Gone With the Wind

by Margaret Mitchell

  "Good evening, Mrs. Kennedy. And which of you ladies is Mrs. Wilkes?"

  "I am Mrs. Wilkes," answered Melanie, rising and for all her smallness, dignity flowed from her. "And to what do I owe this intrusion?"

  The eyes of the captain flickered quickly about the room, resting for an instant on each face, passing quickly from their faces to the table and the hat rack as though looking for signs of male occupancy.

  "I should like to speak to Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Kennedy, if you please."

  "They are not here," said Melanie, a chill in her soft voice.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Don't you question Miz Wilkes' word," said Archie, his beard bristling.

  "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wilkes. I meant no disrespect. If you give me your word, I will not search the house."

  "You have my word. But search if you like. They are at a meeting downtown at Mr. Kennedy's store."

  "They are not at the store. There was no meeting tonight," answered the captain grimly. "We will wait outside until they return."

  He bowed briefly and went out, closing the door behind him. Those in the house heard a sharp order, muffled by the wind: "Surround the house. A man at each window and door." There was a tramping of feet. Scarlett checked a start of terror as she dimly saw bearded faces peering in the windows at them. Melanie sat down and with a hand that did not tremble reached for a book on the table. It was a ragged copy of Les Miserables, that book which caught the fancy of the Confederate soldiers. They had read it by campfire light and took some grim pleasure in calling it "Lee's Miserables." She opened it at the middle and began to read in a clear monotonous voice.

  "Sew," commanded Archie in a hoarse whisper and the three women, nerved by Melanie's cool voice, picked up their sewing and bowed their heads.

  How long Melanie read beneath that circle of watching eyes, Scarlett never knew but it seemed hours. She did not even hear a word that Melanie read. Now she was beginning to think of Frank as well as Ashley. So this was the explanation of his apparent calm this evening! He had promised her he would have nothing to do with the Klan. Oh, this was just the kind of trouble she had feared would come upon them! All the work of this last year would go for nothing. All her struggles and fears and labors in rain and cold had been wasted. And who would have thought that spiritless old Frank would get himself mixed up in the hot-headed doings of the Klan? Even at this minute, he might be dead. And if he wasn't dead and the Yankees caught him, he'd be hanged. And Ashley, too!

  Her nails dug, into her palms until four bright-red crescents showed. How could Melanie read on and on so calmly when Ashley was in danger of being hanged? When he might be dead? But something in the cool soft voice reading the sorrows of Jean Valjean steadied her, kept her from leaping to her feet and screaming.

  Her mind fled back to the night Tony Fontaine had come to them, hunted, exhausted, without money. If he had not reached their house and received money and a fresh horse, he would have been hanged long since. If Frank and Ashley were not dead at this very minute, they were in Tony's position, only worse. With the house surrounded by soldiers they couldn't come home and get money and clothes without being captured. And probably every house up and down the street had a similar guard of Yankees, so they could not apply to friends for aid. Even now they might be riding wildly through the night, bound for Texas.

  But Rhett -- perhaps Rhett had reached them in time. Rhett always had plenty of cash in his pocket. Perhaps he would lend them enough to see them through. But that was queer. Why should Rhett bother himself about Ashley's safety? Certainly he disliked him, certainly he professed a contempt for him. Then why -- But his riddle was swallowed up in a renewed fear for the safety of Ashley and Frank.

  "Oh, it's all my fault!" she wailed to herself. "India and Archie spoke the truth. It's all my fault. But I never thought either of them was foolish enough to join the Klan! And I never thought anything would really happen to me! But I couldn't have done otherwise. Melly spoke the truth. People have to do what they have to do. And I had to keep the mills going! I had to have money! And now I'll probably lose it all and somehow it's all my fault!"

  After a long time Melanie's voice faltered, trailed off and was silent. She turned her head toward the window and stared as though no Yankee soldier stared back from behind the glass. The others raised their heads, caught by her listening pose, and they too listened.

  There was a sound of horses' feet and of singing, deadened by the closed windows and doors, borne away by the wind but still recognizable. It was the most hated and hateful of all songs, the song about Sherman's men "Marching through Georgia" and Rhett Butler was singing it.

