Scarlett

by Alexandra Ripley

  Her aunts wasted no time in beginning to lecture her about what would be expected of her in the upcoming Season. She listened impatiently while Eulalie and Pauline lectured her on the importance of decorum, inconspicuousness, deference to her elders, ladylike behavior. For heaven’s sake! She’d cut her teeth on all those rules. Her mother and Mammy had drummed them into her from the time she could walk. Scarlett set her jaw mutinously and stared at her feet as they walked to Saint Mary’s. She just wouldn’t listen, that’s all.

  However, when they were back at the aunts’ house having breakfast Pauline said something that forced her to pay attention.

  “You needn’t scowl at me, Scarlett. I’m only telling you for your own good what people are saying. There’s a rumor that you have two brand new ball gowns. It’s a scandal, when everyone else is happy to make do with what they’ve been wearing for years. You’re new in town and you have to be careful of your reputation. Rhett’s, too. People haven’t made up their minds about him yet, you know.”

  Scarlett’s heart gave a sickening lurch. Rhett would kill her if she ruined things for him. “What about Rhett? Please tell me, Aunt Pauline.”

  Pauline told. With relish. All the old stories—he was expelled from West Point, his own father had disowned him for his wild behavior, he was known to have made money in disreputable ways, as a professional gambler on Mississippi riverboats, in the brawling gold fields of California, and worst of all through consorting with scallywags and carpetbaggers. True, he’d been a brave soldier for the Confederacy, a blockade runner and a gunner in Lee’s Army, and he’d given most of his dirty money to the Confederate cause—

  Ha! Scarlett thought. Rhett sure is good at spreading stories.

  —but nevertheless, his past was definitely unsavory. It was all well and good that he’d come home to take care of his mother and sister, but he’d taken his own sweet time getting around to it. If his father hadn’t starved himself to death to pay for a big life insurance, his mother and sister would probably have died of neglect.

  Scarlett ground her teeth to keep from shouting at Pauline. It wasn’t true about the insurance! Rhett had never, never for a minute, stopped caring about his mother, but his father wouldn’t let her accept anything from him! It was only when Mr. Butler died that Rhett was able to buy Miss Eleanor the house and give her money. And even Mrs. Butler had to put the story around about the insurance to account for her prosperity. Because Rhett’s money was considered dirty. Money was money, couldn’t these stiff-necked Charlestonians see that? What difference did it make where it came from if it kept a roof over their heads and food in their bellies?

  Why didn’t Pauline stop preaching at her? What on earth was she talking about now? The stupid fertilizer business. That was another joke. There wasn’t enough fertilizer in the world to account for the money Rhett was throwing away on foolishness like chasing down his mother’s old furniture and silver and pictures of great-grandparents, and paying perfectly healthy men to baby his precious camellias instead of growing good money crops.

  “. . . there are a number of Charlestonians doing very well from phosphates, but they don’t make a show of it. You must guard against this tendency to extravagance and ostentation. He’s your husband, it’s your duty to warn him. Eleanor Butler thinks he can do no wrong, she’s always spoiled him, but for her good as well as yours and Rhett’s you’ve got to see to it that the Butlers don’t make themselves conspicuous.”

  “I tried to speak to Eleanor,” sniffed Eulalie, “but she didn’t hear a word I said, I’m sure of it.”

  Scarlett’s narrowed eyes glinted dangerously. “I’m more grateful than I can tell you,” she said with exaggerated sweetness, “and I’ll pay attention to every word. Now I really have to run. Thank you for the delicious breakfast.” She stood, pecked a kiss on the cheek of each aunt, and hurried to the door. If she didn’t get away this very minute, she’d scream. Still, she’d better talk to Rhett about what the aunts had said.

  “You do see, don’t you, Rhett, why I thought I’d better tell you about it? People are criticizing your mother. I know my aunts are tiresome old busybodies but it’s tiresome old busybodies who always seem to cause all the trouble. You remember Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Meade and Mrs. Elsing.”

  Scarlett had hoped Rhett would thank her. She certainly wasn’t prepared for his laughter. “Bless their interfering old hearts,” he chuckled. “Come with me, Scarlett, you’ll have to tell Mama.”

  “Oh, Rhett, I couldn’t. She’ll be so upset.”

