Scarlett & Dilcey

Margarethe Zubler-Keller

1885
Pork is dead. Skreek. Mammy is dying. Creak. Dilcey has gone away. The left rear wheel of the wagon gave a stuttering groan. Pork is dead. Skreek. Mammy is dying. Creak. Dilcey has gone away. Groan. The words repeated monotonously along with the motion of the wheels and Scarlett could make no sense of them. She hadnt hurried. The telegram had merely said Pork was ailing. But hed been buried yesterday and Dilcey and young Ham had left right after the funeral carrying only a couple of bundles and the ancient carpetbag Scarlett had carried to Atlanta as Charlie Hamiltons widow so many years before. Skreek. Creak. Groan. And now Pork was dead. She had thought her fathers old butler would live forever; he had seemed to change so little over the years, only growing a little slower, a little greyer year by year. Mammy is dying. Creak. How was it possible that mammy should die when she, Scarlett, still needed her? Scarlett had seen Mammy only once or twice a year since Rhett had left, and never paid her much mind when she did see her, but now her conscience gave a twinge whenever the wagon uttered its rhythmic creak. And why in

hell didnt Will take better care of the farm wagon that it should sound like this? Dammit, he was nothing but a lazy cracker after all. Scarlett glanced at her brother-in-law. Will had his peg resting on the dash, easing the soreness of the old stump. He drove unhurriedly, deliberately, and with as little trouble to himself or the horse as possible. He figured theyd both live longer that way, and so far, he had been right. Yes, he was right. He had kept Tara together all this time and he put up with that harridan, Suellen. Only a man with his temperament could have done it and Scarlett was grateful on both counts. At the thought of Suellen, Scarlett repressed a shudder. It had been two years ago that Scarlett paid her customary visit only to find Sue had made a bonfire of their mothers old furniture. Never mind the joints were all loose and there was not one single whole, unmended piece. The graceful old empire sofas and tables, the shapely and delicate chairs Ellen Robillard had brought with her when she married Gerald OHara, had all gone up in smoke and been replaced by dark, dreary hangings and do-dads crammed all over massive new, heavily carved furniture. Scarlett had struck first and split Suellens lip before they both tore out handfuls of each others hair. Will and Dilcey had had to struggle to separate them and the old enmity between the sisters was no longer even thinly veiled. If Scarlett had known Sue envied her the house in Atlanta and was trying to imitate it she would gladly have swapped it for shabby old Tara. But Scarlett was untroubled by any insight into the feelings of others; or even her own. Now, Tara hardly felt like home anymore. Indeed, Sue had become mistress of Tara by default as soon as Scarlett had married Frank Kennedy, Sues own fianc. And after Sue married Will, or rather, after Will married Tara and bedded Suellen, there was no question of their going anywhere else. Tara needed Will and Will was prepared to put up with Sue and Scarlett had always thought he was 2

worth the price of a whining sister. But Sue was rather a large fly in the ointment of Tara. Will, whats this about Dilcey? Why should she up and leave and what are you going to do without Ham? Scarlett wasnt really ready to listen; she just wanted the dreadful chorus to be silenced. But she was surprised to see a dark flush creep up Wills neck and ears. His voice sounded strange and harsh when he answered. Dilcey is gone for good; I made that clear. And she stole your fathers watch. It was in Porks pocket when he was laid out but twarnt there when we went to bury him. The anger in his voice shook her as much as his words. What do you mean it was gone? What were you doingpicking his pockets? I gave him that watch when Pa died and if Dilcey took it, it was hers to take. Scarletts roar was reminiscent of the old days. She was fat and bloated and lazy from too many years of eating and drinking and running from memories, but once in a while the old fire surfaced. There was a sputtering sound behind her. She had forgotten Prissy. Mmaaa-aa-aaw. Poor Prissys wail was genuine. She adored her mother and always looked forward eagerly to Scarletts sporadic visits to Tara and the too brief, and never quite satisfying reunions with Dilcey. And Ham, her baby brother, had always been her special pet. Prissy laid her head on her knees and wept, for once unmindful of both her dignity and her immensely fashionable hat. For some minutes the three drove on in silence broken only by Prissys sniffling and occasional whimpers. Oh, god. That gully was where they had hidden from two armies, practically in full view, the night Atlanta burned. Whenever Scarlett pictured herself returning to Tara, she always forgot about the road that led there. Clouds of memories, thick as gnats, lay in ambush on 3

that road, always in places she thought shed forgotten about. Ghosts roamed that road; ghosts of the dead, the living, and the living who wished they were dead. And she always forgot until she was there that Tara was not as she remembered. Mother would not be there. Whenever Scarlett was going home some part of her kept hoping that this time Ellen would be found; perhaps in one of the store rooms or in the pantry; that Scarlett would be sixteen again and that shed never had to watch anyone die and now she knew how to do everything right and wouldnt marry Charlie or Frank. Then she would have to travel along that road and pass herself over and over. Shed see herself so young, so young, in that horrible wagon Rhett had stolen, running home to Mother. Only she couldnt run. She had crept along, hobbled by Wade, still a toddler, Melanie clinging to life and still bleeding, god she just wouldnt stop bleeding, and the newborn and starving Beau. And, of course, Prissy. Shed alternately cursed and pleaded with that imitation horse Rhett had miraculously procured, so anxious to get home to Ellen she wanted to scream every inch of the way. The road home was not the most difficult thing shed ever done. It was only the beginning of the hard part. Up until then the War had only been a nuisance. The privations, the siege, the nursing, the endless parade of men and boys dying, had been wearing to be sure, but they would come to an end someday. But the burdens Scarlett shouldered when she came home had never ceased, and there had been no one for her to turn to. She ran home to Ellen, but Ellen had been buried the day before. The Yankees camped at Tara had picked the place clean and hadnt left even enough wood for a coffin. There hadnt been time to make one anyway. A sobbing Pork had carried her still-warm body, hastily sewn into a sheet, down the stairs and out to the little plot where her three baby boys were buried. Because of the danger of 4

contagion the Yankee doctor had made sure the grave was good and deep; they could spare soldiers for that. Theyd wanted to dig graves for Carreen and Suellen too, but Dilcey wouldnt let them. It was a long time before anyone told her Ellen had been buried without a coffin. Im sorry I hollered at you, Will. I really did give Pork Pas watch. But where on earth did Dilcey go? Scarlett needed to hear his voice. Maybe that would dispel the memories. Will didnt answer right away. The flush of anger suffused his whole face before he spat out, Philadelphia. There was a sharp gasp behind her and Scarlett, too, gaped at him. Philadelphia! Oh Will, youre joking. It gets funnier. Scarlett had never heard him sowhat? Angry? Bitter? Sarcastic? Willsarcastic? Behind her Prissy had become completely still. She became very small inside herself and, making very sure she stared hard at something other than Will, gave him her full attention. She had never heard Mister Will sound like that but shed certainly recognized the tone. Youll never guess why. The sarcasm was unmistakable now. She wants Ham to learn to read. Scarletts mouth dropped open even farther and Prissy couldnt help staring at Will with her eyes nearly popping out of her head. Yup. Will alternately nodded in confirmation and shook his head in disbelief for a time. Yup. She wants him to learn to read. Scarlett shared his bewilderment. She sputtered for some time. Butbutbutwhat on earth for? Hell, how should I know? I cant imagine why any nigger should want to learn to read. Aint no good for nothing once they do know, aint nothing they can do with it except act too good for work. Aint seen but one nigger that could read and he aint around no more. 5

Scarlett had not heard Will use the word nigger since shortly after he realized in was unacceptable at Tara for white people to do so. He had almost gotten used to saying darky like civilized folks. He never had bothered about his grammar, though. Nope, he aint around no more. His voice became just an increment louder and the tone was not quite conversational now. He was looking at the horse but Prissy knew when she was being spoken to. He found out biggity niggers aint welcome in these parts. Not if they know whats good for them. Nossir, Mister Will. Yessir, Mister Will. Prissy knew her cues and responded in the tone of perfect humble sincerity that every negro who valued his skin learned early in life. Well, here we are. Will turned the horse into the drive as he always did and, as she always did, Scarlett sighed at the sight of Tara, older, shabbier than ever. This time Will didnt even drive to the front and Scarlett could see as they drove right on by that the front porch had not been used for some time. It was sadly in need of paint. What could Suellen be thinking of to let things get in such a state? And so they arrived: angry, bewildered, or wary, they were all three, each, home. Home. Or at least, all at Tara. Mammy was dying; there could be no doubt. Scarlett was too familiar with it not to know when death was in the room. The tiny attic bedroom tucked under the eaves was stuffy, and Scarlett thought longingly of her old bedroom grudgingly vacated for her by her nieces, and wished she could have taken at least a nap in her old bed before doing her duty. Suellens purse had been empty by the time she replaced the staircase carpet, so Scarletts old room was as bare and familiar as she remembered. The muslin curtains had been replaced several times, but one set of curtains made from worn-through sheets looks much like another, and the room was very little changed since 6

she had been its usual occupant. But Scarlett had had no time to do more than set down her hatbox and smooth her hair before going to keep her deathwatch. Mammy was anxious to see her. But Mammy had been asleep when Scarlett took the chair beside the foot of the bed. At least, Mammy had had her eyes closed. Scarlett leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily. Deathwatches were tedious. She glanced at Mammy to see if she could steal away for a quick, secret drink, and was startled to see the old woman looking at her with recognition and, Scarlett thought, with eagerness. Scarlett smiled. Im here, Mammy. She stroked the shriveled hand that lay outside the coverlet. Dear god, Mammy was old. Scarlett had never seen her before without her headrag, or lying down. The small knobs of hair against the nearly flat, old pillow, were white. Her bulk had shrunk only a little but seemed not to be solid flesh under the faded quilt. She tried to speak but Scarlett could make out nothing. Can I do something for you? Some water? No. Mammy looked impatient. Scarlett knew that look well. The two had been attuned to each other since Scarletts birth. She had learned about the world first from Mammys bosom, Mammys lap, Mammys arms. Mammys hands had spanked and cuddled, and it was Mammy who had molded Scarlett into Ellens daughter. It was Mammy who backed her in her battles with the world, who helped her steal a man from her own sister; Mammy who had instilled in Scarlett what she possessed of civilized behavior. At least, she had tried. And Mammy was dying and wanted something and Scarlett didnt know what it was. The hand on the coverlet pointed atwhat? The wall? The chair? The bureau? The bureau. You want something out of your bureau? Mammys eyes said yes. Top draw...no. Middleno. Scarlett tugged open the bottom drawer just as she recognized the bureau as the one that had once 7

held dining room linen in the front hall. It had since been painted white and one corner was held up by a brick where the claw foot was missing. She hesitated, not wanting to reach in, then steeled herself. She was absurdly disappointed to find merely nightgowns and petticoats, coarser, but as clean and decently mended as her own. A fresh nightgown, Mammy? God help us! No. Scarlett rummaged farther in the drawer, not liking to put her hand all the way in. Underneath everything, shoved way in the back, was a bundle. There was an eager look on Mammys face. Scarlett fished the bundle out. It was wrapped in ancient tissue paper or something, which was colorless but had the faintest scent of lemon. An old memory stirred but did not surface. Mammy looked at the bundle, then sighed and closed her eyes. She appeared to sleep again. Scarlett observed her closely. She was still breathing. Apparently Mammy wanted her to see whatever was in the bundle. Scarlett began slowly to unwrap it and the first layers of wrapping broke in her hand and fell away. As she continued to unwrap, she became aware of a nervousness she had always called her Irish feeling because it was like the thrills she used to get from the old Irish ghost stories Gerald had told the girls when they were little. Suellen would plug her ears and Carreen would cry, but Scarlett had loved them. She continued to unwrap the packet and the wrapping gradually changed from a faded, colorless, unidentifiable material, into an almost tissue-thin shell pink taffeta smelling faintly of lemon verbena sachet and suddenly Scarlett missed her mother. The last of the wrapping fell away and Scarlett found herself holding a miniature and a small stack of letters tied with a black ribbon. The miniature was in a heavy plain gold oval frame. How Mammy had managed to save it from the Yankees was a mystery. Scarlett had never known the miniature existed, but the painting from which it had been copied was part of her earliest memories. It was a portrait of Ellen at fourteen, the year before she married Gerald 8

OHara. Ellen, in her shell-pink taffeta ball gown, cut low and wide, and trimmed with dagged ruffles. Ellen, with her straight black hair combed flat over her ears before being pulled back into braided loops behind; her hair, like Scarletts, never would curl. The portrait had hung in the parlor at Tara, and one of Scarletts favorite memories was of her mother seated beneath her own portrait, sewing. It was like a picture of a fairytale princessit was so different from the calm, placid figure seated beneath it. The features were the same; but in the portrait, the eyes seemed eager and alive. That picture had disappeared from Tara that last, dreadful time the Yankees came throughhad disappeared along with damn near everything but the clothes they all stood in, and the furniture that was too bulky to carry away. It had been years since she had thought about that day. It was odd, but their losses did not hit home until much later, not until they were assured of eating every day; not until they no longer felt they could still lose everything. That was when they started missing things. On the day itself, they had all simply felt astonished to be alive. The Yankees made sure they would be remembered. They stuck bayonets into chair cushions looking for hidden valuables. They upended drawers and helped themselves to anything they fancied. Ellens rosewood sewing box did vanish that time, and Ellens large portrait and the small watercolor of County Meath that Geralds brothers had given him, disappeared, along with the girls samplers. Even worse, the Yankees had burned the cotton that Scarlett and Dilcey had picked, and set fire to the kitchen. Scarlett, and Melanie, still weak from Beaus difficult birth, had put out that fire in a manic struggle that had sapped what little strength remained to Melanie. Scarlett looked at the miniature in her lap and wondered where it had come from. It wasnt a very good copy. The eyes did not have the

snap she remembered in the portrait. But that made it look all the more like the Ellen she remembered. Her hand was still resting on Mammys and Mammys breathing was easier. Her hand turned up and clasped Scarletts but her eyes didnt open. Scarletts attention was drawn to the letters, so grubby the writing on the envelopes was all but obscured. It was awkward with just one hand, but she managed to slip the top one out. At the first glimpse of the writing, her vision blurred. The one imperfect thing about Ellen had always been her small, neat, but very slightly skewed handwriting. Beloved Philippe Philippe! That was the name Ellen had called out when she was dying. Beloved Philippe, Scarlett read, and without warning, found herself in the long-forgotten world of adolescent passion. Beloved Philippeand Ellens youth, her heart, her young love, lay in Scarletts lap and she came to life as her daughter had never known her. Scarlett read, and the little portrait breathed, the hope and love and passion of fourteen exposed where the writer had never dreamed. Ellen died believing those letters had long been burnt but Mammy hadnt been able to bring herself to do it, and now Ellens daughter held her mothers life in her hands and it seemed as if she was reading about herself, and her own young passion for Ashley Wilkes. The intensity, the self-absorption, the single-mindedness were all the same. Ellen had once been in love! Ellen; calm, serene, perfect Ellen, whom Scarlett had worshipped from afar, had once beena girl a girl as young and single-minded as Scarlett had ever beenno, even younger. Ellen had been but fifteen when she marriedPa. Unbidden, Gerald came to mind. Geralds hair was already nearly white in Scarletts earliest memories. Scarlett had never thought of the girl Ellen had been when she married a man nearly old enough to be her grandfather. Oh, poor Mother. Poor little girl. Poor baby.

