It don’t take him no time to fetch he decanter. He glass dirty and he gonna send me for a washed glass, but Miss Beatrice say, “Just pour it in my teacup, Gerald.”
Which he do. She drinks it and holds her cup out again.
He wait on her till she wag she finger so he can sit down. “It’s your daughter, Gerald.”
“Which of my daughters, Beatrice?”
She give him a look. “If you believe Katie’s been at Fairhill riding with me, she hasn’t. Every morning I expect her, but usually, I am disappointed. I do not fear for her as a rider, she’s better than most men, certainly she’s better and safer on a horse than my sons. I worry about her reputation, Gerald. And, as you must know, I am less concerned with reputation than any woman in the county.”
“But . . .”
“Your daughter is wild as a Cherokee. She startles deer in the woods and field hands in the wheat bottoms. While Wilkeses and Calverts and (I regret to say) Tarletons are wagering their respective competences at the Jonesboro track, your daughter associates with the grooms and jockeys, whites and coloreds, preparing horses for the races. Katie O’Hara is, Jeems assures me, a great favorite with those people.”
So that evenin’ when Miss Katie come in, Master Gerald be waitin’ to pounce. He don’t ’low me into the drawing room whilst he reprovin’ her. Miss Katie come out white faced and silent like I never seed her. She never say no more ’bout Miss Beatrice and she never ride Fairhill no more.
But she ain’t cured. Not by no long shot. Very next morning she and that horse out afore arybody arose, and when she come home the sun done set.
Master and Mistress distress and don’t know what to do. They feelin’ like viper in they bosom! Mistress don’t want switch the child—won’t do no good anyhow. Master Gerald don’t want sell she horse. They ain’t gettin’ nowheres!
Miss Katie don’t tell me what she feelin’ or thinkin’. She don’t tell nobody, ’lessn she tellin’ that darn horse. Beelzebub livin’ up to he name.
Dilcey don’t gets to church often, but she come that Sunday just to catch me after.
Preacher done preach a good sermon, and I feelin’ “saved.” “Wilkeses still wagerin’?” I asks.
“They is. Mammy . . .”
I don’t give a hoot what the Wilkeses do. What Wilkeses do am their affair. I tryin’ to put off what comin’, whyfor Dilcey come to church this Sunday and whyfor she layin’ in wait. Heart know what comin’ afore head do.
Dilcey say Mose, Master Ashley Wilkes’s body servant, was at the races yesterday and while the Masters at the rail bettin’, Mose with jockeys and grooms and he spot Miss Katie. Miss Katie got her beautiful hair tucked up in a man’s hat and she wearin’ boys’ ridin’ clothes and she look ’zactly like a black-haired, green-eyed boy. Farmer Able Wynder am talkin’ with Miss Katie. Farmer Wynder don’t know who she am. He wantin’ hire Miss Katie for a jockey. “If you can handle that red brute, young fella, you can handle my filly. I’ll pay a dollar up front and half your winnings.”
Mose tell Dilcey Miss Katie weren’t talkin’ like herself neither. She talk deep down and growly like a boy. Miss Katie don’t race that day, but she considerin’ it!
Well, I ain’t gonna let Dilcey get one up on me, so I pretends it don’t matter. “Oh, she just foolin’. Master Gerald know all ’bout it.”
Dilcey put that “caught you in a lie” smile on she face and say, “Sometimes I wish I was ‘saved,’ but I repents of it.”
Which she think funny and I doesn’t.
All next week I watchin’ Miss Katie like a hawk. I gets up afore even she do, and I offer make her breakfast since Cook ain’t woke. No, she ain’t hungry. No she don’t want no coffee nor tea. “Early for you, isn’t it, Mammy?”
“Somebody got keep an eye on you.”
She smile like the pretty little girl she am and pops her riding crop ’gainst pant leg as she goin’ out the door.
When she gallop off, sun just a pink line over the Up-country. Cook in her nightshirt, yawnin’.
“Gracious, Mammy!” she say. “Is you right?”
“I glad you finally risin’,” I say. “Stove already stoked.”
I ask Big Sam and field hands keep they eyes peeled, and afore Miss Katie come home of an evenin’, I knows most where she been. I know when she jumpin’ fences and when she racin’ through stumps been pulled but not yet burned.
