. Butler?”

 

“A boring matter of business, Mrs. Wilkes. I will be in and out of your town from now on. I find I must not only bring in goods but see to the disposal of them.”

 

“Bring in-” began Melly, her brow wrinkling, and then she broke into a delighted smile. “Why, you-you must be the famous Captain Butler we’ve been hearing so much about-the blockade runner. Why, every girl here is wearing dresses you brought in. Scarlett, aren’t you thrilled-what’s the matter, dear? Are you faint? Do sit down.”

 

Scarlett sank to the stool, her breath coming so rapidly she feared the lacings of her stays would burst. Oh, what a terrible thing to happen! She had never thought to meet this man again. He picked up her black fan from the counter and began fanning her solicitously, too solicitously, his face grave but his eyes still dancing.

 

“It is quite warm in here,” he said. “No wonder Miss O’Hara is faint. May I lead you to a window?”

 

“No,” said Scarlett, so rudely that Melly stared.

 

“She is not Miss O’Hara any longer,” said Melly. “She is Mrs. Hamilton. She is my sister now,” and Melly bestowed one of her fond little glances on her. Scarlett felt that she would strangle at the expression on Captain Butler’s swarthy piratical face.

 

“I am sure that is a great gain to two charming ladies,” said he,

 

making a slight bow. That was the kind of remark all men made, but when he said it it seemed to her that he meant just the opposite.

 

“Your husbands are here tonight, I trust, on this happy occasion? It would be a pleasure to renew acquaintances.”

 

“My husband is in Virginia,” said Melly with a proud lift of her head. “But Charles-” Her voice broke.

 

“He died in camp,” said Scarlett flatly. She almost snapped the words. Would this creature never go away? Melly looked at her, startled, and the Captain made a gesture of self-reproach.

 

“My dear ladies-how could I! You must forgive me. But permit a stranger to offer the comfort of saying that to die for one’s country is to live forever.”

 

Melanie smiled at him through sparkling tears while Scarlett felt the fox of wrath and impotent hate gnaw at her vitals. Again he had made a graceful remark, the kind of compliment any gentleman would pay under such circumstances, but he did not mean a word of it. He was jeering at her. He knew she hadn’t loved Charles. And Melly was just a big enough fool not to see through him. Oh, please God, don’t let anybody else see through him, she thought with a start of terror. Would he tell what he knew? Of course he wasn’t a gentleman and there was no telling what men would do when they weren’t gentlemen. There was no standard to judge them by. She looked up at him and saw that his mouth was pulled down at the corners in mock sympathy, even while he swished the fan. Something in his look challenged her spirit and brought her strength back in a surge of dislike. Abruptly she snatched the fan from his hand.

 

“I’m quite all right,” she said tartly. “There’s no need to blow my hair out of place.”

 

“Scarlett, darling! Captain Butler, you must forgive her. She-she isn’t herself when she hears poor Charlie’s name spoken-and perhaps, after all, we shouldn’t have come here tonight. We’re still in mourning, you see, and it’s quite a strain on her-all this gaiety and music, poor child.”

 

“I quite understand,” he said with elaborate gravity, but as he turned and gave Melanie a searching look that went to the bottom of her sweet worried eyes, his expression changed, reluctant respect and gentleness coming over his dark face. “I think you’re a courageous little lady, Mrs. Wilkes.”

 

“Not a word about me!” thought Scarlett indignantly, as Melly smiled in confusion and answered,

 

“Dear me, no, Captain Butler! The hospital committee just had to have us for this booth because at the last minute- A pillow case? Here’s a lovely one with a flag on it.”

 

She turned to three cavalrymen who appeared at her counter. For a moment, Melanie thought how nice Captain Butler was. Then she wished that something more substantial than cheesecloth was between her skirt and the spittoon that stood just outside the booth, for the aim of the horsemen with amber streams of tobacco juice was not so unerring as with their long horse pistols. Then she forgot about the Captain, Scarlett and the spittoons as more customers crowded to her.

 

Scarlett sat quietly on the stool fanning herself, not daring to look up, wishing Captain Butler back on the deck of his ship where he belonged.

 

“Your husband has been dead long?”

 

“Oh, yes, a long time. Almost a year.”