10

How had Mammy prepared Ellen for marriage to an old man? What could she have said, knowing, as she must have known, of Ellens thwarted plans to elope? Scarlet could barely remember a single conversation before her own marriage at sixteen to Melanies brother, Charlie Hamilton. Ellen hadnt been able to discuss the technicalities. It was Mammy who had told her what she must dowhat she must allow. And even so, she hadnt listened. If it was an unpleasant shock to her, what must it have been to poor Ellen, grieving for her young, dead, Philippe? For the first time in her life Scarlett thought of Ellen, not as her mother, but as a person, another girl, someone who could have understood Scarletts own desires and impetuosity, someone who could understand the strength of her hemmed-in passions. Ellen would have understood her old feelings for Ashley. Maybe she could have guided her to at least better behavior. But Ellen had closed herself off and now Scarlett recognized it. She finally understood that underneath that invariable calm, lay a woman going through the motions of performing her duty while patiently awaiting an opportunity to die. Ellens life had been a good performance. And Scarlett saw, as clearly as if it were a lantern slide, what a happy Ellen would have been, the mother she could have been if she had not elected to smother her own heart. She saw, for the first time, the real Ellen who was alive to her fingertips and not just a painting. Scarlett had adored her mother, but this new awareness shook her. Having just found her brought back the pain of having lost her, as if for the first time. Scarlett had never wept for her mother, nor for any of her dead. There were too many of them, and to have wept for them all would have required a deluge. So shed dammed up the tears and carried them with her. She had never had time to grieve. There had always been too much to do, too many people to feed and take care of. She had always placed her grief aside, knowing she could not have borne it 11

if once she gave in. She hadnt been able to weep for her little Bonnie; somehow it seemed if only she didnt cry, she wouldnt have to admit her darling little girl was dead and besides, Rhett had broken down and somebody had to be strong, though she couldnt remember why. And she hadnt wept since Rhett went awayhe had gone so many times before, sometimes even taking all his clothes, every trace of himself. He had always come back. Except the last time. The last time, he had taken hardly anything. It seemed he had just come in, then went out again. But that time he had taken his presence. The cufflinks and shirt studs, still in their tray on his dressing table, the very shaving mug and stropeverything hed left knew he wasnt coming back. They were no longer his cufflinks and studs, no longer his shoes, his hairbrushes. They were anonymous. Pork had helped her pretend. Hed tidied up everything and laid it ready against Rhetts return. But Pork had known. Everybody but Scarlett had known. And then Pork returned to Tara and took up his station in the rocker on the back porch. Scarlett left off staring at the stains on the wall and dropped her gaze back to the portrait and the letters in her lap that were the only trace left of Ellen. A sob caught her by surprise. Oh, god, it hurt. Then another, and another. Shed found her mother only to lose her yet again. Her last link with Ellen was dying, too. Scarlett remembered her hand and turned to the figure on the bed. Mammy, she whispered. The eyes opened slowly and focused on something Scarlett could not see. Mammy. Mammy seemed not to hear. Mammy! Oh god. Mammy wait! Mammy dont go Mammy, Mammy no. Not yet No! NO! Mammy! Scarlett squeezed Mammys hand and willed her back. Mammy blinked slowly and when her eyes opened again they gradually relaxed their gaze and she was gone. Scarlett tried to swallow but it seemed as if there was a fist in her throat and oh, it hurt. 12

Another sob racked her and the fist got bigger, but her body contracted with pain deep inside. Oh!...Oh!...Oh! She could only gasp. She gulped for breath but the sobs fought her. She fought her hand free of Mammys deathgrip and, falling to her knees, pounded with both fists on the bed. The miniature slid under the bed and the letters fell to the floor. Somehow, seeing them fall was unbearable. She couldnt breathe. There were fists strangling her from the inside. Her heart and entrails were being twisted and she was surrounded by voices, soft and insistent. One by one they came, stroking her hair, or touching her arm shyly, as if not sure she remembered them, and then more pressing, clutching, whispering. Singly at first, and then in a crowd, pressing round her they came, as each dam holding back each grief burst, and fell upon the next, still they came crowding. Ellen, young and lovely as Scarlett had never known her, ScarlettScarlett, dear; and Bonnie, pert, irresistible; Mother! Watch meMother, Gerald; daughter, land is the only thing; Melanie, oh Melanie; Take care of Ashley, Scarlett. Promise mepromise me. Even Frank, looking deeply into her eyes as hed always been too timid to do. He said nothing. Scarlett turned away from those eyes that made her feel unbearably guilty and ashamed, but she could not escape. She turned from Frank only to confront Charles. She was startled and dismayed to see how much he resembled Melanie. Oddly, when he was alive shed never noticed it. He said nothing. She could not even remember a single word he had ever said to her, and she hadnt bothered to keep any of his letters. How could she have been everything to him and he nothing to her? Why had she ever married him, anyway? Oh yes, she was upset with Ashley, and then his sister, Honey, was such a cat. And shed been humiliated that Ashley had chosen Melanie over her. Her feelings about Charles were very confused. She turned this way and that, 13

trying to escape the hands, the eyes, the voices, but they pressed closer and closer, urging her to remember them, to grieve for her life and mourn their deaths as she had never allowed herself to do. She was defenseless. The strange years of wandering, of soft living and easy drinking, years of aimless traveling and running from the knowledge that Rhett had, indeed, left her, had hollowed her heart and weakened her constitution. She was not in any condition to sustain a single shock and to come home expecting to nurse old Pork only to find him dead, Mammy dying, and Dilcey gone was more than she could absorb. The revelations of the letters were too much to bear. She let go. She turned this way and that, flinging up her arms to ward off the whispers and caresses, the regrets and guilt they heaped on her. They became ogres, tearing at her heart, choking her. They crowded, crowded relentlessly, lovingly. She tried to cry outtried to push them awayshe twisted and turned. She sobbed and moaned, bucked and thrashed and still they came. She was rolling on the floor and crashing into objects and still they pressed. She hammered the floor with her heels and struck out everywhere, not caring, not feeling when she hurt herself. She wanted to hurt herself, to feel something real. But she could feel nothing but the pain inside. She banged her head on the bedpost but couldnt feel any pain. She banged again. Again. Again. Prissy flew up the narrow attic stairs. Behind her stumped Will. She burst into the tiny room and just as suddenly backed out, bumping smack into him. His peg slid out from under him and he landed heavily on the floor dangerously close to the stairwell. Sue hung at the bottom of the steps. Will crawled to the doorway and pulled himself up by it and he and Prissy stood side-by-side horrified speechless by what they saw, and almost afraid to move. Scarlett sat on the floor backed hard against the narrow bed, kicking with her feet and yanking on her hair with both hands. Hair was tumbled in her face. Bloody hanks of it 14

were scattered around the room. Both sleeves were pulled and shredding at the arm-scyes, seams on her bodice back were split and a hail of buttons covered the floor. One eyebrow was split and blood was running down her face. All Prissy could do was twist her apron in her hands and say, Oh, Mr. Will! Oh, Mr. Will. When Will could speak he turned and yelled down the stairwell. Fetch the doctor, Sue! When she hesitated, he used a tone hed never dared use to her before. Are you deaf? I said fetch the doctor! And youll have to ride; I cant come hitch for you. Then he entered the room cautiously. He neednt have bothered. One occupant was dead and the other oblivious. He approached Scarlett and lowered himself onto the floor beside her. He had not seen such agony in many long years, not since the war, and never in a woman. But then, he had been a soldier, and soldiers see many things. All he could think of to do was try to keep her from hurting herself further. Prissy came as close to the kicking feet as she dared, then squatted. Softly Will said, Now, Prissy! She made a lunge for Scarletts ankles while Will pinioned her from behind. With the real arms embracing her Scarlett found her voice. There were no words, just grunts and cries of true battle. Will and Prissy marveled at her strength. She bucked and reared, bashing Wills face with her head. He almost lost his grip and could do nothing to stop blood from his nose from spattering everywhere while they struggled. Scarlett began to scream. Will and Prissy could hear hurried footsteps on the stairs. Neither of them had breath to call out, but they could tell the footsteps were going down, not coming up. Prissys eyes snapped open like an automatons while different parts of her brain woke and tried to figure out why. She was sitting bolt 15

upright in the chair beside Scarletts bed. The lamp was out, and her brain just now registered a rustle and felt another presence leaving the room, but how long ago? Seconds? Minutes? And why was the lamp out? There was plenty of oil in it and the wick had been turned very low. Prissy gathered herself and took a deep breath. Oh lordy. Everything hurt. Every joint, every muscle had been strained in the afternoons battle, and sitting still watching so long hadnt helped. The weariness of the previous days journey would have been enough to prevent her watching effectively; the battle had made it impossible. Prissy raised her arm painfully and dug her fingers deeply into the back of her neck on either side. What a battle that had been! The steps running downstairs had been Miss Suellen running to the barn. By the time theyd heard the horse galloping past the house, Scarletts screams had escalated into a banshee wail, screaming Rhetts name, the name no one had heard her say for years. It seemed they were in that room for an eternity, all three tumbled together on the floor, but it was less than two hours before Sue returned with the doctor. By that time they had gotten Scarlett quieter. With Prissy at her feet, Will sat on the floor behind her head, holding her arms crossed in front of her, rocking her and crooning softly into her ear. His face was covered with blood and his own tears. Scarletts face, dry-eyed, was covered with blood and mucous. Prissys face was spattered in blood from all three. They heard the doctors gig turn into the drive, then footsteps. As the footsteps came up the stairs they could feel Scarletts body stiffen. The door opened. Holy Mary, Mother of God! Dammit, Sue, we just got her quiet. The thrashing began again, but with the doctor to help and with Sue dropping morphia down her throat they finally got her still again. In fact, the morphia took hold so suddenly that all at once she felt like a sack of wet sand in their 16

hands and they almost dropped her. At last they carried her down the attic stairs to her own bedroom and laid her on her own bed, then withdrew while Prissy cleaned her up and wrestled her nightgown onto her and put her inert body under the covers. She was rinsing her own face when the doctor returned to give her minute instructions as to the administration of more morphia, should it be necessary. This doctor was new in the neighborhood. Hed just been there about twelve years and Prissy had never even seen him before. Suellen waited for him in the open doorway. It is important that you follow instructions precisely. Do you understand? Yes, sir. Why did white people talk louder when they were giving instructions to servants? Why did they do a lot of stupid things? But Prissys face had shown nothing. Now she stretched, slowly, carefully, painfully aware of every bump and bruise. Why was the lamp out? Her exhausted brain could only deal with little bits of information at a time. She went to light it again but the matchbox was not on the bedside table where she thought shed left it. There were candles on the dressing table. Prissy could have negotiated that room blindfolded but there were grains of light beginning to differentiate between shades of darkness. And how odd. There was the matchbox, beside the candles. Prissy lit one and carried it, shaded behind one hand, back to the bed and set it down where it would not shine directly in Scarletts face. She stretched again, curling her back and shrugging her shoulders, then sat down once more. She had a nagging feeling something was not as it ought to be. She rolled her head first to one side, then the other, stretching her neck and throat. There might be time for another quick catnap before morning and the heavy sickroom chores that would fall on her then. Suddenly she stopped stretching and her whole body turned with her head. She looked straight at the figure on the bed. The 17

candlelight was not as stable as the lamplight and she couldnt tell whether Scarlett was breathing. Only then did she think to look at the bottle of morphia. Sweet Baby Jesus. Suddenly she was fully awake. She stared at the quilt and tried to will it to rise and fall. If Scarlett died, she would be blamed. If Scarlett died, Prissy was lost. Mister Rhett had tied them together as irrevocably as Mr. Barnums famous Siamese twins; tied them for life, but not for death. Scarletts hefty allowance was conditionalshe must keep Prissy. Prissys salary was multiples of what an ordinary ladies maid could command, but Prissys money ran through her fingers. She spent money as fast as she got her hands on it, and usually foolishly, either on clothes for herself, or on a series of scapegrace men, each of whom she was convinced was her true love. But with Scarlett dragging her all over the map, she never managed a sustained friendship. So Prissy stayed and Scarlett kept her. But no one had ever thought to ask what would happen to Prissy if Scarlett were to die. And if Scarlett died under the present circumstances, she would be blamed. If Scarlett died now, Prissy would hang. Prissy could only stare at the quilt. An eternity went by until Prissy thought she saw the quilt fall ever so slightly. She kept staring. She did not see it rise, but much later she thought she saw it fall again. Just before the sun rose there was enough stable light in the room for Prissy to finally be sure. Scarlett was alive. But only just. And now Prissy thought. At last she returned the candle and matchbox to the dressing table, gathered the items on the bedside table onto a tray and covered them with a towel, then carried the tray downstairs into the kitchen. She timed it just right. Miss Suellen was just finishing giving her instructions to the cook when Prissy came in, yawning helplessly and nearly stumbling in fatigue. Suellens lips were pursed expectantly as Prissy began to speak. 18

Miss Suellen, I hates to ask but could you please sit with Miss Scarlett for a bit while I ready the tray? You know how hungry she gets for her breakfast and I want to have it ready when she wakes up. Whatever Suellen had been expecting her to say, that wasnt it. Her eyes narrowed but she nodded and rushed away. Why look at that, Im so tired I carried down the lamp. The cook laughed at her absentmindedness and returned to the fire. Unobserved, Prissy quickly filled the morphia bottle with water up to a reasonable level, and then sat down to a comfortable breakfast and a deep cup of coffee. Well. If Scarlett died now, it would be on Suellens watch and no one could accuse Prissy of carelessness, let alone murder. All in all, Prissy hoped Scarlett would live. She liked her salary and besides, she didnt feel like learning someone elses foibles. She was used to Scarletts. After a leisurely breakfast Prissy made her way nimbly up the stairs carrying the heavy tray with one hand while she held up her skirts with the other. Just as she reached the top she saw Suellen emerge from Scarletts bedroom carrying the small, delicate willow laundry basket Prissy had lined so carefully with quilted linen. Whatever was in the basket was covered with a towel. Suddenly, the nimbleness became hulking awkwardness. Prissy, who had known how to make herself small against the walls in the days of hoopskirts, when ladies would have to walk down the hall holding their hoops up sideways so their petticoats brushed her face, Prissy, who had run up and down those stairs thousands of times with much more awkward loads than a heavy try, suddenly found she could not negotiate the hallway and make way for Suellen at the same time. Her face became a study in stupidity, and she looked helplessly at Suellen. The look was one she had cultivated of oldshe looked directly at, but not into, Sues eyes. She shrugged and giggled mindlessly but found, no matter which way she tried to turn, that there just was no room for Miss Suellen to walk past her with that basket. The standoff didnt last long. 19

