She is a charming person—did you ever meet her—and I was so glad for the sake of both my sense of the fitness of romantic things, and John’s memories and illusions that she returned to him, ten years after the conflagration, slimmer than ever—really a luscious figger, bobbed and sleek of head, unlined and piquant of face and really not looking a day over twenty. Really, I gathered no end of excellent ideas as to conduct when visiting in the towns of ex fiances. We hit it off nobly after she once discovered that I regarded her as that unusual thing, a sequel to an interesting book that is better than the book was.27
Kitty’s opinion of Peggy is not known, and although Kitty and John never saw each other again, they corresponded until his death twenty-four years later.
No sooner had Kitty left than John’s mother and his nine-year-old niece Mary came to visit. Peggy wrote to Frances, praising Mary’s good manners and adding, “And as for your mother—well, I’m proud to own her. Every one who met her told me afterward that it wasnt fair that I not only had a husband who was human but a mother in law who was wedded to the policy of non interference, sympathy, and understanding. In short, they finished, plaintively, it seemed as if Mrs. Marsh actually cared about me and that I returned the feeling.”28
Also in 1928, John’s youngest brother Ben Gordon, often called Gordon, and his bride Francesca made the first of their many visits to Atlanta. By this time, Peggy was a little weary of guests and told Frances in a letter a few months later:
But I didnt want to ask them to delay their trip for fear they might not find it convenient to visit, later. By “unfortunate” I mean they arrived when I had been menstruating for three weeks. (I hate folks who talk about their female troubles but there’s no other explanation.) Ever so often that happens to me and I get where there’s no putting up with me for my desires at such times are to sink my teeth into the combined calves of the world. But in spite of that I enjoyed them and the visit most thoroughly.29
As the newest addition to the family, Francesca, unlike Frances, knew little about Peggy’s background with Red; and Peggy wanted to make a good impression on her. Fortunately, that was easy to do because they immediately liked each other. A tall, athletic-looking young girl with clear skin and light hair, Francesca was also a graduate of the University of Kentucky. She and Gordon had fallen in love while they were both students at the university and married after their graduation. A talented artist, she planned to be an art teacher. Feeling a slight sense of inferiority because she did not have a college education, Peggy lamented to John that now she was the only one in either of their families without a college degree.
Although three years younger than Peggy, Francesca had a kind of maturity that conveyed strength and competence, and she seemed older. With her preference for the outdoors and her love of children and animals, she and Gordon, the only sportsman among the Marsh men, were ideally suited. Having met Gordon before he married, Peggy noticed during this visit a striking difference in his personality—he was unusually talkative and obviously happy. Crediting Francesca with bringing him out remarkably, Peggy showed her more mature views about love when she wrote:
Having someone wholeheartedly and obviously in love with him seems to be the best thing in the world for him. I liked Francesca so much because she didn’t subscribe to the po’ white notion so prevalent with most of my friends that the only way to keep a man in love with you is to “keep him guessing,” play little tricks on him, to mystify him, get him jealous, etc. all in all, an adolescent notion, from my observation of the antics of my little playmates—and a notion which has resulted in a choice number of divorces which my brother is handling. She seems to have that sensible notion that a mature man and woman need have no hesitation in allowing each other to be absolutely sure of them. Perhaps I bear down on this point too much but, it seems to me such a simple thing but one that so few people follow out.
Then she explained that not only was she the only one in the gang she ran around with who was happily married but “I’m the only one who isn’t afraid to let my husband know that he’s the only one.”30 Showing that she retained some of her old vampy inclinations, she added:
With the pleasant result that I have all the dates with ex flames that I want and have the house full of Tech boys, at tea time with out having scenes, passionate and recriminating with the man I live with. And also, the equally pleasant result that John is proud that I still have some sex appeal tho married. Gorden [sic] seemed to need just that sort of assurance and he really blossomed out. . . . Of course, being an utter egocentric, I always appreciate the qualities in other women which I fondly believe to be qualities of nobility as well as common sense, which I myself possess in large qualities.31
At that time, Francesca was nearly three months pregnant with what was to be her and Gordon’s only child, their son Renny. She and Gordon were thrilled about the pregnancy, which prompted Peggy to express her own total lack of interest in having children.
