Ruth's Journey: The Authorized Novel of Mammy From Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind

by Donald McCaig

  Master Gerald has bragged on her so ladies knows Miss Ellen ain’t Irish sheownself, she French. Her Papa served under Napoleon and her Momma escape from Saint-Domingue. They know Miss Ellen Papa rich. Though the Up-country ladies like Master Gerald, Irish am Irish and French French, so the ladies figure Miss Ellen marry down. Mistress Calvert was governess to Hugh Calvert children until old Mistress die and she marry Master Hugh. She a Yankee. Yankees clip their words like if they opens their mouth too long somebody snatch they tongue.

  Aside her on the sofa is Old Miss Fontaine, who is Grandma Fontaine, snorin’ with bubble of spit on her lip. When she see me see, Young Miss Fontaine dab Old Miss spit with handkerchief.

  Miss Ellen askin’ ’bout birthin’ without ’pearin’ to really care about no birthin’, no, no; but she don’t fool them ladies. Mistress Munroe say how last child nearly kills her and six childrens enough for any woman to bear, and Miss Beatrice Tarleton brags she pops out eight like a brood mare. Nothin’ to it if the stallion ain’t too big. Ladies smile at that, and Old Miss wake up and guffaw. Teena bring the teapot round and fetch Miss Eleanor more sherry. So nobody notice she onliest one drinkin’ sherry, Miss Eleanor ask if Henry Clay ever gonna get chance be president, and Miss Munroe, who am miffed at this turn in the conversation, say if presidents came to childbed they’d do things different, and every lady agrees with her.

  Miss Eleanor give me a “Who you?” smile, and Miss Ellen say I her Mammy and been “with her” forever. Miss Ellen tell how Miss Solange first husband rescue me from Saint-Domingue rebels and Maroons, and Miss Eleanor say, “First husband?” with she eyebrow raised, and Miss Ellen say, flat out, she Momma had three husbands.

  The ladies digestin’ that when Miss Tarleton laugh and say, “Usually husbands bury their wives. Your mother must have been tough as hickory to outlast three.”

  Miss Ellen say, “I regret I never knew my mother. My father, Pierre Robillard, keeps her portrait draped in mourning to this day.”

  Some ladies murmur approval, but Miss Tarleton say, “I hate mourning. Why waste a year of life mourning someone who cannot possibly know you’re mourning?” She see on my face I don’t agree and ask, “Mammy?”

  ’Tweren’t my place socializin’ with white ladies, so I tells her, “Mighty thin wall twixt them’s livin’ and them’s dead,” and leave it at that.

  “Rescued from rebels and Maroons,” Miss Eleanor say. “How fortunate for you.”

  I say, “Yes, ma’am,” without really knowin’ what I yessin’. White ladies wonderful at questions which ain’t got no good answers.

  Miss Calvert say, “Saint-Domingue—what a terrible, terrible tragedy. Wasn’t it very rich at one time? One hears very little about Saint-Domingue nowadays.”

  “It’s called Haiti now,” Miss Munroe say.

  Miss Eleanor sniff. “It will always be Saint-Domingue to me.” She turn to Miss Ellen. “How are things in dear Savannah? The gaiety, the balls, the French cuisine . . . Savannah’s such a continental city.”

  Other ladies used to Miss Eleanor carrying on suchlike and don’t make nothin’ of it.

  Mistress Amy Hamilton be Master Wilkes’s sister-in-law. She in black mournin’ for her husband but carryin’ he child. Miss Hamilton say Atlanta growing fast.

  “It will be a very, very long time before Atlanta is truly continental,” Miss Eleanor say.

  Other ladies feelin’ sorry for Miss Hamilton for carryin’ baby with she husband dead, so nobody say if Atlanta continental or not. Old Miss tells ’em, Atlanta used to be Terminus—the end of the railroad line. Nobody lived there.

  Mistress Hamilton say, “Well, if Atlanta isn’t continental it is cosmopolitan.”

  I thought them two names for same thing, but I can’t read.

  Mistress Beatrice Tarleton snap her finger at Teena, who start for the teapot till Miss Beatrice waggles her finger, no. Teena fetch Miss Beatrice glass of sherry, which she raise in toast to Miss Eleanor, who is pretendin’ she ain’t had four glasses already so don’t toast her back.

  Ladies in hoopskirts, except Miss Beatrice in tweed ladies’ ridin’ britches and a jacket which is hardly big enough keep her warm and boots halfways up her thighs. Pork already warned me ’bout Miss Beatrice. Miss Beatrice ain’t got deportment.