With a smirk that was equal parts exasperation and glee, Suellen quickly set the basket on the floor. Well, then, she said, you take care of this. Suddenly there was an acre of room and she scurried past. Prissy watched her down the stairs, then whisked into the room, shoved the basket inside with her foot, and set her load down on the tray table inside the door, all in one smooth movement. Now that she had possession of the basket she was afraid to lift the towel. This was the little basket that had always held Scarletts precious convent-made underwear when it needed to be washed. Prissy adored working with it. Washing the delicate things was almost like a religious rite. The lawn and batiste were the finest she had ever seen. The tiny ruchings and pintucks, the infinitesimal French seams, the cobwebs of lace and minute buttons and tiny ribbons were still beautiful, old and worn thought they were. What if Miss Suellen had despoiled it? No. She wouldnt have. She couldnt have. Gingerly, Prissy picked up a corner of the towel and lifted it up. She saw only darkness. That made no sense. She whisked the towel aside completely and bent down to see better. Her eyes got big and suddenly she squatted and rummaged in the basket, then bumped onto the floor clapping her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. She inhaled sharply, over and over, until she could get a grip on herself. Then she rose and slowly turned to look at the bed. Scarlett lay just as Prissy had left her. She looked grotesque, with one eyebrow swollen and crusted over, and lumps and bumps beginning to go dark on her forehead and cheekbones. Her skin was only faintly pink and her breathing was just as shallow as before, but her hair was all gone. There was a ragged stubble on her head with scabs where she had torn it out yesterday, and chunks were the hair was almost two inches long, and other places where blue scalp showed. Prissy stood and looked at her for a long time. For a few 20

moments all her grudges were suspended. The slaps and pinches and harsh words, more importantly, Scarletts utter disregard of any thoughts or feelings Prissy may have had, were, for the moment, forgotten. The one emotion Prissy could feel was the one Scarlett would have resented more than any other. But looking at her with all her wealth and privilege, with all her pretty things, with all her white, white skin more precious than rubies, Prissy could feel only pity. Scarletts convalescence took far longer than anyone had anticipated. Always before, she had bounced back from illnesses, childbirth, even the disastrous miscarriage. She had always had the kind of constitution which could rebound from a heavy blow, seemingly without effort, but not this time. Always a creature of appetites, she had allowed them to dull memory, burying the past under beef or butter or cream, or drowning it in brandy. Now she was powerless to do either. She hadnt the strength to sit up by herself, to dress herself, to fend off the memories that assaulted her with every waking moment and stalked her dreams. At first, when she was weakest, those memories were large and formless. But later, when she grew a little stronger, strong enough to creep down the stairs clinging to Prissys arm, and sit, swathed in shawls in an old wicker chaise on the back porch on fine afternoons, those memories grew more precise and detailed, and she no longer fought them off. She grew accustomed to them, welcomed them, lived on them. It was all Prissy could do to get a little broth down her every day. Poor Prissy. Life with Scarlett had never been so dull. Scarlett had always grown restless at Tara long before her visits were due to end and, though there was no place special to go, would hurry them both off long before Prissy had had her visit out. But now, with her mother and baby brother gone, her stepfather dead, and no one to even flirt with, Prissy got bored with Tara. As their stay dragged on and on she felt Miss Suellens resentment grow. Sue found Scarletts very 21

existence a personal affront and took out her annoyance on Prissy at every opportunity. The circumstance of the morphia bottle was, of course, never mentioned, but then, neither was it forgotten by either of them. Suellen was perfectly aware that Prissy knew all about it. She also knew Prissy was powerless in the matter. She would never dare accuse Sue of trying to kill Scarlett. Still, the presence of a despised sister and her spoiled maid rankled stronger every day. Scarlett seemed content to doze her life away on the back porch. The stubble on her head had grown out just long enough to cover the bare patches of scalp, and Prissy evened it up as much as possible. Still, she looked ridiculous. Flesh had melted off her body leaving loose and flabby skin, and she had soft little dewlaps hanging from her jaw. She didnt seem to care. Prissy wondered whether she even noticed. One fine afternoon in early autumn Scarlett lay on the back porch surrounded by memories almost palpable. She had gotten so used to them she could tell who they were and whether they were on the back porch or around the corner where it stretched out into a verandah where the family had used to sit. The back porch was where the servants had sat; where Mammy, when she had gotten too feeble for anything else, had sat with some kind of lapwork, peas to shell or apricots to stone; where Pork had sat rocking, or whittling a toy for some lucky child. They often came out and sat with her. Melanie sometimes breathed by, and Pa. Ellen and Bonnie mostly stayed around the corner on the verandah, but Scarlett could always tell when they were there. She always stayed on the back porch. The sun lingered longer there and it could not be seen from any angle of the drive. She heard hoofbeats cantering up. Brent Tarleton. Her eyes were closed and she saw him ride around the corner of the house and saw his face break into a big grin when he saw her. He looked behind him and beckoned, and all three of his brothers came round the corner 22

on their mothers beautiful blooded horses. They were followed by others who came at first singly, and then a great crowd of them, filling the back yard as if it were a hunt morning; men shed grown up with and men she scarcely remembered, men shed flirted with, danced with, whose crutches she had held while theyd danced with pairs of ladies holding them up; boys whose hearts shed broken and boys whose eyes shed closed, whose amputated limbs shed caught, whose mothers Melanie had written. On foot, on horseback, they stood in groups, smiling, joshing, laughing in the sunshine, or singly, quietly smiling, each surrounded by a nimbus. They and their uniforms were clean and whole, their brass shone like gold. Even the ones with patches looked fresh, hair and beards combed, all the animals groomed to the height of their glory. For the first time Scarlett saw these men as their wives and sweethearts and mothers had seen them, and as she had pretended to see them. But now she saw them with a heart that had no defenses left; a small, inexperienced heart that she didnt know what to do with, but a heart nevertheless. She knew very well that each one of these men was lying under the earth somewhere, some with stones at their heads, some in crowded trenches, some under deep drifts of leaves. But that thought bothered her not at all while they stood in the back yard of Tara, waiting for her to say goodbye to them. She knew that was why they were there. Some of them just filed by, touching their hats; others kissed her hand, or her cheek. A few kissed her lightly on the mouth. The Tarletons were among the last to go; the twins last of all. And for all of them she had a smile, a wave, a kiss. She had never been sweethearts with any of them. She had never really been sweethearts with anybody, but each of them had loved her a little bit for a little while, and that was a sweet thing to know. Goodbye, she murmured. Goodbye. Kisssmilesmile wavekiss. Soft, warm tears slipped out between her closed eyelids. 23

The last kiss lingered on her lips in a smile, and she sighed deeply before opening her eyes. Just at her feet stood the strange doctor, gazing intently at her face. At his elbow, looking like a cat that has just been given a saucer of cream, stood Suellen. Scarlett could only cover her face with her hands and cry out weakly for Prissy. She felt naked and exposed, and the doctor only made it worse when he touched her shoulder and tried to soothe and console her. Sue just stood there enjoying herself, watching Scarlett try to become invisible, until Prissy could be found. It was all Prissy could do to propel her mistress upstairs and into her room. Scarletts knees kept buckling and she kept stopping to bury her face in her hands. Prissy had to fight her dress off. Inserting her into a nightgown proved too much so Prissy just rolled her under the covers in her chemise. And now what to do? Prissy would have given much to know just what had happened on the back porch. She strongly suspected Miss Suellen of some kind of devilment, but the doctor had been there too. Prissy didnt feel the least bit guilty for having left Scarlett alone on the porch. She always did. Prissy had been terrified all her life of hants and, even though Scarlett never mentioned them, Prissy knew very well who sat on the porch and kept her company so often. And that was why she always found a pressing reason to be elsewhere when Scarlett kept company with her memories and her dead. And Scarlett, who had been convalescing so slowly already, lay with her knees curled into her chest and the covers pulled over her head, keening. Of course, anything that affected Scarlett was of extreme interest to Prissy, and she set about solving the mystery. The rebuilt kitchen, like the original, was set apart from the rest of the house, connected only by a covered walkway. But directly inside the house, and before one came to the dining room, there was a small lobby which served as a combination butlers pantry, wine cellar, and staging 24

area for the proper timing of dishes. And this, from the servants point of view, was the most important room in the house. Quite apart from its other functions there was a spot a few feet to the right of the door, a little before you got to the corner of the room, where one could hear every word spoken in the dining room. And when the door was open, a good portion of the table could be seen through the space between the door and the doorframe simply by shifting ones weight ever so slightly from one foot to the other. It was a perfect example of the selective myopia of the OHaras class, which expressed both amazement and bewilderment when their servants knew of events almost before they did themselves. It was almost as if they believed their servants, who lived in their pockets, came to life only for those moments when they were required. It may never have occurred to them that their servants found themselves in a position where accurate appraisal of character and timely knowledge might mean the difference between sale or flight, or life and death, and that the most trusted and truly faithful might still feel themselves bound to eavesdrop as a matter of prudence. So, naturally, Prissy positioned herself to hear what she could. She could hear very little. Suellen had taken the doctor into the parlor beyond the arch at the opposite end of the dining room and around the corner from the sliver of the arch Prissy could see. She cocked her ear and held her breath to hear better. not at all wellgriefunreasonablehow she carried on overnot even when our mother diedher own childafraid unnaturalnot right in the head? wonderingasylumdo the right thingdangerherself and others Prissy stole through the swinging door into the dining room. That was the only door in the house kept religiously oiled. She crept noiselessly halfway up the room toward the arch. She heard the doctor say quite clearly, my dear Mrs. Benteen, what is it you would have me 25

do? but she did not wait to hear the answer. She hurried into the alcove, wringing her hands and looking piteously at Suellen. Oh, Miss Suellen, I been looking for you. Scuse me, Doctor, I didnt see you. Im glad to hear youre staying to supper. The doctor raised his eyebrows and bowed to Suellen. He had never been on such a basis of intimacy with the Benteen family before. In fact, this was the first time either of them had heard of it, and Suellen, a housekeeper who counted every chicken, every egg, and very nearly every grain of salt sprinkled on them, smiled sweetly and said, Oh, Doctor Mills, I just took it for granted you were staying, and told Cookie so. Id be awfully disappointed if you didnt stay. Why, thank you. In that case, I will; Id hate to disappoint a lady, let alone the cook. And Suellen, now committed to a company dinner, had to offer him a julep of which she begrudged him the bourbon, the sugar, and very nearly the mint, which grew almost wild. She could have throttled Prissy. Miss Sue, Miss Scarlett is so poorly I thought a little glass of brandy might help her sleep. Can I take her just a drop? Just this once? The wheedling tone was designed to make the doctor think Sue would be awfully mean not to respond generously, and Suellen knew she was being played. She couldnt remonstrate in front of a stranger, as Prissy very well knew. Suellen could only smile sweetly and say, Why Prissy, there is no need to fetch a glass. Just take the bottle with you and bring it back when shes comfortable. Prissy expressed her gratitude so profusely the doctor had to wonder what was so magnanimous about such a simple act. Suellens desire to throttle Prissy increased. But she had to see to the dinner. Prissy scurried away with the bottle and hurried up the back stairs. At the landing, she stopped and stood still, with everything she had heard still sounding in her ears. Time. She needed time. Time for 26

Scarlett to recover herself. Time to make her presentable. Time to figure out how. And time to think about just how to fashion a miracle. She had roughly two hours. In the bedroom Prissy looked at the figure in the bed and her heart nearly misgave her. She knew Scarlett wasnt crazynot permanently, anyhow. But anybody looking at her now might easily think she was, and with good reason. Miss Scarlett. Prissy gently shook Scarletts shoulder. Scarlett pulled away and rolled onto her face. Miss Scarlett, you got to listen. Scarlett, moaning in protest, covered the back of her head with her elbows. Prissy pulled them down and yanked Scarlet around to face her, but she kept turning her head away. Miss Scarlett, Miss Scarlet listen, wont you, listen toMiss ScarlettMiss Scarlett. Prissy was shaking her now and the protest rose to a different key. Oh God! If she got hysterical now, all would be lost. Prissy shook her in good earnest. Miss Scarlett, you got to listen. Listen! LISTEN! With the last listen, Prissy completely lost her head. Her liberty, her salary, her soft job depended on the perceived sanity of this woman who wouldnt get a grip on herself. She hauled off and slapped her. The moaning stopped. The two women looked at each other, blinking, both a little stunned, but Scarlett finally seemed more alert. There was a long moment of silence while they both tried to come to grips with that slap. It couldnt be done. The only thing to do was pretend it never happened. Miss Scarlett, were in big trouble. Miss Suellen is downstairs right this minute doin everything she can to talk that doctor into saying you is crazy and havin you locked up. You gotta do something. Comprehension came slowly. With it came despair. The highpitched moaning started again, but this time there were words in it. Suellenlocked up. Locked up?...crazynot crazy. Of course he 27

thinks Imbut they couldntbut how?...he saw, oh, he sawshe wouldnt. Will wouldnt let her. Rhewouldnt letwouldnt know. Oh, Prissy, what can I do? The doctor will believe her. He must already thinkOh, Holy Mother of God. Of course hell believe her. Who would think shed lie like that about her own sister? Oh Prissy, Prissy, what can I do? Scarlett looked around her frantically, as if there was an answer to be found in the room. Prissy held up the bottle and Scarletts hand reached for it. But Prissy carried it to the washstand and poured just an inch into the glass and handed it to Scarlett, who received it like a sacrament before tossing it down. She just sat for a moment, feeling the brandy run through her like a benediction. But what can I do? She sat looking down as if she were blind, looking at empty space, seeing nothing. What can I do? Hes already seen meseen She looked up at Prissy. She looked back at the empty space. How could Prissy help? She couldnt bring herself to ask her. And there was Prissy shaking her head again, saying something, forcing her to look up. go down there. Scarlett looked up into the insistent brown eyes just inches from her own. What? I said, Miss Suellen is going to spend all supper time talking that doctor into locking you up if you dont pull yourself together and go down there and show him you aint crazy. Go down there? Go down there? How could she go down after what the doctor had already seen? But Prissy was pulling her up off the bed and saying something about getting her dressed. Dressed? Ridiculous! Suddenly she found the glass back in her hand, but with just a half-inch of brandy in it. She drained it and held the glass up for more. No. Not until you come back upstairs after supper. Prissy was secure in her refusal. No lady could be known to have shrieked at her 28

maid for not allowing her to drink herself stupid before dinner particularly a lady who had to impress a stranger with her sanity, never mind her gentility. Scarlett sat passively on the edge of her bed, wanting nothing in the world so much as to crawl back into it and lie suspended in time, but Prissy was bustling and chattering and Scarlett knew there would be no peace until she went downstairs and humiliated herself. So she let Prissy bustle and fuss and narrate. Prissy very nearly gave up when it came to dressing her. Her clothes hung on her as if she were a scarecrow. The corset was hopelessit hung and gaped. All her dresses were miles too big and there was no time to be lost. Prissy worked frantically with pins and needle and thread. She scurried for scarves and belts, tissue paper, ribbons, lace, anything to camouflage the imperfections of the toilet she was desperately improvising. At last, Scarlett was deemed ready. The improvisations were glaring in Prissys eyes, and she knew they would be only too apparent in Suellens. But it wasnt Suellen that Scarlett had to convince. The stitches pulling the neckline together from where it gaped were miles too long, the excess fabric at the waist was folded at the sides and held in with a belt; a lace scarf inadequately concealed the improvised sewing; on her head, Scarlett wore an old afternoon cap stuffed with crumpled tissue paper to create the illusion of hair inside it. And, except for her chemise and her wire bustle, Scarlett wore nothing at all underneath her dress. All this had an air of unreality for Scarlett. The rituals of dressing had awakened her more than anything else, the brandy was smoothing some of the raw edges, and the weirdness of not wearing a corset had a dreamlike feel. She felt both more awake and asleep, as if she were in a dream that she could control. Well, thats the best I can do. Wed best take you down. 29

But what am I going to do? Suellen will know there is no hair under this cap and She cant very well say nuthin about it can she? Miss Scarlett, I never thought Id see the day when anybody would have to tell you haw to handle a man. Why dont you just show Miss Sue how you stole Mister Frank right out from under her nose? Scarlett bristled and was about to snap at Prissy, but stopped herself. After all, she had stolen Frank right from under Suellens nose; Frank and what little money he had. Suellen would have left them all high and dry, but Franks money paid the taxes on Tara and Yes maam, you did and I think you done right. But you did do it and she aint never got over it if you ask me. So you just go and show her just how you took a man right out of her hands. You can do it. You can. Prissy gave her a meaningful look that made her giggle, then nudged her toward the stairs. She made her way down, leaning heavily on the rail on one side, and Prissy on the other. At the bottom, she stopped to collect herself. During the few steps to the dining room, Prissy could feel Scarlett take her weight to herself and draw herself up. She saw her take a deep breath, tip her head, and suddenly, Scarlett became graceful, sweet, and helplessexactly the kind of female any male would want to protect. She was preparing to battle for her freedom, and found she still had an edge to her weapons. Prissy had taken her to the dining room door. The rest was up to her.

