Gone with the Wind (39 page)

She turned a sharp eye on the girls. “I hope you two are marking my words,” she continued, “for it's partly your fault, being so pleasant to him. Just tell him politely but firmly that his presence and his disloyal talk are distinctly unwelcome at your house.”

By this time Scarlett was boiling, ready to rear like a horse at the touch of a strange rough hand on its bridle. But she was afraid to speak. She could not risk Mrs. Merriwether writing another letter to her mother.

“You old buffalo!” she thought, her face crimson with suppressed fury. “How heavenly it would be to tell you just what I think of you and your bossy ways!”

“I never thought to live long enough to hear such disloyal words spoken of our Cause,” went on Mrs. Merriwether, by this time in a ferment of righteous anger. “Any man who does not think our Cause is just and holy should be hanged! I don't want to hear of you two girls ever even speaking to him again—For Heaven's sake, Melly, what ails you?”

Melanie was white and her eyes were enormous.

“I will speak to him again,” she said in a low voice. “I will not be rude to him. I will not forbid him the house.”

Mrs. Merriwether's breath went out of her lungs as
explosively as though she had been punched. Aunt Pitty's fat mouth popped open and Uncle Peter turned to stare.

“Now, why didn't I have the gumption to say that?” thought Scarlett, jealousy mixing with admiration. “How did that little rabbit ever get up spunk enough to stand up to old lady Merriwether?”

Melanie's hands were shaking but she went on hurriedly, as though fearing her courage would fail her if she delayed.

“I won't be rude to him because of what he said, because—It was rude of him to say it out loud—most ill advised—but it's—it's what Ashley thinks. And I can't forbid the house to a man who thinks what my husband thinks. It would be unjust.”

Mrs. Merriwether's breath had come back and she charged.

“Melly Hamilton, I never heard such a lie in all my life! There was never a Wilkes who was a coward—”

“I never said Ashley was a coward,” said Melanie, her eyes beginning to flash. “I said he thinks what Captain Butler thinks, only he expresses it in different words. And he doesn't go around saying it at musicales, I hope. But he has written it to me.”

Scarlett's guilty conscience stirred as she tried to recall what Ashley might have written that would lead Melanie to make such a statement, but most of the letters she had read had gone out of her head as soon as she finished reading them. She believed Melanie had simply taken leave of her senses.

“Ashley wrote me that we should not be fighting the Yankees. And that we have been betrayed into it by statesmen and orators mouthing catchwords and prejudices,”
said Melly rapidly. “He said nothing in the world was worth what this war was going to do to us. He said there wasn't anything at all to glory—it was just misery and dirt.”

“Oh! That letter,” thought Scarlett. “Was that what he meant?”

“I don't believe it,” said Mrs. Merriwether firmly. “You misunderstood his meaning.”

“I never misunderstand Ashley,” Melanie replied quietly, though her lips were trembling. “I understand him perfectly. He meant exactly what Captain Butler meant, only he didn't say it in a rude way.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, comparing a fine man like Ashley Wilkes to a scoundrel like Captain Butler! I suppose you, too, think the Cause is nothing!”

“I—I don't know what I think,” Melanie began uncertainly, her fire deserting her and panic at her outspokenness taking hold of her. “I—I'd die for the Cause, like Ashley would. But—I mean—I mean, I'll let the men folks do the thinking, because they are so much smarter.”

“I never heard the like,” snorted Mrs. Merriwether. “Stop, Uncle Peter, you're driving past my house!”

Uncle Peter, preoccupied with the conversation behind him, had driven past the Merriwether carriage block and he backed up the horse. Mrs. Merriwether alighted, her bonnet ribbons shaking like sails in a storm.

“You'll be sorry,” she said.

Uncle Peter whipped up the horse.

“You young misses ought ter tek shame, gittin' Miss Pitty in a state,” he scolded.

“I'm not in a state,” replied Pitty, surprisingly, for less strain than this had frequently brought on fainting fits. “Melly, honey, I knew you were doing it just to take up for
me and, really, I was glad to see somebody take Dolly down a peg. She's so bossy. How did you have the courage? But do you think you should have said that about Ashley?”

