Gone With the Wind (152 page)

When it came to making her riding habit, as usual she had her choice of colors and as usual chose blue.

“But, my darling! Not that blue velvet! The blue velvet is for a party dress for me,” laughed Scarlett. “A nice black broadcloth is what little girls wear.” Seeing the small black brows coming together: “For Heaven’s sake, Rhett, tell her how unsuitable it would be and how dirty it will get.”

“Oh, let her have the blue velvet. If it gets dirty, we’ll make her another one,” said Rhett easily.

So Bonnie had her blue velvet habit with a skirt that trailed down the pony’s side and a black hat with a red plume in it, because Aunt Melly’s stories of Jeb Stuart’s plume had appealed to her imagination. On days that were bright and dear the two could be seen riding down Peachtree Street, Rhett reining in his big black horse to keep pace with the fat pony’s gait. Sometimes they went tearing down the quiet roads about the town, scattering chickens and dogs and children, Bonnie beating Mr. Butler with her crop, her tangled curls flying, Rhett holding in his horse with a firm hand that she might think Mr. Butler was winning the race.

When he had assured himself of her seat, her hands, her utter fearlessness, Rhett decided that the time had come for her to learn to make the low jumps that were within the reach of Mr. Butler’s short legs. To this end, he built a hurdle in the back yard and paid Wash, one of Uncle Peter’s small nephews, twenty-five cents a day to teach Mr. Butler to jump. He began with a bar two inches from the ground and gradually worked up the height to a foot.

This arrangement met with the disapproval of the three parties concerned, Wash, Mr. Butler and Bonnie. Wash was afraid of horses and only the princely sum offered induced him to take the stubborn pony over the bar dozens of times a day; Mr. Butler, who bore with equanimity having his tail pulled by his small mistress and his hooves examined constantly, felt that the Creator of ponies had not intended him to put his fat body over the bar; Bonnie, who could not bear to see anyone else upon her pony, danced with impatience while Mr. Butler was learning his lessons.

When Rhett finally decided that the pony knew his business well enough to trust Bonnie upon him, the child’s excitement was boundless. She made her first jump with flying colors and, thereafter, riding abroad with her father held no charms for her. Scarlett could not help laughing at the pride and enthusiasm of father and daughter. She thought, however, that once the novelty had passed, Bonnie would turn to other things and the neighborhood would have some peace. But this sport did not pall. There was a bare track worn from the arbor at the far end of the yard to the hurdle, and all morning long the yard resounded with excited yells. Grandpa Merriwether, who had made the overland trip in 1849, said that the yells sounded just like an Apache after a successful scalping.

After the first week, Bonnie begged for a higher bar, a bar that was a foot and a half from the ground.

“When you are six years old,” said Rhett. “Then you’ll be big enough for a higher jump and I’ll buy you a bigger horse. Mr. Butler’s legs aren’t long enough.”

“They are, too, I jumped Aunt Melly’s rose bushes and they are ‘normously high!”

“No, you must wait,” said Rhett, firm for once. But the firmness gradually faded away before her incessant importunings and tantrums.

“Oh, all right,” he said with a laugh one morning and moved the narrow white cross bar higher. “If you fall off, don’t cry and blame me!”

“Mother!” screamed Bonnie, turning her head up toward Scarlett’s bedroom. “Mother! Watch me! Daddy says I can!”

Scarlett, who was combing her hair, came to the window and smiled down at the tiny excited figure, so absurd in the soiled blue habit.

“I really must get her another habit,” she thought. “Though Heaven only knows how I’ll make her give up that dirty one.”

“Mother, watch!”

“I’m watching dear,” said Scarlett smiling.

As Rhett lifted the child and set her on the pony, Scarlett called with a swift rush of pride at the straight back and the proud set of the head,

“You’re mighty pretty, precious!”

“So are you,” said Bonnie generously and, hammering a heel into Mr. Butler’s ribs, she galloped down the yard toward the arbor.

“Mother, watch me take this one!” she cried, laying on the crop.

Watch me take this one!

Memory rang a bell far back in Scarlett’s mind. There was something ominous about those words. What was it? Why couldn’t she remember? She looked down at her small daughter, so lightly poised on the galloping pony and her brow wrinkled as a chill swept swiftly through her breast. Bonnie came on with a rush, her crisp black curls jerking, her blue eyes blazing.

“They are like Pa’s eyes,” thought Scarlett, “Irish blue eyes and she’s just like him in every way.”

And, as she thought of Gerald, the memory for which she had been rumbling came to her swiftly, came with the heart stopping clarity of summer lightning, throwing, for an instant, a whole countryside into unnatural brightness. She could hear an Irish voice singing, hear the hard rapid pounding of hooves coming up the pasture hill at Tara, hear a reckless voice, so like the voice of her child: “Ellen! Watch me take this one!”

“No!” she cried. “No! Oh, Bonnie, stop!”

Even as she leaned from the window there was a fearful sound of splintering wood, a hoarse cry from Rhett, a melee of blue velvet and flying hooves on the ground. Then Mr. Butler scrambled to his feet and trotted off with an empty saddle.