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CHAPTER 1 Kathleen Scarlett OHara Hamilton Kennedy Butler leaned against the railing of a sailing packet at dawn looking for all the world like an Irish colleen, with a heavy blanket folded like a triangular shawl thrown over her head and held with both hands inside, forming a tunnel through which she peered unseeing at the fog. Here she was, nearly at the end of a nightmarish journey, absurdly delayed by fog. Oh, the scenes they had played out at Tara, with Suellen lobbying with all her might for Scarlett to be locked up, and Scarlett, weak, vulnerable, and with every nerve exposed, exerting her shattered remnants of charm on the bewildered doctor; Will and Prissy holding their breath in the wings. At length, Rhett was appealed to through his agent in Atlanta. Telegrams flew hither and yon and finally it was determined to try a

31

sea voyage on Scarletts health. The universal panacea would be tried, mainly to separate the sisters. The doctor was convinced that one of them was, indeed, mad. He just wasnt sure which one. The sea voyage would solve his dilemma. The only difficulty lay in choosing her destination. Scarlett absolutely refused to go anywhere English was not spoken. England was thought too cold, India too exotic as well as too hot. She had tried going North of the Mason-Dixon Line before but hated it. In the South, no matter where you went, you could always find some relative in common with just about anybody. But in the North! In New York, society matrons looked down their noses at women traveling alone and Boston was simply impossible. Those people hardly received their own siblings, lot alone kin once-or-twice removed. No, without Rhett she had no entr into any good society in the North. The South, of course, did not require a sea voyage. Merely running out to the sea islands did not constitute a voyage. That, coupled with the fact that she had already exhausted the possibilities of every first class and a good number of second class resorts, and had even been asked to leave two of them, contributed to the final decision. She had never actually behaved scandalously, but was given to flirting with outrageously young men whose mammas did not look kindly upon ambiguously married women of a certain age, who drank. Also, there was no parlor in the South where she was welcomed with enthusiasm, not even her own. The Welsh governess Rhett had hired for Ella ran the house in Atlanta, and Scarlett felt almost like an interloper there. Wade was away at school. On those rare occasions when they met she always had an uneasy feeling. She couldnt tell what he wanted from her. She often forgot she even had children. And now, the doors at Tara were closed to her. Oh, she still owned a third of it, but

32

Scarlett had never had friends. She had never bothered with the small talk, the little gestures, the notes and letters filled with the thousand details, and above all, the caring, which form friendship. The only woman she had ever been close to was Melanie, and that had been grudgingly. It was only when Melly lay dying that Scarlett even realized what a big piece of her life she had been. Mother. Melly. Pa. Bonnie. All those boys and men, all dead. And Rhett. Where in the world was Rhett? All these thoughts were so old they formed a wellthumbed deck which she shuffled and re-shuffled so many times she was beginning to see patterns in spite of herself. No matter which way she shuffled, no matter the order in which the memories came up, she always ended in the same place. Rhett was gone. And she had no idea where in the world he was, or whether she would ever see him again. All her old memories had worn grooves in her brain for so long she could do the whole circuit in very little time; and she did, over and over. Every now and then she took a new little detour. She had begun to muse on the weirdness of time. She specifically wondered how those thousands of endless days, days so screamingly boring, could suddenly have turned into nine years that had whipped by when she wasnt looking. She had spent those days seemingly in a stupor, often dulled by brandy, looking toward nightfall as toward a distant horizon, just waiting to go to bed and end another everlasting day; and here she was wondering where nine years had gone. Her children had grown up and become strangers. Only Bonnie stayed the same. She would be four years old forever. Scarlett shuffled her deck again. Mother, Charles, Melly, Rhett, Bonnie, Frank, Rhett, Bonnie, Rhett. Rhett. Rhett. Rhett. She caught herself up sharply. Damn, that was how shed lost nine years of her life. She looked seaward again and noticed she was no longer standing in the fog itself. She could see a little way underneath it at 33

the little shirred waves. She drew a deep breath. Soon she would have to return to the reeking cabin and see to Prissy and the last of the packing. Embarking at New Orleans, Prissy had been the strong one and Scarlett had clung to her arm as if for dear life. But Prissy had proved a rotten sailor. Theyd had to stop in Panama instead of going around Cape Horn, then theyd taken the little toylike train across the isthmus. Their travel plans all had to be changed en route, and telegrams sent on to notify the agents of their new itinerary. Then, theyd had to wait for a sailing packet with room for them. In the end, they had to share a cabin, and Prissy was completely useless on the water. But Scarlett had indeed gotten stronger. She spent most of her time on deck. For the last few days she had been mesmerized by the land gliding by. Ordinarily she cared little for scenery, but shed never seen anything as otherworldly as these round golden hills with endless beaches at their feet. She had seen many beaches before, but never hills like those. There was an odd calm residing there, a repose. She sometimes saw cattle scattered widely over the hills, sometimes sheep. She saw very few structures and no cultivated fields. San Diego was a small town and Los Angeles, too. Santa Barbara had been bustling. And now they were standing off the Golden Gate waiting for the fog to lift. Scarlett looked landward. The city on the hills was showing itself like an accomplished coquette, slowly lifting the veil of fog until it stood shining in the sun, brilliant in the light. Scarlett watched, almost holding her breath. She never forgot her first sight of San Francisco, the green hills, the blue, blue sky. Until this moment, the sea voyage for her health had been a chore. Now she began to look forward to her stay in San Francisco. She didnt know ho long it would be; perhaps six months, perhaps a year, before she would get restless or homesick. For the rest of her life it would be that vision of the city, not the usual overcast, fog, and chill, that would stay in her mind, mingled forever with the smell of the sea, 34

the mewing of gulls, the last wisps of fog disappearing. She gazed until the steward came to remind her they would be disembarking shortly. After that it was hurry, hurry, hurry, throwing last minute articles into trunks any old way, getting Prissy more or less presentable, getting herself ready to meet the city up close. John Fogarty stood on the wharf looking down at where the Sweet Mabel was docked. He couldnt see the party hed come to meet. All he saw were two women in mourning, one a recent widow. He kept looking at the telegram in his hand, then looking around, then at the boat as if waiting for someone else to get off. Scarlett looked around for someone who looked as if they might be from a bank or a lawyers office but saw no one in the brief glance at the wharf. Getting Prissy up the gangplank and onto the wharf was an adventure. At last, with the help of the steward Prissy made it to the dock, whereupon she sat herself down on a trunk and held on tightly with both hands. Oh, make it stop! Make it stop! she moaned. All the time she held on frantically, as if the trunk were bucking her. Scarlett herself felt a little woozy. She had developed remarkably good sea legs, but suddenly on land she felt as if the ground were waving gently. She was glad of an excuse to hang onto the trunk herself. Where had she felt like this before? Suddenly she remembered that old nightmare she used to have, the one where she was lost and running and searching through what seemed to be an earthquake. She hadnt had that dream since Rhett had gone, and now she wondered why. But how was she going to get Prissy up and moving? She looked around for help. There was a gentleman peering all around, as if he were either lost or looking for someone. Oh please, sir, could you help me? Ive just arrived and my maid isnt well. 35

Certainly, madam. Did you by any chance get in on the Sweet Mabel? I was supposed to meet a party off her and I cant see Why yes, I did. Who were you looking out for? A Mrs. Butler. You wouldnt happen to know her? Why, I am Mrs. Butler! The man looked thunderstruck. He looked at her, then at the telegram in his hand. Oh, Mrs. Butler, Im so sorry! The telegram said nothing about Mr. Butler having passed away. Im sure the firm will his voice died away. Scarlett had burst out laughing. Please excuse me MrMr? Fogarty, John Fogarty, he said, coldly. Poor Mr. Fogarty. You must think Im playing a trick on you. Indeed, I had forgotten how I was dressed. You see, I havent been well. Her voice lowered, confidingly. All my hair was cut off and I really didnt want to talk to people and, well, I just thought it would be easier if I just dressed as a widowmore private, you see. Im so sorry I didnt think to warn you. Quite all right, he lied. For a moment he had really thought Mr. Butler might be dead. If he were, what would happen to all the property his firm administered for him? The sudden fear and equally sudden relief had left him in a cold sweat. He turned his attention to getting this silly woman and her helpless maid into a carriage and arranging for their luggage to be sent on ahead. Our instructions are to take you to the Orchard House, Mrs. Butler. Its not too far. I was hoping to stay at the Palace, Mr. Fogarty. Scarlett was disappointed. She had read about the Palace Hotel and had pictured herself queening it there. Couldnt we go there? Certainly, Madam. Good Lord. What would the woman want next? A reservation at the Orchard House was nearly impossible to get, especially on the short notice hed gotten in a wire from Panama. 36

And hed already sent the luggage on. It was Scarlett herself who solved his dilemma. The carriage pulled into the lobby of the Palace Hotel. Scarlett had read about it and seen the engravings, but had not really pictured it to herselfthe carriage lobby of the famous fireproof Palace Hotel. She gazed upward and upward in the gorgeous lobby and suddenly became aware of her odd-looking hair under her bonnet, her deep mourning, her still uncertain health, and felt overwhelmed. Meekly she sat back in the carriage. Perhaps I might be more comfortable at the Orchard House after all, Mr. Fogarty. It was with relief that John Fogarty led her through the discreet doorway of the Orchard House hotel and into the small, plain lobby. The proprietor was waiting for her himself, one Willi Hodel, a Swiss who dreamed of the day he would return to Switzerland and open a resort hotel. In the meantime, he contented himself with the finest small hotel in San Francisco, and with squirreling away more money than anyone thought possible. Scarlett was whisked up the stairs and into a large and charming suite. It had a big bedroom, a small dressing room where Prissy would sleep, and a comfortable and prettily furnished sitting room. The bathroom was just across the hall. The dining room was on the ground floor. Breakfast would always come up on a try. What could be more convenient? Indeed, Scarlett was charmed with everything. Oh, Mr. Fogarty, Im sure Im going to love it here! I cant think why Ive never visited San Francisco before. It had never occurred to her before. It hadnt occurred to anyone until Prissy suggested it in desperation, when Scarlett had seemed almost resigned to being locked up as a lunatic. It was Prissy whod reminded her that Rhett had always thought shed like San Francisco. What hed actually said was that shed feel right at home. The Place is full of mules in horse

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harness. But Prissy couldnt possibly have heard that. Anyway, here she was and here she would stayfor a few months, anyway.

Ontario, Canada It was the season of mud. The tired old snow lay with its tops caving in and all the ice on the creeks was rotten. Winter was over but Spring had not begun and the whitey-grey sky looked bored with itself. A wagon with Archangel Hauling painted on the side lumbered steadily along the muddy ruts that were called a road. The pair pulling were neither handsome nor matched, but they were strong and well cared for and knew they were going home. The Frenchman at the reins was whistling and humming ditties to himself and the other two occupants of the wagon were silent. The woman sat up straight and seemed to be far away in thought. The very young man sitting in the middle sat up straight too, and seemed to be seriously pondering the mud endlessly approaching the wagon. He had both feet straddling his most precious possession, an ancient and battered carpetbag, one handle gone and replaced with baling wire. Inside the bag were a change of clothes, a worn and dog-eared Euclid, a battered Gibbon, a Latin grammar that he had wrestled with little success, and, miraculously, a new, albeit poorly printed, dictionary inscribed to Hamish OHara, in recognition of achievement, from his teacher, Lucinda Harris, Philadelphia, 1887. It was the same carpetbag that, when nearly new, had accompanied Charlie Hamiltons widow and baby son to Atlanta over twenty years before, and had since done yeoman service over the years when any of the family had gone avisiting. When it finally got too shabby to be presentable, of course, it was handed down for the servants use. Finally it was used as a chip basket and Dilcey had felt free to rescue it and put it to its present use.

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Her own possessions were tied in a neat bundle at her feet. She wanted Ham to have the carpetbag to reflect his full, literate, glory. But she wasnt thinking of Ham on that wagon ride. She had forgotten his very existence. She was thinking how ridiculously easy this last leg of her journey had been. It had taken a year and a half to find anybody in Philadelphia who had ever heard of Gabriel. A year and a half of scrubbing, washing, grueling hard work, harder than she had worked since the war when she and Pork and Prissy, with old Mammy, were the only folks left at Tara to do the heavy work. And the money just evaporated in the city. Everything cost cash money and there was no way to live off the land. There was no land. Then she had heard somebody say Gabriel and Sukie had gone to New York. New York was Philadelphia all over again, but she got lucky. In just two months she heard Buffalo and six months after that, she heard, almost positively, that he was just across the border in Ontario. But she heard nothing of Sukie. She spent money for the journey now. She and Ham had hitched and walked from Georgia to Pennsylvania, from Pennsylvania to New York, from New York City to Buffalo. But from Buffalo to St. Catherines, Dilcey shelled out cash. Ham was amazed but did not dare ask questions. He had asked no questions when his father died and Dilcey had merely said they were going to Philadelphia and he was going to learn to read. He had never questioned anything Dilcey said or did. To Ham, fully twenty-two years old, his mother was a force of nature. One does not question nature. In their earlier travels Dilcey had often wondered to herself how Gabriel and Sukie had made each leg. She and Ham could walk openly on the road. Had Gabriel carried Sukie through the woods? Had they been transported by good Samaritans? Had they been cold and hungry, tired and thirsty? Her mind went over every foot of the journey with them. And now, there seemed little doubt that Gabriel 39

was at the end of the wagon ride. Dilcey and Ham had stood at the depot looking around and wondering what, precisely, to do next when Louis had asked them if they needed a lift. Were looking for a man named Gabriel, Dilcey had said. This was a surprise to Ham. They were both surprised when Louis burst into a guffaw. Gabriel! You look for my Papa! Dilcey looked both startled and dismayed. The man we is looking for is colored. I heard he was here. Oui, he is here. He is my papaI marry with his middle girl. His middle girl? Dilcey gasped. Five daughters has Gabrielprettiest girls in Ontario! I marry the middle one five years and three children! He slapped his chest and grinned. You ride in his wagon! I work for him. You ride. You are guest! So they rode. Dilceys eyes were open but she was not seeing the muddy road or muddy meadows with dirty snow lying about in patches. She was in the Carolina woods, remembering. Betsy had sent her into the woods after the wild roots she made into medicines. She had been oddly vague about the roots but very specific about just where Dilcey was to look for them. And there was no hurry. Dilcey liked working for Betsy and learning from her. When she was not required in the house Dilcey could be found tending Betsys garden where she grew what medicinals and magicals she could, or in the woods where she learned about the ones that would only grow wild. She helped her with the necessary layings-out of both the white and black. And she was present at some of the ceremonies over which Betsy presided, and about which the big house knew nothing. Dilcey also had a gift she was only beginning to discover. She

