Gone With the Wind, Page 85

  "He's going to marry Sue and that's that."

  "She's lucky to get him."

  "Tara is lucky to get him."

  "You love this place, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "So much that you don't mind your sister marrying out of her class as long as you have a man around to care for Tara?"

  "Class?" said Scarlett, startled at the idea. "Class? What does class matter now, so long as a girl gets a husband who can take care of her?"

  "That's a debatable question," said Old Miss. "Some folks would say you were talking common sense. Others would say you were letting down bars that ought never be lowered one inch. Will's certainly not quality folks and some of your people were."

  Her sharp old eyes went to the portrait of Grandma Robillard.

  Scarlett thought of Will, lank, unimpressive, mild, eternally chewing a straw, his whole appearance deceptively devoid of energy, like that of most Crackers. He did not have behind him a long line of ancestors of wealth, prominence and blood. The first of Will's family to set foot on Georgia soil might even have been one of Oglethorpe's debtors or a bond servant. Will had not been to college. In fact, four years in a backwoods school was all the education he had ever had. He was honest and he was loyal, he was patient and he was hard working, but certainly he was not quality. Undoubtedly by Robillard standards, Suellen was coming down in the world.

  "So you approve of Will coming into your family?"

  "Yes," answered Scarlett fiercely, ready to pounce upon the old lady at the first words of condemnation.

  "You may kiss me," said Grandma surprisingly, and she smiled in her most approving manner. "I never liked you much till now, Scarlett. You were always hard as a hickory nut, even as a child, and I don't like hard females, barring myself. But I do like the way you meet things. You don't make a fuss about things that can't be helped, even if they are disagreeable. You take your fences cleanly like a good hunter."

  Scarlett smiled uncertainly and pecked obediently at the withered cheek presented to her. It was pleasant to hear approving words again, even if she had little idea what they meant.

  "There's plenty of folks hereabouts who'll have something to say about you letting Sue marry a Cracker-- for all that everybody likes Will. They'll say in one breath what a fine man he is and how terrible it is for an O'Hara girl to marry beneath her. But don't you let it bother you."

  "I've never bothered about what people said."

  "So I've heard." There was a hint of acid in the old voice. "Well, don't bother about what folks say. It'll probably be a very successful marriage. Of course, Will's always going to look like a Cracker and marriage won't improve his grammar any. And, even if he makes a mint of money, he'll never lend any shine and sparkle to Tara, like your father did. Crackers are short on sparkle. But Will's a gentleman at heart. He's got the right instincts. Nobody but a born gentleman could have put his finger on what is wrong with us as accurately as he just did, down there at the burying. The whole world can't lick us but we can lick ourselves by longing too hard for things we haven't got any more-- and by remembering too much. Yes, Will will do well by Suellen and by Tara."

  "Then you approve of me letting him marry her?"

  "God, no!" The old voice was tired and bitter but vigorous. "Approve of Crackers marrying into old families? Bah! Would I approve of breeding scrub stock to thoroughbreds? Oh, Crackers are good and solid and honest but--"

  "But you said you thought it would be a successful match!" cried Scarlett bewildered.

  "Oh, I think it's good for Suellen to marry Will-- to marry anybody for that matter, because she needs a husband bad. And where else could she get one? And where else could you get as good a manager for Tara? But that doesn't mean I like the situation any better than you do."

  But I do like it, thought Scarlett trying to grasp the old lady's meaning. I'm glad Will is going to marry her. Why should she think I minded? She's taking it for granted that I do mind, just like her.

  She felt puzzled and a little ashamed, as always when people attributed to her emotions and motives they possessed and thought she shared.

  Grandma fanned herself with her palmetto leaf and went on briskly: "I don't approve of the match any more than you do but I'm practical and so are you. And when it comes to something that's unpleasant but can't be helped, I don't see any sense in screaming and kicking about it. That's no way to meet the ups and downs of life. I know because my family and the Old Doctor's family have had more than our share of ups and downs. And if we folks have a motto, it's this: 'Don't holler-- smile and bide your time.' We've survived a passel of things that way, smiling and biding our time, and we've gotten to be experts at surviving. We had to be. We've always bet on the wrong horses. Run out of France with the Huguenots, run out of England with the Cavaliers, run out of Scotland with Bonnie Prince Charlie, run out of Haiti by the niggers and now licked by the Yankees. But we always turn up on top in a few years. You know why?"