On the third night after Bonnie’s death, Mammy waddled slowly up the kitchen steps of Melanie’s house. She was dressed in black from her huge men’s shoes, slashed to permit freedom for her toes, to her black head rag. Her blurred old eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed, and misery cried out in every line of her mountainous figure. Her face was puckered in the sad bewilderment of an old ape but there was determination in her jaw.

She spoke a few soft words to Dilcey who nodded kindly, as though an unspoken armistice existed in their old feud. Dilcey put down the supper dishes she was holding and went quietly through the pantry toward the dining room. In a minute Melanie was in the kitchen, her table napkin in her hand, anxiety in her face.

“Miss Scarlet isn’t—”

“Miss Scarlett bearin’ up, same as allus,” said Mammy heavily. “Ah din’ ten ter ‘sturb yo’ supper, Miss Melly. Ah kin wait tell you thoo ter tell you whut Ah got on mah mine.”

“Supper can wait,” said Melanie. “Dilcey, serve the rest of the supper. Mammy, come with me.”

Mammy waddled after her, down the hall past the dining room where Ashley sat at the head of the table, his own little Beau beside him and Scarlett’s two children opposite, pairing a great clatter with their soup spoons. The happy voices of Wade and Ella filled the room. It was like a picnic for them to spend so long a visit with Aunt Melly. Aunt Melly was always so kind and she was especially so now. The death of their younger sister had affected them very little. Bonnie had fallen off her pony and Mother had cried a long time and Aunt Melly had taken them home with her to play in the back yard with Beau and have tea cakes whenever they wanted them.

Melanie led the way to the small book-lined sitting room, shut the door and motioned Mammy to the sofa.

“I was going over right after supper,” she said. “Now that Captain Butler’s mother has come, I suppose the funeral will be tomorrow morning.”

“De fune’l. Dat’s jes’ it,” said Mammy. “Miss Melly, we’s all in deep trouble an’ Ah’s come ter you fer he’p. Ain’ nuthin’ but weery load, honey, nuthin’ but weery load.”

“Has Miss Scarlett collapsed?” questioned Melanie worriedly. “I’ve hardly seen her since Bonnie— She has been in her room and Captain Butler has been out of the house and—”

Suddenly tears began to flow down Mammy’s black face. Melanie sat down beside her and patted her arm and, after a moment, Mammy lifted the hem of her black skirt and dried her eyes.

“You got ter come he’p us, Miss Melly. Ah done de bes’ Ah kin but it doan do no good.”

“Miss Scarlett—”

Mammy straightened.

“Miss Melly, you knows Miss Scarlett well’s Ah does. Whut dat chile got ter stan’, de good Lawd give her strent ter stan’. Disyere done broke her heart but she kin stan’ it. It’s Mist’ Rhett Ah come ‘bout.”

“I have so wanted to see him but whenever I’ve been there, he has either been downtown or locked in his room with— And Scarlett has looked like a ghost and wouldn’t speak— Tell me quickly, Mammy. You know I’ll help if I can.”

Mammy wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “Ah say Miss Scarlett kin stan’ whut de Lawd sen’, kase she done had ter stan’ a-plen’y, but Mist’ Rhett— Miss Melly, he ain’ never had ter stan’ nuthin’ he din’ wanter stan’, not nuthin’. It’s him Ah come ter see you ‘bout.”

“But—”

“Miss Melly, you got ter come home wid me, dis evenin’.” There was urgency in Mammy’s voice. “Maybe Mist’ Rhett lissen ter you. He allus did think a heap of yo’ ‘pinion.”

“Oh, Mammy, what is it? What do you mean?”

Mammy squared her shoulders.

“Miss Melly, Mist’ Rhett done—done los’ his mine. He woan let us put Lil Miss away.”

“Lost his mind? Oh, Mammy, no!”

“Ah ain’ lyin’. It’s de Gawd’s truff. He ain’ gwine let us buhy dat chile. He done tole me so hisseff, not mo’n an hour ago.”

“But he can’t—he isn’t—”

“Dat’s huccome Ah say he los’ his mine.”

“But why—”

“Miss Melly, Ah tell you everything. Ah oughtn’ tell nobody, but you is our fambly an’ you is de onlies’ one Ah kin tell. Ah tell you eve’ything. You knows whut a sto’ he set by dat chile. Ah ain’ never seed no man, black or w’ite, set sech a sto’ by any chile. Look lak he go plumb crazy w’en Doctah Meade say her neck broke. He grab his gun an’ he run right out an’ shoot dat po’ pony an’, fo’ Gawd, Ah think he gwine shoot hisseff. Ah wuz plumb ‘stracted whut wid Miss Scarlett in a swoon an’ all de neighbors in an’ outer de house an’ Mist’ Rhett cahyin’ on an’ jes’ holin’ dat chile an’ not even lettin’ me wash her lil face whar de grabble cut it. An’ w’en Miss Scarlett come to, Ah think, bress Gawd! Now dey kin comfo’t each other.”

