Scarlett (78 page)

“Oh, yes! I will. I’ll take wonderful care of myself. But first I’ve got to see about my frock, and my trunk needs repacking. And, Colum, how will we find a carriage to get to the train?” Her voice was rising again. Colum got up and pulled her to her feet.

“I’ll take care of it, with the help of the girls for the trunk. But only if you’ll eat something while you see to your frock.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s what we’ll do.” She was a little calmer, but still perilously edgy. He’d have to see to it that she drank the milk and whiskey as soon as they reached the house. Poor creature. If only he knew more about women and babies he would feel a lot easier in his mind. She’d been going sleepless and dancing like a dervish of late. Could that bring on a baby too soon? If she lost it, he feared for her reason.

L
ike so many people before him, Colum underestimated the strength of Scarlett O’Hara. She insisted that her baggage be brought from Molly’s that night, and she gave orders to Brigid to pack her things while Kathleen fitted her frock on her. “Watch the lacing, Bridie,” she said sharply when she put her corset on. “You’re going to have to do this on the ship, and I won’t be able to see behind me to tell you what to do.” Her feverish manner and ragged voice had already put Bridie in a terror. Scarlett’s sharp cry of pain when Kathleen yanked on the laces made Bridie cry out, too.

It doesn’t matter that it hurts, Scarlett reminded herself, it always hurts, always has. I’d just forgotten how much. I’ll get used to it again after a while. I’m not hurting the baby. I always wore stays as long as I could when I was pregnant, and it was always a lot later than this. I’m not even ten weeks gone yet. I’ve got to get into my clothes, I’ve just got to. I’ll be on that train tomorrow if it kills me.

“Pull, Kathleen,” she gasped. “Pull harder.”

Colum walked to Trim and arranged to get the carriage a day earlier. Then he made the rounds, spreading the word about Scarlett’s terrible worry. When he was finished it was late and he was tired. But now there’d be no one wondering why the American O’Hara had gone off like a thief in the night without saying goodbye.

She did very well with her goodbyes to the family. The previous day’s shock had armored her in a shell of numbness. She broke down only once, when she said goodbye to her grandmother. Or, rather, when Old Katie Scarlett said goodbye to her. “God go with you,” the old woman said, “and the saints guide your footsteps. It’s happy I am you were here for my birthday, Gerald’s girl. The only pity is you’ll not be at my wake… What are you weeping for, girl? Do you not know there’s no party for the living half as grand as a wake? It’s a shame to miss it.”

Scarlett sat silent in the carriage to Mullingar and in the train to Galway. Bridie was too nervous to speak, but her excited happiness showed in her bright cheeks and large fascinated eyes. She’d never been more than ten miles from her home in all her fifteen years.

When they reached the hotel Bridie stared openmouthed at its grandeur. “I’ll see you ladies to your room,” said Colum, “and be back in time to escort you to the dining room. I’m just going to go down to the harbor and arrange about loading the trunks. I’d like to see which staterooms they’ve given us, too. Now’s the time to change if they’re not the best.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Scarlett. It was the first time she’d spoken.

“There’s no need, Scarlett darling.”

“There is for me. I want to see the ship or I won’t feel certain it’s really there.”

Colum humored her. And Bridie asked if she might come, too. The hotel was too overwhelming for her. She didn’t want to stay there alone.

The early evening breeze off the water was sweet with salt. Scarlett breathed deeply of it, remembering that Charleston always had salted air. She was unaware of the slow tears rolling down her cheeks. If only they could sail now, at once. Would the captain consider? She touched the pouch of gold between her breasts.

“I’m looking for the
Evening Star
,” Colum said to one of the longshoremen.

“She’s down there,” the man gestured with his thumb. “Been in just under an hour.”

Colum concealed his surprise. The ship had been due to land thirty hours earlier. No reason to let Scarlett know that the delay might mean trouble.

Gangs were moving methodically to and from the
Evening Star
. She carried cargo as well as passengers. “This is no place for a woman right now, Scarlett darling. Let’s go back to the hotel, and I’ll come back later.”