Miss Ellen, she desperate. She thinkin’ send Miss Katie to Miss Pauline in Savannah. I shudders to think of them two under one roof, and I guess Master Gerald shudder too. Maybe he believe heself when he tells he wife, “Puss’ll grow out of it.”
Week come to an end. Saturday I up and doin’ when Katie come in the kitchen. No, she don’t want eat nothin’ and it no business of mine where she ridin’ today. Miss Katie got stubbornest look on her face. Why she hair tuck under she cap? She ain’t sayin’.
After she gone I wakes Pork and Toby. I tells Toby rub sleep out of he eyes, harness trap, and bring it round. Then I goes upstairs along to Master’s bedroom. I slips in ’thout knockin’. Master Gerald stretchin’ one bare leg out of he tangled covers and Miss Ellen sleepin’ so calm like she in she coffin.
I shakes Master Gerald shoulder, and he come out of sleep easy. He sit up and glance at Miss Ellen, but I put finger to my mouth and jerk my head toward the hall. When we outside, I says, “Master Gerald, you oldest daughter need you.”
Pain flitter ’cross he face, but he get dressed.
Pork at the front door with Master Gerald best jacket and hat and coffee what got whiskey in it. Master Gerald give him a look, wonderin’, “You in this too?” but Pork solemn as church.
Toby drive with Master Gerald beside. I rides in back with my feets danglin’ over the backboard.
I expect we drive straight to racetrack, but when we gets Jonesboro, we draws up behind Frank Kennedy store. Inside Master Gerald buy some of that horehound candy I favors.
Plenty farmers and overseers. They done sold they shoat or colt or colored boy and buyin’ plug tobacco or whiskey or hoof trimmers or turpentine for to doctor they animals—all manner of store goods.
Master Frank live above he store and start early and stay late. Frank Kennedy plain as mud hen, but we all knows he gonna be rich one day. He been buyin’ land which is cheap ’count of the Panic and most folks not havin’ no money.
“Top of the mornin’, Frank.”
“Gerald. Good of you to stop.” Master Frank don’t ask Master Gerald why he in town ’thout bein’ at the sale, ’count Mister Frank never ask Master Gerald nothin’ Master Gerald not want him ask. Mister Frank ask ’bout Suellen, how she health and spirits. He sweet on Suellen. Master Gerald say she at Female Academy study French and dancin’ and fancywork and such.
Master Gerald recalls Frank’s father, who he knowed from when he come to Up-country. “Grand fella,” he say. Grand fella, your Dad.” Frank Kennedy father were Irish.
Farmer interrupts wantin’ number eight fullered horseshoes.
“Take care of this fella, Frank. He’s doin’ honest work!” Big wink. Master Gerald pull out his watch. After the big noon race, they three, four more races afore the farmers’ races, which aryone and ary horse enters.
Master Gerald sit on a nail keg and take out he pipe. I goes outside and gives Toby a couple horehound candies.
People, horses, wagons. I don’t see Miss Katie nowhere.
So I sits with Master Gerald knittin’ baby socks. I ain’t no shakes at knittin’, but I never met no baby particular ’bout socks nor no new Momma wasn’t glad to get ’em.
Frank Kennedy brings Macon Telegraph newspaper, which Master Gerald read pass the time.
Farmers come say howdy and gossip. He nod short at Angus MacIntosh, who nod short at him. Somethin’ happen in olden days twixt Master Gerald ki
n and Master Angus kin, and they carryin’ on quarrel ’cross the ocean many years later. Folks remember they hurts and cherish ’em.
Master Gerald friendly with Amos Trippet, who ain’t no gentleman but raise best Ossabaw hogs and Dominique chickens. Amos promise four hogs for Tara come killin’ time. Master Gerald tap his newspaper and tell Amos, “You ever heard the like of this: ‘I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races, that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of making voters or jurors of Negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality.’ What do you make of Mr. Lincoln, Amos?”
“I think he wants to be elected senator.” Old Amos got red hair and skinny neck like one of his Dominique roosters. Amos don’t favor me. He thinks I gets above myself. “What do you make of the man, Mammy?”
“Never knowed no Lincolns. No Lincolns in Clayton County I ever heard ’bout.”
“Don’t trifle with Mammy, Amos. Get crossways with Mammy, your best hogs will get cholera and your mules will come up lame.”
Both men laugh to show how they’s foolin’ and not nervy. Not a bit.
