She remembered her youth and the County and the days before the War. The memories were somehow painless, distant, and she understood that she was no longer that Scarlett, that she could let go of her, permit the old days and their dead to rest.
She concentrated on the future, on realities, on consequences. Her temples began to throb, then to pound, then her whole head ached abominably, but she continued to think.
Just when the first sounds began in the street outside, all the pieces fell into place inside her mind, and Scarlett knew what she was going to do. As soon as enough light filtered through the drawn curtains into the room, Scarlett called out, “Bridie?”
The girl jumped up from the chair, blinking sleep from her eyes. “Thanks be to God you’re restored!” she exclaimed. “The doctor left this tonic. I’ll just find the spoon, it’s on this table somewhere.”
Scarlett opened her mouth meekly for the bitter medicine. “There,” she said firmly, “I’ll have no more of being sick. Open the curtains, it must be day by now. I need some breakfast, my head is aching, and I’ve got to get my strength back.”
It was raining. A real rain, not the misty showers that were customary. Scarlett felt a dark satisfaction.
“Colum will want to know you’re better, he’s been that worried. Can I tell him to come in?”
“Not now. Tell him I’ll want to see him later, I want to talk to him. But not yet. Go on. Tell him. And ask him to show you how to order up my breakfast.”
57
Scarlett forced herself to swallow bite after bite of food, even though she wasn’t even aware of what she was eating. As she’d said to Bridie, she needed her strength.
After breakfast she sent Bridie away, with instructions to return after two hours. Then she sat down at the writing table near the window and, with a small frown of concentration, rapidly filled sheet after sheet of thick, creamy, unmarked letter paper.
After she had written, folded, and sealed two letters, she stared at the blank paper in front of her for a long time. She had planned it all out in the dark hours of the night, she knew what she was going to write, but she couldn’t bring herself to pick up the pen and begin. Her very marrow shrank from what she had to do.
Scarlett shivered and looked away from the page. Her eyes fell on a pretty little porcelain clock on a nearby table, and she drew in her breath, shocked. So late! Bridie would be back in only forty-five minutes.
I can’t put it off any longer, it won’t change things no matter how long I do. There’s no other way. I’ve got to write to Uncle Henry, eat humble pie, and ask him sweetly to help me. He’s the only one I can trust. Scarlett gritted her teeth and reached for the pen. Her usually neat handwriting was cramped and uneven from strained determination when she put the words on paper that would turn over control of her Atlanta businesses and her precious hoard of gold in the Atlanta bank to Henry Hamilton.
It was like cutting the ground out from under her feet. She felt physically ill, almost dizzy. There was no fear that the old lawyer would cheat her, but there was no chance that he would watch every penny the way she always had. It was one thing to have him collect and bank the receipts from the store and the rent from the saloon. It was another thing altogether to give him control of store inventory and prices, and the amount of rent to charge the saloonkeeper.
Control. She was giving up control of her money, her safety, her success. Just when control was most needed. Buying Carreen’s share of Tara was going to dig a deep hole in her accumulated gold, but it was too late now to stop the deal with the Bishop, and Scarlett wouldn’t stop it even if she could. Her dream of spending summers at Tara with Rhett was dead now, but Tara was still Tara, and she was determined to make it hers.
Building the houses on the edge of town was another drain on her resources, but it had to be done. If only she wasn’t certain that Uncle Henry would agree with everything Sam Colleton suggested, without asking the cost.
Worst of all, she wouldn’t know what was going on, for good or for ill. Anything might happen.
“I can’t do it!” Scarlett groaned aloud. But she continued to write. She had to do it. She was going to take a long vacation, she wrote, do some travelling. She would be out of touch, with no address where mail could reach her. She looked at the words. They blurred, and she blinked the tears away. None of that, she told herself. It was absolutely essential to cut all ties, or Rhett would be able to track her down. And he must not know about the baby until she chose to tell him.
But how could she bear not knowing what Uncle Henry was doing with her money? Or if the Panic was getting worse, threatening her savings? Or if her house burned down? Or, worse, her store?