Some have speculated that she and John did not have children because of her many illnesses. Others have suggested that she may have had endometriosis, which was not a medically recognized disease at that time. Still others have wondered if the long illness that John had just before their marriage made him unable to father children, and another theory holds that the Marshes were childless because of John’s fear that his mild form of epilepsy (petit mal seizures) would be passed on in a more violent form. However, according to Francesca’s first-hand knowledge of Peggy’s views, they did not have children because they simply did not want any. They did not want to interrupt their lives by having children. In this same long letter to Frances about Gordon and Francesca’s visit, Peggy commented on her views about maternity:
Of course, I couldn’t quite subscribe to Frank’s [Francesca’s nickname] outspoken desire for seven children and fourteen dogs. I’ve never owned more than seven dogs at once and cant help but feeling that the line should be drawn somewhere—It was a shock to me when I read in a delightful book on the ductless glands, last week that lack of secretion from the posterior pituitary gland causes a totally absence of the maternal instinct. I thought that the lack of mat and pat instincts in this family were due to mental and not glandular processes.32
The fact that practically every married woman in her circle was having babies or was interested in having babies did not change Peggy’s mind about not wanting children. Francesca was due in February 1929; Frances was expecting her first child in November 1928; and Stephens and his wife Carrie Lou, who had been married about a year and a half, were sadly disappointed when Carrie Lou miscarried her first pregnancy. Peggy wrote Frances:
They wanted babies like some people want millions of dollars…. I tell her not to be so blamed hasty that life is long and a baby will eventually show up. But to them its a tragedy. She’s so interested in you and your baby—and envious too—if such unChristian emotion as envy ever could enter her mind. Personally, I am glad they havent had a baby yet as I think she ought to give herself a whole year, with no illness at all to give the baby a chance…but she don’t see my view point.33
6
Recalling her first impression of the Atlanta Marshes, Francesca remembered her surprise at how openly affectionate and demonstrative they were. Whereas she and Gordon were modest and reserved, Francesca said it was not unusual to find Peggy sitting on John’s lap, leaning back with her head tucked under his, dangling a house-slippered foot like a child. What struck Francesca as odd was what she called “his excessively protective attitude” toward Peggy, whom he called “Baby.” Francesca said, “He delighted in having to take care of her. She was having trouble with her ankle at that time, and John would gather her up in his arms and carry her around the apartment. Sometimes she would climb onto his back, like a child, and be toted to her destination.”
However, Francesca quickly pointed out that John’s inclination to be protective was not reserved for his wife alone. For instance, when John learned that his young brother a
nd wife were not taking the train to Atlanta but were instead driving from their home in Lexington, Kentucky, he instructed them not to drive directly into Atlanta’s “dangerous traffic.” He insisted they stop outside the city limits to telephone him so that he and Peggy could drive out to escort them into the city. Francesca said she would never forget how amused she and Gordon were by the way John ignored the fact that they were adults, and excellent, experienced drivers. Nevertheless, to please him, they did as he instructed.
7
It was during their first visit to Atlanta in the summer of 1928 that Francesca and Gordon heard and saw much evidence of a book in the making. Not knowing anyone who had even considered writing a novel, young Francesca was fascinated with her in-laws, whom she considered far more sophisticated than she and Gordon. Although neither John nor Peggy disclosed any details of the plot, he told them that the story was based on courageous women who found ways to survive after their worlds had been blown up under their feet. His face became animated when he told them about Peggy’s knowledge of the Civil War and about the research she had been doing. Like an overly proud father, he boasted about her talent. He brought out her articles on the Georgia generals and talked about her discovery of the extraordinary life of Mrs. Benning, a prototype of the kind of woman Peggy admired. Because it was unusual in that day to hear any man talk about a woman’s role in anything except domestic matters, Francesca recalled thinking then how much she admired John: “He was opposed to sexual stereotypes. He was very much an advocate for women’s issues and rights, long before it was fashionable to be so, at least, in our crowd. He was a sensible and a very decent man, scrupulously honest, and modest. Never tried to put on airs.” She added, “I never saw them that carefree and happy again. I just remember how happy they were then, but at that time we were all young and happy and yes, carefree.”
Francesca said that Peggy enjoyed telling them about her visits with old veterans and her trips to abandoned churches, plantation houses, weed-covered cemeteries, and battlefields.
She had been scouring the countryside, in that old car they had, for anything old, like diaries, albums, letters, surveys, clothes, and newspapers. It’s hard telling how many hours she had spent in courthouses and libraries by the time I met her. I know she did much more research in the later years. I don’t think most people realize the research that went into that novel!
From what Francesca saw and heard when she was there in 1928 and again later on other visits, and from what Peggy herself said and wrote in letters, the research was pure joy for her; it was the writing that was painful.
Because all the “Marshes were meticulous record-keepers,” Francesca said that she was not surprised when John showed them a black leather, looseleaf notebook that he was filling with chronologies of Peggy’s characters, who were “propagating like rabbits”; he also had begun a glossary of black and southern dialects. “Their excitement had to do with anticipation, like waiting for something to hatch. They looked forward to every day in much the same way that we looked forward to having our first baby.” As Francesca pointed out, none of them had much money, but John was really strapped because he had those huge medical bills that worried him until he got them paid off. “Working on that book was their entertainment.”
While he and his brother went for a walk that evening after dinner, leaving Francesca and the lame Peggy in the apartment, John spoke candidly. Because his people were the strong, quiet type who would never think of telling others how bad they felt, they had all wondered about Peggy’s various recurring illnesses and were beginning to question the genuineness of her suffering. According to her letters to them, it seemed as if she were sick all the time. They felt sorry for John, who assured them, “Things are better now.” He was convinced that his wife’s continual physical problems were largely psychosomatic, a result of her depression, which in turn was the result of her feeling inferior. He explained that the writing project had clearly done more to improve her well-being than anything “any of the damn doctors had done and [was] a hellavuh-lot less expensive.” He just hoped that he could keep her involved in it. It gave her something to think about other than herself.