Again the tears began to fall but this time Mammy did not even wipe them away.

“But w’en she come to, she go inter de room whar he setin’, holin’ Miss Bonnie, an’ she say: ‘Gimme mah baby whut you kilt.’ ”

“Oh, no! She couldn’t!”

“Yas’m. Dat whut she say. She say: ‘You kilt her.’ An’ Ah felt so sorry fer Mist’ Rhett Ah bust out cryin’, kase he look lak a whup houn’. An’ Ah say: ‘Give dat chile ter its mammy. Ah ain’ gwine have no sech goin’s on over mah Lil Miss.’ An’ Ah tek de chile away frum him an’ tek her inter her room an’ wash her face. An’ Ah hear dem talkin’ an’ it lak ter tuhn mah blood cole, whut dey say. Miss Scarlett wuz callin’ him a mudderer fer lettin’ her try ter jump dat high, an’ him sayin’ Miss Scarlett hadn’ never keered nuthin’ ‘bout Miss Bonnie nor none of her chillun. …”

“Stop, Mammy! Don’t tell me any more. It isn’t right for you to tell me this!” cried Melanie, her mind shrinking away from the picture Mammy’s words evoked.

“Ah knows Ah got no bizness tellin’ you, but mah heart too full ter know jes’ whut not ter say. Den he tuck her ter de unnertaker’s hisseff an’ he bring her back an’ he put her in her baid in his room. An’ w’en Miss Scarlett say she b’long in de pahlor in de coffin, Ah thought Mist’ Rhett gwine hit her. An’ he say, right cole lak: ‘She b’long in mah room.’ An’ he tuhn ter me an’ he say: ‘Mammy, you se dat she stay right hyah tell Ah gits back.’ Den he light outer de house on de hawse an’ he wuz gone tell ‘bout sundown. W’en he come t’arin’ home, Ah seed dat he’d been drinkin’ an’ drinkin’ heavy, but he wuz cahyin’ it well’s usual. He fling inter de house an’ not even speak ter Miss Scarlett or Miss Pitty or any of de ladies as wuz callin’, but he fly up de steps an’ th’ow open de do’ of his room an’ den he yell for me. W’en Ah comes runnin’ as fas’ as Ah kin, he wuz stan’in’ by de baid an’ it wuz so dahk in de room Ah couldn’ sceercely see him, kase de shutters wuz done drawed.

“An’ he say ter me, right fierce lak: ‘Open dem shutters. It’s dahk in hyah.’ An’ Ah fling dem open an’ he look at me an’, fo’ Gawd, Miss Melly, mah knees ‘bout give way, kase he look so strange. Den he say: Bring lights. Bring lots of lights. An’ keep dem buhnin’. An’ doan draw no shades an’ no shutters. Doan you know Miss Bonnie’s fraid of de dahk?”

Melanie’s horror struck eyes met Mammy’s and Mammy nodded ominously.

“Dat’s whut he say. ‘Miss Bonnie’s ‘fraid of de dahk.’ ”

Mammy shivered.

“W’en Ah gits him a dozen candles, he say ‘Git!’ An’ den he lock de do’ an’ dar he set wid Lil Miss, an’ he din’ open de do’ fer Miss Scarlett even w’en she beat an’ hollered ter him. An’ dat’s de way it been fer two days. He woan say nuthin’ ‘bout de fune’l, an’ in de mawnin’ he lock de do’ an’ git on his hawse an’ go off ter town. An’ he come back at sundown drunk an’ lock hisseff in agin, an’ he ain’ et nuthin’ or slept none. An’ now his ma, Ole Miss Butler, she come frum Cha’ston fer de fune’l an’ Miss Suellen an’ Mist’ Will, dey come frum Tara, but Mist’ Rhett woan talk ter none of dem. Oh, Miss Melly, it been awful! An’ it’s gwine be wuss, an’ folks gwine talk sumpin’ scanlous.

“An’ den, dis evenin’,” Mammy paused and again wiped her nose on her hand. “Dis evenin’ Miss Scarlett ketch him in de upstairs hall w’en he come in, an’ she go in de room wid him an’ she say: ‘De fune’l set fer termorrer mawnin’.’ An’ he say: ‘Do dat an’ Ah kills you termorrer.’ ”

“Oh, he must have lost his mind!”

“Yas’m. An’ den dey talks kinder low an’ Ah doan hear all whut dey say, ‘cept he say agin ‘bout Miss Bonnie bein’ sceered of de dahk an’ de grabe pow’ful dahk. An’ affer aw’ile, Miss Scarlett say ‘You is a fine one ter tek on so, affer killin’ her ter please yo’ pride.’ An’ he say: ‘Ain’ you got no mercy?’ An’ she say: ‘No. An’ Ah ain’ got no chile, needer. An’ Ah’m wo’out wid de way you been ackin’ sence Bonnie wuz kilt. You is a scan’al ter de town. You been drunk all de time an’ ef you doan think Ah knows whar you been spendin’ yo’ days, you is a fool. Ah knows you been down ter dat creeter’s house, dat Belle Watling.’ ”