  She cocked her head and Scarlett thought she looked like nothing so much as an old, knowing parrot.

  "No, I don't know, I'm sure," she answered politely. But she was heartily bored, even as she had been the day when Grandma launched on her memories of the Creek uprising.

  "Well, this is the reason. We bow to the inevitable. We're not wheat, we're buckwheat! When a storm comes along it flattens ripe wheat because it's dry and can't bend with the wind. But ripe buckwheat's got sap in it and it bends. And when the wind has passed, it springs up almost as straight and strong as before. We aren't a stiff-necked tribe. We're mighty limber when a hard wind's blowing, because we know it pays to be limber. When trouble comes we bow to the inevitable without any mouthing, and we work and we smile and we bide our time. And we play along with lesser folks and we take what we can get from them. And when we're strong enough, we kick the folks whose necks we've climbed over. That, my child, is the secret of the survival." And after a pause, she added: "I pass it on to you."

  The old lady cackled, as if she were amused by her words, despite the venom in them. She looked as if she expected some comment from Scarlett but the words had made little sense to her and she could think of nothing to say.

  "No, sir," Old Miss went on, "our folks get flattened out but they rise up again, and that's more than I can say for plenty of people not so far away from here. Look at Cathleen Calvert. You can see what she's come to. Poor white! And a heap lower than the man she married. Look at the McRae family. Flat to the ground, helpless, don't know what to do, don't know how to do anything. Won't even try. They spend their time whining about the good old days. And look at-- well, look at nearly anybody in this County except my Alex and my Sally and you and Jim Tarleton and his girls and some others. The rest have gone under because they didn't have any sap in them, because they didn't have the gumption to rise up again. There never was anything to those folks but money and darkies, and now that the money and darkies are gone, those folks will be Cracker in another generation."

  "You forgot the Wilkes."

  "No, I didn't forget them. I just thought I'd be polite and not mention them, seeing that Ashley's a guest under this roof. But seeing as how you've brought up their names-- look at them! There's India who from all I hear is a dried-up old maid already, giving herself all kinds of widowed airs because Stu Tarleton was killed and not making any effort to forget him and try to catch another man. Of course, she's old but she could catch some widower with a big family if she tried. And poor Honey was always a man-crazy fool with no more sense than a guinea hen. And as for Ashley, look at him!"

  "Ashley is a very fine man," began Scarlett hotly.

  "I never said he wasn't but he's as helpless as a turtle on his back. If the Wilkes family pulls through these hard times, it'll be Melly who pulls them through. Not Ashley."

  "Melly! Lord, Grandma! What are you talking about? I've lived with Melly long enough to know she's sickly and scared and hasn't the gumption to say Boo to a goose."

  "Now why on ear
th should anyone want to say Boo to a goose? It always sounded like a waste of time to me. She might not say Boo to a goose but she'd say Boo to the world or the Yankee government or anything else that threatened her precious Ashley or her boy or her notions of gentility. Her way isn't your way, Scarlett, or my way. It's the way your mother would have acted if she'd lived. Melly puts me in mind of your mother when she was young. ... And maybe she'll pull the Wilkes family through."

  "Oh, Melly's a well-meaning little ninny. But you are very unjust to Ashley. He's--"

  "Oh, foot! Ashley was bred to read books and nothing else. That doesn't help a man pull himself out of a tough fix, like we're all in now. From what I hear, he's the worst plow hand in the County! Now you just compare him with my Alex! Before the war, Alex was the most worthless dandy in the world and he never had a thought beyond a new cravat and getting drunk and shooting somebody and chasing girls who were no better than they should be. But look at him now! He learned farming because he had to learn. He'd have starved and so would all of us. Now he raises the best cotton in the County-- yes, Miss! It's a heap better than Tara cotton! -- and he knows what to do with hogs and chickens. Ha! He's a fine boy for all his bad temper. He knows how to bide his time and change with changing ways and when all this Reconstruction misery is over, you're going to see my Alex as rich a man as his father and his grandfather were. But Ashley --"

  Scarlett was smarting at the slight to Ashley.

