Gone With the Wind

by Margaret Mitchell

  "I haven't thanked you for what you and Frank did for Tony," he said. "It was you who helped him get away, wasn't it? It was fine of you. I heard in a roundabout way that he was safe in Texas. I was afraid to write and ask you -- but did you or Frank lend him any money? I want to repay --"

  "Oh, Alex, please hush! Not now!" cried Scarlett For once, money meant nothing to her.

  Alex was silent for a moment.

  "I'll get Will for you," he said, "and we'll all be over tomorrow for the funeral."

  As he picked up the sack of oats and turned away, a wobbly-wheeled wagon swayed out of a side street and creaked up to them. Will called from the seat: "I'm sorry I'm late, Scarlett."

  Climbing awkwardly down from the wagon, he stumped toward her and, bending, kissed her cheek. Will had never kissed her before, had never failed to precede her name with "Miss" and, while it surprised her, it warmed her heart and pleased her very much. He lifted her carefully over the wheel and into the wagon and, looking down, she saw that it was the same old rickety wagon in which she had fled from Atlanta. How had it ever held together so long? Will must have kept it patched up very well. It made her slightly sick to look at it and to remember that night. If it took the shoes off her feet or food from Aunt Pitty's table, she'd see that there was a new wagon at Tara and this one burned.

  Will did not speak at first and Scarlett was grateful. He threw his battered straw hat into the back of the wagon, clucked to the horse and they moved off. Will was just the same, lank and gangling, pink of hair, mild of eye, patient as a draft animal.

  They left the village behind and turned into the red road to Tara. A faint pink still lingered about the edges of the sky and fat feathery clouds were tinged with gold and palest green. The stillness of the country twilight came down about them as calming as a prayer. How had she ever borne it, she thought, away for all these months, away from the fresh smell of country air, the plowed earth and the sweetness of summer nights? The moist red earth smelled so good, so familiar, so friendly, she wanted to get out and scoop up a handful. The honeysuckle which draped the gullied red sides of the road in tangled greenery was piercingly fragrant as always after rain, the sweetest perfume in the world. Above their heads a flock of chimney swallows whirled suddenly on swift wings and now and then a rabbit scurried startled across the road, his white tail bobbing like an eiderdown powder puff. She saw with pleasure that the cotton stood well, as they passed between plowed fields where the green bushes reared themselves sturdily out of the red earth. How beautiful all this was! The soft gray mist in the swampy bottoms, the red earth and growing cotton, the sloping fields with curving green rows and the black pines rising behind everything like sable walls. How had she ever stayed in Atlanta so long?

  "Scarlett, before I tell you about Mr. O'Hara -- and I want to tell you everything before you get home -- I want to ask your opinion on a matter. I figger you're the head of the house now."

  "What is it, Will?"

  He turned his mild sober gaze on her for a moment.

  "I just wanted your approval to my marryin' Suellen."

  Scarlett clutched the seat, so surprised that she almost fell backwards. Marry Suellen! She'd never thought of anybody marrying Suellen since she had taken Frank Kennedy from her. Who would have Suellen?

  "Goodness, Will!"

  "Then I take it you don't mind?"

  "Mind? No, but -- Why, Will, you've taken my breath away! You marry Suellen? Will, I always thought you were sweet on Carreen."

  Will kept his eyes on the horse and flapped the reins. His profile did not change but she thought he sighed slightly.

  "Maybe I was," he said.

  "Well, won't she have you?"

  "I never asked her."

  "Oh, Will, you're a fool. Ask her. She's worth two of Suellen!"

  "Scarlett, you don't know a lot of things that's been going on at Tara. You ain't favored us with much of your attention these last months."

  "I haven't, haven't I?" she flared. "What do you suppose I've been doing in Atlanta? Riding around in a coach and four and going to balls? Haven't I sent you money every month? Haven't I paid the taxes and fixed the roof and bought the new plow and the mules? Haven't --"

  "Now, don't fly off the handle and get your Irish up," he interrupted imperturbably. "If anybody knows what you've done, I do, and it's been two men's work."

  Slightly mollified, she questioned, "Well then, what do you mean?"