 

“An aeon, I’m sure.”

 

Scarlett was not sure what an aeon was, but there was no mistaking the baiting quality of his voice, so she said nothing.

 

“Had you been married long? Forgive my questions but I have been away from this section for so long.”

 

“Two months,” said Scarlett, unwillingly.

 

“A tragedy, no less,” his easy voice continued.

 

Oh, damn him, she thought violently. If he was any other man in the world I could simply freeze up and order him off. But he knows about Ashley and he knows I didn’t love Charlie. And my hands are tied. She said nothing, still looking down at her fan.

 

“And this is your first social appearance?”

 

“I know it looks quite odd,” she explained rapidly. “But the McLure girls who were to take this booth were called away and there was no one else, so Melanie and I-”

 

“No sacrifice is too great for the Cause.”

 

Why, that was what Mrs. Elsing had said, but when she said it it didn’t sound the same way. Hot words started to her lips but she choked them back. After all, she was here, not for the Cause, but because she was tired of sitting home.

 

“I have always thought,” he said reflectively, “that the system of mourning, of immuring women in crepe for the rest of their lives and forbidding them normal enjoyment is just as barbarous as the Hindu suttee.”

 

“Settee?”

 

He laughed and she blushed for her ignorance. She hated people who used words unknown to her.

 

“In India, when a man dies he is burned, instead of buried, and his wife always climbs on the funeral pyre and is burned with him.”

 

“How dreadful! Why do they do it? Don’t the police do anything about it?”

 

“Of course not. A wife who didn’t burn herself would be a social outcast. All the worthy Hindu matrons would talk about her for not behaving as a well-bred lady should-precisely as those worthy matrons in the corner would talk about you, should you appear tonight in a red dress and lead a reel. Personally, I think suttee much more merciful than our charming Southern custom of burying widows alive!”

 

“How dare you say I’m buried alive!”

 

“How closely women crutch the very chains that bind them! You think the Hindu custom barbarous-but would you have had the courage to appear here tonight if the Confederacy hadn’t needed you?”

 

Arguments of this character were always confusing to Scarlett. His were doubly confusing because she had a vague idea there was truth in them. But now was the time to squelch him.

 

“Of course, I wouldn’t have come. It would have been-well, disrespectful to-it would have seemed as if I hadn’t lov-”

 

His eyes waited on her words, cynical amusement in them, and she could not go on. He knew she hadn’t loved Charlie and he wouldn’t let her pretend to the nice polite sentiments that she should express. What a terrible, terrible thing it was to have to do with a man who wasn’t a gentleman. A gentleman always appeared to believe a lady even when he knew she was lying. That was Southern chivalry. A gentleman always obeyed the rules and said the correct things and made life easier for a lady. But this man seemed not to care for rules and evidently enjoyed talking of things no one ever talked about.

 

“I am waiting breathlessly.”

 

“I think you are horrid,” she said, helplessly, dropping her eyes.

 

He leaned down across the counter until his mouth was near her ear and hissed, in a very creditable imitation of the stage villains who appeared infrequently at the Athenaeum Hall: “Fear not, fair lady! Your guilty secret is safe with me!”

 

“Oh,” she whispered, feverishly, “how can you say such things!”

 

“I only thought to ease your mind. What would you have me say? ‘Be mine, beautiful female, or I will reveal all?’”

 

She met his eyes unwillingly and saw they were as teasing as a small boy’s. Suddenly she laughed. It was such a silly situation, after all. He laughed too, and so loudly that several of the chaperons in the corner looked their way. Observing how good a time Charles Hamilton’s widow appeared to be having with a perfect stranger, they put their heads together disapprovingly.

 

There was a roll of drums and many voices cried “Sh!” as Dr. Meade mounted the platform and spread out his arms for quiet.

 

“We must all give grateful thanks to the charming ladies whose indefatigable and patriotic efforts have made this bazaar not only a pecuniary success,” he began, “but have transformed this rough hall into a bower of loveliness, a fit garden for the charming rosebuds I see about me.”

 

Everyone clapped approvingly.

 

“The ladies have given their best, not only of their time but of the labor of their hands, and these beautiful objects in the booths are doubly beautiful, made as they are by the fair hands of our charming Southern women.”

