Scarlett (8 page)

“Spin them like you do?”

“Well, sure. No sense having a six-shooter if you’re not going to put it through all its tricks.” Tony ruffled Wade’s hair with a man-to-man rough hand. “I’ll let you learn to ride Western, too, Wade Hampton. I reckon you’ll be the only boy in these parts that’ll know what a real saddle ought to be. But we can’t start today. My brother’s going to be giving me lessons in farming. See how it is—everybody’s got to learn new things all the time.”

Tony planted quick kisses on Suellen’s and Scarlett’s cheeks—the little girls got theirs on the top of their head—and then he said goodbye. “Alex is waiting for me down by the creek. Why don’t you go find Sally? I think she’s hanging up the wash out behind the house.”

Sally acted glad to see them, but Suellen refused her invitation to stop in for a cup of coffee. “I’ve got to get home and do just what you’re doing, Sally, we can’t stay. We just didn’t want to leave without saying hello.” And she hurried Scarlett back to the wagon.

“I don’t see why you were so rude to Sally, Suellen. Your wash could have waited while we had a cup of coffee and talked about the party.”

“Scarlett, you don’t know anything about keeping a farm going. If Sally got behind on her wash, she’d be behind on everything else all day. We can’t get a bunch of servants way out here in the country the way you can in Atlanta. We’ve got to do plenty of the work ourselves.”

Scarlett bridled at the tone of her sister’s voice. “I might just as well go back to Atlanta on this afternoon’s train,” she said crossly.

“It would make things a lot easier for all of us if you did,” Suellen retorted. “You just make more work, and I need that bedroom for Susie and Ella.”

Scarlett opened her mouth to argue. Then she closed it. She’d rather be in Atlanta anyhow. If Tony hadn’t come home, she’d be there by now. People would be glad to see her, too. She had plenty of friends in Atlanta who had time for coffee or a game of whist or a party. She forced a smile for her children, turning her back on Suellen.

“Wade Hampton, Ella, Mother’s got to go to Atlanta after dinner today. I want you to promise you’ll be good and not give your Aunt Suellen any trouble, now.”

Scarlett waited for the protests and the tears. But the children were too busy talking about Tony’s flashing six-shooters to pay any attention to her. As soon as they reached Tara, Scarlett told Pansy to get her valise packed. That was when Ella began to cry. “Prissy’s gone, and I don’t know anybody here to braid my hair,” she sobbed.

Scarlett resisted the impulse to slap her little girl. She couldn’t stay at Tara now that she’d made up her mind to leave, she’d go crazy with nothing to do and no one to talk to. But she couldn’t go without Pansy; it was unheard of for a lady to travel alone. What was she going to do? Ella wanted Pansy to stay with her. It might take days and days for Ella to get used to Lutie, little Susie’s mammy. And if Ella carried on day and night, Suellen might change her mind about keeping the children at Tara.

“All right, then,” Scarlett said sharply. “Stop that awful noise, Ella. I’ll leave Pansy here for the rest of the week. She can teach Lutie about fixing your hair.” I’ll just have to hook up with some woman at the Jonesboro depot. There’s bound to be somebody respectable going to Atlanta that I can share a seat with.

I’m going home on the afternoon train, and that’s all there is to it. Will can drive me over and be back in plenty of time to milk his nasty old cows.

Halfway to Jonesboro, Scarlett stopped chattering brightly about Tony Fontaine’s return. She was silent for a moment, then she blurted out what was preying on her mind. “Will—about Rhett—the way he left so fast, I mean—I hope Suellen’s not going to go blabbing all over the County.”

Will looked at her with his pale blue eyes. “Now, Scarlett, you know better than that. Family don’t bad mouth family. I always figured it was a pity you couldn’t seem to see the good in Suellen. It’s there, but somehow it don’t show itself when you come ’round. You’ll just have to take my word on it. Never mind how she looks to you, Suellen’ll never tell your private troubles to anybody. She don’t want folks talking loose about the O’Haras any more than you do.”