  "It all sounds like tootle to me," she said coldly.

  "Well, it shouldn't," said Grandma, fastening a sharp eye upon her. "For it's just exactly the course you've been following since you went to Atlanta. Oh, yes! We hear of your didoes, even if we are buried down here in the country. You've changed with the changing times too. We hear how you suck up to the Yankees and the white trash and the new-rich Carpetbaggers to get money out of them. Butter doesn't melt in your mouth from all I can hear. Well, go to it, I say. And get every cent out of them you can, but when you've got enough money, kick them in the face, because they can't serve you any longer. Be sure you do that and do it properly, for trash hanging onto your coat tails can ruin you."

  Scarlett looked at her, her brow wrinkling with the effort to digest the words. They still didn't make much sense and she was still angry at Ashley being called a turtle on his back.

  "I think you're wrong about Ashley," she said abruptly.

  "Scarlett, you just aren't smart."

  "That's your opinion," said Scarlett rudely, wishing it were permissible to smack old ladies' jaws.

  "Oh, you're smart enough about dollars and cents. That's a man's way of being smart. But you aren't smart at all like a woman. You aren't a speck smart about folks."

  Scarlett's eyes began to snap fire and her hands to clench and unclench.

  "I've made you good and mad, haven't I?" asked the old lady, smiling. "Well, I aimed to do just that."

  "Oh, you did, did you? And why, pray?"

  "I had good and plenty reasons."

  Grandma sank back in her chair and Scarlett suddenly realized that she looked very tired and incredibly old. The tiny clawlike hands folded over the fan were yellow and waxy as a dead person's. The anger went out of Scarlett's heart as a thought came to her. She leaned over and took one of the hands in hers.

  "You're a mighty sweet old liar," she said. "You didn't mean a word of all this rigmarole. You've just been talking to keep my mind off Pa, haven't you?"

  "Don't fiddle with me!" said Old Miss grumpily, Jerking away her hand. "Partly for that reason, partly because what I've been telling you is the truth and you're just too stupid to realize it."

  But she smiled a little and took the sting from her words. Scarlett's heart emptied itself of wrath about Ashley. It was nice to know Grandma hadn't meant any of it.

  "Thank you, just the same. It was nice of you to talk to me-- and I'm glad to know you're with me about Will and Suellen, even if -- even if a lot of other people do disapprove."

  Mrs. Tarleton came down the hall, carrying two glasses of buttermilk. She did all domestic things badly and the glasses were slopping over.

  "I had to go clear to the spring house to get it," she said. "Drink it quick because the folks are coming up from the burying ground. Scarlett, are you really going to let Suellen marry Will? Not that he isn't a sight too good for her but you know he is a Cracker and--"

  Scarlett's eyes met those of Grandma. There was a wicked sparkle in the old eyes that found an answer in her own.

  CHAPTER XLI

  WHEN THE LAST GOOD-BY had been said and the last sound of wheels and hooves died away, Scarlett went into Ellen's office and removed a gleaming object from where she had hidden it the night before between the yellowed papers in the pigeonholes of the secretary. Hearing Pork sniffling in the dining room as he went about laying the table for dinner she called to him. He came to her, his black face as forlorn as a lost and masterless hound.

  "Pork," she said sternly, "you cry just once more and I'll -- I'll cry, too. You've got to stop."

  "Yas'm. Ah try but eve'y time Ah try Ah thinks of Mist' Gerald an' --"

  "Well, don't think. I can stand everybody else's tears but not yours. There." she broke off gently, "don't you see? I can't stand yours because I know how you loved him. Blow your nose, Pork. I've got a present for you."

  A little interest flickered in Pork's eyes as he blew his nose loudly but it was more politeness than interest.

  "You remember that night you got shot robbing somebody's hen house?"

  "Lawd Gawd, Miss Scarlett! Ah ain' never --"

  "Well, you did, so don't lie to me about it at this late date. You remember I said I was going to give you a watch for being so faithful?"

  "Yas'm, Ah 'members. Ah figgered you'd done fergot."