  "Well, you've kept the roof over us and food in the pantry and I ain't denyin' that, but you ain't given much thought to what's been goin' on in anybody's head here at Tara. I ain't blamin' you, Scarlett. That's just your way. You warn't never very much interested in what was in folks' heads. But what I'm tryin' to tell you is that I didn't never ask Miss Carreen because I knew it wouldn't be no use. She's been like a little sister to me and I guess she talks to me plainer than to anybody in the world. But she never got over that dead boy and she never will. And I might as well tell you now she's aimin' to go in a convent over to Charleston."

  "Are you joking?"

  "Well, I knew it would take you back and I just want to ask you, Scarlett, don't you argue with her about it or scold her or laugh at her. Let her go. It's all she wants now. Her heart's broken."

  "But God's nightgown! Lots of people's hearts have been broken and they didn't run off to convents. Look at me. I lost a husband."

  "But your heart warn't broken," Will said calmly and, picking up a straw from the bottom of the wagon, he put it in his mouth and chewed slowly. That remark took the wind out of her. As always when she heard the truth spoken, no matter how unpalatable it was, basic honesty forced her to acknowledge it as truth. She was silent a moment, trying to accustom herself to the idea of Carreen as a nun.

  "Promise you won't fuss at her."

  "Oh, well, I promise," and then she looked at him with a new understanding and some amazement. Will had loved Carreen, loved her now enough to take her part and make her retreat easy. And yet he wanted to marry Suellen.

  "Well, what's all this about Suellen? You don't care for her, do you?"

  "Oh, yes, I do in a way," he said removing the straw and surveying it as if it were highly interesting. "Suellen ain't as bad as you think, Scarlett. I think we'll get along right well. The only trouble with Suellen is that she needs a husband and some children and that's just what every woman needs."

  The wagon jolted over the rutty road and for a few minutes while the two sat silent Scarlett's mind was busy. There must be something more to it than appeared on the surface, something deeper, more important, to make the mild and soft-spoken Will want to marry a complaining nagger like Suellen.

  "You haven't told me the real reason, Will. If I'm head of the family, I've got a right to know."

  "That's right," said Will, "and I guess you'll understand. I can't leave Tara. It's home to me, Scarlett, the only real home I ever knew and I love every stone of it. I've worked on it like it was mine. And when you put out work on somethin', you come to love it. You know what I mean?"

  She knew what he meant and her heart went out in a surge of warm affection for him, hearing him say he, too, loved the thing she loved best.

  "And I figger it this way. With your pa gone and Carreen a nun, there'll be just me and Suellen left here and, of course, I couldn't live on at Tara without marryin' Suellen. You know how folks talk."

  "But -- but Will, there's Melanie and Ashley -- "

  At Ashley's name he turned and looked at her, his pale eyes unfathomable. She had the old feeling that Will knew all about her and Ashley, understood all and did not either censure or approve.

  "They'll be goin' soon."

  "Going? Where? Tara is their home as well as yours."

  "No, it ain't their home. That's just what's eatin' on Ashley. It ain't his home and he don't feel like he's earnin' his keep. He's a mighty pore farmer and he knows it. God knows he tries his best but he warn't cut out for farmin' and you know it as well as I do. If he
splits kindlin', like as not he'll slice off his foot. He can't no more keep a plow straight in a furrow than little Beau can, and what he don't know about makin' things grow would fill a book. It ain't his fault. He just warn't bred for it. And it worries him that he's a man livin' at Tara on a woman's charity and not givin' much in return."

  "Charity? Has he ever said -- "

  "No, he's never said a word. You know Ashley. But I can tell. Last night when we were sittin' up with your pa, I tole him I had asked Suellen and she'd said Yes. And then Ashley said that relieved him because he'd been feelin' like a dog, stayin' on at Tara, and he knew he and Miss Melly would have to keep stayin' on, now that Mr. O'Hara was dead, just to keep folks from talkin' about me and Suellen. So then he told me he was aimin' to leave Tara and get work."

  "Work? What kind? Where?"

  "I don't know exactly what he'll do but he said he was goin' up North. He's got a Yankee friend in New York who wrote him about workin' in a bank up there."

  "Oh, no!" cried Scarlett from the bottom of her heart and, at the cry, Will gave her the same look as before.

  "Maybe 'twould be better all 'round if he did go North."

  "No! No! I don't think so."

