Miss Katie didn’t say nary word. She didn’t want nothin’ from me nor nobody else neither. She don’t come in for dinner.
* * *
Morning after that picnic where Katie can’t get no boys chase after her, Cook still laughin’ ’bout it and I whoppin’ biscuits. Beaten biscuit, gots be beat. I looks up when Miss Ellen come in the kitchen and say, “Don’t start the eggs. Katie isn’t down yet.”
I say, “Miss Katie never this late. Her and that horse out ridin’.”
Miss Ellen smile like one of them saints knowin’ what nobody else knows.
Cook set sausages on platter and slides ’em into the warming oven.
What now? I wonderin’.
Hour later, when Miss Ellen comes back, she happy as can be. “Mammy, would you serve?”
Rosa or Cook always serves breakfast. Pork serve supper and dinner and for the gentlemen’s drinkin’. Mammies don’t serve at table. I surprise.
Miss Ellen clap her hands together. “Mammy, this is the Day of Jubilee!”
Day of Jubilo is when we be freed. That in the Bible. I ain’t seen Miss Ellen so happy in months but ain’t heard nothin’ ’bout nobody gettin’ freed.
“Yes, Missus,” I say. Cook quick scramble eggs like Master Gerald likes ’em and set sausage and biscuits on plates. “Miss Ellen want me to serve,” I say.
“’Tain’t proper,” Cook say.
“Miss Ellen, she Mistress, ’lessn somethin’ ain’t what it been.” I puttin’ plates on tray.
“Don’t you drop nothin’,” Cook say.
“Wouldn’t hurt you sausages if they is drop,” I say, ’count I don’t want think why this Day of Jubilo.
In dining room, Miss Katie settin’ in same chair like always. She hands folded in she lap.
Master Gerald ain’t lookin’ at he daughter. He ain’t lookin’ at nothin’. He stab finger under he collar and tug at it. He glad to bow his head when Miss Ellen say the blessin’, “Heavenly Father . . .”
Me, I want gnash my teeth. I want shout, “I you Mammy! I’d helped you if you just ask!”
Miss Katie weren’t nobody to laugh at. I believe she’d have killed aryone laugh at her. I clamp my mouth shut.
She’d let her curling irons get too hot, and her beautiful black hair was scorched and patchy and frazzled. Her green eyes were red and sore, and she had flecks of burnt cork clingin’ from her eyelashes. She’d laid on face powder like it were axle grease.
“. . . In Christ’s name. Amen.” Miss Ellen took up she fork.
Miss Katie’s bosoms was pushed up by she corset and she waist squished to little or nothin’. She wearin’ them green dancin’ slippers what was she Momma’s.
Miss Katie pickin’ at she food.
“Sister Katie.” Suellen didn’t snicker. Just. “Don’t you look lovely.”
“Dearest Katie.” Miss Ellen nipped that in the bud. “Tomorrow morning, Rosa will help you dress.”
“I can help too.” Suellen been most happy to help, yes she be. Miss Katie’s look could have froze salt water.
Miss Katie dab her napkin to her lips. She look round at all of us. “Henceforth, please call me Scarlett.” She turn to her father. “In honor of my dear Papa’s Momma.”
Master Gerald took aback. “Why, uh . . . puss . . . Scarlett . . . that’s grand.”
“Dearest Grandma . . .” Scarlett drop she head like she thinkin’ on old lady she never knowed.
Master Gerald don’t hardly know what say.
I can’t look at this and can’t look away. My Baby Katie like pretty bird, tossed and feathers plucked out by hurricane. So proud. Fierce proud. I smiles like I got to and take up coffeepot and pours.
Miss Carreen know somethin’ happened but can’t figure what. “But . . . Scarlett,” she say, “Katie . . . ?”
“Dear Sister, Katie is no more. Papa, you’re unusually quiet this morning.”
“Thinkin’ about things, sweetheart. Just thinkin’ ’bout . . . things . . .”
Miss Ellen has got what she wanted. Me too, I s’pose. Miss Ka——, Miss Scarlett gettin’ deportment, and I wished I felt better ’bout it.
“Where will you ride this mornin’, darlin’?”
Scarlett rolls her napkin and shove it into her napkin ring. Napkin come loose, but she stuffs it partway so it sprawl next her plate lookin’ foolish. “I shan’t be riding this morning,” she say.
“Oh?”
“I shall not be riding today.”