  Miss Beatrice rather be with men jumpin’ they horses over fences and knockin’ top rails off so the cows stray and coloreds got to go out and catch cows and put rails back up again.

  Fairhill Plantation far side of Tara woods. They clears Fairhill when Creek Indians still about and Tarletons sleep with doors barred and loaded muskets beside they bed. Tarletons first settlers and got the best soil. Master Jim, he richer than Munroes or ­Wilkeses or Calverts, so no matter what Miss Beatrice wearin’, the ladies say “how good” and “that’s true” to her ’pinions.

  Miss Beatrice strong medicine. Miss Ellen don’t care for her much, but I do. Like Miss Solange, when she think somethin’ she spit it out ’thout botherin’ where it lands or on who.

  The ladies tryin’ think what to say next. They has admired Tara’s “ren-a-sonce” (Miss Eleanor called it). They has got acquainted with Miss Ellen, and since she ain’t had baby yet, they ain’t got baby to talk about.

  Miss Eleanor has got herself another sherry and is talkin’ ’bout New York City, which is grander’n anyplace other ladies ever been to. Miss Tarleton jumps to the window. “Oh, look, there’s the gentlemen, now. Gerald will lather his horse.”

  Ladies don’t say they is, but they glad husbands ridin’ in so’s they can collect they children and coloreds and get on home afore dark.

  Teena has got bored with bein’ lady’s maid and is restin’ her butt against the new wallpaper, scratchin’ herself where she shouldn’t.

  How Jesus Don’t Come but Miss Katie Do

  MILLERITES FIX ON the twenty-second day in the tenth month in the Year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-four for Jesus come. Gonna be angels and trumpets and flamin’ chariots with wheels made of eyes and pillars of fire and all manner of bother. Millerites never say whether Jesus come from Lovejoy way or Fayetteville way, so nobody know which way be lookin’ nor did Millerites say ’zactly when: somewhere’s betwixt sunrise and sunrise was close as they come to it. Unbelievers and backsliders lookin’ over they shoulders in them days.

  Master John and Master Gerald scoffin’ at Millerites ’count most am Yankees and when did Yankees know anything? But Master Hugh Calvert, he ’blieve might be somethin’ in it. Them Millerites read up on Book of Daniel and sat down and figured until they was blue in the face. Master Hugh say, “Very clever men made those calculations.” Some of Master Hugh’s coloreds start to takin’ fits, so Master Hugh sits ’em down and says he just foolin’. Sun gonna rise day after tomorrow just like it always done.

  When September get to October, they’s a chill in the air and leaves turnin’ quicker’n usual and woolly bears ain’t got no red band and Master Gerald ain’t scoffin’ so loud. Master Gerald mostly figure he know more’n Master John ’count of Master Gerald play better cards and better rider and grow better cotton, but these days Master Gerald thinkin’ might be somethin’ in them books Master John set such a store by. Master Gerald, he rides to Twelve Oaks ask Master John could it be true, world gonna end? Master John laughs and claps Master Gerald on the back and says he gladly loan him thousand dollars to be repaid with fifty percent interest day after Millerites figure world end.

  Tell the truth? Master Gerald don’t want fret ’bout Miss Ellen and baby, so he fret ’bout world endin’ instead. Lesser fret.

  Master Pierre writes Miss Ellen letter. Master Pierre give me greetin’ from Nehemiah. Franklin Ward and Eulalie believe them Millerites has got it right, and nowadays the Benchleys ain’t laughin’ so loud. Master Pierre say Franklin and Eulalie tiresome ’bout Jesus. They don’t give away they
money nor nothin’, but come sunset October 22, they gonna be down at the church, way up in the belfry so they can see them flamin’ chariots with eyes in they wheels afore arybody else.

  Me, I didn’t figure Jesus comin’. If He gonna take us, how come we ain’t no mist round us like folks what is bound to pass? I don’t see no mist round nobody ’cept Old Amos, who born in Africa and can’t rise up off his pallet no more. Ain’t no mist round Overseer Wilkerson, who got to be very first sinner Jesus rebuke.

  Miss Ellen don’t pay Millerites no mind. Jesus comin’ or He ain’t. She powerful sick mornings and can’t eat more’n a bite, and she fret how Tara get on while she lyin’ in with baby. Tara linen closets so full, you couldn’t squeeze a silk handkerchief in; smokehouse hams and bacon counted and Pork holdin’ the key, Cook instructed every supper Master Gerald is to eat for a fortnight. When all that done, Miss Ellen lie down and summons Dilcey.