  Her mind was working feverishly. Ashley couldn't go North! She might never see him again. Even though she had not seen him in months, had not spoken to him alone since that fateful scene in the orchard, there had not been a day when she had not thought of him, been glad he was sheltered under her roof. She had never sent a dollar to Will that she had not been pleased that it would make Ashley's life easier. Of course, he wasn't any good as a farmer. Ashley was bred for better things, she thought proudly. He was born to rule, to live in a large house, ride fine horses, read books of poetry and tell negroes what to do. That there were no more mansions and horses and negroes and few books did not alter matters. Ashley wasn't bred to plow and split rails. No wonder he wanted to leave Tara.

  But she could not let him go away from Georgia. If necessary, she would bully Frank into giving him a job in the store, make Frank turn off the boy he now had behind the counter. But, no -- Ashley's place was no more behind a counter than it was behind a plow. A Wilkes a shopkeeper! Oh, never that! There must be something -- why, her mill of course! Her relief at the thought was so great that she smiled. But would he accept an offer from her? Would he still think it was charity? She must manage it so he would think he was doing her a favor. She would discharge Mr. Johnson and put Ashley in charge of the old mill while Hugh operated the new one. She would explain to Ashley how Frank's ill health and the pressure of work at the store kept him from helping her, and she would plead her condition as another reason why she needed his help.

  She would make him realize somehow that she couldn't do without his aid at this time. And she would give him a half-interest in the mill, if he would only take it over -- anything just to have him near her, anything to see that bright smile light up his face, anything for the chance of catching an unguarded look in his eyes that showed he still cared. But, she promised herself, never, never would she again try to prod him into words of love, never again would she try to make him throw away that foolish honor he valued more than love. Somehow, she must delicately convey to him this new resolution of hers. Otherwise he might refuse, fearing another scene such as that last terrible one had been.

  "I can get him something to do in Atlanta," she said.

  "Well, that's yours and Ashley's business," said Will and put the straw back in his mouth. "Giddap, Sherman. Now, Scarlett, there's somethin' else I've got to ask you before I tell you about your pa. I won't have you lightin' into Suellen. What she's done, she's done, and you snatchin' her baldheaded won't bring Mr. O'Hara back. Besides she honestly thought she was actin' for the best!"

  "I wanted to ask you about that What is all this about Suellen? Alex talked riddles and said she ought to be whipped. What has she done?"

  "Yes, folks are pretty riled up about her. Everybody I run into this afternoon in Jonesboro was promisin' to cut her dead the next time they seen her, but maybe they'll get over it. Now, promise me you won't light into her. I won't be havin' no quarrelin' tonight with Mr. O'Hara layin' dead in the parlor."

  He won't be having any quarreling! thought Scarlett, indignantly. He talks like Tara was his already!

  And then she thought of Gerald, dead in the parlor, and suddenly she began to cry, cry in bitter, gulping sobs. Will put his arm around her, drew her comfortably close and said nothing.

  As they jolted slowly down the darkening road, her head on his shoulder, her bonnet askew, she had forgotten the Gerald of the last two years, the vague old gentleman who stared at doors waiting for a woman who would never enter. She was remembering the vital, virile old man with his mane of crisp white hair, his bellowing cheerfulness, his stamping boots, his clumsy jokes, his generosity. She remembered how, as a child, he had seemed the most wonderful man in the world, this blustering father who carried her before him on his saddle when he jumped fences, turned her up and paddled her when she was naughty, and then cried when she cried and gave her quarters to get her to hush. She remembered him coming home from Charleston and Atlanta laden with gifts that were never appropriate, remembered too, with a faint smile through tears, how he came home in the wee hours from Court Day at Jonesboro, drunk as seven earls, jumping fences, his rollicking voice raised in "The Wearin' o' the Green." And how abashed he was, facing Ellen on the morning after. Well, he was with Ellen now.

  "Why didn't you write me that he was ill? I'd have come so fast--"

  "He warn't ill, not a minute. Here, honey, take my handkerchief and I'll tell you all about it."

  She blew her nose on his bandanna, for she had come from Atlanta without even a handkerchief, and settled back into the crook of Will's arm. How nice Will was. Nothing ever upset him.

  "Well, it was this way, Scarlett. You been sendin' us money right along and Ashley and me, well, we've paid taxes and bought the mule and seeds and what-all and a few hogs and chickens. Miss Melly's done mighty well with the hens, yes sir, she has. She's a fine woman, Miss Melly is. Well, anyway, after we bought things for Tara, there warn't so much left over for folderols, but none of us warn't complainin'. Except Suellen.

