Gone With the Wind (118 page)

“You tend to your business and I’ll tend to mine,” she said indignantly. “And I don’t want to talk about convicts any more. Everybody’s been hateful about them. My gang is my own business— And you haven’t told me yet what you do in New Orleans. You go there so often that everybody says—” She paused. She had not intended to say so much.

“What do they say?”

“Well—that you have a sweetheart there. That you are going to get married. Are you, Rhett?”

She had been curious about this for so long that she could not refrain from asking the point-blank question. A queer little pang of jealousy jabbed at her at the thought of Rhett getting married, although why that should be she did not know.

His bland eyes grew suddenly alert and he caught her gaze and held it until a little blush crept up into her cheeks.

“Would it matter much to you?”

“Well, I should hate to lose your friendship,” she said primly and, with an attempt at disinterestedness, bent down to pull the blanket closer about Ella Lorena’s head.

He laughed suddenly, shortly, and said: “Look at me, Scarlett.”

She looked up unwillingly, her blush deepening.

“You can tell your curious friends that when I marry it will be because I couldn’t get the woman I wanted in any other way. And I’ve never yet wanted a woman bad enough to marry her.”

Now she was indeed confused and embarrassed, for she remembered the night on this very porch during the siege when he had said: “I am not a marrying man” and casually suggested that she become his mistress—remembered, too, the terrible day when he was in jail and was shamed by the memory. A slow malicious smile went over his face as he read her eyes.

“But I will satisfy your vulgar curiosity since you ask such pointed questions. It isn’t a sweetheart that takes me to New Orleans. It’s a child, a little boy.”

“A little boy!” The shock of this unexpected information wiped out her confusion.

“Yes, he is my legal ward and I am responsible for him. He’s in school in New Orleans. I go there frequently to see him.”

“And take him presents?” So, she thought, that’s how he always knows what kind of presents Wade likes!

“Yes,” he said shortly, unwillingly.

“Well, I never! Is he handsome?”

“Too handsome for his own good.”

“Is he a nice little boy?”

“No. He’s a perfect hellion. I wish he had never been born. Boys are troublesome creatures. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

He looked suddenly angry and his brow was dark, as though he already regretted speaking of the matter at all.

“Well, not if you don’t want to tell me any more,” she said loftily, though she was burning for further information. “But I just can’t see you in the rôle of a guardian,” and she laughed, hoping to disconcert him.

“No, I don’t suppose you can. Your vision is pretty limited.”

He said no more and smoked his cigar in silence for a while. She cast about for some remark as rude as his but could think of none.

“I would appreciate it if you’d say nothing of this to anyone,” he said finally. “Though I suppose that asking a woman to keep her mouth shut is asking the impossible.”

“I can keep a secret,” she said with injured dignity.

“Can you? It’s nice to learn unsuspected things about friends. Now, stop pouting, Scarlett. I’m sorry I was rude but you deserved it for prying. Give me a smile and let’s be pleasant for a minute or two before I take up an unpleasant subject.”

Oh, dear! she thought. Now, he’s going to talk about Ashley and the mill! and she hastened to smile and show her dimple to divert him. “Where else did you go, Rhett? You haven’t been in New Orleans all this time, have you?”

“No, for the last month I’ve been in Charleston. My father died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m sure he wasn’t sorry to die, and I’m sure I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

“Rhett, what a dreadful thing to say!”

“It would be much more dreadful if I pretended to be sorry, when I wasn’t, wouldn’t it? There was never any love lost between us. I cannot remember when the old gentleman did not disapprove of me. I was too much like his own father and he disapproved heartily of his father. And as I grew older his disapproval of me became downright dislike, which, I admit, I did little to change. All the things Father wanted me to do and be were such boring things. And finally he threw me out into the world without a cent and no training whatsoever to be anything but a Charleston gentleman, a good pistol shot and an excellent poker player. And he seemed to take it as a personal affront that I did not starve but put my poker playing to excellent advantage and supported myself royally by gambling. He was so affronted at a Butler becoming a gambler that when I came home for the first time, he forbade my mother to see me. And all during the war when I was blockading out of Charleston, Mother had to lie and slip off to see me. Naturally that didn’t increase my love for him.”