  “You must. This is serious. Absurd, but the most serious matters always are. Come along. And take that look of daughterly concern off your face. You don’t give a damn what happens to my mother as long as the party invitations keep arriving, and we both know it.”

  “That’s not fair! I love your mother.”

  Rhett was halfway out the door, but he turned and strode back to face her. He took her shoulders in his hands and jolted her so that her face was turned up. His eyed were cold, examining her expression as if she were on trial. “Don’t lie to me about my mother, Scarlett. I warn you, it’s dangerous.”

  He was close to her, touching her. Scarlett’s lips parted, she knew her eyes must be telling him how much she longed for him to kiss her. If he’d only lower his head a little, she’d meet his lips with hers. Her breath was caught in her throat.

  Rhett’s hands tightened, she felt them, he was going to pull her to him—A tiny sob of joy vibrated in her trapped breath.

  “Damn you!” Rhett growled quietly. He pushed himself away from her. “Come downstairs. Mama’s in the library.”

  Eleanor Butler dropped her tatting into her lap and laid her hands on it, left atop right. It was a signal that she was taking Scarlett’s account seriously, giving her full concentration. At the end Scarlett waited nervously for Mrs. Butler’s reaction. “Sit down, both of you,” Eleanor said serenely. “Eulalie is quite wrong. I paid full attention when she spoke to me about spending so much money.” Scarlett’s eyes widened. “And I gave it considerable thought afterwards,” Eleanor continued. “Particularly with regard to giving Rosemary the Grand Tour for her Christmas gift, Rhett. No one in Charleston has been able to do that for many years, practically since the time you would have gone, if you hadn’t been such a handful that your father sent you to military school instead.

  “However, I decided that there is no real risk of ostracism. Charlestonians are pragmatic; old civilizations always are. We recognize that wealth is desirable and poverty extremely disagreeable. And if one is poor oneself, it’s helpful to have rich friends. People would consider it unforgivable—not merely deplorable—were I to serve scuppernong wine for champagne.”

  Scarlett’s brow was knotted. She was having some trouble understanding. Not that it mattered—the even, peaceful tone of Mrs. Butler’s voice told her that everything was all right. “Perhaps we have been a little too visible,” Eleanor was saying, “but right now no one in Charleston can afford to disapprove of the Butlers because Rosemary might just decide to accept the courtship of a son or brother or cousin of the family, and her marriage settlement could solve any number of awkwardnesses.”

  “Mama, you’re a shameless cynic.” Rhett laughed.

  Eleanor Butler simply smiled.

  “What are you laughing at?” said Rosemary, as she opened the door. Her eyes moved quickly from Rhett to Scarlett and back again. “I could hear you guffawing halfway down the hall, Rhett. Tell me the joke.”

  “Mama was being worldly,” he said. He and Rosemary had long since united in a pact to protect their mother from the realities of the world, and they smiled at one another like conspirators. Scarlett felt shut out, and she turned her back on them.

  “May I sit with you a while, Miss Eleanor? I want to ask your advice about what to wear to the ball.” See if I care, Rhett Butler, that you cater to your old maid sister like she was Queen of the May. And if you think you can upset me or make me jealous, you’ll jus
t have to think again!

  Eleanor Butler watched, puzzled, as Scarlett’s mouth fell half-open in surprise, and her eyes glittered with excitement. Eleanor looked behind her shoulder, wondering what Scarlett saw.

  But although Scarlett’s gaze was fixed, she wasn’t looking at anything. She was blinded by the brightness of the thought that had come to her.

  Jealous! What a fool I’ve been! Of course that’s it. It explains everything. Why did it take me so long to see it? Rhett practically rubbed my nose in it when he made such a to-do about the name of the river. Ashley. He’s still jealous of Ashley. He’s always been crazy jealous of Ashley, that’s why he wanted me so much. All I have to do is make him jealous again. Not of Ashley—heavens no—if I so much as threw a smile in his direction he’d be looking pitiful at me and begging me to marry him. No, I’ll find somebody else, somebody right here in Charleston. That won’t be hard at all. The Season starts in six days and there’ll be parties and balls and dancing and sitting out to take a bite of cake and a cup of punch. This might be fancy old snobby Charleston, but men don’t change with geography. I’ll have a string of beaux hanging after me before the first party’s half done. I can hardly wait.