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could see with her hands and think with her fingers. She was larger than her self. And that day in the woods, she made more discoveries. It was early summer and the newness had not yet worn off. Dilcey was sitting on her haunches in the shadows, lightly stroking a leaf and trying to understand it with her fingers. She stopped moving and became very still. She became aware that the voices of the woods, the insects, the birds, the rustles of snakes and squirrels, suddenly became louder and more distinct. It was as if she knew where every living thing was and all its business. And she knew why Betsy had sent her to look for roots she didnt need. She slowly stood up and turned around. She felt herself fill and grow, her spine lengthen. She took one long, deep breath and then her breathing became quick and shallow. She knew he was coming; that Betsy had sent him. The voices of the insects became very precise and she knew exactly in which direction to watch for him. She saw him while he was still thirty yards away, saw him hold aside a vine and step into a slanting shaft of light. He came along slowly, casually. She saw him stop and listen, and then she knew he was hearing and feeling what she was. He knew. He became focused and alert and she saw him casting and searching until his eyes picked her out in the soft shadows, as still as a deer. He stood still in the light and she saw him breathe deeply and begin to move directly toward her. They had known each other all their lives, played, fought, climbed trees and taunted and teased along with the other children, black and white, on the place. Dilcey had been the acknowledged leader of their little pack. Older, bigger, she was over six feet when she was fourteen. But Gabriel had caught up and they had both grown up without the other one noticing. Now she was nineteen, tall, strong, straight as a young tree, and he was her match. Each had tussled and romped in the hayloft but never with each other, and on this day they 41

looked at each other with wonder. He was moving toward her. She no longer heard the voices in the wood. She heard only the relentless drumming of her heart. Her pulse beat in her fingertips, her lips and ears, and it was only her mighty will that kept her knees from buckling. At the same time she felt as if she was floating, that he was floating toward her, moving in and out of the rays of light that dappled the summer wood. GabrielGabrielGabriel. Betsy had sent them to the corner of the woods where the old fallen leaves were the deepest, there the mosses were softest, the shadows most secret. They did not return to the house until long, long after dark. Dilcey settled herself slightly on the wagon seat and drew a deep breath, which she let out slowly. If shed wanted to stand up at that moment, she couldnt have done it. Ham glanced at her but her face revealed nothing. He could only wonder and wait for her to solve the mystery in her own time, knowing it was pointless to ask. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a thing hed never seen in his life. A tear slid from his mothers eye and, shocked to the bone, he lifted his head on its too-long neck and stared manfully straight ahead. They drew up to a large barn and smithy set close to the road, with a house and orchards set behind. The front of the house was obviously used for business, and it was there Louis directed them while he unhitched. They stepped into a small office built into the front porch. A bell over the door announced them, and Ham saw his mother tremble. There was a curtained doorway opposite and in a moment a girl stepped through. She was about fifteen and wore a green plaid dress. Her curly black hair hung down her back in two fat braids, and she was enormously pretty. Hello. Papa said to say hell be right out. She looked at Dilcey enquiringly, but Dilcey was staring at the doorway through which the girl had come. She could hear a mans chuckling voice coming closer, 42

and then a tall man with grey hair stepped through, slightly stooped toward the little girl who was standing on his shoe, clutching his pant leg like a kitten. Sukie! No, not Sukie, of course. The man started, then shooed the little girl back to the living quarters in the house. She scampered off and he turned slowly to look at Dilcey. His face slowly changed from disbelief to amazement to sorrow, while he unraveled the years in his head. Dilcey. Dilcey girl. Dilcey girl. He held out both his hands and caught hers. They sank down on the bench that stood against the wall and stared at each other in dismay, not knowing how to begin. Your baby? she asked at last, nodding toward the doorway. My grandbaby. My baby was in here a minute ago. Dilcey stared at him, hardly daring to breathe. He saw the hopeful, expectant look in her eyes and shook his head sadly. Sukies gone. Diphtheria. When she was eleven. Sukies gone. He looked at her with his eyes wide, questioning in his turn. They thought theyd gotten away. They thought theyd been discreet enough, thorough enough, fast enough. They had made good time and followed all the instructions. And now they were just waiting for night to fall, to see by the stars which way to go. Then they heard the dogs. The dogs! There was no time for good-byes, no time even for a last look at each other. They each hoisted a child and ran in different directions, according to plan. That was the last time they had seen each other. Dilcey ran, clutching four-year-old Debby to her. She tripped and sprawled, twisting in midair to not land on the child, jumped up and ran again, ignoring her twisted ankle, ran and ran until she was blown, then trotted, then jogged, until she couldnt breathe. Then she walked, gasping. She picked up a fallen branch and clambered up to a narrow cleft in a rock face. That was where the 43

dogs treed her. With the rock at her back and the club in her hand she could fend off the dogs, but only just. Hampered by the terrified Debby clutching, nearly choking her, it was all she could do to keep the dogs from closing in. They couldnt quite reach her but they kept jumping and snapping and bellowing in a terrifying din. Debby was screaming soundlessly, so scared she wet down Dilceys front. Willie Henderson rode up quite at his leisure and took his sweet time calling off the dogs. He was not pleased at finding only half his quarry. He made her walk back, limping on her twisted ankle and carrying Debby the whole way. It took a week. And then hed taken Debby from her. Dilcey forced herself to look into Gabriels eyes. Dead, too? he asked. She shook her head and tried to speak. It was to tell him this that she had come. It was to tell him this that she had left Tara before the last shovelful had fallen on Porks coffin. It was for this she had gone to Philadelphia to search for a trail nearly forty years cold, had followed the merest thread, whisper, rumor, hunch, to New York, to Buffalo, finally into Canada. And now she couldnt say it. She shrugged. The shrug told him all she had come to say. The shrug spoke the word neither of them could utter. That shrug spoke the word that would reverberate for generations to come. Sold. The tear Ham had seen on the road was an orphan. Dilceys tears, her shrieks and moans, had all been spent long before he was ever born. Gabriel, in his own fresh sorrow, his own old wounds harrowed up, comforted her while she stilled the dry sobs that shook her. She wouldnt tell him the rest. There was no need. The rest was not part of their story, only hers. Hers, and Prissys.

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Willie Henderson had not whipped her until after Debby was gone. Debby was gone, Sukie was gone, Gabriel was gone. Gasping and writhing with emptiness, she could only hope, not for death but for an end of unbearable life. Mister William had died, which had precipitated Gabriel and Dilceys flight. Young Willie Henderson was master now and his spoiled seventeen-year-old wife was mistress. Willie was feeling his oats and wanted to put her through her catechism. Do you know what you are? he asked in his nauseating Sunday-school voice. The answer, according to litany, was supposed to be ungrateful. Dilcey gambled. I am your big brothers wife. She spoke the words she knew would most incense him. He screamed in fury. Her father had been full-blooded Cherokee and she prayed for the stoicism of her Indian forbears. She would need it all. She froze her face and waited. Her lack of reaction infuriated Henderson and he lashed at her in frustrated wrath. She gambled but she lost. She survived the whipping that would have crippled many a man and killed any other woman. Her back was hideously scarred and she could never again raise her left arm above her head. Henderson, fearing he may have damaged her value, decide to sell her, bred, and knowing she would have killed him had he attempted it himself, forced on her the strongest buck he had, one Billy, a brutal man despised by all the others. John Wilkes, from Clayton County, Georgia, on a visit to old friends in Charleston, happened to visit the auction house. He needed an intelligent second woman to understudy for his aging Tilly. He examined Dilcey carefully, noticing the bonus she carried, concerned about the recent scarring. But the woman spoke intelligently, she understood midwifery and enough medicine to doctor the hands, she seemed well-behaved enough and capable of learning, and she was quite cheap. He bought her and took her home to Twelve Oaks, well 45

satisfied with his bargain. And thus was Prissy born, her mothers bane. Dilcey had never been able to bring herself to love Prissy as she loved her other children, and Prissy, as all unloved children do, felt a lack all her life. Two children were pushed into the room, obviously under instruction. They shyly approached the grieving couple on the bench. The larger boy, hating what he had to do, softly reached out his hand to touch Gabriels knee. Grand-pre. He patted him again. Grand-pre, Grand-mre wishes you to bring the Madame in. Gabriel shook the reverie from his eyes. He and Dilcey were no longer in the Carolina woods. The years settled back onto their shoulders and the two, now once more Gabriel the carter and Dilcey OHara, and no longer the young couple they had been, folded their old sorrows into their pocket-handkerchiefs. Dilcey remembered she was a stranger and in another womans house, and that this Gabriel was that womans husband. She felt suddenly awkward and looked around for Ham. Had he been behind her as she thought, they would have left then. But he was nowhere to be seen. The girl had stepped back through the house, picked up a shawl, and slipped out the kitchen door and around the house, back to the outside door of the office. She had opened the door soundlessly and caught Hams eye. He slipped away without Dilcey noticing. They stepped across the muddy yard, she knowing where the most solid places were, to the orchard fence, and stood side by side wordlessly. Reesa? She barely heard her mothers voice. It was far more important to stand beside this young man, this stranger she felt shed known all her life. She felt an odd detachment, an impersonal curiosity

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about him. She already knewhad known instantly, and now merely wondered what he was like; this young man she knew she would marry. Reesa! It was her oldest sisters voice, the one she had been accustomed to obey long before her indulgent mothers. She ignored it. Ham stood with his hands on the split rail fence. The world was certainly behaving oddly. Apart from the mystery of his mothers behavior, the ground was barely staying underfoot and the fence seemed to want to fly away if he didnt hold it down very hard. He could feel the whole side of his face tingle whenever the dimpled minx at his elbow glanced at him from under her lashes, and his heart beat in odd jerks. She was helping him stare at the dormant apple trees. If they had suddenly burst into full, fragrant bloom, he would not have been at all surprised. The kitchen was filling up with people. Mary, Gabriels missioneducated Indian wife, had greeted his sister, that I thought was dead, kindly enough, but she was busy with the dinner. From time to time she would throw a glance in the direction of the table where Dilcey sat being introduced to those of the family who were present. The daughters were indeed very pretty. The oldest one, a woman well past thirty and accustomed to command, stepped to the door and shouted Reesa! Youre needed! Her husband would be late, she knew. He ran the livery stable he owned in partnership with her father and would never leave until the last horse was comfortable, the last vehicle checked and cleaned, and repaired if necessary. Her eldest, a girl not much younger than Reesa, was already setting stacks of dishes on the table, ready to lay it. The second oldest was a widow. Her husband had died in a treefelling accident. The children that had come into the office to fetch Gabriel and Dilcey, had been hers. She was sewing and rocking with 47

her foot the cradle that held the newest baby, the first child of the fourth sister. Louis wife was plump and pregnant and irritable. He thought she was adorable when she snapped at him. The little girl who had been riding on Gabriels shoe was one of theirs. The door opened and a young Indian man walked in, greeted Mary and Gabriel, then went to the cradle and looked at his son. Wheres Alma? he asked his sister-in-law. Shes upstairs making up beds. Weve got company. Papas sister and her boy. He thought shed died years ago but she showed up this afternoon. She nodded toward Dilcey. Just then the door opened and Ham and Reesa stood in the doorway, their faces an open book. Reesa glowed and didnt try to conceal it. Ham looked stunned. Dilcey sat quietly, taking it all in, the jolly, buxom women, the various men, the children distributed on laps, in corners playing quietly, or doing chores. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Mary watching her, watched her cooking at her, and watched her wonder why Gabriel had never told her about his sister. The women wouldnt let her help. She was company. Besides, there were so many of them and they were so well rehearsed at putting on a dinner for dozens, that she would really have been in the way. Reesa tied on an apron and made herself very visible, if not actually very useful. She was conscious of every movement, knowing she was being watched intently, not only by Ham, but also by his mother. Finally, at the very last minute, the husband of the eldest came in and washed up and they could eat. Dilcey sat at the first table with the men while the women flew around waiting on them. Then she sat at the second table with the women. The men went into the office to smoke and talk. Then some of the women fed the children who hadnt already eaten while some washed dishes and others washed children. Soon, nightshirt-clad little children were being carried into the office to kiss 48

papas good-night. Older children settled to schoolbooks, and gradually, the men came back into the kitchen. A bottle was brought out and the grownups prepared to talk; the older children tried to make themselves invisible so they could listen. Are you going to play your flute, Uncle Jer? one of the older boys asked. Jerry, the young Indian, went to fetch his flute. He sat down in a corner and silence fell on the room. Slowly into the silence there came the sound of moonlight, of wind in the trees, of grasses dancing in the sun, of birds, of wolves and deer, stars shimmering, and all the life and sorrows of the woods and lakes and meadows. A deep peace filled the room. The family didnt applaud; they looked their thanks at Jerry. Then Louis started playing a lullaby on the harmonica, a guitar joined in, and one by one they started singing. Guests were an opportunity to entertain, to share music and jokes, for the children to speak their pieces, for anyone whod every watched a performer to give their imitation. They had an impromptu dance with three couples, they sang every glee they knew, until the hours were small and the bottles were empty. Dilcey lay awake that night full of what she had seen. She had never before seen a whole family of colored people, several generations, with no one sold or scattered. Tonight she had seen a white man, an Indian, and a colored man behaving like brothers because their wives were sisters. She had seen both men and women loving, scolding, feeding, bathing, holding one anothers children with humor and forbearance. Dilcey thought of the temptation to stay with these people, so contented to be who they were, so lucky to be together. She knew Ham would want to stay, no matter what she did. But if she stayed, there could be trouble. Gabriel would be cruelly torn, and she wasnt sure she could keep up the fiction of being his sister. No. She couldnt be his sister. Hed had to stay in Canada where he 49

had been free from the threat of recapture and re-enslavement. She couldnt begrudge him Maryafter all, she had married Pork. Her errand was done. Shed told him about Debby. Hed told her about Sukie. Slowly the realization of her actual situation stole over her. She was free. She was finally completely free, utterly unencumbered. It was strange to think about. It was true, nobody had actually owned her for a long time, but shed had responsibilities, obligations which now no longer existed. Shed seen a little bit of the country, but with an object in view hadnt noticed that her wanderlust had been kindled. She had seen the Atlantic Ocean. Now she wanted to see the one shed heard was way West. The Pacific Ocean. She felt a thrill when she thought the words. And all the wide, wide land between the two. All her life her movements had been constrained in some way. Now she was literally free to go wherever she might, and go she would, the very next day.

CHAPTER 2

Scarlett sat in her accustomed place in the dining room pushing her ouefs en gelee around on her plate wondering what was distracting her luncheon companion so that he was scarcely listening to a word she said. She had sat tte--tte at meals with Jackson Pettibrew for nearly two years now. She remembered how a year seemed like forever when she was a child. How odd. The more years one had endured, the quicker they sped by. What had been intended as a 50

flying visit to San Francisco as part of a sea cruise for her health had turned into an extended stay; she was as contented as she had ever been. She was only a little bored. Perhaps contentment was boredom. The times in her life that she had not been content had certainly not been boring! She decided she wanted to figure in society, to be noticed, talked about, written about in the newspapers. True, a real lady wouldnt care, in fact, should take pains to keep her name out of the newspapers but Scarlett was, in fact, only half a lady. The other half was pure Irish peasant. And the pure Irish peasant was competitive, pugnacious, and loved attention. So, with Jackson Pettibrew staring off into space, Scarlett naturally felt compelled to drag his attention back where it belonged, namely, on her. Mr. Pettibrew, I declare you make me feel invisible today. Do tell what is distracting you so. Her tone was light and playful but he turned a frowning brow on her. I do apologize my dear Mrs. Butler, but I believe I wouldnt notice if you had grown feathers, today. You seem to be in a quandary, sir. Perhaps I could help. I am indeed in a quandary Madam, but I doubt that you could help. That really was rude. Scarlett merely looked at him quizzically, thinking he should extricate himself. He realized that something more was wanting. You see, Mrs. Butler, I am supposed to meet a man on business tomorrow, and I have no place to meet him. Well, where do you ever meet gentlemen on business, Mr. Pettibrew? Wouldnt you meet at a restaurant? Or I should think a bank, or an attorneys office, wouldnt you? I know some people meet in the public sitting room or the library here. Yes, ordinarily. Or I would take them to Zos Zos? Zo who? Is that a restaurant?

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Its nothing. I was just thinking out loud. Actually, I was wondering where I could meet this man. The meeting is so verythe discussioneverything is so delicate and he is, well, he is touchy. Who is he? Hes a Mexican gentleman whose estate is a littleencumbered. He wants to meet very privately. Im afraid even the library here might be a little public for him. Why not meet him in your sitting room? Scarletts comfortable suite just one floor above had not only a bedroom and sitting room, plus a small dressing room where Prissy slept, but her rooms were spacious, prettily furnished, full of light, and directly across the hall from the mahogany and Persian tile bathroom. He shook his head. Too small. Scarlett had a sudden inspiration. Oh, Mr. Pettibrew I know just the thing! Meet him in my parlor. I could have coffee sent up and my maid could wait on you. Pettibrew was a little taken aback. I wouldnt dream of putting you out. But you know, that would be perfectas long as you stay. But if everything is as delicate as you say, wouldnt I be in the way? I could easily sit downstairs for a while, she said, without the slightest intention of actually doing so. But Pettibrew was determined to be gallant. Besides, he subscribed to the theory that women were imbeciles as far as business was concerned, and Scarlett would naturally understand nothing that was being discussed. His problem was solved. He relaxed and began enjoying his luncheon. Scarlett on the other hand, began to wonder what it was about him that made her a little uncomfortable. She couldnt decide whether it was something he had too much of, or something that he lacked, that was the problem. She looked at him appraisingly while he shoved food into his mouth. He wasnt quite a gentleman, though in San 52

Francisco that was hardly earth-shaking, and certainly no bar to a man. His table manners were correct, but one could tell he had learned them late in life. Just how she could tell she didnt bother to analyzeshe just knew it. His hands were perfectly groomed. All of him was. He was as fat and sleek as a bull walrus. A bull walrus is comical at a distance. Within range, he can disembowel an adult seal, or human, for that matter, in a matter of seconds. Scarlett always felt a little uncomfortable in his presence. She had early formed the habit of eating all her meals except breakfast at the same table against the wall opposite the door the dining room and Pettibrew had long ago taken to sitting with her. She ate breakfast in her own room. Now, getting into society. That was a real challenge. She was not acquainted with a single lady in San Francisco. Of course, one bowed to the other guests, but most of them were gentlemen and none of the residents, with the sole exception of herself, were women. That fact alone would have made her suspect, had anyone who mattered even known it. She knew how to go about it, of course. One worked for charity, organizing balls and musicales and things of that sort. But one needed to be introduced. She couldnt just waltz up to a chairwoman and announce her intention of contributing to the event she would be kindly thanked, of course, but her help would be declined, or she would end up addressing envelopes or doing some of the real organizing work instead of the socializing. She had tried making large, but not vulgar, contributions to the fashionable charities but received only letters of thanks, not invitations. Doing more would make her seem desperate and she didnt dare risk it. But what to do? Well, Mrs. Butler, let us say three oclock tomorrow afternoon? Shall we meet in the lobby or shall I just bring him upstairs? He wiped his mouth carefully with his napkin and pushed his chair away from the table.