  Master Gerald want fanciest Atlanta doctor birth he baby, but Miss Ellen ain’t havin’ none of it. She want womens: me and Dilcey and Miss Beatrice, ’count Miss Beatrice birth so many foals and babies.

  That get Master Gerald’s Irish up, and he say Miss Ellen more precious than any colt ever been foaled, and when Master Gerald hears what he sayin’ heownself he say, “By the blessed Virgin, I will not lose you or our baby!” Master Gerald say he gonna call on Old Doc Fontaine, and Miss Ellen lift her chin and say, “Mr. O’Hara. A male doctor killed my mother with his arrogant science and ­masculine impatience. The proper wife defers to her husband, as I have and will. Not, however, against her Christian conscience nor when birthing the child she has carried since conception.”

  Master Gerald sputter and balk but red leakin’; out of he red face and directly she kiss he cheek and say, “I know you want the best—the very best—for me and our baby. But, darling, you must trust me in this.”

  I ’spect I know much as Dilcey do ’bout curin’ folks, but not ’bout fetchin’ babies. Dilcey and Miss Beatrice, they sits next childbeds afore and one woman is like the other’s hand.

  Miss Beatrice, she wash she hands and pat ’em dry and lift up sheet which coverin’ Miss Ellen’s parts and peer close and say, “Not yet, Ellen. Rest as best you can.” And she leave the room and I hear her say to Master Gerald, “Leave your wife to us, sir. You’ve contributed everything any man can.”

  Mens shouldn’t come too close womens brought to childbed.

  Daybreak next, Miss Katie Scarlett comes into this world. She weren’t no Jesus, but prolly she was more welcome than He would have been.

  Goin’ home to Fairhill Plantation, Miss Beatrice jump every fence, which would have been fine if Dilcey hadn’t been clingin’ for dear life behind her. Old Doc Fontaine come see Miss Ellen after baby was born. He say he often doctor behind Miss Beatrice and Dilcey. Doc say they never lost no Momma nor no baby neither. His son, Young Doc Fontaine, don’t hold with midwifin’. Young Doc “scientific” and suchlike. Old Doc satisfy with what works.

  Like all papas, Master Gerald wants a son, but first time he picks up baby Katie and feel her warm self, he love her. From that moment, Master Gerald would have laid down his life for Miss Katie Scarlett O’Hara. ’Twere Master Gerald what named her, Katie bein’ his mother’s Christian name, and Scarlett his granny’s family name. Master Gerald like to say, “Martha Scarlett never traveled fifty miles from Ballyharry in all her born days. Now her namesake’s in America!”

  Old Doc Fontaine say Miss Ellen rest in bed for a fortnight, but day after baby born she up and doin’. I bury Miss Katie’s cord outside kitchen door so Tara be Katie Scarlett’s home evermore.

  Some folks say babies, they come into this world like a bolt of cloth. They say baby somethin’ you can cut and stitch and hem into what you want: apron or headcloth or frock coat, but I’m here to tell you that ain’t so. Baby got most of who she gonna be as old, old woman when she first open she baby eyes. Some baby quiet. Miss Katie can’t lie still: tiny feets and hands all the time goin’. All babies greedy, Miss Katie grab ahold of Momma’s teat and don’t let go! Won’t take no wet nurse neither. Dilcey find a fine young colored got more milk’n ary baby need; you think Miss Katie satisfy? She bawl and carry on and she ain’t gonna take that teat if she starvin’ to death!

  Master Gerald say, “Once one has had the best . . .” Then he get red face and say, “I mean . . .” and can’t think of what he means, but I believe Master Gerald proud how Miss Katie refuse that poor girl!

  When she gets to crawlin’ round, she means go forwards but her arms and legs drives her back till she bump up against somethin’ and can’t get nowhere. She get mad at herself for what she doin’ and squall until I picks her up and sets her in middle of the floor and she looks at me like she’s a-comin’ and goes backwards again and her little lips start to tremble and nothin’ ever been so wrong in the wide world as her not goin’ where she want go. She don’t blame me nor do she blame her Momma. Miss Katie mad at sheownself. She already know feets and arms, they’s her servants and gots to do what she say, not t’other way round.

  Papas forget ’bout babies once they’s named. They think namin’ biggest thing and Papas got other big things need done.