“But it's true,” answered Melanie and she began to cry softly. “And I'm not ashamed that he thinks that way. He thinks the war is all wrong but he's willing to fight and die anyway, and that takes lots more courage than fighting for something you think is right.”

“Lawd, Miss Melly, doan cry hyah on Peachtree Street,” groaned Uncle Peter, hastening his horse's pace. “Folks'll talk sumpin' scan'lous. Wait till us gits home.”

Scarlett said nothing. She did not even squeeze the hand that Melanie had inserted into her palm for comfort. She had read Ashley's letters for only one purpose—to assure herself that he still loved her. Now Melanie had given a new meaning to passages in the letters which Scarlett's eyes had barely seen. It shocked her to realize that anyone as absolutely perfect as Ashley could have any thought in common with such a reprobate as Rhett Butler. She thought: “They both see the truth of this war, but Ashley is willing to die about it and Rhett isn't. I think that shows Rhett's good sense.” She paused a moment, horror struck that she could have such a thought about Ashley. “They both see the same unpleasant truth, but Rhett likes to look it in the face and enrage people by talking about it—and Ashley can hardly bear to face it.”

It was very bewildering.

U
NDER
M
RS
. M
ERRIWETHER'S GOADING,
Dr. Meade took action, in the form of a letter to the newspaper wherein he did not mention Rhett by name, though his meaning was obvious. The editor, sensing the social drama of the letter, put it on the second page of the paper, in itself a startling innovation, as the first two pages of the paper were always devoted to advertisements of slaves, mules, plows, coffins, houses for sale or rent, cures for private diseases, abortifacients and restoratives for lost manhood.

The doctor's letter was the first of a chorus of indignation that was beginning to be heard all over the South against speculators, profiteers and holders of government contracts. Conditions in Wilmington, the chief blockade port, now that Charleston's port was practically sealed by the Yankee gunboats, had reached the proportions of an open scandal. Speculators swarmed Wilmington and, having the ready cash, bought up boatloads of goods and held them for a rise in prices. The rise always came, for with the increasing scarcity of necessities, prices leaped higher by the month. The civilian population had either to do without or buy at the speculators' prices, and the poor and those in moderate circumstances were suffering increasing hardships. With the rise in prices, Confederate money sank, and with its rapid fall there rose a wild passion for luxuries. Blockaders were commissioned to bring in necessities and were permitted to trade in luxuries only as a side line, but now it was the higher-priced luxuries that filled their boats to the exclusion of the things the Confederacy
vitally needed. People frenziedly bought these luxuries with the money they had today, fearing that tomorrow's prices would be higher and the money worth less.

To make matters worse, there was only one railroad line from Wilmington to Richmond and, while thousands of barrels of flour and boxes of bacon spoiled and rotted in wayside stations for want of transportation, speculators with wines, taffetas and coffee to sell seemed always able to get their goods to Richmond two days after they were landed at Wilmington.

The rumor which had been creeping about underground was now being openly discussed, that Rhett Butler not only ran his four boats and sold the cargoes at unheard-of prices but bought up the cargoes of other boats and held them for rises in prices. It was said that he was at the head of a combine worth more than a million dollars, with Wilmington as its headquarters for the purpose of buying blockade goods on the docks. They had dozens of warehouses in that city and in Richmond, so the story ran, and the warehouses were crammed with food and clothing that were being held for higher prices. Already soldiers and civilians alike were feeling the pinch, and the muttering against him and his fellow speculators was bitter.

“There are many brave and patriotic men in the blockade arm of the Confederacy's naval service,” ran the last of the doctor's letter, “unselfish men who are risking their lives and all their wealth that the Confederacy may survive. They are enshrined in the hearts of all loyal Southerners, and no one begrudges them the scant monetary returns they make for their risks. They are unselfish gentlemen, and we honor them. Of these men, I do not speak.