What do I think? I think it don’t make no nevermind what some Illinois Master say to get elected.
Well, they talkin’ politics until Amos and Master Gerald can’t think nothin’ more. Amos go ’bout he business and Master Gerald wander store like he might spy somethin’ he ain’t thought of but might need. Store smell like molasses and sulfur and neat’s-foot oil.
We waitin’ till Miss Katie get so deep into wickedness, she can’t wiggle free.
Master Gerald visit with every customer come in Kennedy store, just like he proprietor, and if Master Frank don’t like it he can’t object ’count he Frank and Gerald Gerald.
I tear out missed stitches and knit ’em again. When church bell jangle noon Master Gerald roust Toby awake. Me and Toby in back, Master Gerald drivin’. We trot past farmers drivin’ or leadin’ cows and sheeps and pigs they bought. Pair young colored boys led by halters round they necks.
We encounters Wilkeses, father and son. Master John red faced. He say, “I’ve never seen the like, Gerald. Our horse had the field by a length!”
Young Master Ashley say, “I can’t think Gerald is as interested as we are in our undeserved good fortune.” He pulls out his watch. “The Atlanta train? Meeting our cousins?”
Master John must have won big. “Friend Gerald, can you believe Melanie and Charles Hamilton prefer the city to our glorious countryside?” He waves his hands, meaning everywhere round.
“Do bring them to Tara, John.” Master Gerald tip he hat and cluck and we off.
Horses lined up for the race. Colored jockeys and white boy jockeys, serious as can be, talkin’ to they mounts, tellin’ ’em, askin’ ’em, beggin’ ’em, do best they can. Master Gerald crack he whip, and we canter through the infield so fast me and Toby clingin’ on with both hands. Beelzebub ain’t hard to see.
Horses prancing and dancing and circlin’ they so excite. Short man in a red vest and top hat have he pistol in the air. Mens jumps out of our way. Mens shoutin’ at us and boy snatch for our reins, but we through the crowd, onto the track, and straight to the start line.
Miss Katie wearin’ boy clothes with big cap over she hair. She waitin’ starter gun shoot, but starter ain’t shootin’ ’count our rig on the track.
People yellin’ curses. Riders peerin’ and wonderin’.
Miss Katie look mighty like a boy. Miss Katie browner any lady s’posed be and sittin’ her horse like she jockey all her days. Her hands too fine for boy, but they brown too.
I knows what she thinkin’ too. She thinkin’ put spurs to Beelzebub and race down the track, but ain’t no racin’ ’lessn somebody racin’ ’gainst you.
Master Gerald look fierce at Miss Katie and grab Beelzebub bridle.
She say, “Papa! Please! We can win.” Beelzebub neck arched and a-quiverin’ with wantin’ to run. “We can win!”
“Katie, you’re a girl,” her father say. “You can’t even try.”
How Miss Katie Come to Be Miss Scarlett
MAMMIES DOESN’T PREEN theyselfs. They see what they gots see and knows what they gots know and sometimes they says what they knows but mostly they don’t. Mostly, they let folks tell ’em what they already knowed yesterday. Mammies nods and smiles. Nods and smiles.
Cook beatin’ biscuits. Cook tellin’ ’bout Miss Katie and Tarleton boys and I listenin’ with one ear, rollin’ round in my mind what I seen when Miss Katie rides in last night.
Cook think it big joke. “Anyway, Miss Katie she ride up on that big red horse where Suellen and India Wilkes is havin’ they picnic. Cade Calvert and Tarleton twins fetchin’ dainties from the hamper though them girls perfectly able get up and help theyselves. ‘Can I get you a cup of water, Miss India?’ ‘Won’t you sample a ginger cookie?’” Cook cacklin’. “Them girls high-and-mightiest girls in North Georgia.”
“That’s what Jeems say?”
“He with the twins, ain’t he? Like I was sayin’ afore you interrupt: ’long comes Miss Katie, who been ridin’ since daybreak. Miss Katie splattered with red clay and her horse plumb filthy. She gallop in, stirrin’ so much dust, them girls get to coughing and beatin’ dust off theyselves, and my, ain’t they cross!”
I tells Cook, “Pass me them biscuits. You gots to whop ’em more’n what you doin’.”