“Oh, I didn’t know all that!”

“He was what is pointed out as a fine old gentleman of the old school which means that he was ignorant, thick headed, intolerant and incapable of thinking along any lines except what other gentlemen of the old school thought. Everyone admired him tremendously for having cut me off and counted me as dead. ‘If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out.’ I was his right eye, his oldest son, and he plucked me out with a vengeance.”

He smiled a little, his eyes hard with amused memory.

“Well, I could forgive all that but I can’t forgive what he’s done to Mother and my sister since the war ended. They’ve been practically destitute. The plantation house was burned and the rice fields have gone back to marsh lands. And the town house went for taxes and they’ve been living in two rooms that aren’t fit for darkies. I’ve sent money to Mother, but Father has sent it back—tainted money, you see!—and several times I’ve gone to Charleston and given money, on the sly, to my sister. But Father always found out and raised merry hell with her, till her life wasn’t worth living, poor girl. And back the money came to me. I don’t know how they’ve lived. … Yes, I do know. My brother’s given what he could, though he hasn’t much to give and he won’t take anything from me either—speculator’s money is unlucky money, you see! And the charity of their friends. Your Aunt Eulalie, she’s been very kind. She’s one of Mother’s best friends, you know. She’s given them clothes and— Good God! My mother on charity!”

It was one of the few times she had ever seen him with his mask off, his face hard with honest hatred for his father and distress for his mother.

“Aunt ‘Lalie! But, good Heavens, Rhett, she hasn’t got anything much above what I send her!”

“Ah, so that’s where it comes from! How ill bred of you, my dear, to brag of such a thing in the face of my humiliation. You must let me reimburse you!”

“With pleasure,” said Scarlett, her mouth suddenly twisting into a grin, and he smiled back.

“Ah, Scarlett, how the thought of a dollar does make your eyes sparkle! Are you sure you haven’t some Scotch or perhaps Jewish blood as well as Irish?”

“Don’t be hateful! I didn’t mean to throw it in your face about Aunt ‘Lalie. But honestly, she thinks I’m made of money. She’s always writing me for more and, God knows, I’ve got enough on my hands without supporting all of Charleston. What did your father die of?”

“Genteel starvation, I think—and hope. It served him right. He was willing to let Mother and Rosemary starve with him. Now that he’s dead, I can help them. I’ve bought them a house on the Battery and they’ve servants to look after them. But of course, they couldn’t let it be known that the money came from me.”

“Why not?”

“My dear, surely you know Charleston! You’ve visited there. My family may be poor but they have a position to uphold. And they couldn’t uphold it if it were known that gambling money and speculator’s money and Carpetbag money was behind it. No, they gave it out that Father left an enormous life insurance—that he’d beggared himself and starved himself to death to keep up the payments, so that after he died, they’d be provided for. So he is looked upon as an even greater gentleman of the old school than before. … In fact, a martyr to his family. I hope he’s turning in his grave at the knowledge that Mother and Rosemary are comfortable now, in spite of his efforts. … In a way, I’m sorry he’s dead because he wanted to die— was so glad to die.”

“Why?”

“Oh, he really died when Lee surrendered. You know the type. He never could adjust himself to the new times and spent his time talking about the good old days.”

“Rhett, are all old folks like that?” She was thinking of Gerald and what Will had said about him.

“Heavens, no! Just look at your Uncle Henry and that old wild cat, Mr. Merriwether, just to name two. They took a new lease on life when they marched out with the Home Guard and it seems to me that they’ve gotten younger and more peppery ever since. I met old man Merriwether this morning driving René’s pie wagon and cursing the horse like an army mule skinner. He told me he felt ten years younger since he escaped from the house and his daughter-in-law’s coddling and took to driving the wagon. And your Uncle Henry enjoys fighting the Yankees in court and out and defending the widow and the orphan—free of charge, I fear—against the Carpetbaggers. If there hadn’t been a war, he’d have retired long ago and nursed his rheumatism. They’re young again because they are of use again and feel that they are needed. And they like this new day that gives old men another chance. But there are plenty of people, young people, who feel like my father and your father. They can’t and won’t adjust and that brings me to the unpleasant subject I want to discuss with you, Scarlett.”