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Just bring him upstairs, Mr. Pettibrew. I think that would attract the least attention. Oh, by the way, what is the number of your room? The hotel was so small all the residents knew exactly where every other ones room was and many of the intimate details of their lives, which was why Scarlett knew perfectly well that Pettibrew had a single bedroom with no parlor. Fourteen is the number of my sitting room, Mr. Pettibrew. Ill leave the door open so you wont have to knock. That is very good of you, mam. Until this evening at dinner, then. He bowed slightly and left. Scarlett still couldnt figure out what disturbed her about him, then shrugged, and took a last bite of her egg. There was the way he read the menu. Scarletts French was almost non-existent. She had been the despair of her mother and teachers but, for heavens sake, she could read a menu. If she said oafs in jelly it was a joke. Oh well. Reading a menu wasnt all that important. But pretending to read it when one patently couldnt was just silly. Oh well, she thought to herself. I suppose we all have out little she couldnt think of the word foibles, so just shrugged and turned her attention to entertaining tomorrow. Were going to have guests tomorrow, Prissy, she announced as Prissy was brushing her hair that night. It had grown past her shoulders now, but was so straight Prissy had to make tight anchor twists before she could pin it up and it still slipped out of the pins. Scarlett couldnt help being a little excited at the prospect of being a hostess again, no matter how small the event. Mr. Pettibrew is bringing a gentleman to call tomorrow afternoon. Well have coffee, of course. Perhaps we can ask Emil to make some of that marvelous shortbread. And brandy, yes, brandy. Suppose you get a box of cigars, you know, the ones thatthe ones we used to keep in the house.

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The next afternoon Scarlett smiled to herself as she sat daintily crocheting a completely unnecessary doily, waiting for her guests. She was even in a little glow of anticipation. Her first callers! She heard mens voices in the corridor and looked up to see Pettibrew and a very distinguished-looking grey-haired gentleman with a thin moustache and short beard, in the Mexican fashion. He was wearing an ordinary suit but Scarlett could easily picture him in a gorgeous sombrero and a short-waisted embroidered coat and pants. A true gentleman of the old world. Scarlett fluttered a little. Mr. Pettibrew, what a pleasant surprise. How nice of you to pay a call. Scarlett held out her hand. Good afternoon, Mrs. Butler. May I present Don Pedro Aguilar? Good heavens! Even Scarlett had heard of the Aguilar familythey were reputedly owned half of Santa Barbara Countyand counties in California were huge! Don Pedro, its a pleasure to meet you. Wont you sit down? I was just thinking of having some coffee. May I offer you a cup? The gentlemen sat; Don Pedro rather warily. He didnt much care for Americans, and thought the American women far too bold, absurdly independent. Technically he was an American too, but never thought of himself so. This woman was entertaining men in her suite alone. Could she possibly be respectable? She and Pettibrew entered into an animated conversation about the weather. Don Pedro watched and listened. He looked around the parlor. No trace of masculine occupancy. Madre de Dios, was this woman utterly unprotected? And what was she to Pettibrew? If she were his sister or cousin, surely he would have introduced her so. Don Pedro was not at ease. Now Scarlett had been raised by Mammy, and Mammy had known how a lady ought to behave. Scarlett was aware of her guests discomfiture and set about to remedy it. The coffee came, and she busied herself in preparing the cups to everyones liking and pressing 55

them to take shortbread. Her movements were graceful, her smile charming. If she had been younger she would have flirted outrageously with the old man, but that didnt strike her as seemly, now. This gentleman seemed to be sixty-ish; Pettibrew might be fifty. She herself was nearly forty, thought that hardly seemed possible. And here shed always thought forty was at deaths doorespecially for women. Melly had died before she was thirtyScarletts mother before she was thirty-five. She certainly didnt feel like dying. But there was nothing as silly as an old flirt. Scarletts illness had done her this service; she had a clean line of demarcation between youth and middle age. Otherwise, she might well have behaved absurdly. With coffee, Don Pedro seemed to relax a little. Pettibrew had not given a thought to the extreme conservatism of his guest beyond recognizing his desire for discretion. It hadnt occurred to him that Don Pedro might consider meeting in Scarletts parlor to be improper. But he had at least known better than to take him to Zos. Scarlett was actually paying attention to the comfort of her guest. Something about him made her refrain from putting brandy in her own coffee, thought she was generous with theirs. She offered cigars and kept their coffee cups filled, well laced, of course. They began to talk business and gradually forgot she was even there. Scarlett returned to her doily, keeping a weather eye on the cups. Pettibrew was right about one thing. She didnt understand a word about their business. The entire conversation was in Spanish. That evening at dinner Pettibrew was in a very good humor. Mrs. Butler, do let me thank you for your hospitality this afternoon. Don Pedro was charmed and our business went very well. May I take you on an outing to show my appreciationperhaps a drive to the shore? Or a picnic? I would be delighted, Mr. Pettibrew. And so it went. On those occasions when Pettibrew had particularly delicate business to 56

conduct, he would ask Scarlett to entertain. Afterwards, she and Prissy would be taken for an excursion. Hitherto, she had seen as much of San Francisco as a lady could see on foot, while shopping, and of course, accompanied by her maid. Now she got to know the city far better. One time, they even went to Chinatown, but it was too crowded and noisy and just full of Chinese who had all jabbered away in their gibberish and seemed to be yelling a lot; they seemed to stare at the three of them as if they were interlopers. Actually, they had only stared at Prissy. They were accustomed to tourists looking at them as if they were in a zoo. After a while, the gentlemen Pettibrew introduced began to drop in and pay calls on their own. She had to set aside a day for callers, and started to feel almost as if she had a social life. The gentlemen brought other gentlemen to call on the charming Mrs. Butler. They found her pleasant, the company to their liking. She allowed them to smoke and she even kept a spittoon handy on her day. They began to use her parlor as Pettibrew did, as a handy place to discuss delicate matters away from the saloons, stock exchanges, and brothels, where much of San Franciscos business was actually conducted. Gradually, it turned out Scarlett had a salon by default. Most salons came about because a group of people were interested in the arts or politics, but Scarletts was concentrated on business, with only as much politics as was unavoidable. The one thing she did not permit the men to do was swear. If she was ever going to break into society, she had to have a genteel reputation. Cigars and brandy were freedoms she could allow. But she could not afford the slightest bit of license if she was ever to be invited to their homes. The most illustrious names in San Francisco turned up in Scarletts modest little parlor. She reveled in the smoke and the smell of bay rum, soap, and well-fed men. She enjoyed the extravagant compliments, but didnt mind when they forgot to include her in their 57

discussions. It didnt occur to them that she might be interested in their conversations, or that she would know a thing about business. She wasnt about to let on that she had run her own sawmills and lumberyard and done her own bookkeeping, or that she could estimate board feet in a standing tree almost to the penny. She picked up interesting tidbits of information and thoroughly enjoyed being in the very center of the action. And the action in San Francisco in the late 1880s was considerable. It was fun to live in the newest, gayest, and richest city in the world. It was fun to pick up a newspaper and know what was really going on, in contrast to what was reported. Of course, the business section, the society section, and the advertisements were the only parts she ever read. And she only read the business section superficiallyjust to see if she could find herself between the lines. Actual news was not of the slightest interest. In the society columns she would read about the wives of the men she met in her parlor, but she never met them. The gentlemen would bow when they saw her on the street. If they were with their wives, perhaps there would be a little nod from the lady, but no introductions would be made and therefore no invitations issued. From time to time Don Pedro returned. He found Scarlett charming and enjoyed having coffee with her, even if the room was full. Perhaps he realized she was favoring no one with special attention, even though each man individually thought she was, and conceded it was possible for one woman on earth to behave herself in a room full of men. Even Herbert Vanderhaak saw fit to grace her parlor. Scarlett was dazzled the first time he turned up. Vanderhaak ran the fourth largest bank in the city and, it was said, had his fingers in every pie, every turnover, every piece of pastry in San Francisco. And his wife was the queen of the society pages. Jack Pettibrew glued himself to Vanderhaaks side and made himself obsequious. Scarlett was 58

triumphant when Vanderhaak returned, once, twice, and then became a regular attendee on Scarletts day. He could usually be seen huddled with Pettibrew near the window. Don Pedro turned up more and more often, and when he did, they huddled with him, too. Every time they met, Pettibrew looked more pleased with himself. One evening, when the three had been meeting for some months, Scarlett found an envelope on her dinner plate. It had been delivered by hand. Pettibrew was already at the table. He rose slightly while she seated herself and picked up the envelope. She felt him watching her. It looked like and invitation from the outside. She set it beside her plate and smiled at him, briefly and familiarly, while she unfolded her napkin and spread it on her lap. She was dying to rip it open and see who had sent it but she didnt want him to see how eager she was. It lay there all through dinner, dessert, and coffee. Finally she said casually, I suppose Id better see what this is. It was a little note, sweetly scented, inviting her to a small dinner party to be followed by a larger reception at the Vanderhaak home. After the first flush of delight she couldnt help wondering what it was all about. Pettibrew obviously knew. Mr. Pettibrew, you know something about this dinner, I presume? In reply, he pulled an identical envelope from his inside pocket. I certainly do, Mrs. Butler. It is in honor of the Vanderhaaks son and the Aguilars daughter getting engaged. Don Pedro wanted you to be there. I was hoping you would allow me to escort you. That would be most kind of you, Mr. Pettibrew. I shall look forward to it. She would indeed. The Vanderhaak house was legendary and she was dying to see the inside. Two weeks. It would require every minute of the whole two weeks to prepare, and she immediately began to plan what to wear on her first assault on San

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Francisco society. It was high time she came out of her imaginary mourning, anyway. Please excuse me, Mr. Pettibrew. Im a little fatigued this evening. I think Ill retire early. And Scarlett hastened upstairs to begin the all-important consultations with Prissy. The first fitting was not going well. There was no doubt about it. Scarlett would have to get a new corset before they could even proceed with fitting the lining, let alone cutting into the midnight green velvet. As it was, they were going to have to piece the lining because it had already been cut out. In her old corset, her breasts were pushed so high the skin the dcolletage would reveal went all crpey. A new corset with a lower silhouette was the only answer. She was used to herself being trussed up high; a lower bosom was so agingbut not as aging as crpey skin. Scarlett wanted to shine. She wanted to be young and attractive. She wanted to wear low-necked evening gowns and show her arms again. If she wanted to do that and not make an utter fool of herself, a different corset it must be. It was hard to accept the tell-tale skin, the little crinkles around her eyes, the deepening furrows from nostril to mouth, the streak of hair on her temple that looked as if it was going grey, the sagging breasts. Shed had such pretty breasts, too; she remembered theyd always seemed to be looking jauntily out at the world, now they seemed to gaze pensively at the floor. Scarlett put her day dress back on irritably. It would take all afternoon to find the right corset which meant they wouldnt be able to get started on the dress itself until the next day. At last the evening of the small dinner party came. Pettibrew was pacing in the lobby waiting for Scarlett, and smoking a cigar. He looked all sleek and shining, freshly shave, and with his handlebar moustache and side-whiskers elegantly curled and scented. This was to be a gala evening. He was carrying a silk top hat and wearing an 60

opera cloak, and looked comfortable and prosperous. He hoped Mrs. Butler would dress up to the occasion. She had seemed to do away almost completely with her mourning of late, thought she still wore the silly caps. He thought he heard her door open and close and glanced at the top of the stairs, just about to take a puff of his cigar. The cigar stopped inches from his open mouth. His mouth stayed open as she stood at the top of the stairs pulling on her gloves. She knew full well the effect. Prissy stood behind her holding her evening cape. She looked down at him and smiled slightly, then started slowly down the stairs. Pettibrew stared. She was wearing the most daring dress hed ever seenon a lady. The dress was an almost completely plain, deep green velvet with a deeply cut sweetheart neckline and extremely short sleeves ruched up almost to the shoulders in the very middle. It had a modestly draped bustle and only a short train, but if any woman knew how to get the full effect from a bustle and a train, it was Scarlett. She took instinctively to fashions and unselfconsciously wagged her bustle the first time she ever wore one. Other women wore them as armor, or as architecture to propel around a room in, but Scarlett seemed to know what every man in the room was thinking when she and her bustle moved through it. It was an era when thighs and buttocks were appreciated as at no other time in history, and Scarletts thighs and buttocks had recently been conditioned pushing around on the hills of San Francisco as she shopped and saw the sights. She came slowly down the stairs looking not the least theatrical, but fully aware of the impact of every movement. She looked very handsome in the simple dark green dress, but what mostly got Pettibrews attention were the queens ransom in diamonds and emeralds that sparkled round her neck, her arms, her wrists, her fingers, and in her hair. San Francisco was a town that knew its diamonds. Her hair was piled on the back of