  Hardly had he finished the first lines when two other voices, drunken voices, assailed him, enraged foolish voices that stumbled over words and blurred them together. There was a quick command from Captain Jaffery on the front porch and the rapid tramp of feet. But even before these sounds arose, the ladies looked at one another stunned. For the drunken voices expostulating with Rhett were those of Ashley and Hugh Elsing.

  Voices rose louder on the front walk, Captain Jaffery's curt and questioning, Hugh's shrill with foolish laughter, Rhett's deep and reckless and Ashley's queer, unreal, shouting: "What the hell! What the hell!"

  "That can't be Ashley!" thought Scarlett wildly. "He never gets drunk! And Rhett -- why, when Rhett's drunk he gets quieter and quieter -- never loud like that!"

  Melanie rose and, with her, Archie rose. They heard the captain's sharp voice: "These two men are under arrest." And Archie's hand closed over his pistol butt.

  "No," whispered Melanie firmly. "No. Leave it to me."

  There was in her face the same look Scarlett had seen that day at Tara when Melanie had stood at the top of the steps looking down at the dead Yankee, her weak wrist weighed down by the heavy saber -- a gentle and timid soul nerved by circumstances to the caution and fury of a tigress. She threw the front door open.

  "Bring him in, Captain Butler," she called in a clear tone that bit with venom. "I suppose you've gotten him intoxicated again. Bring him in."

  From the dark windy walk, the Yankee captain spoke: "I'm sorry, Mrs. Wilkes, but your husband and Mr. Elsing are under arrest."

  "Arrest? For what? For drunkenness? If everyone in Atlanta was arrested for drunkenness, the whole Yankee garrison would be in jail continually. Well, bring him in, Captain Butler -- that is, if you can walk yourself."

  Scarlett's mind was not working quickly and for a brief moment nothing made sense. She knew neither Rhett nor Ashley was drunk and she knew Melanie knew they were not drunk. Yet here was Melanie, usually so gentle and refined, screaming like a shrew and in front of Yankees too, that both of them were too drunk to walk.

  There was a short mumbled argument, punctuated with curses, and uncertain feet ascended the stairs. In the doorway appeared Ashley, white faced, his head lolling, his bright hair tousled, his long body wrapped from neck to knees in Rhett's black cape. Hugh Elsing and Rhett, none too steady on their feet, supported him on either side and it was obvious he would have fallen to the floor but for their aid. Behind them came the Yankee captain, his face a study of mingled suspicion and amusement. He stood in the open doorway with his men peering curiously over his shoulders and the cold wind swept the house.

  Scarlett, frightened, puzzled, glanced at Melanie and back to the sagging Ashley and then half-comprehension came to her. She started to cry out: "But he can't be drunk!" and bit back the words. She realized she was witnessing a play, a desperate play on which lives hinged. She knew she was not part of it nor was Aunt Pitty but the others were and they were tossing cues to one another like actors in an oft-rehearsed drama. She understood only half but she understood enough to keep silent.

  "Put him in the chair," cried Melanie indignantly. "And you, Captain Butler, leave this house immediately! How dare you show your face here after getting him in this condition again!"

  The two men eased Ashley into a rocker and Rhett, swaying, caugh
t hold of the back of the chair to steady himself and addressed the captain with pain in his voice.

  "That's fine thanks I get, isn't it? For keeping the police from getting him and bringing him home and him yelling and trying to claw me!"

  "And you, Hugh Elsing, I'm ashamed of you! What will your poor mother say? Drunk and out with a -- a Yankee-loving Scalawag like Captain Butler! And, oh, Mr. Wilkes, how could you do such a thing?"

  "Melly, I ain't so very drunk," mumbled Ashley, and with the words fell forward and lay face down on the table, his head buried in his arms.

  "Archie, take him to his room and put him to bed -- as usual," ordered Melanie. "Aunt Pitty, please run and fix the bed and oo-oh," she suddenly burst into tears. "Oh, how could he? After he promised!"

  Archie already had his arm under Ashley's shoulder and Pitty, frightened and uncertain, was on her feet when the captain interposed.

  "Don't touch him. He's under arrest. Sergeant!"

  As the sergeant stepped into the room, his rifle at trail, Rhett, evidently trying to steady himself, put a hand on the captain's arm and, with difficulty, focused his eyes.

  "Tom, what you arresting him for? He ain't so very drunk. I've seen him drunker."