 

There were more shouts of approval, and Rhett Butler who had been lounging negligently against the counter at Scarlett’s side whispered: “Pompous goat, isn’t he?”

 

Startled, at first horrified, at this lese majesty toward Atlanta’s most beloved citizen, she stared reprovingly at him. But the doctor did look like a goat with his gray chin whiskers wagging away at a great rate, and with difficulty she stifled a giggle.

 

“But these things are not enough. The good ladies of the hospital committee, whose cool hands have soothed many a suffering brow and brought back from the jaws of death our brave men wounded in the bravest of all Causes, know our needs. I will not enumerate them. We must have more money to buy medical supplies from England, and we have with us tonight the intrepid captain who has so successfully run the blockade for a year and who will run it again to bring us the drugs we need. Captain Rhett Butler!”

 

Though caught unawares, the blockader made a graceful bow-too graceful, thought Scarlett, trying to analyze it. It was almost as if he overdid his courtesy because his contempt for everybody present was so great. There was a loud burst of applause as he bowed and a craning of necks from the ladies in the corner. So that was who poor Charles Hamilton’s widow was carrying on with! And Charlie hardly dead a year!

 

“We need more gold and I am asking you for it,” the doctor continued. “I am asking a sacrifice but a sacrifice so small compared with the sacrifices our gallant men in gray are making that it will seem laughably small. Ladies, I want your jewelry. I want your jewelry? No, the Confederacy wants your jewelry, the Confederacy calls for it and I know no one will hold back. How fair a gem gleams on a lovely wrist! How beautifully gold brooches glitter on the bosoms of our patriotic women! But how much more beautiful is sacrifice than all the gold and gems of the Ind. The gold will be melted and the stones sold and the money used to buy drugs and other medical supplies. Ladies, there will pass among you two of our gallant wounded, with baskets and-” But the rest of his speech was lost in the storm and tumult of clapping hands and cheering voices.

 

Scarlett’s first thought was one of deep thankfulness that mourning forbade her wearing her precious earbobs and the heavy gold chain that had been Grandma Robillard’s and the gold and black enameled bracelets and the garnet brooch. She saw the little Zouave, a split-oak basket over his unwounded arm, making the rounds of the crowd on her side of the hall and saw women, old and young, laughing, eager, tugging at bracelets, squealing in pretended pain as earrings came from pierced flesh, helping each other undo stiff necklace clasps, unpinning brooches from bosoms. There was a steady little clink-clink of metal on metal and cries of “Wait-wait! I’ve got it unfastened now. There!” Maybelle Merriwether was pulling off her lovely twin bracelets from above and below her elbows. Fanny Elsing, crying “Mamma, may I?” was tearing from her curls the seed-pearl ornament set in heavy gold which had been in the family for generations. As each offering went into the basket, there was applause and cheering.

 

The grinning little man was coming to their booth now, his basket heavy on his arm, and as he passed Rhett Butler a handsome gold cigar case was thrown carelessly into the basket. When he came to Scarlett and rested his basket upon the counter, she shook her head throwing wide her hands to show that she had nothing to give. It was embarrassing to be the only person present who was giving nothing. And then she saw the bright gleam of her wide gold wedding ring.

 

For a confused moment she tried to remember Charles’ face-how he had looked when he slipped it on her finger. But the memory was blurred, blurred by the sudden feeling of irritation that memory of him always brought to her. Charles-he was the reason why life was over for her, why she was an old woman.

 

With a sudden wrench she seized the ring but it stuck. The Zouave was moving toward Melanie.

 

“Wait!” cried Scarlett. “I have something for you!” The ring came off and, as she started to throw it into the basket, heaped up with chains, watches, rings, pins and bracelets, she caught Rhett Butler’s eye. His lips were twisted in a slight smile. Defiantly, she tossed the ring onto the top of the pile.

 

“Oh, my darling!” whispered Molly, clutching her arm, her eyes blazing with love and pride. “You brave, brave girl! Wait-please, wait, Lieutenant Picard! I have something for you, too!”