  "No, I didn't forget and here it is."

  She held out for him a massive gold watch, heavily embossed, from which dangled a chain with many fobs and seals.

  "Fo' Gawd, Miss Scarlett!" cried Pork. "Dat's Mist' Gerald's watch! Ah done seen him look at dat watch a milyun times!"

  "Yes, it's Pa's watch, Pork, and I'm giving it to you. Take it."

  "Oh, no'm!" Pork retreated in horror. "Dat's a w'ite gempmum's watch an' Mist' Gerald's ter boot. Huccome you talk 'bout givin' it ter me, Miss Scarlett? Dat watch belong by rights ter lil Wade Hampton."

  "It belongs to you. What did Wade Hampton ever do for Pa? Did he look after him when he was sick and feeble? Did he bathe him and dress him and shave him? Did he stick by him when the Yankees came? Did he steal for him? Don't be a fool, Pork. If ever anyone deserved a watch, you do, and I know Pa would approve. Here."

  She picked up the black hand and laid the watch in the palm. Pork gazed at it reverently and slowly delight spread over his face.

  "Fer me, truly, Miss Scarlett?"

  "Yes, indeed."

  "Well'm -- thankee, Ma'm."

  "Would you like for me to take it to Atlanta and have it engraved?"

  "Whut's dis engrabed mean?" Pork's voice was suspicious.

  "It means to put writing on the back of it, like -- like 'To Pork from the O'Haras -- Well done good and faithful servant.' "

  "No'm -- thankee. Ma'm. Never mind de engrabin'." Pork retreated a step, clutching the watch firmly.

  A little smile twitched her lips.

  "What's the matter, Pork? Don't you trust me to bring it back?"

  "Yas'm, Ah trus'es you -- only, well'm, you mout change yo' mind."

  "I wouldn't do that."

  "Well'm, you mout sell it. Ah spec it's wuth a heap."

  "Do you think I'd sell Pa's watch?"

  "Yas'm -- ef you needed de money."

  "You ought to be beat for that, Pork. I've a mind to take the watch back."

  "No'm, you ain'!" The first faint smile of the day showed on Pork's grief-worn face. "Ah knows you -- An' Miss Scarlett --"

  "Yes, Pork?"

  "Ef you wuz jes' half as nice ter w'ite folks as you is ter niggers, Ah spec de
worl' would treat you better."

  "It treats me well enough," she said. "Now, go find Mr. Ashley and tell him I want to see him here, right away."

  Ashley sat on Ellen's little writing chair, his long body dwarfing the frail bit of furniture while Scarlett offered him a half-interest in the mill. Not once did his eyes meet hers and he spoke no word of interruption. He sat looking down at his hands, turning them over slowly, inspecting first palms and then backs, as though he had never seen them before. Despite hard work, they were still slender and sensitive looking and remarkably well tended for a farmer's hands.

  His bowed head and silence disturbed her a little and she redoubled her efforts to make the mill sound attractive. She brought to bear, too, all the charm of smile and glance she possessed but they were wasted, for he did not raise his eyes. If he would only look at her! She made no mention of the information Will had given her of Ashley's determination to go North and spoke with the outward assumption that no obstacle stood in the way of his agreement with her plan. Still he did not speak and finally, her words trailed into silence. There was a determined squareness about his slender shoulders that alarmed her. Surely he wouldn't refuse! What earthly reason could he have for refusing?

  "Ashley," she began again and paused. She had not intended using her pregnancy as an argument, had shrunk from the thought of Ashley even seeing her so bloated and ugly, but as her other persuasions seemed to have made no impression, she decided to use it and her helplessness as a last card.

  "You must come to Atlanta. I do need your help so badly now, because I can't look after the mills. It may be months before I can because -- you see -- well, because ..."

  "Please!" he said roughly. "Good God, Scarlett!"

  He rose and went abruptly to the window and stood with his back to her, watching the solemn single file of ducks parade across the barnyard.

  "Is that -- is that why you won't look at me?" she questioned forlornly. "I know I look --"

  He swung around in a flash and his gray eyes met hers with an intensity that made her hands go to her throat.

  "Damn your looks!" he said with a swift violence. "You know you always look beautiful to me."