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

by Donald McCaig

  Sometimes Miss Katie do somethin’ or hold her head cocked like she do and I can almost hear Miss Solange fussin’ at Master Augustin ’bout money or somethin’, but when I looks at Suellen, I sees that old woman in old clothes and halfway wish old woman speak her piece.

  Everybody happy when Mexican War finish. White folks always excited go to war and glad when it over. Master Gerald’s Savannah nephew Peter, he fought with the militia and got to be an officer and Gerald’s friends talked about buyin’ Peter a commemorative sword, but nothin’ come of it.

  One mornin’ when Big Sam shinglin’ our tobacco barn, Master Gerald climbs onto rooftop ’count there ain’t nothin’ he like better’n overlookin’ Tara, admirin’ he fields and he woods and he crops and he barns and Tara House and meat house and everythin’ he got.

  When Master Gerald hear voice sayin’ “Papa,” he look quick but don’t see child in the lane nor the wagon yard nor stable nor anywhere until he turn round and he eye pop out he head ’count Miss Katie on the ladder tippy-top reachin’ out so’s she can climb on the roof, which is terrible long way from the ground. Later Master Gerald tells Miss Ellen, “Holy Mary, Mother of God! My heart near stopped!” He speakin’ soft to Miss Katie while he easin’ down until she wrap she little arms round his neck. Big Sam go down ladder first and Master Gerald after case Miss Katie slip her grip. When Master Gerald reach the ground and let her down, Katie gigglin’ like it the most fun any child ever have! Master Gerald knees knockin’ together and he gots sit down!

  When Master Gerald tells, Miss Ellen face go white and she want to know who was watchin’ Miss Katie and Teena sent out to the milkhouse and Rosa brought up to Tara House as housemaid.

  Not long after, it evenin’ and fireflies sparkin’ and I hear hummin’, one of Master Gerald’s Irish tunes, and I peeks into hallway and there they is, Master and Mistress in each other’s arms and they dancin’. That were the happiest they was ever to be.

  We Grievin’

  THEM DAYS SEEMS like I everybody’s Mammy: Master Gerald, Miss Ellen, Miss Katie, Miss Suellen, Miss Carreen, Pork, Rosa, Cookie, Little Jack tryin’ be a house servant, and them coloreds come to kitchen door ’count somebody sick or been cursed or need a herb to help they man love ’em. Mammies gots to see and Mammies gots to know. Masters can believe arything. Master Gerald think he a foot taller’n he be, and Miss Ellen think she less’n what she am. Mistress Beatrice think she boys grow up just fine without no Mammy and Momma more with she horses than she sons. Mistress Eleanor believe settin’ silver proper am good deportment, and Master John, he think he can do right and mind his business and read he books and nothin’ terrible ever happen to Twelve Oaks nor to them he loves.

  Mammies gots to see and Mammies gots to know. We don’t know, we can’t do, and Mammies got to do. We can’t hold with no foolishness.

  Mammies don’t got to say what they know. Plenty times Master Gerald ask me ’bout this colored or that colored and I shakes my head, pretendin’ I don’t see nor hear no evil.

  Ol’ Denmark Vesey half right ’bout pretendin’. Fool pretend he know more’n he do, Mammy pretend she know less. I knew what I knew and never told a soul. What I wasn’t ’sposed to see I doesn’t, but arything I wants to know I know. Mammies gots to know.

  Mistress Ellen all the time callin’ on sick folks and old folks and in Baptist church every Sunday, though she ain’t Baptist, and afore supper she gather children and house servants around her for prayers.

  Masters celebrate after President Taylor elected ’count Taylor be Southern; he own a hundred coloreds and he fought them Mexicans. Masters think General Taylor ’zactly like them though they never fought no Mexicans theyownselves.

  Miss Ellen got Overseer Wilkerson dancin’ to her tune, and when bills come due, Miss Ellen pays and cash comes in she count it and she study every cotton and tobacco receipt and sale bill for every calf, hog, or lamb go to market. With her half glasses on her little face, Miss Ellen so serious she affrights Overseer, who don’t dare cross her.

  Although sometime Miss Ellen sick and sometime she stretch and groan and press hands to she back, she carry child like ’tain’t nothin’ and she don’t take to bed until womb drop two hours before her water break.

  Master Gerald gots himself a son! In he delight he pour Old Doc whiskey and Miss Beatrice whiskey and Pork whiskey and even pour me a glass, though I teetotal. He bounce baby—which he ain’t done with none of the girls—and he lift blanket be sure he a he. Miss Carreen too young know what goin’ on, but Miss Suellen she come in to kiss baby on he head. Miss Katie, she don’t come in the room. She sit on porch swing and swing so hard chains rattle.