“But there are others, scoundrels, who masquerade under the cloak of the blockader for their own selfish gains, and I call down the just wrath and vengeance of an embattled people, fighting in the justest of Causes, on these human vultures who bring in satins and laces when our men are dying for want of quinine, who load their boats with tea and wines when our heroes are writhing for lack of morphia. I execrate these vampires who are sucking the lifeblood of the men who follow Robert Lee—these men who are making the very name of blockader a stench in the nostrils of all patriotic men. How can we endure these scavengers in our midst with their varnished boots when our boys are tramping barefoot into battle? How can we tolerate them with their champagnes and their pâtés of Strasbourg when our soldiers are shivering about their camp fires and gnawing moldy bacon? I call upon every loyal Confederate to cast them out.”

Atlanta read, knew the oracle had spoken, and, as loyal Confederates, they hastened to cast Rhett out.

Of all the homes which had received him in the fall of 1862, Miss Pittypat's was the only one into which he could enter in 1863. And, except for Melanie, he probably would not have been received there. Aunt Pitty was in a state whenever he was in town. She knew very well what her friends were saying when she permitted him to call but she still lacked the courage to tell him he was unwelcome. Each time he arrived in Atlanta, she set her fat mouth and told the girls that she would meet him at the door and forbid him to enter. And each time he came, a little package in his hand and a compliment for her charm and beauty on his lips, she wilted.

“I just don't know what to do,” she would moan. “He
just looks at me and I—I'm scared to death of what he would do if I told him. He's got such a bad reputation. Do you suppose he would strike me—or—or—Oh, dear, if Charlie were only alive! Scarlett,
you
must tell him not to call again—tell him in a nice way. Oh, me! I do believe you encourage him, and the whole town is talking and, if your mother ever finds out, what will she say to me? Melly, you must not be so nice to him. Be cool and distant and he will understand. Oh, Melly, do you think I'd better write Henry a note and ask him to speak to Captain Butler?”

“No, I don't,” said Melanie. “And I won't be rude to him, either. I think people are acting like chickens with their heads off about Captain Butler. I'm sure he can't be all the bad things Dr. Meade and Mrs. Merriwether say he is. He wouldn't hold food from starving people. Why, he even gave me a hundred dollars for the orphans. I'm sure he's just as loyal and patriotic as any of us and he's just too proud to defend himself. You know how obstinate men are when they get their backs up.”

Aunt Pitty knew nothing about men, either with their backs up or otherwise, and she could only wave her fat little hands helplessly. As for Scarlett, she had long ago become resigned to Melanie's habit of seeing good in everyone. Melanie was a fool, but there was nothing anybody could do about it.

Scarlett knew that Rhett was not being patriotic and, though she would have died rather than confess it, she did not care. The little presents he brought her from Nassau, little oddments that a lady could accept with propriety, were what mattered most to her. With prices as high as they were, where on earth could she get needles and bonbons and hairpins, if she forbade the house
to him? No, it was easier to shift the responsibility to Aunt Pitty, who after all was the head of the house, the chaperon and the arbiter of morals. Scarlett knew the town gossiped about Rhett's calls, and about her too; but she also knew that in the eyes of Atlanta Melanie Wilkes could do no wrong, and if Melanie defended Rhett his calls were still tinged with respectability.

However, life would be pleasanter if Rhett would recant his heresies. She wouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of seeing him cut openly when she walked down Peachtree Street with him.

“Even if you think such things, why do you say them?” she scolded. “If you'd just think what you please but keep your mouth shut, everything would be so much nicer.”

“That's your system, isn't it, my green-eyed hypocrite? Scarlett, Scarlett! I hoped for more courageous conduct from you. I thought the Irish said what they thought and the Divvil take the hindermost. Tell me truthfully, don't you sometimes almost burst from keeping your mouth shut?”

“Well—yes,” Scarlett confessed reluctantly. “I do get awfully bored when they talk about the Cause, morning, noon and night. But goodness, Rhett Butler, if I admitted it nobody would speak to me and none of the boys would dance with me!”

“Ah, yes, and one must be danced with, at all costs. Well, I admire your self-control but I do not find myself equal to it. Nor can I masquerade in a cloak of romance and patriotism, no matter how convenient it might be. There are enough stupid patriots who are risking every cent they have in the blockade and who are going to come out of this war paupers. They don't need me among their number, either to brighten the record of
patriotism or to increase the roll of paupers. Let them have the haloes. They deserve them—for once I am being sincere—and, besides, haloes will be about all they will have in a year or so.”