  After Sunday dinner the whole family went to the Confederate Home carrying baskets of greens from the plantation and two of Miss Eleanor’s whiskey-soaked fruitcakes. Scarlett almost danced along the sidewalk, swinging her basket and singing a Christmas song. Her gaiety was infectious, and soon the four of them were carolling at houses on the way. “Come in,” cried the owners of each house they serenaded. “Come with us,” Mrs. Butler suggested instead, “we’re going to decorate the Home.” There were more than a dozen willing helpers when they reached the lovely shabby old house on Broad Street.

  The orphans squealed with anticipation when the cakes were unpacked, but, “Grown-ups only,” Eleanor said firmly. “However . . .” And she took out the sugar cookies she had brought for them. Two of the widows who lived at the Home hurriedly fetched cups of milk and settled the children in chairs around a low table on the piazza. “Now we can hang the greens in peace,” said Mrs. Butler. “Rhett, you’ll do the ladder-climbing please.”

  Scarlett seated herself next to Anne Hampton. She liked being extra nice to the shy young girl because Anne was so much like Melanie. It made Scarlett feel that in some way she was making up for all the unkind thoughts she had had about Melly all the years that Melly was so resolutely loyal to her. Also, Anne was so openly admiring that her company was always a pleasure. Her soft voice was almost animated when she complimented Scarlett on her hair. “It must be wonderful to have such dark, rich-looking color,” she said. “It’s like the deepest black silk. Or like a painting I saw once of a beautiful, sleek black panther.” Anne’s face shone with innocent worship, then blushed for her impertinence in making such a personal remark.

  Scarlett patted her hand kindly. Anne couldn’t help it if she was like a soft, timid, brown field mouse. Later, when the decorations were done and the tall rooms smelled sweetly resinous from pine branches, Anne excused herself to go usher in the children for carol singing. How Melly would have loved this, thought Scarlett. There was a lump in her throat when she looked at Anne, her arms encircling two nervous little girls while they sang a duet. Melly was so crazy fond of children. For an instant Scarlett felt guilty that she hadn’t sent more Christmas presents to Wade and Ella, but then the duet was over and it was time to join in the singing, and she had to concentrate on remembering all the verses of “The First Noël.”

  “What fun that was!” she exclaimed after they left the Home. “I do love Christmastime.”

  “I do, too,” said Eleanor. “It’s a good breathing spell before the Season. Though this year won’t be as peaceful as usual. The poor Yankee soldiers will be down on our necks, more than likely. Their colonel can’t just let it slide that we all broke curfew with such a bang.” She giggled like a girl. “What fun that was!”

  “Honestly, Mama!” said Rosemary. “How can you call those blue-coated wretches ‘poor’ Yankees?”

  “Because they’d much rather be home with their own families for the holidays than here badgering us. I think they’re embarrassed.”

  Rhett chuckled. “You and your cronies have something up your lace-edged sleeves, I’ll bet.”

  “Only if we’re driven to it.” Mrs. Butler giggled again. “We figure today’s calm was only because their colonel is such a Biblethumper he won’t order any action on the Sabbath. Tomorrow will tell the tale. In the old days they used to harass us by going through our baskets to search for contraband when we left the Market. If they try it again, they’ll be dipping their hands into some interesting things underneath the turnip greens and rice.”

  “Innards?” guessed Rosemary.

  “Broken eggs?” Scarlett offered.

  “Itching powder,” suggested Rhett.

  Miss Eleanor giggled for the third time.

  “And a few more things, besides,” she said complacently. “We developed a number of interesting tactics back then. This crop of soldiers wasn’t around; it will all be new to them. I’ll bet a lot of these men never even heard of poison sumac. I dislike being so uncharitable at Christmas, but they’ve got to learn that we quit being afraid of them a long time ago.

  “I do wish Ross could be here,” she added abruptly, all laughter gone. “When do you suppose it will be safe for your brother to come back home, Rhett?”

  “It depends on how quickly you and your friends get the Yankees whipped into shape, Mama. Certainly in time for the Saint Cecilia.”

  “That’s all right, then. It doesn’t matter if he misses all the rest as long as he’s home for the Ball.” Scarlett could hear the capital B in Miss Eleanor’s voice.