  After Master Gerald see Miss Ellen and baby thrivin’, he gallop to Twelve Oaks and Fairhill with he whiskey bottle and don’t come home till dark and he singin’ ’bout some “minstrel boy to the war is gone,” which were a sad song which Master Gerald sing like a glad song. Pork helps him upstairs to sleep in bedroom t’other end of the hall.

  Little Master Gerald gurgle and rock in he cradle, but all the time mist hangin’ round heself, which I pretends I don’t see. Mammies don’t say everything they see.

  Tara Christmas be gala that year. Master Gerald makes the punch heself, and Mistress Ellen drink tea with lady friends in withdrawing room across the hall. Men singin’ carols and clappin’ each other on the back, and Master Buck Munroe cursin’ the Yankees like he always do, but Zachary Taylor in the White House and it Christmas, so Buck Munroe curses drowned out by masters singin’ “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” Ladies sing “Little Town of Bethlehem.” Mistress Beatrice drinkin’ tea with ladies but prefer be in other room drinkin’ whiskey with men.

  Ten o’clock I brings the children down, and all the ladies ad­mirin’ Baby Gerald, and Miss Katie she climb in Master John Wilkes’s lap and don’t want come out. Master Gerald carry Baby Gerald round askin’ do they see how alike they be.

  “He appears to be even shorter’n you are, Gerald,” Master Jim drawl, and Master Gerald’s ears gets red.

  Little Master Gerald, he play and gurgle like babies do, and if he sees mist round him he don’t care, and I s’pose I wish it away because I’m startle as arybody when I wakes middle of that night to a low sound, I never heard the like. I jumps up to Little Master Gerald cradle. He dead. Baby still warm, so I talks to him and prays for him and begs spirits give him back to us, but mist goes away and Little Master goes away too. I beg Miss Frances and Miss Solange and even Martine why they takes him, but they don’t say nothin’.

  ’Twas hard go down the hall to Master and Mistress bedroom. Hard to rap on they door. I don’t got to say nothin’ once Miss Ellen see my face. She lift up poor little Master Gerald in she arms and rock him and sing him a lullaby.

  Tara carpenter, Elijah, make a small cedar coffin, which smell so fine in the morning air when we and the neighbors standin’ next the grave. Master Gerald brought a Catholic priest out from Atlanta do the buryin’.

  We set back. We all set back. Master Gerald don’t ride over to Twelve Oaks no more, and Miss Ellen take to starin’ off like she could see into spirit world where her baby am.

  But it plantin’ time and seed got to get in the ground and Master John Wilkes come down with fever, so when Master Gerald ain’t at Tara, he at Twelve Oaks plantin’ Wilkeses’ crop. He gone mornin’ to night, and he come in after dark and don’t wash afore he sets down on the porch, where Miss Ellen waitin’ supper. He drink water straight from the jug and pour jug over his red face and hands, and Master Gerald say, “You know, Mrs. O’Hara, if John dies I b’lieve I’ll make Eleanor an offer for that river field of his.”

  Miss Ellen shocked, then notice his mouth twitch and them two laughin’ was the finest sound I heard that spring.

  By July, though he weakly, Master Wilkes healed and things most back to normal. Every Sunday, Miss Ellen and Master Gerald
visit Little Master’s grave under the cedars.

  Master Gerald weren’t no Master back in Ireland. I heard ’em tell Miss Beatrice closest he gets to horses was “the tail end of a plow pony,” but Gerald were Master now and ’tweren’t plow horses he ridin’. Master Gerald’s mares stand for Miss Beatrice stallions. Him and Miss Beatrice outbid each other when special fine horse sold at Jonesboro track, and when horse don’t turn out good for one, it sold to the other. There nothin’ Master Gerald like more’n jumpin’ fences. Fences twixt Twelve Oaks and Tara on ridgetops where horse can’t jump good ’count he climbin’, them top rails knocked off so regular Master Wilkes’s servants stack spare rails up there don’t need tote ’em so far.

  * * *

  Pretty soon Miss Ellen showin’ again. Oh, they careful of her. I never seen no folks carefuler. Mistress couldn’t ride and didn’t walk ’thout Pork at her elbow, and Mistress buggy horse swapped for Old Betsy, who can’t run away ’count she too old run.