She had to bear it, so she would. The pen scratched hurriedly across the pages, detailing instructions and advice that Henry Hamilton would probably disregard.
When Bridie returned, all the letters were on the blotter, folded and sealed. Scarlett was sitting in an armchair, her ruined corset in her lap.
“Oh, I forgot,” Bridie moaned. “We had to cut you out, to let the breath into you. What will you have me do? There might be a shop nearby I could go to—”
“Never mind, it’s not important,” Scarlett said. “You can baste me into a frock, and I’ll wear a cloak to hide the stitches in the back. Come on, now, it’s getting late, and I’ve got a lot to do.”
Bridie looked at the window. Late, was it? Her country-accustomed eyes could tell it wasn’t yet nine in the morning. She went obediently to unpack the sewing kit Kathleen had helped her put together for her new role as lady’s maid.
Thirty minutes later, Scarlett knocked on the door of Colum’s room. She was hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, but immaculately groomed and perfectly composed. She didn’t feel at all tired. The worst was over; now she had things to do. It restored her strength.
She smiled at her cousin when he opened his door. “Will your collar protect your reputation if I come in?” she asked. “I have things to talk about that are private.”
Colum bowed and swung the door wide. “A thousand welcomes,” he said. “It’s good to see you smiling, Scarlett darling.”
“It won’t be long before I’ll be able to laugh, I hope… Did the letter from America get lost?”
“No. I have it. Private. I understand what happened.”
“Do you?” Scarlett smiled again. “Then you’re wiser than I am. I know, but I’ll likely never understand. Still, that’s neither here nor there.” She put the three letters she’d written on a table. “I’ll tell you about these in a minute. First I have to tell you that I’m not going with you and Bridie. I’m going to stay in Ireland.” She held up her hand. “No, don’t say anything. I’ve thought it all through. There’s nothing for me in America any more.”
“Ah, no, Scarlett darling, you’re being too hasty. Didn’t I tell you there’s nothing done that can’t be undone? Your husband got a divorce once, he’ll do it again when you go back and tell him about the baby.”
“You’re wrong, Colum. Rhett will never divorce Anne. She’s his kind, from his people, from Charleston. And besides she’s like Melanie. That doesn’t mean anything to you, you never knew Melly. But Rhett did. He knew how rare she was long before I did. He respected Melly. She was the only woman he ever did respect, except maybe his mother, and he admired her the way she deserved. This girl he’s married is worth ten of me, the same as Melly was, and Rhett knows it. She’s worth ten of Rhett, too, but she loves him. Let him carry that cross.” There was a savage bitterness in the words.
Ach, the suffering, he thought. There must be a way to help her. “You’ve got your Tara now, Katie Scarlett, and you’ve such dreams for it. Won’t that comfort you till your heart’s healed? You can build the world you want for the child you’re carrying, a grand plantation made by his grandfather and his mother. If it’s a boy, he can be called Gerald.”
“You’re not thinking anything I haven’t already thought. Thank you, but you can’t find an answer if I co
uldn’t, Colum, believe me. One thing, I already have a son, a child you don’t know about, if there’s inheritance to consider. But the main thing is this baby. I can’t go back to Tara to have his baby, I can’t take this baby to Tara after it’s born. People would never believe it was made in wedlock. They’ve always thought—in the County and in Atlanta—that I was no better than I should be. And I left Charleston the day after—after the baby was started.” Scarlett’s face blanched with painful longing. “No one would ever believe it was Rhett’s baby. We slept in separate rooms for years. They’d call me a whore and my baby a bastard, and they’d smack their lips with pleasure in the calling.”
The ugly words were marked on her twisted mouth.
“Not so, Scarlett, not so. Your husband knows the truth. He’ll acknowledge the baby.”