Scarlett relaxed a little. She trusted Will completely. His word was more certain than money in the bank. And he was wise, too. She’d never known Will to be wrong about anything—except maybe Suellen.

“You do believe he’ll be back, don’t you, Will?”

Will didn’t have to ask who she meant. He heard the anxiety beneath her words, and he chewed quietly on the straw in the corner of his mouth while he decided how to reply. At last he said slowly, “I can’t say I do, Scarlett, but I ain’t the one to know. I never seen him above four or five times in my life.”

She felt as if he had struck her. Then quick anger erased the pain. “You just don’t understand anything at all, Will Benteen! Rhett’s upset right now, but he’ll get over it. He’d never do anything as low as go off and leave his wife stranded.”

Will nodded. Scarlett could take it for agreement if she wanted to. But he hadn’t forgotten Rhett’s sardonic description of himself. He was a scoundrel. According to everything folks said, he always had been and likely always would be.

Scarlett stared at the familiar red clay road in front of her. Her jaw was set, her mind working furiously. Rhett would come back. He had to, because she wanted him to, and she always got what she wanted. All she had to do was set her mind to it.

T
he noise and push at Five Points was a tonic to Scarlett’s spirit. So was the disorder on her desk at the house. She needed life and action around her after the numbing succession of deaths, and she needed work to do.

There were stacks of newspapers to be read, piles of daily business accounts from the general store she owned in the very center of Five Points, mounds of bills to be paid, and circulars to tear up and throw away. Scarlett sighed with pleasure and pulled her chair up close to the desk.

She checked the freshness of the ink in its stand and the supply of nibs for her pen. Then she lit the lamp. It would be dark long before she finished all this; maybe she’d even have her supper on a tray tonight while she worked.

She reached eagerly for the store accounts, then her hands stopped in mid-air when a large square envelope on top of the newspapers caught her eye. It was addressed simply “Scarlett,” and the handwriting was Rhett’s.

I won’t read it now, she thought at once, it’ll just get in the way of all the things I’ve got to do. I’m not worried about what’s in it—not a bit—I just don’t want to look at it now. I’ll save it, she told herself, like for dessert. And she picked up a handful of ledger sheets.

But she kept losing track of the arithmetic she was doing in her head, and finally she threw the accounts down. Her fingers tore the sealed envelope open.

Believe me
, Rhett’s letter began,
when I say that you have my deepest sympathy in your bereavement. Mammy’s death is a great loss. I am grateful that you notified me in time for me to see her before she went
.

Scarlett looked up in a rage from the thick black pen strokes and spoke aloud. “ ‘Grateful,’ my foot! So you could lie to her and to me, you varmint.” She wished she could burn the letter and throw the ashes in Rhett’s face, shouting the words at him. Oh, she’d get even with him for shaming her in front of Suellen and Will. No matter how long she had to wait and plan, she’d find a way somehow. He had no right to treat her that way, to treat Mammy that way, to make a sham out of her last wishes like that.

I’ll burn it now, I won’t even read the rest, I don’t have to put my eyes to any more of his lies! Her hand fumbled for the box of matches, but when she held it, she dropped it at once. I’ll die of wondering what was in it, she admitted to herself, and she lowered her head to read on.

She would find her life unaltered, Rhett stated. The household bills would be paid by his lawyers, an arrangement he had made years before, and all moneys drawn from Scarlett’s bank account by check would be replaced automatically. She might want to instruct any new shops where she opened accounts about the procedure all her current shopping places used: they sent their bills directly to Rhett’s lawyers. Alternatively, she could pay her bills by check, the amount being replaced in her bank.

Scarlett read all this with fascination. Anything that had to do with money always interested her, always had, since the day when she was forced by the Union Army to discover what poverty was. Money was safety, she believed. She hoarded the money she earned herself, and now, viewing Rhett’s open-handed generosity, she was shocked.

What a fool he is, I could rob him blind if I wanted to. Probably his lawyers have been cooking those account books for ages, too.

Then—Rhett must be powerfully rich if he can spend without caring where it goes. I always knew he was rich. But not this rich. I wonder how much money he’s got.