  Master Gerald and Master John Wilkes against we goin’ to war with Mexico but most Up-country folks favors it. Master Jim Tarleton in the Georgia legislature and he say America got “Manifest Destiny,” which mean takin’ everything what ain’t nailed down.

  Come July, Miss Katie gettin’ round better, she scoot round the kitchen garden when I weedin’, and soon enough, Miss Katie walkin’. When Miss Katie fall she bawl but gets right back up again.

  When Overseer Wilkerson take Tara cotton to Jonesboro for to sell, Master Gerald go with him. Might be Master Gerald fears Overseer gonna take cotton money, run off to Texas, and make new life for heself.

  After Master Gerald got he cotton money in Master Kennedy’s safe, he watch the racin’.

  All Masters favor horse racin’, young Masters and old Masters too. Wagons and horses and shanks mare comin’ to Jonesboro Saturday mornings, sell they cotton, they hogs, or they coloreds and buy what they needs, then they races till it too dark to see who wins.

  Sometimes little Miss Katie and me come too and Overseer gots take us home afore racin’, and he smile when Master Gerald tell him go, but ain’t no smile goin’ home.

  Noon race is two-horse, two-miles twixt famous horses from hereabouts, some far as Macon. All the gentlemens studyin’ horses and jockeys and got ’pinions, and racetrack ’pinions ain’t cheap. Might be Jonesboro not grand like Charleston, but Saturday night some mens go home and hide they faces from they wives and childrens. Master Gerald, he holler and cheer but he never bets. “Faith and I should wager on another fellow’s horse?” He raise he eyebrows when he say that.

  After noon race, Masters go home and racetrack is for overseers and poor whites. Some hires colored jockeys. Oh, them jockeys think high of theyselves! But white men ride too except in the mule race.

  Coloreds ’lowed bet on mule race, and if they ain’t got no money, they bet they hats or coats.

  Don’t understand gamblin’. Life am dangerous and we don’t know certain we gonna see sun rise tomorrow. Why men got to bet their coats, I don’t know. Salt poured on salt don’t make it no sweeter!

  Miss Katie’s first word was “Ma . . .” which she say to me one morning in the nursery, but her second word was “Pa . . .” which she say to her Papa when he put her to bed. I let Master Gerald think he the first word his daughter ever say to the world. He tell everybody!

  Cotton prices poorly, so Master Gerald he push on Overseer Wilkerson and he push on the coloreds to work harder’n what they done and God help poor colored man waste arything, whether it scattered seed or ill-picked boll or broke harness snap. Harder they works, lower cotton price drop. They’s money in cotton business, but harder you work
s, less you makin’.

  Second baby, Miss Susan Elinor O’Hara, take her middle name from Miss Eleanor Wilkes, only spelt different ’count of Master Gerald didn’t want be beholden. Miss Suellen, for that’s what we gets to callin’ her, were as quiet and sunny as Miss Katie busy and didn’t see no difference twixt wet nurse teat and Momma’s. Miss Suellen weren’t particular.

  Masters talkin’ ’bout Mexican war. First time America ever invades ary other country. Afore now, we’s the ones bein’ invaded. Masters struttin’ like they’re a better country since they invade somebody like British and French been doin’. Master Jim Tarleton say war bound to drive up cotton prices, war be good for planters.

  “Bad for our sons,” Master John Wilkes say.

  They’s twict a day trains to Atlanta. Gamblers buy a dollar ticket come for Jonesboro races.

  Me and Miss Beatrice and Miss Ellen sit with Dilcey while Dilcey have her baby, Prissy, and Miss Ellen birth her third girl child, Caroline Irene, who is colicky. She fuss and cry and nothin’ satisfy her. I don’t get no sleep till she six months.

  For Christmas, Master Gerald take whiskey cask to the Quarters and some coloreds get ravin’ and Miss Ellen tells Master Gerald he married with three childrens and he don’t need no coloreds pukin’ and fallin’ down. I don’t say nothin’. Don’t got to. Master Gerald know how I feels!

  Miss Katie favors Mistress Solange. She ain’t no pretty child except for her eyes, which are green like spring leaf. Whatever her smile be sayin’, her eyes be thinkin’. From the start, Carreen be serious like her Momma be, and I pray nobody don’t give her no big book of saints to study up on.

  If I doesn’t know where Suellen come from I couldn’t figure who her people am. Suellen sneaky like neither her Papa or Momma. I reckon she come from somebody way back, maybe Solange’s granny or Granny Scarlett O’Hara’s papa. Sometimes when Suellen sly without no need, I almost see old woman in old-timey clothes slippin’ round.