Scarlett’s eyes flamed. “Oh, he’d acknowledge it all right, and he’d take it from me. Colum, you can’t imagine how Rhett is about babies, his babies. He’s like a madman with love. And he’s got to own the child, be the best loved, be the all. He’d take this baby soon as it had the first breath in its little body. Don’t think he couldn’t do it, either. He got the divorce when it couldn’t be gotten. He’d change any law or make a new one. There’s nothing he can’t do.” She was whispering hoarsely, as it afraid. Her face was contorted with hatred and a wild, unreasoned terror.
Then suddenly, like a veil falling, it changed. It became smooth, and tranquil, except for her blazing green eyes. A smile appeared on her lips; it made Colum O’Hara’s spine chill. “This is my baby,” said Scarlett. Her quiet low-pitched voice was like a giant cat’s purr. “Mine alone. He’ll never know about it till I want him to, when it’s too late for him. I’m going to pray for a girl. A beautiful blue-eyed girl.”
Colum crossed himself.
Scarlett laughed harshly. “Poor Colum. You must have heard about the woman scorned, don’t be so shocked. Don’t fret, I won’t frighten you any more.” She smiled, and he could almost believe he’d imagined what he’d seen in her face a moment earlier. Scarlett’s smile was open and affectionate.
“I know you’re trying to help me, and I’m grateful, Colum, I really am. You’ve been so good to me, such a good friend, probably the best friend I ever had except Melly. You’re like a brother. I always wished I had a brother. I hope you’ll always be my friend.”
Colum assured her that he would. He thought to himself that he’d never seen a soul so in need of help.
“I want you to take these letters to America for me, please, Colum. This one’s to my Aunt Pauline. I want her to know I got her letter so she’ll get all the pleasure possible out of her love for telling people ‘I told you so.’ And this one’s to my Atlanta lawyer, there’s business I have to settle. Both should be posted in Boston, I don’t want anyone to know where I really am. This one I want you to hand-deliver. It’ll mean more travel for you, but it’s terribly important. It’s to the bank in Savannah. I have a pile of gold and my jewelry in their vault, and I’m counting on you to bring it back safe for me. Did Bridie give you the bag I had ’round my neck? Good. That’ll do me to get started with. Now I need you to find me a lawyer I can trust, if there is such a thing. I’m going to use Rhett Butler’s money. I’m going to buy Ballyhara, where the O’Haras began. This child’s going to have a heritage he could never provide. I’ll show him a thing or two about roots that go deep.”
“Scarlett darling, I beseech you. Wait a bit. We can stay in Galway awhile, with Bridie and me to take care of you. You’re not over the shocks. One right on top the other the way they came, it’s been too much for you to be making such big decisions.”
“You think I’ve gone crazy, I suppose. Maybe I have. But this is my way, Colum, and I mean to take it. With your help or without it. No reason for you and Bridie to stay, either. I plan to go back to Daniel’s tomorrow and ask them to take me in again until Ballyhara’s mine. If you’re afraid I need looking after, you can surely trust Kathleen and them.
“Come on, Colum,” Scarlett said, “admit it. I’ve got you beat.”
He spread his hands and admitted it.
Later he escorted her to the office of an English lawyer with a reputation for successful completion of whatever he put his hand to, and the search for the owner of Ballyhara was set into motion.
The following day Colum went to the Market as soon as the first tables were set up. He took the purchases Scarlett wanted back to the hotel. “Here you are then, Mrs. O’Hara,” he said. “Black skirts and shirts and shawl and cloak and stockings for the poor new widow, and I’ve told Bridie that’s what the news was that gave you the collapse. Your husband was taken by sickness before there was time for you to reach his side. And here you are as well—a wee gift from me. I’m thinking that when widow’s weeds pull your spirits down, you’ll feel better for knowing you’ve got them on.” Colum deposited a heap of bright colored petticoats in Scarlett’s lap.
Scarlett smiled. Her eyes brimmed with emotion. “How did you know I was kicking myself for giving all my Irish clothes to the cousins in Adamstown?” She waved at her trunk and valises. “I won’t need these things any more. Take them with you and give them to Maureen to dole out.”
“That’s foolish extravagance and impetuosity, Scarlett.”