Then—he does still love me, this proves it. No man would ever spoil a woman the way Rhett spoiled me all these years unless he loved her to distraction, and he’s going to keep on giving me everything and anything I want. He must still feel the same, or he’d rein in. Oh, I knew it! I knew it. He didn’t mean all those things he said. He just didn’t believe me when I told him I know now that I love him.

Scarlett held Rhett’s letter to her cheek as if she were holding the hand that had written it. She’d prove it to him, prove she loved him with all her heart, and then they’d be so happy—the happiest people in the whole world!

She covered the letter with kisses before she put it carefully away in a drawer. Then she set to work on the store accounts with enthusiasm. Doing business invigorated her. When a maid tapped on the door and timidly asked about supper, Scarlett barely glanced up. “Bring me something on a tray,” she said, “and light the fire in the grate.” It was chilly with darkness falling, and she was hungry as a wolf.

She slept extremely well that night. The store had done well in her absence, and the supper was satisfying in her stomach. It was good to be home, especially with Rhett’s letter resting safely under her pillow.

She woke and stretched luxuriously. The crackle of paper beneath her pillow made her smile. After she rang for her breakfast tray, she began to plan her day. First to the store. It must be low on stock of a lot of things; Kershaw kept the books well enough, but he didn’t have the sense of a pea hen. He’d run right out of flour and sugar before he thought about refilling the kegs, and he probably hadn’t ordered a speck of kerosene or so much as a stick of kindling even though it was getting colder every day.

She hadn’t gotten around to the newspapers last night, either, and going to the store would save her all that boring reading. Anything worth knowing about in Atlanta she’d pick up from Kershaw and the clerks. There was nothing like a general store for collecting all the stories that were going around. People loved to talk while they were waiting for their goods to be wrapped. Why, half the time she already knew what was on the front page before the paper ever got printed; she could probably throw away the whole batch on her desk and not miss a thing.

Scarlett’s smile disappeared. No, she couldn’t. There’d be a piece about Melanie’s burial, and she wanted to see it.

Melanie…

Ashley…

The store would have to wait. She had other obligations to see to first.

Whatever possessed me to promise Melly that I’d take care of Ashley and Beau?

But I promised. I’d best go there first. And I’d better take Pansy to make everything proper. Tongues must be wagging all over town after that scene at the graveyard. No sense adding to the gossip by seeing Ashley alone. Scarlett hurried across the thick carpet to the embroidered bell pull and jerked it savagely. Where was her breakfast?

Oh, no, Pansy was still at Tara. She’d have to take one of the other servants; that new girl, Rebecca, would do. She hoped Rebecca could help her dress without making too big a mess of it. She wanted to hurry, now, to get going and get her duty over with.

When her carriage pulled up in front of Ashley and Melanie’s tiny house on Ivy Street, Scarlett saw that the mourning wreath was gone from the door, and the windows were all shuttered.

India, she thought at once. Of course. She’s taken Ashley and Beau to live at Aunt Pittypat’s. She must be mighty pleased with herself.

Ashley’s sister India was, and always had been, Scarlett’s implacable enemy. Scarlett bit her lip and considered her dilemma. She was sure that Ashley must have moved to Aunt Pitty’s with Beau; it was the most sensible thing for him to do. Without Melanie, and now with Dilcey gone, there was no one to run Ashley’s house or mother his son. At Pittypat’s there was comfort, an orderly household, and constant affection for the little boy from women who had loved him all his life.

Two old maids, thought Scarlett with disdain. They’re ready to worship anything in pants, even short pants. If only India didn’t live with Aunt Pitty. Scarlett could manage Aunt Pitty. The timid old lady wouldn’t dare talk back to a kitten, let alone Scarlett.

But Ashley’s sister was another matter. India would just love to have a confrontation, to say nasty things in her cold, spitting voice, to show Scarlett the door.

If only she hadn’t promised Melanie—but she had. “Drive me to Miss Pittypat Hamilton’s,” she ordered Elias. “Rebecca, you go on home. You can walk.”