“Oh.”
“Father, perhaps you’ll take him out.”
“But, I . . .”
“It would be best if the horse was exercised.” She laughs a little laugh, but nothin’s funny. “He’s accustomed to”—she almost break, but she catch herself—“a . . . considerable exercise.”
I’m thinkin’: And you ain’t? But I ain’t say nothin’. Ain’t my place be sayin’.
“Papa, don’t you like the horse?”
“To be sure I do, puss, but . . .”
Things might have gone one way or t’other. Miss Scarlett was on knife edge when she say, just like it were joke betwixt them, “Surely there’s no better horseman than Gerald O’Hara.”
Master Gerald were pleased, like she knew he’d be. He wearin’ that stupid look men wear when a pretty girl tell ’em ’zactly what they wants to hear. And Master Gerald, he growed man! Them neighbor boys: them Tarletons and Calverts and Fontaines—they child’s play.
I wasn’t lookin’ at her no more, ’count of I didn’t want to watch Miss Scarlett tryin’ not cry.
I thinkin’, Poor child.
I thinkin’, Poor Beelzebub.
I thinkin’, Poor young gentlemen.
How Miss Scarlett Breakin’ Hearts
IF THERE WAS ary unbroke boy’s heart in Clayton County, he never met Miss Scarlett O’Hara.
That child weren’t no fool, and didn’t take her long to figure what boys were about. Scarlett wasn’t no pretty girl—oh, I mean, she weren’t homely like Miss India, but she wasn’t no head turner neither. She studied on boys, and in no time ’tall, she made herself into a trinket them boys kill to have. Precious trinket just out of they grasp.
She lays on the gravy. Think Scarlett don’t know how boy lights up when pretty girl comparin’ him—comparin’ him favorable—to Andrew Jackson or Joshua or—without comin’ right out with it—the best bull in the pasture?
It didn’t always come natural. ’Twere struggle for her bein’ helpless. But if young ladies got be helpless . . . “Please help me down. My stirrup is so far from the ground!” ’Tweren’t easy for her. She were a sight abler than them boys she pretend be helpless with.
Lord have mercy—the child who jumped the highest rail fences for miles around has to have a boy’s arm from mounting block into coach and “Please don’t drive so fast.” Goodness gracious, no. Miss Scarlett delicate tummy did “flip-flops when you drive so daringly.”
No, ’tweren’t easy. Early on when some poor boy ditherin’ whilst decidin’ what do next, Miss Scarlett lose patience and do it herself. But as she learn what boys am, she get weaker and weaker until a puff of air give her the jimjams!
Her bestest trick come natural. Miss Scarlett, she always could bear down on one thing ’thout fussin’ ’bout ary other thing. When she was jumpin’ them fences, fence jumpin’ were ALL she were doin’, she weren’t thinkin’ ’bout maybe her shirt come loose and maybe showin’ what it shouldn’t whilst she jump fence, nor was she thinkin’ had she done her chores nor how’d she pray tonight at family prayers. When Miss Scarlett bear down on what she wants or wants to do or wants think ’bout or wants have, that one thing was what she thinkin’ ’bout, not two thing, not even one and a half. When Miss Scarlett turn them green eyes of hers on some boy
not long out of short pants, that boy didn’t have no more chance than a snowflake in Georgia July! No matter what he thinkin’—if he thinkin’ at all—he ain’t gonna slip free of them green eyes which is weighin’ him up, all he parts, toe to head, like nobody never did afore, ’cept maybe he Momma when he baby. That boy never knowed before how the sun and moon revolve round him and no other boy! He never know’d he was so darn clever! He never know’d he was strong as that bull in the pasture, which no lady ever inspect up close but every lady know they needin’ somethin’ like that bull onct they marry. Might be tips of boy’s ear turn red and maybe he stutter, but ain’t no boy, never ever, none of ’em ever turn away from Miss Scarlett’s gaze until she shake her head and dismiss ’em like they am nothin’ but a frippery. Her gaze natural to Miss Scarlett. It were her bestest weapon.
’Tweren’t too long before boys comin’ to Tara like bees to spilled honey. They boys on the porch in the morning and boys dwaddlin’ about when lamps lit at dusk. Miss Ellen enroll Miss Scarlett at the Fayetteville Female Academy. Miss Scarlett need more deportment afore it too late!