 

She was tugging at her own wedding ring, the ring Scarlett knew had never once left that finger since Ashley put it there. Scarlett knew, as no one did, how much it meant to her. It came off with difficulty and for a brief instant was clutched tightly in the small palm. Then it was laid gently on the pile of jewelry. The two girls stood looking after the Zouave who was moving toward the group of elderly ladies in the corner, Scarlett defiant, Melanie with a look more pitiful than tears. And neither expression was lost on the man who stood beside them.

 

“If you hadn’t been brave enough to do it, I would never have been either,” said Melly, putting her arm about Scarlett’s waist and giving her a gentle squeeze. For a moment Scarlett wanted to shake her off and cry “Name of God!” at the top of her lungs, as Gerald did when he was irritated, but she caught Rhett Butler’s eye and managed a very sour smile. It was annoying the way Melly always misconstrued her motives-but perhaps that was far preferable to having her suspect the truth.

 

“What a beautiful gesture,” said Rhett Butler, softly. “It is such sacrifices as yours that hearten our brave lads in gray.”

 

Hot words bubbled to her lips and it was with difficulty that she checked them. There was mockery in everything he said. She disliked him heartily, lounging there against the booth. But there was something stimulating about him, something warm and vital and electric. All that was Irish in her rose to the challenge of his black eyes. She decided she was going to take this man down a notch or two. His knowledge of her secret gave him an advantage over her that was exasperating, so she would have to change that by putting him at a disadvantage somehow. She stifled her impulse to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Sugar always caught more flies than vinegar, as Mammy often said, and she was going to catch and subdue this fly, so he could never again have her at his mercy.

 

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, deliberately misunderstanding his jibe. “A compliment like that coming from so famous a man as Captain Butler is appreciated.”

 

He threw back his head and laughed freely-yelped, was what Scarlett thought fiercely, her face becoming pink again.

 

“Why don’t you say what you really think?” he demanded, lowering his voice so that in the clatter and excitement of the collection, it came only to her ears. “Why don’t you say I’m a damned rascal and no gentleman and that I must take myself off or you’ll have one of these gallant boys in gray call me out?”

 

It was on the tip of her tongue to answer tartly, but she managed by heroic control to say: “Why, Captain Butler! How you do run on! As if everybody didn’t know how famous you are and how brave and what a-what a-

 

“I am disappointed in you,” he said.

 

“Disappointed?”

 

“Yes. On the occasion of our first eventful meeting I thought to myself that I had at last met a girl who was not only beautiful but who had courage. And now I see that you are only beautiful.”

 

“Do you mean to call me a coward?” She was ruffling like a hen.

 

“Exactly. You lack the courage to say what you really think. When I first met you, I thought: There is a girl in a million. She isn’t like these other silly little fools who believe everything their mammas tell them and act on it, no matter how they feel. And conceal all their feelings and desires and little heartbreaks behind a lot of sweet words. I thought: Miss O’Hara is a girl of rare spirit. She knows what she wants and she doesn’t mind speaking her mind-or throwing vases.”

 

“Oh,” she said, rage breaking through. “Then I’ll speak my mind right this minute. If you’d had any raising at all you’d never have come over here and talked to me. You’d have known I never wanted to lay eyes on you again! But you aren’t a gentleman! You are just a nasty ill-bred creature! And you think that because your rotten little boats can outrun the Yankees, you’ve the right to come here and jeer at men who are brave and women who are sacrificing everything for the Cause-”

 

“Stop, stop-” he begged with a grin. “You started off very nicely and said what you thought, but don’t begin talking to me about the Cause. I’m tired of hearing about it and I’ll bet you are, too-”

 

“Why, how did-” she began, caught off her balance, and then checked herself hastily, boiling with anger at herself for falling into his trap.

 

“I stood there in the doorway before you saw me and I watched you,” he said. “And I watched the other girls. And they all looked as though their faces came out of one mold. Yours didn’t. You have an easy face to read. You didn’t have your mind on your business and I’ll wager you weren’t thinking about our Cause or the hospital. It was all over your face that you wanted to dance and have a good time and you couldn’t. So you were mad clean through. Tell the truth. Am I not right?”

 

“I have nothing more to say to you, Captain Butler,” she said as formally as she could, trying to draw the rags of her dignity about her. “Just because you’re conceited at being the ‘great blockader’ doesn’t give you the right to insult women.”


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