  Miss Eulalie Robillard send wedding invitation, she marryin’ Dr. Franklin Ward of Charleston, but Miss Ellen can’t travel so far.

  Miss Katie, bored and she ain’t be bored ’thout mischief, so Master Gerald grateful Miss Beatrice teachin’ he daughter to ride.

  Toby drive us to Fairhill at daybreak ’count Miss Beatrice like to start early. When stableboy bring out pony for her, Miss Katie say, “No.”

  “You needn’t be afraid, Katie,” Miss Beatrice say. “Pinky is mild as milk.”

  Well, nobody gonna say Miss Katie O’Hara afeared. “He’s a . . . a . . . midget! I will ride a real horse.”

  “Oh?”

  “Like Papa ride.”

  “I’m not sure you’re ready for Gerald’s mount just yet.” Miss Beatrice laughin’ at her, and no day in she life do Miss Katie tolerate bein’ laughed at.

  “Like Papa ride,” Miss Katie say, and when Miss Beatrice don’t go get horse she want, Miss Katie climb back in our rig and fold her arms and say Toby take us home.

  Miss Beatrice really laugh then, like she never seen nothin’ like Miss Katie. “Child, you’re sure you’re a girl? You’re more boy than my brood!”

  “I am a girl,” Miss Katie says, so high-and-mighty it sets Miss Beatrice off again. She bent over laughin’.

  “I swan,” Miss Beatrice say. “Have you seen the like!”

  Miss Katie looks her up and down cool as you please. She say, “My father promised me you would teach me to ride. I am gravely disappointed.”

  “Well,” Miss Beatrice say, “I’m not the one to disappoint a green-eyed girl. Billy, saddle Trinket. Short stirrups.”

  The horse is old and solemn, and he seen childrens afore. Almost see him thinkin’, Not again! but he stand still while Miss Katie set her foot in Miss Beatrice hands and climb atop.

  She terrible small sittin’ up there higher than our heads. Miss Katie lookin’ round like world look different where she am now. I sees her thinkin’ that. Horse snort and lower he head for Billy rub his nose. Miss Katie not like that and jerk the reins so Trinket raise he head up and shake it, janglin’ he bridle, and he snort and prance his front feet.

  “Miss Katie,” Mistress Beatrice said, “as you wouldn’t wish Trinket to be a little girl, you must not try to be a horse. You must let Trinket be what he is, and, so long as that doesn’t interfere with your wishes, you’ll allow him his little pleasures. As a rider, you are a twosome, no longer a lone-some.” Pleased with what she say, she say it again. “A twosome, not a lone-some.”

  She attach a rope to bridle and Trinket walk round in a circle, he big feet stirrin’ up dust.

  Well, horse ain’t gonna kill her, which the best I hopin’ for. When we comes home and her mother ask Miss Katie how her horse lesson go, Miss Katie say, “I am a twosome, not a lone-some,” like that were something big.

  Horses and me don’t see eye to eye. I figures horses one of them “necessary evils.” Coloreds be jockeys and stableboys and they saddles and brushes and feeds them horses, but coloreds don’t owns ’em. Horses same like plantations: horses for white folks.

  Soon’s I sees horses ain’t gonna kill Miss Katie, I stops goin’ with her. Carreen and Suellen need Mammy more’n she do, so Miss Katie go to Fairhill by sheownself, and pretty soon she stayin’ there all day.

  Round Christmastime, Miss Suellen get the pox, so naturally her sister get it too. Miss Carreen won’t stop scratchin’ herself until we wraps her hands in cotton batts, and she cry until her eyes swelled, she so frustrate. Master Gerald goes to Atlanta buy presents for he girls and comes back with oranges, which I ain’t seen none since Savannah.

  Come February, Master Hugh Calvert riled ’count Southern gentlemens done met with President Taylor up in Washington and President Taylor tell ’em if they secede from the Union, he lead troops against ’em heownself. Master Hugh so hot under the collar it take three drinks of whiskey settle him.

  In the spring, Miss Ellen brought to childbed, and Dilcey come and Miss Beatrice and me. We don’t feel good ’bout this birthin’, so we talkin’ ’bout arything else; Miss Beatrice goes on and on ’bout Miss Katie and her horses.

  Baby born twenty minutes after water broke, slips out slick as grease. He dead. He gots red hair. Somethin’ ain’t right with he little fingers and toes, which I sees when I wash him for he coffin, but I don’t say nothin’ ’bout it.

  I don’t know why Master Gerald name him Gerald. To me, second baby always be Red.

