CHAPTER XXXIV
THE SUN SHONE intermittently the next morning and the hard wind that drove dark clouds swiftly across its face rattled the windowpanes and moaned faintly about the house. Scarlett said a brief prayer of thanksgiving that the rain of the previous night had ceased, for she had lain awake listening to it, knowing that it would mean the ruin of her velvet dress and new bonnet. Now that she could catch fleeting glimpses of the sun, her spirits soared. She could hardly remain in bed and look languid and make croaking noises until Aunt Pitty, Mammy and Uncle Peter were out of the house and on their way to Mrs. Bonnell's. When, at last, the front gate banged and she was alone in the house, except for Cookie who was singing in the kitchen, she leaped from the bed and lifted her new clothes from the closet hooks.
Sleep had refreshed her and given her strength and from the cold hard core at the bottom of her heart, she drew courage. There was something about the prospect of a straggle of wits with a man -- with any man -- that put her on her mettle and, after months of battling against countless discouragements, the knowledge that she was at last facing a definite adversary, one whom she might unhorse by her own efforts, gave her a buoyant sensation.
Dressing unaided was difficult but she finally accomplished it and putting on the bonnet with its rakish feathers she ran to Aunt Pitty's room to preen herself in front of the long mirror. How pretty she looked! The cock feathers gave her a dashing air and the dull-green velvet of the bonnet made her eyes startlingly bright, almost emerald colored. And the dress was incomparable, so rich and handsome looking and yet so dignified! It was wonderful to have a lovely dress again. It was so nice to know that she looked pretty and provocative, and she impulsively bent forward and kissed her reflection in the mirror and then laughed at her own foolishness. She picked up Ellen's Paisley shawl to wrap about her but the colors of the faded old square clashed with the moss-green dress and made her appear a little shabby. Opening Aunt Pitty's closet she removed a black broadcloth cloak, a thin fall garment which Pitty used only for Sunday wear, and put it on. She slipped into her pierced ears the diamond earrings she had brought from Tara, and tossed her head to observe the effect. They made pleasant clicking noises which were very satisfactory and she thought that she must remember to toss her head frequently when with Rhett. Dancing earrings always attracted a man and gave a girl such a spirited air.
What a shame Aunt Pitty had no other gloves than the ones now on her fat hands! No woman could really feel like a lady without gloves, but Scarlett had not had a pair since she left Atlanta. And the long months of hard work at Tara had roughened her hands until they were far from pretty. Well, it couldn't be helped. She'd take Aunt Pitty's little seal muff and hide her bare hands in it Scarlett felt that it gave her the final finishing touch of elegance. No one, looking at her now, would suspect that poverty and want were standing at her shoulder.
It was so important that Rhett should not suspect. He must not think that anything but tender feelings were driving her.
She tiptoed down the stairs and out of the house while Cookie bawled on unconcernedly in the kitchen. She hastened down Baker Street to avoid the all seeing eyes of the neighbors and sat down on a carriage block on Ivy Street in front of a burned house, to wait for some passing carriage or wagon which would give her a ride. The sun dipped in and out from behind hurrying clouds, lighting the street with a false brightness which had no warmth in it, and the wind fluttered the lace of her pantalets. It was colder than she had expected and she wrapped Aunt Pitty's thin cloak about her and shivered impatiently. Just as she was preparing to start walking the long way across town to the Yankee encampment, a battered wagon appeared. In it was an old woman with a lip full of snuff and a weather-beaten face under a drab sunbonnet, driving a dawdling old mule. She was going in the direction of the city hall and she grudgingly gave Scarlett a ride. But it was obvious that the dress, bonnet and muff found no favor with her.
"She thinks I'm a hussy," thought Scarlett "And perhaps she's right at that!"
When at last they reached the town square and the tall white cupola of the city hall loomed up, she made her thanks, climbed down from the wagon and watched the country woman drive off. Looking around carefully to see that she was not observed, she pinched her cheeks to give them color and bit her lips until they stung to make them red. She adjusted the bonnet and smoothed back her hair and looked about the square. The two-story red-brick city hall had survived the burning of the city. But it looked forlorn and unkempt under the gray sky. Surrounding the building completely and covering the square of land of which it was the center were row after row of army huts, dingy and mud splashed. Yankee soldiers loitered everywhere and Scarlett looked at them uncertainly, some of her courage deserting her. How would she go about finding Rhett in this enemy camp?