“Fiddle-dee-dee! I took out my boots and my shimmies. The frocks are no use to me. I’m never going to be squeezed into a corset again, never. I’m Scarlett O’Hara, an Irish lass with a free-swinging skirt and a secret red petticoat. Free, Colum! I’m going to make a world for myself by my rules, not anybody else’s. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to learn to be happy.” Colum averted his eyes from the grimly determined expression on Scarlett’s face.
58
The ship’s sailing was delayed two days, so Colum and Bridie were able to escort Scarlett to the train station on Sunday morning. First they all went to Mass.
“You must have a word with her, now, Colum,” Bridie whispered in his ear when they met in the hallway. She rolled her eyes toward Scarlett.
Colum hid his smile with a cough. Scarlett was dressed like a widowed peasant, even to wearing a shawl instead of a cloak.
“We’ll go along with her, Brigid,” he said firmly. “She has a right to mourn any way she sees fit.”
“But, Colum—this grand English hotel, all the people will be staring, and talking.”
“And don’t they have their rights, too? Let them stare and say what they will. We’ll give no notice.” He took Bridie’s arm in a firm grasp, offered his other hand to Scarlett. She rested hers elegantly on top of it, as if he were leading her into a ballroom.
When she was seated in her first-class compartment on the train, Colum watched with relish, Bridie with horror, as one group of English travellers after another opened the door to the compartment, then backed away.
“The authorities shouldn’t allow those people to buy first-class tickets,” one woman said loudly to her husband.
Scarlett’s hand shot out to hold the door before the Anglo could close it. She called out to Colum, who was on the platform nearby. “Faith! I forgot my basket of boiled taties, Father. Will you say a prayer to the Blessed Virgin that there’ll be a peddler selling some food on this train?” Her brogue was so exaggerated that Colum could barely understand the words. He was still laughing when a station attendant closed the door, and the train began to move. The English couple, he was pleased to see, abandoned all dignity in their scramble into another compartment.
Scarlett waved goodbye, smiling, as her window moved out of his sight.
Then she sat back in her seat and allowed her face to relax, permitted a single tear to escape. She was bone tired and dreading the return to Adamstown. Daniel’s two-room cottage had seemed quaint and delightfully different from all she was accustomed to, as long as she was on a vacation visit. Now it was a cramped, crowded house with no luxuries, and it was the only place she could call home—for who knew how long. The lawyer might not be able to fin
d the owner of Ballyhara. The owner might not be willing to sell. The price might be more, even, than all the money Rhett had given her.
Her carefully thought-out plan was riddled with holes, and she had no certainty about anything.
I won’t think about it now, there’s nothing I can do about any of those things. At least nobody’ll be crowding in here wanting to chatter at me. Scarlett folded up the arms separating the three deeply cushioned seats, stretched out with a sigh, and fell asleep, her ticket on the floor where the conductor could see it. She had made a plan, and she was going to see it through as far as she could. It would be a lot easier if she wasn’t tired half to death.
The first step proceeded without a hitch. She bought a pony and trap in Mullingar and drove it home to Adamstown. It wasn’t as stylish a rig as Molly’s; the trap was distinctly shabby looking. But the pony was younger and larger and stronger. And she’d made a start.
The family were shocked when she returned, and sympathetic for her loss in the best possible way. Once expressed, they never again spoke of their feelings; instead they asked was there anything they could do for her.
“You can teach me,” said Scarlett. “I want to learn about an Irish farm.” She followed Daniel and his sons through their work routines. She even set her jaw and forced herself to learn how to handle cattle, including milking the cow. After she’d learned all she could about Daniel’s farm, Scarlett put herself out to charm Molly, then Molly’s loathsome husband, Robert. His farm was five times the size of Daniel’s. After Robert it was the turn of his boss, Mr. Alderson, manager of the Earl’s entire estate. Not even in the days when she was captivating every man in Clayton County had Scarlett been so charming. Or worked so hard. Or succeeded so well. She had no time to notice the austerity of the cottage. All that mattered was the soft mattress at the end of the long, long summer day of work.
Scarlett: The Sequel to Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind Page 60