  "Drunk be damned," cried the captain. "He can lie in the gutter for all I care. I'm no policeman. He and Mr. Elsing are under arrest for complicity in a Klan raid at Shantytown tonight. A nigger and a white man were killed. Mr. Wilkes was the ringleader in it."

  "Tonight?" Rhett began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he sat down on the sofa and put his head in his hands. "Not tonight, Tom," he said when he could speak. "These two have been with me tonight -- ever since eight o'clock when they were supposed to be at the meeting."

  "With you, Rhett? But --" A frown came over the captain's forehead and he looked uncertainly at the snoring Ashley and his weeping wife. "But -- where were you?"

  "I don't like to say," and Rhett shot a look of drunken cunning at Melanie.

  "You'd better say!"

  "Le's go out on the porch and I'll tell you where we were."

  "You'll tell me now."

  "Hate to say it in front of ladies. If you ladies'll step out of the room --"

  "I won't go," cried Melanie, dabbing angrily at her eyes with her handkerchief. "I have a right to know. Where was my husband?"

  "At Belle Watling's sporting house," said Rhett, looking abashed. "He was there and Hugh and Frank Kennedy and Dr. Meade and -- and a whole lot of them. Had a party. Big party. Champagne. Girls --"

  "At -- at Belle Watling's?"

  Melanie's voice rose until it cracked with such pain that all eyes turned frightenedly to her. Her hand went clutching at her bosom and, before Archie could catch her, she had fainted. Then a hubbub ensued, Archie picking her up, India running to the kitchen for water, Pitty and Scarlett fanning her and slapping her wrists, while Hugh Elsing shouted over and over: "Now you've done it! Now you've done it!"

  "Now it'll be all over town," said Rhett savagely. "I hope you're satisfied, Tom. There won't be a wife in Atlanta who'll speak to her husband tomorrow."

  "Rhett, I had no idea --" Though the chill wind was blowing through the open door on his back, the captain was perspiring. "Look here! You take an oath they were at -- er -- at Belle's?"

  "Hell, yes," growled Rhett "Go ask Belle herself if you don't believe me. Now, let me carry Mrs. Wilkes to her room. Give her to me, Archie. Yes, I can carry her. Miss Pitty, go ahead with a lamp."

  He took Melanie's limp body from Archie's arms with ease.

  "You get Mr. Wilkes to bed, Archie. I don't want to ever lay eyes or hands on him again after this night."

  Pitty's hand trembled so that the lamp was a menace to the safety of the house but she held it and trotted ahead toward the dark bedroom. Archie, with a grunt, got an arm under Ashley and raised him.

  "But -- I've got to arrest these men!"

  Rhett turned in the dim hallway.

  "Arrest them in the morning then. They can't run away in this condition -- and I never knew before that it was illegal to get drunk in a sporting house. Good God, Tom, there are fifty witnesses to prove they were at Belle's."

  "There are always fifty witnesses to prove a Southerner was somewhere he wasn't," said the captain morosely. "You come with me, Mr. Elsing. I'll parole Mr. Wilkes on the word of --"

  "I am Mr. Wilkes' sister. I will answer for his appearance," said India coldly. "Now, will you please go? You've caused enough trouble for one night."

  "I regret it exceedingly." The captain bowed awkwardly. "I only hope they can prove their presence at the -- er -- Miss -- Mrs. Watling's house. Will you tell your brother that he must appear before the provost marshal tomorrow morning for questioning?"

  India bowed coldly and, putting her hand upon the door knob, intimated silently that his speedy retirement would be welcome. The captain and the sergeant backed out, Hugh Elsing with them, and she slammed the door behind them. Without even looking at Scarlett, she went swiftly to each window and drew down the shade. Scarlett, her knees shaking, caught hold of the chair in which Ashley had been sitting to steady herself. Looking down at it, she saw that there was a dark moist spot, larger than her hand, on the cushion in the back of the chair. Puzzled, her hand went over it and, to her horror, a sticky red wetness appeared on her palm.

  "India," she whispered, "India, Ashley's -- he's hurt."

  "You fool! Did you think he was really drunk?" India snapped down the last shade and started on flying feet for the bedroom, with Scarlett close behind her, her heart in her throat. Rhett's big body barred the doorway but, past his shoulder, Scarlett saw Ashley lying white and still on the bed. Melanie, strangely quick for one so recently in a faint, was rapidly cutting off his blood-soaked shirt with embroidery scissors. Archie held the lamp low over the bed to give light and one of his gnarled fingers was on Ashley's wrist.