Miss Scarlett don’t want go. She missin’ them barbecues and picnics and ball dancin’, but she go anyway. Only thing in the world Miss Scarlett ’feared is she Momma.
First time Master Gerald gets on Beelzebub, horse throws him. Second time too. Master Gerald fine rider, but he ain’t Beelzebub rider. Saturday after Miss Scarlett off to Fayetteville Academy, Master Gerald take horse to Jonesboro and sells him.
When Miss Beatrice hear what he do, she spittin’ mad. She don’t approve anybody buy Beelzebub, and if Miss Scarlett ain’t gonna ride him, Master Gerald best return horse to Fairhill. Miss Beatrice strong ’bout that. She so strong us Taras don’t go to next Fairhill barbecue. Miss Beatrice sons don’t pay they Momma wrath no mind. They can waste time in Fayetteville just as easy as Tara, so that what they doin’.
When Miss Scarlett come home, Master Ashley and her ridin’ or talkin’ or havin’ they picnics like they done when Miss Scarlett a harum-scarum. After they picnic in Twelve Oaks gardens, Miss Scarlett comes home tell me, “Bourbon roses have existed since King Bourbon’s day.”
Scarlett ask Master Ashley was it true roans are faster than duns and is a white-headed horse more likely to go blind? If Master Ashley notice she ridin’ sidesaddle now, he never say nothin’.
Master Ashley full of himself and too much the gentleman, but he were good to Miss Scarlett and no mischief happenin’ betwixt ’em. Them two never need no chaperone.
Master Gerald fond of Master Ashley and keeps to heownself that might be Master Ashley should pull he head out of he books and pay more attention to cotton plantin’ and hoein’ and harvestin’.
When Miss Scarlett hear Beelzebub sold, she ask Master Gerald do he sell harness with that old horse brass? He say harness went with the horse. She more distress ’bout that horse brass gone than horse gone. Like I tellin’ you, Miss Scarlett workin’ only one task at a time.
She don’t care for no Female Academy and ask her Momma what use French and rhetorics be for lady what gonna marry and rear babies and manage house servants. Miss Ellen say young womens got more opportunity than they used to and Miss Scarlett should be grateful.
Miss Scarlett wonder if things change so much: isn’t men mens and women womens?
Miss Ellen say mens and womens mostly the same but gentlemen and ladies, every generation they different. “We change, dear. You may not think so, but we do.”
“A girl at the Academy said no Irishman can be a gentleman.”
“Dear, dear Scarlett,” her Momma said, chuckling ’count she ain’t never heard nothin’ foolisher, “some people will believe anything.”
Me, I wouldn’t want be ary girl insult Master Gerald. Miss Scarlett loves her Momma and Poppa and Tara. I reckon she loves me a little too.
Miss Scarlett don’t care for schoolroom with other young mistress, but she don’t mind Female Academy so much after the boys start callin’. Miss Scarlett and schoolmarm sittin’ in parlor drinkin’ tea with young boy who don’t know what say and Miss Scarlett not helping him. Toby drives me over one afternoon, bring dresses she wants, so I in the room while Brent Tarleton talkin’ ’bout politics and cotton prices, which ain’t come back, nor the ’conomy, which ain’t come back neither. Miss Scarlett so, so interested and so grateful Brent knows these important things so girls don’t need trouble they heads ’bout ’em!
Beelzebub killed. Man who buys him can’t ride him and man he sell horse to can’t ride him neither. So he killed. I don’t say nothin’ to Miss Scarlett, but I reckon she know. Miss Beatrice start sayin’ Scarlett is a “two-faced little green-eyed baggage.”
War clouds gatherin’, and Miss Ellen prayin’ fierce. When Tara ain’t too busy, she take morning train into Atlanta for Catholic Mass.
Summer done and most Tara cotton picked when news come ’bout Master John Brown. Overseer Wilkerson run to Tara House with pistols, big one and little one, stuffed in he belt. Master and Mistress with Suellen on the porch. Right away Overseer ask where Miss Scarlett and Miss Carreen?
Master Gerald say Miss Carreen in her room and Miss Scarlett is in Fayetteville, if you must know. He peeve ’count Overseer bust in when him and Miss Ellen talkin’ together.
But Miss Ellen hearin’ how he ask. “What’s wrong, Wilkerson?”
Pork watering flowers in window box and I takin’ my ease and Overseer look at us and say, “Leave us.”
Pork frown. He Master Gerald’s servant. I don’t even bother frown.