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her head in a very high and convoluted chignon. It was a marvel of construction and only Prissy and Scarlett knew just how marvelous. Scarlett had despaired about her hair when she was first invited to the dinner, when Prissy shyly handed her a narrow box. She opened it to find an assortment of switches and rats made ofher own hair. Prissy had gloried in Scarletts hair. She had brushed that magnificent head of hair every night of her life (except when Mr. Rhett did it). When Scarlett was seated in her combing cape and nightgown at her dressing table Prissy would take the hair down and it would tumble almost to the floor. It took over an hour to get it all brushed to Scarletts satisfaction, then into the two loose braids she slept in. Prissys hands still remembered that twisted figure-eight chignon that Scarlett had worn almost every day for years. Since Suellen had hacked off Scarletts hair, Prissy had secretly and painstakingly smoothed and combed what she could, and made the hair into switches. The hair that was tangled beyond hope she made into rats, little pads of hair contained in nets crocheted of silk, or the same hair. The little pads would be pinned strategically and have hair combed over them to create the illusion of fullness. I dont know what to say, Prissy. Thank you. Scarlett sat looking at the switches, then reached out and touched them softly, and burst into tears. Do you want to try them, Miss Scarlett? Scarlett didnt answer right away. She sat crying for a moments, then sniffed, and wiped her eyes. Yes, she said, settling herself for serious business. Might as well try out what we can do with them. So tonight Prissy had put up her hair as they had practiced it first pulling up narrow sections, braiding them tightly, twisting them into tight knots, and anchoring them to Scarletts scalp with what felt like a thousand hairpins. Into the knots the anchored the switches and 62

rats, then smoothed Scarletts hair over the armature and twisted the surface into lovely curves. Last of all, she fastened in the diamond and emerald combs and the small clips and pins which were twisted in invisibly. The Hair took the longest so it was done first. Then Scarlett was bundled into her new corset, her wire bustle frame, her silk petticoat, and lastly, the dress. She stepped into her satin pumps, and then in front of the mirror to check the effect. She saw a stranger. Somehow shed imagined that getting all dressed up in an evening gown would make her look like the self she remembered, Scarlett Butler, the belle of Atlanta. The reflection in the mirror was indeed handsome, even pretty. But it was of a very welldressed, elegantmiddle-aged woman. Ah, well. There was nothing to be done but go through with it. So it was with maxed feelings of excitement and trepidation, nervousness, and pain from the thousand hairpins, that Scarlett stepped from her room and, from force of habit, paused for effect at the top of the stairs while pulling on her gloves. At the bottom, she let Pettibrew wrap her cape around her. She hung her fan from her wrist and, taking his arm, stepped out of the hotel and into the waiting cab. That dinner would be written about in the next days society pages as a glittering success, but for those who were present, it did not go well. Scarlett felt almost immediately she had been a fool to wear such a daring dress when she knew hardly anybody there, and those, men. She was dazzled and intimidated by the house. She hadnt known there was so much gilt and marble in the world as she now saw displayed in the Vanderhaak drawing room. Pettibrew, without introducing her to a soul in the room, left her alone on a settee while he went across the room and chatted with acquaintances. It was Don Pedro who, upon entering the room with his daughter, saw Scarlett 63

sitting alone and made hast to introduce her. They were followed by her three brothers and an aunt, all looking both proud and sullen. The daughter was dressed very simply in blue satin, but wore a priceless antique mantilla draped over an ornate silver comb that had belonged to her grandmother. The meal itself was gargantuan, served by battalions of footmen on a table upon which there was hardly a square inch of tablecloth to be seen, it was so bedecked with china, silver, flowers, fruit, and greenery of the fussiest description. The bride-elect, a thin, dark girl with a long face and the hint of a moustache, was seated at the hosts right hand, with her fianc next to her. Her father was seated at the right hand of the hostess, with Scarlett sitting next to him. His English was poor and her Spanish was worse, so conversation was limited. Pettibrew was seated to her right. Here she had been hoping to meet new people, to charm her dinner companions, and they were too familiar to even be interesting. She knew exactly what had been done. Her hostess had imprisoned her in an ostensibly honored position, but seated her own friends where they would be insulated. This dinner, which Scarlett had anticipated with such delight, was merely a pretentious meal. Conversation up and down the long, long table was sporadic. There was none of the comfortable murmur of people pleasantly chatting. Scarlett herself was too uncomfortable to observe most of her dinner companions. She took solace in the food and wine. She took considerable solace in them. She was doing ample justice to a marvelously convoluted dish in which, somewhere, there was a quail, when happening to look at her glass, she was astonished to see the wine rising up one side. She felt suddenly queasy. Oh, god! Had she been wolfing her food? She couldnt be sick, not here, not now. She felt herself rocking, as if she were on the deck of a ship. She clenched her teeth and took a deep breath. That was when she noticed the 64

table had gone silent. Everyone was still, and seemed to be listening, waiting for something. She noticed her hostess gazing at the chandelier. She followed her gaze and watched it swaying gently from side to side, so gently it neither tinkled nor creaked. Oh! she gasped. What is it? Don Pedro patted her hand gently. Ees nothing, Senora Bonita, ees only a small earquake. Ees almos over. An earthquake! Oh my god! Scarlett jumped up, knocking her chair over. Where shall we run? What shall we do? Sit down, for heavens sake! Pettibrew hissed at her. But it was Don Pedro who picked put her chair and helped her settle back into it. Everyone laughed a little too loudly, a little too shakily. New the men started talking about earthquakes theyd been in or heard about. Remember the one in 68? Was it 68? I thought it was earlier. It was either 68 or 69. I remember because Conversation picked up and the rest went back to their dinners, but Scarletts appetite was completely gone. The dinner ended early but there was still the reception to come. There was an uncomfortable length of time to get through before the other guests would arrive. There were the people to whom the Vanderhaaks owed significant invitations but who were not going to be invited to the wedding. Mrs. Vanderhaak led the contingent of ladies upstairs. Scarlett was still nervous and jumpy and her hostess decided to give her a little treat. Leaving all the other ladies in the capable hands of her best friend, she guided Scarlett further up the grand staircase to the ballroom. The ballroom filled the whole top floor of the house. All around it ran a wide gallery where people could sit and watch the dancers below. There had been no dancing planned for that night, so it was not lit up. Scarlett was already nervous from the pain of the hairpins, her idiotic dress, her apprehension over the evening in general, and, of course, 65

the earthquake. Shed also had lots of wine. But when they entered the huge, dark ballroom, she felt a tremor run up her spine so powerfully, she was afraid to speak lest her voice should shake. There was a dainty staircase up to the gallery and at the top there was a gaslight. There were gaslights at intervals all around the gallery. Mrs. Vanderhaak took a box of matches from a little shelf near the sconce and lit the first light. She loved doing this little presentation for guests, showing off her elegant ballroom and pretty gallery. She loved playing docent and talking about the paintings hung all round the long perimeter. The drama of lighting the lights one by one was one shed even practiced when they first moved into this mansion, halfway up Nob Hill. So she was enjoying herself as she took this troublesome guest on the tour. Scarlett wanted nothing more than to be back in her own room and to take down her hair. But she had to be a good guest and follow this pretentious woman around and listen to her babbling on about the people in the family portraits. What with the awkwardness of the evening, her own discomfort, and the fright of the earthquake, the portraits struck her as having something odd about them. Scarlett couldnt put her finger on it but there was something not quite right about all these pictures. They wandered from light to light, following what even Scarlett could tell was a set script. Meanwhile the tremors up her spine grew stronger. Scarlett was so nervous she was shivering. She knew if she tried to talk, her teeth would chatter. They had almost completed the circuit of the gallery. Mrs. Vanderhaak was ready to light the last light and Scarlett was almost ready to scream. She knew what she was going to see. The light flared up and there she wasthe snapping eyes, the hair combed flat over the ears before being pulled back into braided loops behind. The ballgown, cut low and wide, edged with dagged ruffles in the palest pink taffeta. Scarlett felt a warmth flow over her, as if she were being wrapped in a thick eiderdown. She 66

watched the portrait of her mother as a young girl seem to rise before her eyes. Her hostess, going on ahead, turned as she heard a soft thud behind her. Scarlett was lying in a heap on the floor, smiling. It was so good to be asleep. Then she felt something trickle into her ear. She shook herself awake and found she was lying on a small velvet settee and someone was awkwardly trying to make her drink something. Brandy. For heavens sake, dont pour it in my ear, she snapped, and took the glass. She was trying to remember something. She drained the glass, then held it out for more. Evelina Vanderhaak raised an eyebrow, but also raised the bottle and poured another half-glassful. The glass kept waiting. She poured it full, pursing her lips as she did so. Scarlett drained the glass again. Suddenly she remembered. She whacked the glass down on the little marble-topped table so hard Evelina winced. Scarlett stared at her hostess and her hostess stared back, quailing inside. Looking at those cold, cold eyes she knew the jig was upbut how? My dear Mrs. Vanderhaak, the voice was deceptively gentle, the eyes still cold. Tell me again about that picture, you know, the one of the girl with black hair, in the pink ball gown. Why thats my husbands great aunt, his grandfathers baby sister, the one who married Evelinas voice trailed away under Scarletts glare. The women continued to stare at one another until Evelinas eyes dropped to her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. Where did you get it? At an auction. In Boston, I think. And the rest? Different places. New York. Other places. II dont remember where all. Auctions, estate sales, different places. 67

That was what had been bothering Scarlett about the portraits. There was no family likeness to be traced from one generation to the next. The pictures were also chronologically higgledy-piggledy but she wouldnt have known that. Scarlett held Evelinas eyes again. There was a wordless exchange. At last she nodded and released her. Im very tired. I dont think I can last through a reception. Perhaps you could have Mr. Pettibrew fetched? Certainly, my dear. Two days later, Ellen Robillards portrait was delivered to Scarlett without a note. The picture was never mentioned between them again. The following day a note came inviting Scarlett to tea. More notes followed. Mrs. Vanderhaak was happy to sponsor Mrs. Butler in society. Gradually, people learned to think of Mrs. Vanderhaak and Mrs. Butler as an inevitable team. They went everywhere like Mary and her little lamb. The only question was, which one was Mary, and which, the lamb? Mrs. R. Butler was catapulted to the very pinnacle of San Francisco societyat least that society which occupies that section of the newspaper. And such was Mrs. Vanderhaaks position that no one ever questioned just who or where Mr. R. Butler might be. Scarlett was happier than she had been in a long, long time. Her gentlemen guests new frequently passed on to her invitations that she accepted willy-nilly. She, she was fashionable. Her clothes were outshone by those of the women who had theirs sent from Paris, and who often fetched them themselves. Her modest little rooms did not allow her to entertain on a more lavish scale than she had been, but she had to take a second day to accommodate her new crop of female callers. No, it was she herself who was fashionable since she had been taken up so enthusiastically by Evelina Vanderhaak. So

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Scarlett went on rounds of picnics, dinners, dances, excursions, boat rides, teas, luncheons, balls, as giddily as any debutante. Three months later the wedding guests who were coming from San Francisco stepped onto a train and rode south to Los Olivos in little more than a day. They were met by a whole train of carriages, carts for the baggage, and wagons piled high with hay and decorated with ribbons, bunting, and greenery for the rest of the journey deeper into the Santa Ynez valley and Casita Encantada, the enchanted little house; the home of the Aguilar family. Scarlett was glad of a seat in one of the foremost carriages. The hay-laden wagons would have been attractive to frolic in had she been much younger, but she was glad of the comfort and dignity of a padded seat. It was a gay-looking procession with the Aguilar sons and male cousins in their embroidered sombreros and bright sashes riding along the line on handsome, sturdy horses with silver-trimmed bridles and saddles. These were not the pampered, neurotic, dainty beasts that lived in palatial stables, (finer than most houses for people), that Scarlett had lately been introduced to. No, these were working horses, useful horses, which had been curried, combed, and braided to a fare-thee-well. As proud and handsome as their riders, these horses trotted and danced along beside the caravan. You are Senor Alonzo Aguilar, arent you? She asked the man riding beside the carriage. Im not sure I have everybody straight. Yes, madam. I am Alonzo. Enrique is my youngest brother. He is riding the black horse. Alonzo spoke English with a bare trace of accent. So the one on the grey is Armando? Yes. He is the middle brother? Yes. 69

Youre the one whos married, arent you? Yes. And you have, lets see, two, no, three daughters and one son? Yes. You will see the children tomorrow. It will be late at night, or perhaps morning, before we get to the house. He wanted to bite his tongue for speaking to this woman. He did it only in hopes of finally shutting her up. His mother had died nearly twenty years before and he suspected his father of planning to make a fool of himself over this pampered, useless gringa. I couldnt help admiring your horses. They almost make me think of riding again. You know, I cant even remember the last time I rode a horse. Scarlett was really only making conversation, but Alonzo thought she was fishing. Maybe, if you want, we could find a horse for you to ride tomorrow morning. It would have to be early, though. You know, I just might take you up on that. Would nine oclock be too late? But you would want breakfast! Ten or twelve will be plenty of time for a ride. The ceremony wont be until the evening. He cantered off, annoyed at tying himself up in the morning, which he had thought to spend with his family. Long shadows ran ahead of them and Scarlett looked over her shoulder at a pile of clouds illuminated by a brilliant pink and orange sunset. Ahead of them lay hill upon hill, and behind the hills was a pale early evening sky with stars beginning to peep out. A light, cool breeze blew and she heard doves calling one another. Chrroooo oo. She dozed. When she woke again the whole sky was ablaze with stars and the round hills all were silhouetted against them like black cardboard cutouts. She thought she saw a row of lights on the hill closest to them. She shivered a little. It would be good to get inside and into a warm bed. 70

After more than an hour, Scarlett gave up waiting for Prissy and the luggage to arrive and wrestled her clothes off herself. She crawled into bed in her chemise and was just dropping off when Prissy finally came in. Will you be needin anything, Miss Scarlett? Prissy was yawning. Mmmmmph. No. Yes. Im going riding in the morning. Ill need something to wear. Yes, mam. In a strange house where most of the people spoke a foreign language, Prissy was expected to find a riding habit. She had performed greater miracles. She stumbled out to find her own bed. The horse was a handsome golden palomino with a blonde mane and tail and sporting gorgeous silver tack. Scarlett was very taken with him. What a beautiful horse! Whats his name? He is Sancho, Senora. Sancho Panza. What a cute name! My Fathers horse is Quixote. He is a skinny grey horse with lots of character. Scarlett missed the reference completely. To be sure, she was a little distracted, gussied up in the bottom half of the brides own habit. Dolores Aguilar was slender and the placket didnt quite close so Prissy had wrapped an embroidered shawl around Scarletts mid-section. The top of the habit couldnt be worn at all, so Scarlett wore the bodice and jacket of the dress she had traveled in the day before. Well, I do look like a gypsy! I hope no one sees me dressed like this. She stepped onto the mounting block and from there into the saddle. The horse was steady as a rock under her. Ready, Senora?

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Yes, Mr. Aguilar. They rode slowly down a gradual incline away from the open-sided horse barn and toward the hills. As she rode (oh, it felt so good to ride; why on earth had it been so long?) she looked ahead and to both sides, wondering at the scrubbiness of the vegetation and when it looked like plush from a distance. They rode without speaking to the crest of the nearest hill where Alonzo turned his horse and looked out over the little valley spread below him. Scarlett did the same. She had always landscapes for granted. The mixed woods and fields and red earth of Clayton County, Georgia, were simply home and mixed with all her other memories. A tree was just a tree. Hills were just hills. Her mind was not given to any but the most sentimental and fashionable poetry. For the first time in her life she looked at a scene that smote and overawed her. It was almost unearthly; the golden, yes golden, hills that rose so gently, rounded back and back farther; the round live oaks scattered singly; the blue, blue sky with white clouds piled high; and off in the distance, snowtopped mountains. Sunshine and stillness lay over the little valley. That was it. The air was still; there were no trees whispering in a breeze. And at the heart of this blessed stillness lay the Casita Encantada. From here, Scarlett could see the original house which was now just the front of the first courtyard. The house had been added to over the generations the Aguilars had lived there until now there were three courtyards and yet another wing started. Scarlett gazed and gazed, the peace and stillness casting its spell on her. She could read the farmscape of the rancho, could see the small dairy, the chicken house, the wellhouse outside the kitchen door. The cattle widely spread out on the hillsides were almost motionless. She had a deep and comfortable understanding of the feudal nature of the place. Alonzo looked at the same scene with bitterness. He knew, even better than his father, how tenuous was the grasp the Aguilars still had on their home. He interpreted Scarletts rapt gaze in his own way. He 72

assumed she was looking proprietarily. He rode on a few yards to turn his horse and returned to look straight at her. Dios! How did one speak to such a woman? Its so beautiful she breathed. So beautiful. Yes. It is beautiful. His voice sounded almost strangled. I hope you do not change it. She turned puzzled eyes on him. I know my father is hoping to Scarlett jumped so suddenly in the saddle that the horse pranced a few steps sideways before she calmed him. Oh no! Oh no, please dont tell me he wants toto marry me? She clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her involuntary smile. She only just didnt laugh from shock. Oh dear. Oh goodness. Oh hell. That was why she had one of the family bedrooms. She looked at Alonzo and realized she had made a terrible mistake. Oh, Mr. Aguilar, please dont think Im not very, very honored Don Pedro would think of little old meIm just so surprisedit never occurred to me. It never occurred to you? You received him for months. He has spoken of you in such a way we could only think he was serious. But Mr. Aguilar, I receive many, many people. Honestly, I never thought of Don Pedro as a suitor. I always treated him exactly like everyone else. I didnt lead him on, honestly. Oh dear, oh dear. Its just impossible. Why so impossible? Was this woman slighting his family now? You are a widow, he is a widower. Why impossible? It was a direct challenge. Scarlett bit her lips. There was nothing for it. She had to tell him. Im not actually a widow. It took a moment to sink in. Oh, its all a misunderstanding. All a mistake. I should never have done it. Oh Mr. Aguilar, Im going to tell you how it happened. Its all so stupid its all my fault. You see she stopped and hung her head. You see, 73