She looked down the street toward the firehouse and saw that the wide arched doors were closed and heavily barred and two sentries passed and repassed on each side of the building. Rhett was in there. But what should she say to the Yankee soldiers? And what would they say to her? She squared her shoulders. If she hadn't been afraid to kill one Yankee, she shouldn't fear merely talking to another.
She picked her way precariously across the stepping stones of the muddy street and walked forward until a sentry, his blue overcoat buttoned high against the wind, stopped her.
"What is it, Ma'm?" His voice had a strange mid-Western twang but it was polite and respectful.
"I want to see a man in there -- he is a prisoner."
"Well, I don't know," said the sentry, scratching his head. "They are mighty particular about visitors and --" He stopped and peered into her face sharply. "Lord, lady! Don't you cry! You go over to post headquarters and ask the officers. They'll let you see him, I bet."
Scarlett, who had no intention of crying, beamed at him. He turned to another sentry who was slowly pacing his beat: "Yee-ah, Bill. Come'eer."
The second sentry, a large man muffled in a blue overcoat from which villainous black whiskers burst, came through the mud toward them.
"You take this lady to headquarters."
Scarlett thanked him and followed the sentry.
"Mind you don't turn your ankle on those stepping stones," said the soldier, taking her arm. "And you'd better hist up your skirts a little to keep them out of the mud."
The voice issuing from the whiskers had the same nasal twang but was kind and pleasant and his hand was firm and respectful. Why, Yankees weren't bad at all!
"It's a mighty cold day for a lady to be out in," said her escort. "Have you come a fer piece?"
"Oh, yes, from clear across the other side of town," she said, warming to the kindness in his voice.
"This ain't no weather for a lady to be out in," said the soldier reprovingly, "with all this la grippe in the air. Here's Post Command, lady -- What's the matter?"
"This house -- this house is your headquarters?" Scarlett looked up at the lovely old dwelling facing on the square and could have cried. She had been to so many parties in this house during the war. It had been a gay beautiful place and now -- there was a large United States flag floating over it.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing -- only -- only -- I used to know the people who lived here."
"Well, that's too bad. I guess they wouldn't know it themselves if they saw it, for it shore is torn up on the inside. Now, you go on in, Ma'm, and ask for the captain."
She went up the steps, caressing the broken white banisters, and pushed open the front door. The hall was dark and as cold as a vault and a shivering sentry was leaning against the closed folding doors of what had been, in better days, the dining room.
"I want to see the captain," she said.
He pulled back the doors and she entered the room, her heart beating rapidly, her face flushing with embarrassment and excitement. There was a close stuffy smell in the room, compounded of the smoking fire, tobacco fames, leather, damp woolen uniforms and unwashed bodies. She had a confused i
mpression of bare walls with torn wallpaper, rows of blue overcoats and slouch hats hung on nails, a roaring fire, a long table covered with papers and a group of officers in blue uniforms with brass buttons.
She gulped once and found her voice. She mustn't let these Yankees know she was afraid. She must look and be her prettiest and most unconcerned self. "The captain?"
"I'm one captain," said a fat man whose tunic was unbuttoned.
"I want to see a prisoner, Captain Rhett Butler."
"Butler again? He's popular, that man," laughed the captain, taking a chewed cigar from his mouth. "You a relative, Ma'm?"
"Yes -- his -- his sister."
He laughed again.
"He's got a lot of sisters, one of them here yesterday."
Scarlett flushed. One of those creatures Rhett consorted with, probably that Watling woman. And these Yankees thought she was another one. It was unendurable. Not even for Tara would she stay here another minute and be insulted. She turned to the door and reached angrily for the knob but another officer was by her side quickly. He was clean shaven and young and had merry, kind eyes.
"Just a minute, Ma'm. Won't you sit down here by the fire where it's warm? I'll go see what I can do about it. What is your name? He refused to see the -- lady who called yesterday."