His sudden shift so disconcerted her that she stammered: “What—what—” and inwardly groaned: “Oh, Lord! Now, it’s coming. I wonder if I can butter him down?”

“I shouldn’t have expected either truth or honor or fair dealing from you, knowing you as I do. But foolishly, I trusted you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do. At any rate, you look very guilty. As I was riding along Ivy Street a white ago, on my way to call on you, who should hail me from behind a hedge but Mrs. Ashley Wilkes! Of course, I stopped and chatted with her.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, we had an enjoyable talk. She told me she had always wanted to let me know how brave she thought I was to have struck a blow for the Confederacy, even at the eleventh hour.”

“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! Melly’s a fool. She might have died that night because you acted so heroic.”

“I imagine she would have thought her life given in a good cause. And when I asked her what she was doing in Atlanta she looked quite surprised at my ignorance and told me that they were living here now and that you had been kind enough to make Mr. Wilkes a partner in your mill.”

“Well, what of it?” questioned Scarlett, shortly.

“When I lent you the money to buy that mill I made one stipulation, to which you agreed, and that was that it should not go to the support of Ashley Wilkes.”

“You are being very offensive. I’ve paid you back your money and I own the mill and what I do with it is my own business.”

“Would you mind telling me how you made the money to pay back my loan?”

“I made it selling lumber, of course.”

“You made it with the money I lent you to give you your start. That’s what you mean. My money is being used to support Ashley. You are a woman quite without honor and if you hadn’t repaid my loan, I’d take great pleasure in calling it in now and selling you out at public auction if you couldn’t pay.”

He spoke lightly but there was anger flickering in his eyes.

Scarlett hastily carried the warfare into the enemy’s territory.

“Why do you hate Ashley so much? I believe you’re jealous of him.”

After she had spoken she could have bitten her tongue, for he threw back his head and laughed until she went red with mortification.

“Add conceit to dishonor,” he said. “You’ll never get over being the belle of the County, will you? You’ll always think you’re the cutest little trick in shoe leather and that every man you meet is expiring for love of you.”

“I don’t either!” she cried hotly. “But I just can’t see why you hate Ashley so much and that’s the only explanation I can think of.”

“Well, think something else, pretty charmer, for that’s the wrong explanation. And as for hating Ashley— I don’t hate him any more than I like him. In fact, my only emotion toward him and his kind is pity.”

“Pity?”

“Yes, and a little contempt. Now, swell up like a gobbler and tell me that he is worth a thousand blackguards like me and that I shouldn’t dare to be so presumptuous as to feel either pity or contempt for him. And when you have finished swelling, I’ll tell you what I mean, if you’re interested.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“I shall tell you, just the same, for I can’t bear for you to go on nursing your pleasant delusion of my jealousy. I pity him because he ought to be dead and he isn’t. And I have a contempt for him because he doesn’t know what to do with himself now that his world is gone.”

There was something familiar in the idea he expressed. She had a confused memory of having beard similar words but she could not remember when and where. She did not think very hard about it for her anger was hot.

“If you had your way all the decent men in the South would be dead!”

“And if they had their way, I think Ashley’s kind would prefer to be dead. Dead with neat stones above them, saying: ‘Here lies a soldier of the Confederacy, dead for the Southland’ or ‘Dulce et decorum est—‘ or any of the other popular epitaphs.”

“I don’t see why!”

“You never see anything that isn’t written in letters a foot high and then shoved under your nose, do you? If they were dead, their troubles would be over, there’d be no problems to face, problems that have no solutions. Moreover, their families would be proud of them through countless generations. And I’ve heard the dead are happy. Do you suppose Ashley Wilkes is happy?”

“Why, of course—” she began and then she remembered the look in Ashley’s eyes recently and stopped.

“Is he happy or Hugh Elsing or Dr. Meade? Any more than my father and your father were happy?”