Scarlett’s jaw set. “No. I want to talk to the Captain.”

“He’ll be too busy to see anyone, even someone as lovely as yourself.”

She was in no mood for compliments. “You know him, don’t you, Colum? You know everybody. Fix it so I can see him now.”

“The man’s a stranger to me; I’ve never laid eyes on him, Scarlett. How should I be knowing him? This is Galway, not County Meath.”

A uniformed man came off the
Star
’s gangplank. The two big canvas sacks on his shoulders seemed to burden him not at all; his gait was light and quick, unusual for a man of his size and girth.

“And isn’t that Father Colum O’Hara himself?” he bellowed when he came near them. “What finds you so far from Matt O’Toole’s bar, Colum?” He heaved one of the sacks to the ground and took off his hat to Scarlett and Bridie. “Didn’t I always say that the O’Haras have the devil’s own luck with the ladies?” he roared, laughing at his own humor. “Did you tell them you were a priest, Colum?”

Scarlett’s smile was perfunctory when she was introduced to Frank Mahoney, and she paid no attention at all to the chain of cousinships that connected him to Maureen’s family. She wanted to talk to the Captain!

“I’m just taking the post from America over to the station for sorting tomorrow,” said Mahoney. “Will you want a look, Colum, or will you wait till you’re back home again to read your perfumed love letters?” He laughed uproariously at his wit.

“That’s kind of you, Frank. I’ll take a look if you’ll let me.” Colum untied the sack near his feet, pulled it nearer the tall gas lamp that lighted the pier. He found the envelope from Savannah with ease. “Luck’s in my pocket today,” he said. “I knew from his last letter that another’d be coming soon from my brother, but I’d given up hope of it. I thank you, Frank. Would you allow me to buy you a pint?” His hand reached into his pocket.

“There’s no need. I did it for the pleasure of breaking the English rules.” Frank hoisted the sack again. “The God-rotting supervisor will be looking at his gold watch, I can’t tarry. Good evening to you, ladies.”

*   *   *

There were a half dozen smaller letters in the envelope. Colum flicked through them, searching for Stephen’s distinctive handwriting. “Here’s one for you, Scarlett,” he said. He put the blue envelope in her hand, found Stephen’s letter, tore it open. He had just begun to read it when he heard a high, prolonged cry, and felt a weight sliding against him. Before he could throw out his arms, Scarlett was lying at his feet. The blue envelope and thin pages fluttered in her limp hand, then the breeze scattered them across the cobbles. While Colum lifted Scarlett’s shoulders and held his fingers to the pulse in her throat, Bridie ran after the pages.

The hackney cab jounced and swayed from the speed of their race back to the hotel. Scarlett’s head rolled grotesquely from side to side, even though Colum tried to hold her firmly in his arms. He carried her quickly through the hotel lobby. “Call a doctor,” he shouted to the liveried attendants, “and get out of my way.” Once in Scarlett’s room, he laid her on the bed.

“Come on, Bridie, help me get her clothes off,” he said. “We’ve got to get some breath into her.” He took a knife from a leather sheath inside his coat. Bridie’s fingers moved nimbly along the buttons on the back of Scarlett’s dress.

Colum cut the corset laces. “Now,” he said, “help me lift her head up on the pillows, and cover her with something warm.” He rubbed Scarlett’s arms roughly, slapped her cheeks gently. “Have you got smelling salts?”

“I don’t, Colum, nor do she, far’s I know.”

“The doctor will. I hope it’s only a faint.”

“She fainted, that’s all, Father,” said the doctor when he left Scarlett’s bedroom, “but it’s a deep one. I’ve left some tonic with the girl for when she comes out of it. These ladies! They will cut off all their circulation for the sake of fashion. Nothing to worry about, though. She’ll be fine.”

Colum thanked him, paid him, saw him out. Then he sat heavily on a chair by the lamplit table, put his head in his hands. There was a great deal to worry about, and he questioned whether Scarlett O’Hara would ever be “fine” again. The crumpled, water-spotted pages of the letter were strewn on the table beside him. In their midst was a neatly trimmed clipping from a newspaper. “Yesterday evening,” it read, “in a private ceremony at the Confederate Home for Widows and Orphans, Miss Anne Hampton was joined in matrimony to Mr. Rhett Butler.”