She sank into the proffered chair, glaring at the discomfited fat captain, and gave her name. The nice young officer slipped on his overcoat and left the room and the others took themselves off to the far end of the table where they talked in low tones and pawed at the papers. She stretched her feet gratefully toward the fire, realizing for the first time how cold they were and wishing she had thought to put a piece of cardboard over the hole in the sole of one slipper. After a time, voices murmured outside the door and she heard Rhett's laugh. The door opened, a cold draft swept the room and Rhett appeared, hatless, a long cape thrown carelessly across his shoulders. He was dirty and unshaven and without a cravat but somehow jaunty despite his dishabille, and his dark eyes were snapping joyfully at the sight of her.
"Scarlett!"
He had her hands in both of his and, as always, there was something hot and vital and exciting about his grip. Before she quite knew what he was about, he had bent and kissed her cheek, his mustache tickling her. As he felt the startled movement of her body away from him, he hugged her about the shoulders and said: "My darling little sister!" and grinned down at her as if he relished her helplessness in resisting his caress. She couldn't help laughing back at him for the advantage he had taken. What a rogue he was! Jail had not changed him one bit.
The fat captain was muttering through his cigar to the merry-eyed officer.
"Most irregular. He should be in the firehouse. You know the orders."
"Oh, for God's sake, Henry! The lady would freeze in that barn."
"Oh, all right, all right! It's your responsibility."
"I assure you, gentlemen," said Rhett, turning to them but still keeping a grip on Scarlett's shoulders, "my -- sister hasn't brought me any saws or files to help me escape."
They all laughed and, as they did, Scarlett looked quickly about her. Good Heavens, was she going to have to talk to Rhett before six Yankee officers! Was he so dangerous a prisoner they wouldn't let him out of their sight? Seeing her anxious glance, the nice officer pushed open a door and spoke brief low words to two privates who had leaped to their feet at his entrance. They picked up their rifles and went out into the hall, closing the door behind them.
"If you wish, you may sit here in the orderly room," said the young captain, "And don't try to bolt through that door. The men are just outside."
"You see what a desperate character I am, Scarlett," said Rhett "Thank you, Captain. This is most kind of you."
He bowed carelessly and taking Scarlett's arm pulled her to her feet and propelled her into the dingy orderly room. She was never to remember what the room looked like except that it was small and dim and none too warm and there were handwritten papers tacked on the mutilated walls and chairs which had cowhide seats with the hair still on them.
When he had closed the door behind them. Rhett came to her swiftly and bent over her. Knowing his desire, she turned her head quickly but smiled provocatively at him out of the corners of her eyes.
"Can't I really kiss you now?"
"On the forehead, like a good brother," she answered demurely.
"Thank you, no. I prefer to wait and hope for better things." His eyes sought her lips and lingered there a moment. "But how good of you to come to see me, Scarlett! You are the first respectable citizen who has called on me since my incarceration, and being in jail makes one appreciate friends. When did you come to town?"
"Yesterday afternoon."
"And you came out this morning? Why, my dear, you are more than good." He smiled down at her with the first expression of honest pleasure she had ever seen on his face. Scarlett smiled inwardly with excitement and ducked her head as if embarrassed.
"Of course, I came out right away. Aunt Pitty told me about you last night and I -- I just couldn't sleep all night for thinking how awful it was. Rhett, I'm so distressed!"
"Why, Scarlett!"
His voice was soft but there was a vibrant note in it, and looking up into his dark face she saw in it none of the skepticism, the jeering humor she knew so well. Before his direct gaze her eyes fell again in real confusion. Things were going even better than she hoped.
"It's worth being in jail to see you again and to hear you say things like that. I really couldn't believe my ears when they brought me your name. You see, I never expected you to forgive me for my patriotic conduct that night on the road near Rough and Ready. But I take it that this call means you have forgiven me?"
She could feel swift anger stir, even at this late date, as she thought of that night but she subdued it and tossed her head until the earrings danced.
"No, I haven't forgiven you," she said and pouted.
"Another hope crushed. And after I offered up myself for my country and fought barefooted in the snow at Franklin and got the finest case of dysentery you ever heard of for my pains!"