  Scarlett was certain that the hours would drag by until the twenty-sixth and the beginning of the Season. But to her surprise the time passed so quickly that she could hardly keep up. The most entertaining part of it all was the battle with the Yankees. The colonel did, indeed, order retaliation for the curfew humiliation. And on Monday the Market rang with laughter as Charleston’s ladies packed their baskets with the weapons of their choice.

  The following day the soldiers were careful to keep their gloves on. Plunging a hand into some loathsome-feeling substance or suddenly being afflicted with fiery itching and swelling were not experiences they were willing to repeat.

  “The fools should have known we’d expect them to do just what they did,” Scarlett said to Sally Brewton at a whist party that afternoon. Sally agreed, with a happy reminiscent laugh.

  “I had a loose-lidded box of lamp black in my shopping,” she said. “What was yours?”

  “Cayenne pepper. I was scared to death I’d start sneezing and give the whole trick away . . . speaking of tricks, I believe that’s mine.” New rationing regulations had been posted the day before, and the ladies of Charleston were now gambling for coffee, not money. With the black market effectively out of business for the time being, this was the highest-stakes card game Scarlett had ever been in. She loved it.

  She loved tormenting the Yankees, too. There were still patrols on Charleston’s streets but their noses had been tweaked and would be tweaked again and again until they admitted defeat. With her as one of the tweakers.

  “Deal,” she said, “I feel lucky.” Only a few more days and she would be at a ball, dancing with Rhett. He was keeping away from her now, managing things so that they were never alone together, but on the dance floor they would be together—and touching—and alone, no matter how many other couples were on the floor.

  Scarlett held the white camellias Rhett had sent her to the cluster of curls at the nape of her neck and twisted her head to see herself in the looking glass. “It looks like a gloh of fat on a bunch of sausages,” she said with disgust. “Pansy, you’ll have to do my hair different. Pile it on top.” She could pin the flowers in between the waves, that wouldn’t be too bad. Oh, why did Rhett have to be so mean, telling h
er that his precious old plantation flowers were the only jewels she could wear? It was bad enough that her ball gown was so dowdy. But with nothing to dress up the plainness except a bunch of flowers—she might as well wear a flour sack with a hole cut for her head. She’d counted on her pearls and her diamond earbobs.

  “You don’t have to brush a hole in my scalp,” she grumbled at Pansy.

  “Yes’m.” Pansy continued to brush the long dark mass of hair with vigorous strokes, eradicating the curls that had taken so long to arrange.

  Scarlett looked at her reflection with growing satisfaction. Yes, that was much better. Her neck was really too pretty to cover. It was much better to wear her hair up. And her earbobs would show up better. She was going to wear them, no matter what Rhett had told her. She had to be dazzling, she had to win the admiration of every man at the ball, and the hearts of at least a few. That would make Rhett sit up and take notice.

  She fastened the diamonds into her earlobes. There! She tilted her head from side to side, pleased with the effect.

  “Do you like this, Miss Scarlett?” Pansy gestured toward her handiwork.

  “No. Do it fuller above the ears.” Thank goodness Rosemary had turned down her offer to lend Pansy this evening. Though why Rosemary hadn’t jumped at the chance was a mystery; she needed all the help she could get. She’d probably bundle her hair into the same lumpy old-maid bun she always wore. Scarlett smiled. Entering the ballroom with Rhett’s sister would only call attention to how much prettier she was.

  “That’s fine, Pansy,” she said, good humor restored. Her hair shone like a raven’s wing. The white flowers would actually be very becoming. “Hand me some hairpins.”

  A half hour later, Scarlett was ready. She took one final look in the tall pier glass. The deep blue watered silk of her gown shimmered in the lamp light and made her powdered bare shoulders and bosom look as pale as alabaster. Her diamonds sparkled brilliantly, as did her green eyes. Black velvet ribbon in loops bordered the gown’s train and a wide black velvet bow lined with paler blue silk sat atop the gown’s bustle, emphasizing her tiny waist. Her slippers were made of blue velvet with black laces, and narrow black velvet ribbon was tied around her throat and each wrist. White camellias tied with black velvet bows were pinned to her shoulders and filled a silver-lace bouquet holder. She had never looked lovelier, and she recognized it. Excitement made her cheeks rosy with natural color.