  "Miss Melanie and Miss Carreen stay at home and wear their old clothes like they're proud of them but you know Suellen, Scarlett. She hasn't never got used to doin' without. It used to stick in her craw that she had to wear old dresses every time I took her into Jonesboro or over to Fayetteville. 'Specially as some of those Carpetbaggers' ladi-women was always flouncin' around in fancy trimmin's. The wives of those damn Yankees that run the Freedmen's Bureau, do they dress up! Well, it's kind of been a point of honor with the ladies of the County to wear their worst-lookin' dresses to town, just to show how they didn't care and was proud to wear them. But not Suellen. And she wanted a hone and carriage too. She pointed out that you had one."

  It's not a carriage, it's an old buggy," said Scarlett indignantly.

  "Well, no matter what. I might as well tell you Suellen never has got over your marryin' Frank Kennedy and I don't know as I blame her. You know that was a kind of scurvy trick to play on a sister."

  Scarlett rose from his shoulder, furious as a rattler ready to strike.

  "Scurvy trick, hey? I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Win Benteen! Could I help it if he preferred me to her?"

  "You're a smart girl, Scarlett, and I figger, yes, you could have helped him preferrin' you. Girls always can. But I guess you kind of coaxed him. You're a mighty takin' person when you want to be, but all the same, he was Suellen's beau. Why, she'd had a letter from him a week before you went to Atlanta and he was sweet as sugar about her and talked about how they'd get married when he got a little more money ahead. I know because she showed me the letter."

  Scarlett was silent because she knew he was telling the truth and she could think of nothing to say. She had never expected Will, of all people, to sit in judgment on her. Mor
eover the lie she had told Frank had never weighed heavily upon her conscience. If a girl couldn't keep a beau, she deserved to lose him.

  "Now, Will, don't be mean," she said. "If Suellen had married him, do you think she'd ever have spent a penny on Tara or any of us?"

  "I said you could be right takin' when you wanted to," said Will, turning to her with a quiet grin. "No, I don't think we'd ever seen a penny of old Frank's money. But still there's no gettin' 'round it, it was a scurvy trick and if you want to justify the end by the means, it's none of my business and who am I to complain? But just the same Suellen has been like a hornet ever since. I don't think she cared much about old Frank but it kind of teched her vanity and she's been sayin' as how you had good clothes and a carriage and lived in Atlanta while she was buried here at Tara. She does love to go callin' and to parties, you know, and wear pretty clothes. I ain't blamin' her. Women are like that.

  "Well, about a month ago I took her into Jonesboro and left her to go callin' while I tended to business and when I took her home, she was still as a mouse but I could see she was so excited she was ready to bust. I thought she'd found out somebody was goin' to have a-- that she'd heard some gossip that was interestin', and I didn't pay her much mind. She went around home for about a week all swelled up and excited and didn't have much to say. She went over to see Miss Cathleen Calvert -- Scarlett, you'd cry your eyes out at Miss Cathleen. Pore girl, she'd better be dead than married to that pusillanimous Yankee Hilton. You knew he'd mortaged the place and lost it and they're goin' to have to leave?"

  "No, I didn't know and I don't want to know. I want to know about Pa."

  "Well, I'm gettin' to that," said Will patiently. "When she come back from over there she said we'd all misjudged Hilton, She called him Mr. Hilton and she said he was a smart man, but we just laughed at her. Then she took to takin' your pa out to walk in the afternoons and lots of times when I was comin' home from the field, I'd see her sittin' with him on the wall 'round the buryin' ground, talkin' at him hard and wavin' her hands. And the old gentleman would just look at her sort of puzzled-like and shake his head. You know how he's been, Scarlett. He just got kind of vaguer and vaguer, like he didn't hardly know where he was or who we were. One time, I seen her point to your ma's grave and the old gentleman begun to cry. And when she come in the house all happy and excited lookin', I gave her a talkin' to, right sharp, too, and I said: 'Miss Suellen, why in hell are you devilin' your poor pa and bringin' up your ma to him? Most of the time he don't realize she's dead and here you are rubbin' it in.' And she just kind of tossed her head and laughed and said: 'Mind your business. Some day you'll be glad of what I'm doin'.' Miss Melanie told me last night that Suellen had told her about her schemes but Miss Melly said she didn't have no notion Suellen was serious. She said she didn't tell none of us because she was so upset at the very idea."