S
carlett’s mind spiralled up, up, spinning, swirling, up, up out of the black toward consciousness, but some instinct forced it downward again, sliding, slipping back into darkness, away from the unbearable truth lying in wait for her. Again and again it happened, the struggle tiring her so much that she lay exhausted, motionless and pale in the big bed, as if dead.

She dreamed, a dream full of movement and urgency. She was at Twelve Oaks, and it was whole again and beautiful, as it had been before Sherman’s torches. The gracious curving staircase turned through space as if magically suspended, and her feet were lightly nimble on its treads. Ashley was ahead of her, climbing, unaware of her cries to stop. “Ashley,” she called, “Ashley, wait for me,” and she ran after him.

How long the staircase was. She didn’t remember it being so tall; it seemed to be growing ever higher as she ran, and Ashley was so far above her. She had to reach him. She didn’t know why, but she knew she must, and she ran faster, always faster, until her heart was pounding in her breast. “Ashley!” she cried. “Ashley!” He paused, and she found strength she didn’t know she possessed; she climbed, running even faster.

Relief flooded her body and her soul when her hand touched his sleeve. Then he turned toward her, and she screamed without sound. He had no face, only a pale featureless blur.

Then she was falling, tumbling through space, her eyes fixed in terror on the figure above her, her throat straining to scream. But the only sound was laughter, from below, rising like a cloud to surround her and mock her muteness.

I’m going to die, she thought. Terrible pain will crush me and I’ll die.

But suddenly, strong arms closed around her and drew her gently from the falling. She knew them, she knew the shoulder that pillowed her head. It was Rhett. Rhett had saved her. She was safe in his embrace. She turned her head, lifted it to look into his eyes. Icy terror paralyzed her whole body. His face was formless, like mist or smoke, like Ashley’s. Then the laughter began again, from the blankness that should be Rhett’s face.

Scarlett’s mind jolted into consciousness, fleeing from horror, and she opened her eyes. Darkness surrounded her, and the unknown. The lamp had burned out, and Bridie was asleep in her chair, unseen in a corner of the huge room. Scarlett stretched out her arms over the expanse of the big, unfamiliar bed. Her fingers touched soft linen, nothing else. The sides of the mattress were too distant to reach. She seemed to be marooned on a strange vastness of softness, without definition. Perhaps it went on forever into the silent darkness—Her throat constricted with fear. She was alone and lost in the dark.

Stop it! Her mind forced panic away, demanded that she take hold of herself. Scarlett carefully pulled her legs up, turned over into a kneeling crouch. Her movements were slow, so as to make no sound. Anything might be out there in the darkness, listening. She crawled with agonized caution until her hands felt the edge of the bed, then down to the hard solidity of the wooden frame.

What a ninnyhammer you are, Scarlett O’Hara, she told herself when tears of relief ran over her cheeks. Of course the bed is strange, and the room. You fainted, like some silly weak vaporish girl, and Colum and Bridie brought you to the hotel. Stop this scaredy-cat nonsense.

Then, like a physical blow, memory attacked her. Rhett was lost to her… divorced from her… married to Anne Hampton. She couldn’t believe it, but she had to, it was true.

Why? Why had he done such a thing? She’d been so sure he loved her. He couldn’t have done it, he couldn’t.

But he had.

I never knew him. Scarlett heard the words as if she’d spoken them aloud. I never knew him at all. Who was it that I loved? Whose child am I carrying?

What’s going to become of me?

That night, in the frightening darkness of an unseen hotel room in a country thousands of miles from her homeland, Scarlett O’Hara did the most courageous thing she had ever been called on to do. She faced up to failure.

It’s all my fault. I should have gone back to Charleston as soon as I knew I was pregnant. I chose to have fun, and those weeks of fun have cost me the only happiness I really care about. I just didn’t think about what Rhett might believe when I ran away, I didn’t think past the next day, the next reel. I didn’t think at all.