  "Is he dead?" cried both girls together.

  "No, just fainted from loss of blood. It's through his shoulder," said Rhett.

  "Why did you bring him here, you fool?" cried India, "Let me get to him! Let me pass! Why did you bring him here to be arrested?"

  "He was too weak to travel. There was nowhere else to bring him, Miss Wilkes. Besides -- do you want him to be an exile like Tony Fontaine? Do you want a dozen of your neighbors to live in Texas under assumed names for the rest of their lives? There's a chance that we may get them all off if Belle --"

  "Let me pass!"

  "No, Miss Wilkes. There's work for you. You must go for a doctor -- Not Dr. Meade. He's implicated in this and is probably explaining to the Yankees at this very minute. Get some other doctor. Are you afraid to go out alone at night?"

  "No," said India, her pale eyes glittering. "I'm not afraid." She caught up Melanie's hooded cape which was hanging on a book in the hall. "I'll go for old Dr. Dean." The excitement went out of her voice as, with an effort, she forced calmness. "I'm sorry I called you a spy and a fool. I did not understand. I'm deeply grateful for what you've done for Ashley -- but I despise you just the same."

  "I appreciate frankness -- and I thank you for it." Rhett bowed and his lip curled down in an amused smile. "Now, go quickly and by back ways and when you return do not come in this house if you see signs of soldiers about."

  India shot one more quick anguished look at Ashley, and, wrapping her cape about her, ran lightly down the hall to the back door and let herself out quietly into the night.

  Scarlett, straining her eyes past Rhett, felt her heart beat again as she saw Ashley's eyes open. Melanie snatched a folded towel from the washstand rack and pressed it against his streaming shoulder and he smiled up weakly, reassuringly into her face. Scarlett felt Rhett's hard penetrating eyes upon her, knew that her heart was plain upon her face, but she did not care. Ashley was bleeding, perhaps dying and she who loved him had torn that hole through his shoulder. She wanted to run to the bed, sink down beside it and clasp him to her but her knees trembled so that she could not enter
the room. Hand at her mouth, she stared while Melanie packed a fresh towel against his shoulder, pressing it hard as though she could force back the blood into his body. But the towel reddened as though by magic.

  How could a man bleed so much and still live? But, thank God, there was no bubble of blood at his lips -- oh, those frothy red bubbles, forerunners of death that she knew so well from the dreadful day of the battle at Peachtree Creek when the wounded had died on Aunt Pitty's lawn with bloody mouths.

  "Brace up," said Rhett, and there was a hard, faintly jeering note in his voice. "He won't die. Now, go take the lamp and hold it for Mrs. Wilkes. I need Archie to run errands."

  Archie looked across the lamp at Rhett.

  "I ain't takin' no orders from you," he said briefly, shifting his wad of tobacco to the other cheek.

  "You do what he says," said Melanie sternly, "and do it quickly. Do everything Captain Butler says. Scarlett, take the lamp."

  Scarlett went forward and took the lamp, holding it in both hands to keep from dropping it. Ashley's eyes had closed again. His bare chest heaved up slowly and sank quickly and the red stream seeped from between Melanie's small frantic fingers. Dimly she heard Archie stump across the room to Rhett and heard Rhett's low rapid words. Her mind was so fixed upon Ashley that of the first half-whispered words of Rhett, she only heard: Take my horse ... tied outside ... ride like hell."

  Archie mumbled some question and Scarlett heard Rhett reply: "The old Sullivan plantation. You'll find the robes pushed up the biggest chimney. Burn them."

  "Um," grunted Archie.

  "And there's two -- men in the cellar. Pack them over the horse as best you can and take them to that vacant lot behind Belle's -- the one between her house and the railroad tracks. Be careful. If anyone sees you, you'll hang as well as the rest of us. Put them in that lot and put pistols near them -- in their hands. Here -- take mine."

  Scarlett, looking across the room, saw Rhett reach under his coat tails and produce two revolvers which Archie took and shoved into his waist band.

  "Fire one shot from each. It's got to appear like a plain case of shooting. You understand?"