Miss Katie been ridin’ round devilish since her Papa makes her quit that fool horse race. Every day and all day, she ridin’. Might be she puzzlin’ and ridin’ round helps her do it.
Master Gerald, he never tell nothin’ what happen in Jonesboro race day and Miss Katie don’t tell nothin’ and I don’t neither. Most what you wants hid don’t stay hid, but no ’count blabbin’. Mammies don’t blab.
Half Clayton County was at the racetrack that Saturday, and them what wasn’t hears from those what was, but Master Gerald and Miss Ellen go ’bout their business like always, pretendin’ nothin’ happen.
Miss Ellen tell Miss Katie if she ever do such a thing again, she sent to Savannah with them Baptists and pray four times every day and all-day sermons Sunday.
But Miss Katie puzzlin’. Somethin’ change that day, and she ain’t caught up to it.
Cook tellin’ me how Miss Katie interrupt them girls’ picnic. “Miss Katie, she don’t care nothin’ ’bout Miss Suellen nor Miss India neither. She want them boys saddle up and race her to the river.”
I sighs. “Poor child.”
“‘Poor child,’ my foots! Young Mistress need took down a peg or two. That what I say! Miss India and Miss Suellen, they aggravated. Here they was enjoyin’ they outing and young boys dotin’ on ’em and now they bonnets dusty with Miss Katie dust. Miss India pour tea out her glass and say, ‘Brent, please fetch fresh tea. We seem to have been transported to an Arabian dust storm.’” Cook press the back of she hand ’gainst she forehead like Miss India do when distress.
Now I knows Miss India don’t care nothin’ for Miss Katie. She don’t like Miss Katie ridin’ out with Master Ashley, no matter they innocent as babes. Miss India don’t think no daughter of no Irishman good enough ride out with she brother.
Cook say, “Miss Katie ignore Miss India and Suellen like they ain’t nothin’. She means go ridin’ and want boys ride chasin’ her, but them young Masters ain’t rushin’ do her biddin’ like they done yesterday and day afore.”
“Probably tired of gettin’ beat,” I say.
Cook say, “Miss Katie horse tramplin’ round and them girls makin’ mean faces and boys scuffin’ dirt with t
hey boot toes and sayin’ nary word.” Cook cackled.
I say, “Miss Katie love that horse.”
“Be that like it be! Be that like it be! Miss Katie, she say, ‘Brent. I’ll reach the ford before you will.’
“‘Don’t feel like ridin’ today, Katie,’ that boy mumblin’.
“Miss Katie, finally she get it. Oh, she get it good! World turn upside down! Them boys—who always favor her over the other girls—don’t favor her no more.”
I ponderin’ what in Miss Katie little head. She didn’t race no horse Saturday. Now boys won’t chase horse no more. That chasin’ done.
“Jeems say Miss Katie white as a hant. She don’t give up, though. Not our Miss Katie. She say, ‘Two bits says I reach the ford first.’
“Young Master Brent, he scratch his head and says, ‘Shucks, Miss Katie. It’s too hot for ridin’. Tie up your horse and sit a spell.’
“Miss Katie get quiet. Thoughts buzzin’ through her head like hornets. Jeems, he behind a tree lest Miss Katie gallop Beelzebub through them girls’ picnic. But she don’t. Miss Katie say, ‘Brent, I never knew you to refuse a challenge.’ Then that child ride off by sheownself.”
* * *
It dark when Miss Katie finally gets home. Master and Miss don’t know nothin’ happened, but coloreds know. Pork so low-down Master Gerald ask am he sick. Pork favors Miss Katie like me.
I sees her in the lantern light at the stable door and goes to help how I can. She brushin’ Beelzebub hard, like she want rub brush right through him.
Horse, he wore out. He head hangin’ down. Poor beast been rid half to death.
No use pretendin’ I don’t know what’s goin’ on. I says, “It’s all right, honey. It’s all right. One day soon you be doin’ what ladies got do. All Georgia ladies do same. Ladies unalike as your Momma and Missus Tarleton got be ladies. It ain’t terrible. You get you a home and plenty eat, husband what love you and babies to tend. Been like that since Eve and Adam. Honey, you ain’t no boy, and you surely don’t want to be. Boys gets to ride in horse races and sits in high offices, but it’s boys what gets killed in wars and boys what gets hanged.”
Ruth's Journey: The Authorized Novel of Mammy From Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind Page 31