  Baby laid down in the shady spot beside his brother. Tara go on. Not long after Red born, President Taylor falls over dead. They ain’t no wars. Cotton prices holding up. We grievin’.

  Next winter Miss Ellen showin’ again, but nobody say nothing ’bout it like words am curses.

  Gerald O’Hara born on a bright Saturday in September. It ain’t got cold yet. Miss Ellen, she labor for an hour and out he come. I cuts the cord but don’t bury it outside kitchen door ’count of baby born with all he toes and tiny fingers like Red ain’t got but he got mist same like first Gerald. Miss Ellen, she tired but smilin’, and I can’t say nothin’ ’bout no mist so I gots pretend I happy as a fool. Dilcey, she gives me the eye like she see mist too. She Cherokee woman. No tellin’ what Dilcey seein’.

  Next morning after Gerald born, comes Nehemiah letter sayin’ Master Pierre Robillard done pass. In he dyin’ breath Master Pierre send he blessing to Miss Ellen.

  Master Gerald, he take letter into Miss Ellen bedroom and close the door. Hour later, he come out and say Miss Ellen restin’ and I brings tea and teapot and Solange blue cup.

  After all these years, Miss Ellen still got young Miss Ellen eyes. We weepin’. I sits tea tray down afore I drops it ’count tears. “Oh,” Miss Ellen say.

  “Honey . . .”

  “He . . .”

  “’Deed he is. Master Robillard, he . . .”

  “Mammy, he’s gone. How I wish . . .”

  So I says, “Master Pierre glad ’bout baby, Miss. He so glad.” Which was hard sayin’ ’count mist liftin’ off Little Gerald lyin’ aside her. I hate that mist. I want bat it away!

  Miss Ellen so wearied she can hardly keep her eyes open, but she say we goin’ Savannah soon as Baby Gerald can travel, and I say yes’m. What else I gonna say?

  Miss Ellen ask me tell the childrens they gonna visit Savannah, but I reckon I forgets to.

  Miss Beatrice give Miss Katie a colt of her own, so Miss Katie ain’t got no time for no baby brother. Suellen and Carreen want see baby, but I don’t ’low it.

  White folks fightin’ the Crimea, which is somewheres in Europe, and when childrens eatin’ supper Master Gerald ’splains the Crimea to them ’count he don’t want talk about the third Gerald, who wastin’ away not born a week. Miss Ellen can’t do nothing ’bout it. Young Doctor Fontaine, he can’t do nothin’. Dilcey herbs do not
hin’. I mix sulfur ’n’ lard and dab it on my finger to give him suck, but he too puny.

  Miss Ellen sleepin’ when baby die. Baby Gerald tuck under her arm with he little mouth open. I close he blue eyes, but when I tries slip him out Miss Ellen sit bolt upright and snatch. She knows better, and she hands drop like leafs in the fall. She say, “No more babies, Mammy. No more.”

  “Yes, Miss.” I don’t say, “Master Gerald ain’t never gonna have no son,” ’count I don’t got to.

  I wash the little body, which ain’t hardly been with us long enough get dirty. I sing old song to them gentle spirits what care for babies and small helpless creatures. I don’t want name this baby Three, but that name stick in my head.

  That night Master Gerald sit in drawing room with he decanter and nobody dare go inside.

  Next day, Miss Ellen get out of bed. She pale ’n’ puny, but work don’t quit needin’ done ’count no baby die.

  Big Sam, he dig grave alongside baby brothers, and Elijah makes cedar coffin. Gerald and Ellen didn’t bring no priest; I don’t reckon they could stand it. Morning fog writhin’ off trees when we gathers. Cotton harvest waitin’, horses and wagons waitin’, sacks waitin’, men standin’ with they hats in they hands and womens in best kerchiefs. Pork, he tote box to the grave, solemn as can be. Master Gerald have Miss Ellen’s arm, and Big Sam standin’ close behind, case she faint. Pork kneel in his best pants to set the box into the hole. Carreen, she ’bout ready to scream, but Miss Katie squeezin’ she hand like it might bolt. Afterwards Master Gerald see to the ginnin’ and Miss Ellen go to office and plantation books, I walks the girls upstairs to the nursery. At the door Miss Katie turn to tell me, “Mammy, I think I’ll call my Colt Beelzebub.”

  I stops dead like, if I still enough, might be her words go away. Miss Katie shakin’ like leaf in windstorm. She little shoulders shakin’ and she not meet my eyes. Poor child don’t know how she want to feel. I puts my arm round her. “Beelzebub a good name, honey. A very good name.”