8
By mid-1928, John’s work had settled into a more pleasant routine, and he had received another raise, giving them a much more comfortable living. Although they were still not out of debt, they were happier than they ever would be and deeply engrossed in work on the book, which was progressing rapidly. Peggy was stuffing more and more manuscript pages into large manila envelopes to keep the chapters separated. The envelopes were stacked on the floor next to the typing table. Scattered on other tables and on the floor around the typing table were layers of other loose papers and many old history book and journals.
Because he had no outside interests, John always rode the streetcar directly home every evening. Unlike his contemporaries at the Power Company, he had no interest in athletics or outdoor activities. He did not fit into that male cadre that drank together, enthusiastically supported their old alma maters (usually either Auburn or Georgia Tech), and took frequent fishing and hunting trips together.34 Instead of joining his cohorts for such activities in his off-duty hours, he looked forward to having dinner at home with Peggy and to reading what she had written that day and assessing what research remained to be done. Soon their small world was filled with fictional events and populated with characters that would eventually become known throughout the entire world.
As a child, Deon would go with her mother Bessie to the Marshes’ apartment early every morning and catch the streetcar on the corner to ride to school. After school, she would return to the Marshes’ apartment; she did this until she was old enough to stay at home alone. Deon said, “In those days, Mama did every thing—the cooking, the shopping, the cleaning. But, then, Miss Peggy would always say before we left for the grocery store, ‘Now, Bessie, you get what y’all want to eat. You don’t have to eat what we eat. You be sure and get what you feel like eating.’ Miss Peggy was easy to please.”
In a reflective mood, Deon provided an insider’s view of the Marshes’ home life. Since she grew up around the Marshes, she remembered well all those years that the Marshes spent working on what she called “those papers.” Their routine was set, she said, and except for occasional visits with their families and a few close friends, they had no social life. Every evening after supper was the same; while Bessie cleaned the kitchen and Deon did her homework, the Marshes worked on “those papers,” typing, reading, and talking.35 “Of course,” she added, “since we were servants, they didn’t discuss what they were working on with us.”
She said that John was the first one up and dressed in the mornings except on Sundays, when he would sleep till nearly noon. Because Peggy had trouble falling to sleep at night, she sometimes would sleep late, but not always. Sitting at the kitchen table in the mornings, as Bessie stirred around him, he read the paper and ate his breakfast alone. John and Peggy never ate breakfast together but always their supper and frequently their lunch, when he could get home. “He liked his eggs over-easy, and his coffee, hot with sugar and evaporated milk straight out of the can,” Deon smiled, remembering. Just before he left for work every morning, he would bring Peggy a cup of coffee, “scalding hot and with the evaporated milk.” An hour or so later, she would have her breakfast and then leave for town, dashing out of the house yelling, “Bessie, I’ll be in the library!”
Leaving papers scattered all around the room in which she worked, Peggy instructed Bessie and Deon: “Don’t move anything! I know just where everything is!’” As a little girl whose responsibility was to dust the Marshes’ apartment, Deon found her job difficult because she was not permitted to move anything. Yet she knew that John expected her to do her task well. Until she got to know him better, she would cringe whenever she saw him running his finger over a piece of furniture, as he occasionally did, glancing down at her without saying a word. “But Miss Peggy never checked to see if I had done an
ything.”
Laughing as she remembered how frightened of him she was at first, she said, “He towered over all of us. Not only was he tall, but his voice was so low and deep. If anything went wrong, Mr. Marsh took care of it for all of us.” She, her mother, and Carrie Mitchell, the washerwoman, always called him “Mr. Marsh” to his face and behind his back, they called him “The Boss.”36
Remembering fondly the moment she lost her fear of “The Boss,” Deon described the morning when she boarded the streetcar to go to her segregated school several blocks away. As she got into the streetcar, she saw John seated in the front row next to the window, reading his newspaper. As she walked past him and some empty seats in the front of the car, he looked up at her and she mumbled, “Good morning, sir.” She headed toward the back of the car where the blacks had to sit in those days. As she squeezed into a place in the back section, which was always crowded with school-age children and women going to work, she heard him call her name and looked up to see him beckoning to her to come sit next to him. Puzzled because she was not allowed to sit in the front with “the white folks,” she looked at him quizzically, silently saying, “Me?” He nodded yes. She rose from her place and, with her little chin tucked down, quickly moved down the aisle and crouched breathlessly in the seat next to him. That was the first time she had ever sat in the front of a streetcar, and she was frightened. She felt as if everybody were staring at them. He nudged her arm and winked at her.
From that moment on, she thought of him as her friend. As she grew older, she not only respected but also admired him, and she claimed him as her favorite, putting him above “Mr. Stephens” and “Mr. Eugene Mitchell,” whom she saw often. Deon stated matter-of-factly: “He sure did love Miss Peggy, he sure did love that woman.”
Margaret Mitchell & John Marsh Page 25