Overseer put hand on big pistol and say in a voice mean somebody gonna get hurt, “You have heard my order.”
Master Gerald stand up. He mouth narrowin’ and he gettin’ red, but Miss Ellen catch he arm. “Please, Gerald. Pork. Mammy. Give us a moment alone, please.”
So Pork and I grumblin’ but we go.
Straight out back into the yard find out what’s this ruckus.
Turns out: Big Sam and Overseer been at Kennedy store crack of dawn buyin’ plow points when telegram come which rile Masters up. Telegram ’bout Virginia slave uprisin’ led by white man, John Brown. Big Sam say: “Wilkerson search me and he takes my jackknife and hold he pistol on me all way home.”
There in that kitchen yard things spinnin’ round me and I gaspin’ like I gonna faint. Big Sam and Pork sets me down and Rosa bring water and cool cloth. I wants shut my eyes but don’t dare ’count spirits dancin’ inside of my eyelids, spirits I don’t wants never see again.
Jonesboro Masters lockin’ they coloreds in sheds and meat houses, anyplace got stout door with lock on it. Big Sam say Georgia Militia is called out and young Masters ridin’ with they swords and guns and coloreds what ain’t locked up makin’ theyselfs scarce.
Nobody know ’zactly what happenin’ and nobody know what to do. Masters don’t know nor coloreds neither.
Later we hear Overseer Wilkerson all for lockin’ Tara up. Overseer tell Master Gerald he too good to niggers and that why niggers rise up. Miss Ellen, she say Master Gerald be Master, and if Overseer don’t agree with Master Gerald, might be he could find ’nother plantation more to he liking.
Master Gerald send Big Sam warn Master John Wilkes. Master Ashley, he gallop to Fayetteville to collect Miss Scarlett, who ride home on back of he horse.
Well, we doesn’t get locked up that day or night, but Master Gerald and Mistress and girls all sleep in bedroom with Master Gerald’s pistols. Pork take shotgun and set chair outside door. Don’t want walk upstairs hallway that night till Pork snorin’!
Young Masters out patrollin’ the roads, and I wouldn’t want be no colored caught without he pass.
Next morning Miss Ellen in kitchen while Cook fixin’ breakfast. She watch so close, Cook nervy, drop a platter and break it in three pieces. I says, “Miss Ellen, you was a little wrinkled b
aby when I first take you in my arms. You babies—Scarlett and Suellen and Carreen—with these hands I cuts they cord.”
So Miss Ellen say, “I’m sorry, Mammy. This dreadful Brown business . . .” She go back to dining room, where she belong.
Jonesboro telegraph rattlin’ day and night. John Brown risin’ stopped and he surrounded. Day after, soldiers march in. Day after, he captured.
Brown have lost he wits! Was that fool thinkin’ I should kill Miss Scarlett? Big Sam should hold down Carreen whilst Pork cut her throat? Ary slave speculator got better notion who coloreds is than John Brown do. Brown talkin’ to heownself; thinkin’ blood solve things. Blood am blood. Blood am blood!
Miss Scarlett’s birthday seven days after Master Brown uprisin’.
We ain’t wantin’ no celebration, so Miss Ellen invite the Wilkeses for tea ’stead of throwin’ a barbecue. Charles and Melanie Hamilton and Aunt Pitty comes with ’em. Miss Pitty can’t talk ’bout nothin’ but white folks murdered in they beds. She say, “Just like that Denmark Vesey in Charleston. Hundreds of innocents slain in their beds.”
I doesn’t correct Miss Pitty. Not good time for coloreds correctin’ white folks.
White Masters say they can’t stay in no Union where John Brown’s doin’ uprisin’s. Master Gerald and Master John mad at Master Jim Tarleton ’count of favorin’ the Union. Miss Ellen say take their politics outside, onto the porch please, and they take whiskey decanter with ’em.
Master Ashley praisin’ some book and Miss Scarlett noddin’ like she read that book and a good many others besides.
I in kitchen layin’ out sandwiches and cakes when Miss Melanie come to help. When I thanks her but don’t need no help, she say, “More hands makes lighter work, don’t you think?”
“Not if they white hands,” I say, and she startle afore she laugh. For little bitty girl she gots big laugh.
“Well, Mammy,” she say, “I shall try hard to meet your expectations.”
Ruth's Journey: The Authorized Novel of Mammy From Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind Page 32