"I don't want to hear about your -- pains," she said, still pouting hut smiling at him from tip-tilted eyes. "I still think you were hateful that night and I never expect to forgive you. Leaving me alone like that when anything might have happened to me!"
"But nothing did happen to you. So, you see, my confidence in you was justified. I knew you'd get home safely and God help any Yankee who got in your way!"
"Rhett, why on earth did you do such a silly thing -- enlisting at the last minute when you knew we were going to get licked? And after all you'd said about idiots who went out and got shot!"
"Scarlett, spare me! I am always overcome with shame when I think about it."
"Well, I'm glad to learn you are ashamed of the way you treated me."
"You misunderstand. I regret to say that my conscience has not troubled me at all about deserting you. But as for enlisting -- when I think of joining the army in varnished boots and a white linen suit and armed with only a pair of dueling pistols -- And those long cold miles in the snow after my boots wore out and I had no overcoat and nothing to eat ... I cannot understand why I did not desert. It was all the purest insanity. But it's in one's blood. Southerners can never resist a losing cause. But never mind my reasons. It's enough that I'm forgiven."
"You're not. I think you're a hound." But she caressed the last word until it might have been "darling."
"Don't fib. You've forgiven me. Young ladies don't dare Yankee sentries to see a prisoner, just for charity's sweet sake, and come all dressed up in velvet and feathers and seal muffs too. Scarlett, how pretty you look! Thank God, you aren't in rags or mourning! I get so sick of women in dowdy old clothes and perpetual crepe. You look like the Rue de la Paix. Turn around, my dear, and let me look at you."
So he had noticed the dress. Of course, he would notice such things, being Rhett. She laughed in soft excitement and sp
un about on her toes, her arms extended, her hoops tilting up to show her lace trimmed pantalets. His black eyes took her in from bonnet to heels in a glance that missed nothing, that old impudent unclothing glance which always gave her goose bumps.
"You look very prosperous and very, very tidy. And almost good enough to eat. If it wasn't for the Yankees outside -- but you are quite safe, my dear. Sit down. I won't take advantage of you as I did the last time I saw you." He rubbed his cheek with pseudo ruefulness. "Honestly, Scarlett, don't you think you were a bit selfish, that night? Think of all I had done for you, risked my life -- stolen a horse -- and such a horse! Rushed to the defense of Our Glorious Cause! And what did I get for my pains? Some hard words and a very hard slap in the face."
She sat down. The conversation was not going in quite the direction she hoped. He had seemed so nice when he first saw her, so genuinely glad she had come. He had almost seemed like a human being and not the perverse wretch she knew so well.
"Must you always get something for your pains?"
"Why, of course! I am a monster of selfishness, as you ought to know. I always expect payment for anything I give."
That sent a slight chill through her but she rallied and jingled her earbobs again.
"Oh, you really aren't so bad, Rhett. You just like to show off."
"My word, but you have changed!" he said and laughed. "What has made a Christian of you? I have kept up with you through Miss Pittypat but she gave me no intimation that you had developed womanly sweetness. Tell me more about yourself, Scarlett. What have you been doing since I last saw you?"
The old irritation and antagonism which he roused in her was hot in her heart and she yearned to speak tart words. But she smiled instead and the dimple crept into her cheek. He had drawn a chair close beside hers and she leaned over and put a gentle hand on his arm, in an unconscious manner.
"Oh, I've been doing nicely, thank you, and everything at Tara is fine now. Of course, we had a dreadful time right after Sherman went through but, after all, he didn't burn the house and the darkies saved most of the livestock by driving it into the swamp. And we cleared a fair crop this last fall, twenty bales. Of course, that's practically nothing compared with what Tara can do but we haven't many field hands. Pa says, of course, we'll do better next year. But, Rhett, it's so dull in the country now! Imagine, there aren't any balls or barbecues and the only thing people talk about is hard times! Goodness, I get sick of it! Finally last week I got too bored to stand it any longer, so Pa said I must take a trip and have a good time. So I came up here to get me some frocks made and then I'm going over to Charleston to visit my aunt. It'll be lovely to go to balls again."
Gone With the Wind Page 67