I was veryill. And all my hair was cut off and I looked so awful and felt so awful and I just didnt want to have to talk to people and it just seemed easier if everybody thought I was a widow and theyd just leave me alone. And, of course, that was a few years ago and Ive lately left off the weeds and soyour father must have thought I was ready tooh, I didnt think at all. Im so sorry. Im so sorry. You are not a widow? No. At least, she didnt think so. You are married? Yes. Sort of. Where is your husband? Scarletts face crumpled and tears came to her eyes. She sat silent. Finally the words came very quietly. I dont know. You are in San Francisco alone. Did you run away? His voice was hard. He was of a culture that did not take kindly to women running away. No. He said nothing, just waited. No. Heheleft me. She said the words aloud, the words she hadnt let herself think. Tears rolled down her face. She didnt care what this man thought of her. He could think she had disgraced herself, he could think she was deserted for someone else. She didnt care. Having said the words out loud she could no longer deny their truth. Rhett had left her. She had no excuses. She had not actually misbehaved. He had not left her for someone else. Belle Watling didnt counthed been carrying on with her for years. Shed been no real threat. A gentleman couldnt very well marry awell, he couldnt. He had lefther. She fished in her sleeve for a handkerchief. Damn. She had to wiper her eyes on her sleeve and sniff heartily. So you see, I couldnt possibly marry your father. Mr. Aguilar, please believe me, I wouldnt have hurt your father for the world. She

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laid her hand on his forearm and spoke pleadingly. Please, would you tell him? I wouldnt want him to be embarrassed. Alonzo Aguilar had never been touched in his adult life by any woman except his sister, his wife, and his aunt, but he looked into those pleading eyes and barely felt the touch on his sleeve. Perhaps he judged his father a little less harshly. Yes Senora. I hardly know how, but I will find a way to tell him. Scarlett bowed her head humbly. Im so sorry. I never meant to cause trouble with my little idea. She sighed. Why dont we ride on? We still have a little time before siesta. They rode a small circuit; Alonzo relieved there was no time for a larger one. The rancho had been nibbled at and bitten away over the years until, to him, pathetically little was left. The Aguilar holdings had once extended to the ocean and reached almost to Santa Barbara, and now they were contracted to little more than three contiguous valleys, almost all visible from a single spot. Scarlett recovered herself enough to ask about the crops and the cattle and for a few minutes he wondered why she was asking, but decided she was only curious and not really interested. She told him a little about Tara, but she didnt really know in great detail what was being grown there now. They turned toward the rancho. Suddenly he stopped and turned toward her. Senora, I have decided to trust you. I must ask you a question. This Mr. Pettibrew...is he a man to be trusted? Is he a man of his word? The question took her by surprise. She wanted to say why, of course, and to anyone else she would have, but found after what had passed with this man, she couldnt. He should be a gentleman, especially since she spent so much time in his company, but she found she couldnt bring herself to endorse him wholeheartedly. She couldnt bring herself to say I dont really know, so she said, I have never known him to be otherwise. But it was the long pause rather than the 75

words, which stayed in his memory. Nothing more was said until they returned and she thanked him for the ride. After the unaccustomed exercise, Scarlett was quite ready for a siesta. . No one told her that, having borrowed the brides habit and the brides horse, she had usurped the brides last ride in her childhood home. Scarlett hoped nobody could hear her stomach growling. The afternoon tea of chocolate, coffee, and pastries had not been sustaining enough to last through the rather long nuptial mass. The little Santa Ynez mission church looked romantic in the dusk. There were roses massed near the altar with the Aguilar family candlesticks. The wedding was held at dusk to camouflage the dilapidation and neglect the building had suffered over the decades since the missions had been secularized. So, the guests couldnt tell (except the locals who already knew) that the roof leaked and the stations of the cross had water stains. The pits and broken tiles in the aisle were covered with the longest hall carpet from the house, and the overall effect was charmingin the dusk. It was full dark when they returned to the house, but there were paper lanterns in all the trees and sparks from a bonfire competed with the stars. Scarletts hunger grew all the greater when she smelled the barbeque. Oh the food! The mountains of beef, lamb, and pork! The vegetables braised in olive oil! The piles of tortillas, the fresh salsa in which one could taste every vegetable! The guests from San Francisco, palates jaded with French sauces and vintage wines, demolished platter after platter of the simple, hearty food and jug after jug of red rancho wine. Tables were spread everywhere in the courtyards and overflowed into the gardens and under the pepper trees, those delicately fronded, headily spicy trees. The night was cool enough that light shawls were worn, but still very comfortable. At last, one felt a celebration. Until the feast there had been a stilted air 76

caused perhaps by the wedding couples obvious coolness. Wedding festivities tend to fall flat when the bride has a face of stone, reflected in those of her brothers. But with the food, the wine, and the mariachi imported from Los Angeles, the event finally began to feel festive. Scarlett felt replete. What a wonderful barbeque! Why, it was the best barbeque shed been at sincesince She tried to remember the last barbeque shed been at and found she had to go all the way back to the Wilkes barbeque at Twelve Oaks. Goodness! Good heavens! All that time ago. Why that was the day everything changed; the day they heard the news about Ft. Sumter; the day she knew Ashley was to marry Melanie; the day she engaged herself to Charles; the day she met Rhett. She felt a little giddy and put her hands flat on the table to steady herself. Once again she had the feeling Time had just galloped by without giving her time to breathe. It was long after midnight and people had started to yawn, or at least, to sigh heavily. The mariachi had stopped playing and gone off to bed. They had another wedding tomorrow and had to be off early. People were scattered in twos and threes, still talking but not very energetically. There was the sound of guitars and soft laughter coming from the patio nearest the kitchen where the servants were still celebrating. People began drifting off to bed. Scarlett didnt want to be tired; she wanted the evening to go on forever. She was enchanted by the night, the stars, the stillness of the air, the scent of the pepper trees. The spell was broken by the sudden hysterical yipping of what sounded like a hundred coyotes but was probably no more than five or six who had found something exciting to kill and eat on a nearby hill. Either that or theyd tangled with a skunk. Scarlett sent for Prissy and went to bed. In the morning, they departed early. Somehow, the caravan on the return trip to the station at Los Olivos didnt seem as festive and on the journey back to San Francisco it pounded rain. The fog was chill 77

when they pulled into the station and everyone said farewell rather hastily in their eagerness to get to their own firesides. Scarlett rested only a few days before plunging back into the social whirl but didnt find it quite as satisfying as she had before. Once she got to know the people she had been so eager to meet, once shed heard all their stories for the third or fourth time, once shed been inside enough gilt-encrusted mansions that they all started to look the same, it all began to pall a bit. The sameness of it all became boring and her dull, comfortable little sitting room became a little refuge. She would find herself at some affair wanting nothing but to be at home, with her shoes off and her hair down. Or she would be in her own sitting room, smiling and pouring tea, just wishing everybody would go home. She still enjoyed the smoky afternoons of coffee and men. At least their conversation varied from time to time. And the spoke of things that interested her more than servants, babies, and who had said what to whom. And goodness knows one cant talk about clothes all the time. It was when she was already becoming faintly bored with the social rounds that she began to hear rumors. It was on New Years Day when the gentlemen all called around, more or less in their cups and less guarded than usual. The Orchard House was going to be put up for sale. Willi Hodel had made his pile and was going back to Switzerland to open a resort. At first, Scarlett didnt pay much attention. The talk evaporated. Then, a few months later, she started hearing it again. None of the men who so enjoyed the ease and comfort of her salon had any idea she might be able to piece information together. The undercurrents were stronger. The Orchard House probably would be sold. The news made Scarlett uncomfortable. Who would the new owners of her home be? Would it be the same comfortable place? She didnt want it to change, but businesses inevitably do when they change hands. She gnawed and 78

worried for days. The answer popped into her head one dull afternoon when she was pouring tea for a pair of the most tiresome women she knew. They had bored her nearly to tears and she was wishing theyd drink up and leave. She would buy the hotel herself! Of course! It would be no more trouble than running a large house. The Orchard House was not a large hotel, it was no Palace, no Baldwin, just twelve rooms and eight suites to let, the kitchens, the servants quarters, lobby, sitting room, office, libraryShe was aware of a silence. My dear? Oh, Im sorry. I was just miles away, wasnt I? More tea, Mrs. McCoy? Thank you, no, my dear Mrs. Butler. We really must be going now. We had a very pleasant time, thank you. It was lovely of you to call. She bowed them out as quickly as she decently could, then sat down with one foot underneath her as if she were riding the sofa sidesaddle. She was still sitting there, frowning, with her hands clasped, tapping her lip with her thumbs when Prissy came in to light the gas. Prissy took one look at Scarlett and shuddered. She knew that look. Miss Scarlett was up to something. You goin down to dinner, Miss Scarlett? You just got time to change. Scarlett looked at Prissy absently. Huh? Oh. Yes, dinner. But she didnt move right away. Prissy cocked an eyebrow at her. Not much time to change. Prissy was anxious to get away. She had plans for her evening out. Scarlett heard the message in the tone and pulled herself together. Oh, sorry, Prissy. I forgot it was your evening. Between her preoccupation and Prissys anxiety to be gone, she was ready for dinner in record time. She and Pettibrew now dined like an old married couple. They ate silently. Scarlett ate absently this evening. Then she 79

noticed Pettibrew was behaving oddly. He kept glancing at everything; the chairs, the linens, the woodwork, the carpet, as if he were valuing it. Aha! she thought. Hes interested in the hotel himself. A small, very young voice inside her said, no! He cant have it. Its mine. I want it. I want it. She kept on eating, never letting on that there was a thought in her head. It was an old skill. That night she sat up in bed, scribbling figures and scratching them out, scribbling more and scratching them out again. She stopped and gnawed her lip, then scribbled some more. Finally, she wrote a column of figures slowly, deliberately. She could add in her head like lightning but these figures she carefully added, then checked, then rechecked. Yes. It could be done. It was feasible. But to do it, she would need Rhetts cooperation. She knew he would. The thought he would. She hoped he would. He could. He might. She sat very still for a long time. He might. He mightif she asked him herself. It might involve parting with her share of Tara, the house in Atlanta which hed always said was hers, and (this was the hard part) asking for the capital whose interest made up her allowance. It would be awkward asking for that. After all, he had been most generous. He had even raised her allowance once she decided to stay in San Francisco, at least for a while. He knew it was an expensive city. It would be hard to say all that in a letter. If she could see him, she could convince him. She was sure of it. She was almost sure of it. (If Prissy had seen Scarletts face at that moment, she would have run for the hills. Miss Scarlett was really up to something.) Her mind was made up. Yes. She would see Rhett. Now all she had to do was find him.

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CHAPTER 3

John Fogarty did not think much of his clients wife, a sentiment dating from the first day her met her, when he felt hed been made a fool of. Hed been on that dock for hours waiting for the fog to lift and then, because of the trick shed played by wearing mourning, hed almost missed her. Well, at least she wasnt wearing the weeds anymore. His face was expressionless. Im sorry Mrs. Butler. We cannot divulge the whereabouts of Mr. Butler. That was perfectly true since Mssrs Harris, Harris, and

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Fitzsimmons had no idea where he might beno more than had Scarlett. They had reached an impasse. Mr. Fogarty, I cant tell you how important it is for me to see him. I have vital matters to discuss with him. I know hes not here in San Francisco and I know you conduct all his affairs here. You must get your instructions from somewhere. I doubt it is from divine inspiration. She was having trouble staying sweet and gentle, which she knew from experience was the best way to wheedle stubborn men. Pray excuse me for a moment. He stepped away from his side of the polished counter and knocked on a formidable door. Scarlett heard a muffled voice and Mr. Fogarty stepped inside the sanctum and closed the door. She could hear nothing but two quiet voices. At one point, she heard a drawer slam shut, then silence. Presently, Mr. Fogarty came out with a card in his hand. He reached for a blank card, then meticulously copied the information from one to the other. He blotted it carefully, then handed it to Scarlett. This, madam, is the address we use to send reports to Mr. Butler. Scarlett took it eagerly. She was ready for anythingChina, Timbuktu, the Sandwich Islands. It was a Wall Street address in New York. He cant live on Wall Street! He doesnt really like New York, anyway. No, madam, he doesnt live there. That is the address of Hays and Lieberman, the firm from whom we get our instructions. I have no idea where Mr. Butler lives. I suggest you write Hays and Lieberman to Inquire further. He came around to the public side and took her elbow, moving her toward the door where Prissy was sitting, waiting. Well, she said, I suppose Id best get in touch with these folks. Thank you, Mr. Fogarty. She spoke with the barest civility. Time was pressing. Just last night she watched Jack Pettibrew go through his 82

appraising behavior again. She knew he didnt think she was aware of it. She was afraid to ask Willi Hodel directly about his plans, any more than she could get away with just sounding like a curious female. She could ask him teasing question in the dining room, but she didnt want to either show her interest, or elicit responses she didnt want Pettibrew to hear. So she simply listened very carefully when the subject was even hinted at. It seemed he was determined to sell but had not arrived at a definite date. Hed built the hotel up for thirty years and probably had a hard time letting it go after all. Ill bet hed sell quick enough if he had a firm offer, she thought to her self. And she would make a firm offer, an irresistible offera cash offer. But first, she had to convince Rhett. She sat at a little writing desk in her sitting room, trying to compose a letter to Hays and Lieberman. To her dismay, she found she didnt know what to say. What if they wouldnt tell her where Rhett was? How could she put her request, to strangers, in a letter? What good would a letter be, anyway? How could she convey the urgency in writing? She couldnt. She couldnt afford to waste time writing letters. Each letter would take almost a wee, and theyd be writing back and forthno. Not a letter. Land sakes, she could get to New York just as fast as a letter people and mail went by the same trains! She sat tapping her lip and thinking. Of course. Why wait for letters to go back and forth? She would go to New York, find out where Rhett was, then go and see him. That would be the fastest way. Having made up her mind, she jumped up and called for Prissy. Were going to take a trip, Prissy, for aboutone, twotwo or threethree weeks, I think. I want to go as soon as possible so while Im getting the tickets, youll need to start packing. I dont think well leave today, but we might tomorrow so hurry! Youll have to wait a bit to get those tickets, Miss Scarlett. Mr. Jack aint in. 83

Since when do you call him Mr. Jack? she asked coldly. He asked me to. I didnt like to do it. Didnt stop you though, did it? Besides, how do you know hes not in? He says he likes to take care of you and escort you around, so he asks when youre going out, and he lets me know if hes going out and when hell be back. I think its awfully nice of him. Oh do you. It was a statement. There was something annoying about this Mr. Jack business. Scarlett felt a little uncomfortable but was in too much of a hurry to worry about it now. Well, Im not waiting for any escort. I want those tickets now! You aint goin down to the ticket office without no escort! I cant go; Ive got to pack. Prissy was appalled. Gods nightgown! Im perfectly capable of buying train tickets without having my hand held. You just get on with the packing. But what will I tell Mr. Ja-Mr. Pettibrew. What does it have to do with Mr. Pettibrew? Tell him anything you like. Where are we going? Prissy asked nonchalantly. Scarlett was finishing tucking her hair under her hat. She stopped what she was doing and looked thoughtfully at Prissy. I think it might be a good idea to visit Atlanta, dont you? We havent seen any home folks for quite a while now. So, without answering Prissys question she hoped to mislead Pettibrew. If she was going on a wild goose chase she didnt want the whole world to know. Besides, she didnt like the idea of Pettibrew hovering. Hes not here? After nearly a week of traveling, Scarlett was tired, nervous, anxious, and in no condition to employ her greatest tact.

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No, madam. Sam Lieberman was a small, mild-seeming, balding little man. Hes not here in New York. Scarlett felt she was playing checkers. It was his move. Im almost certain he is not, madam. Almost certain Mr. Lieberman? What does almost certain mean? It means, that to the best of our information, Mr. Butler is not in New York. Not in the city, or not in the state, Mr. Lieberman? Both, madam. It is my considered opinion that Mr. Butler is not in the country. Not in the country. Well, shed told herself he could be in China or Timbuktu, but she hadnt wanted to believe it. Mr. Lieberman, it is imperative that I see my husband on business that I cannot discuss with you. You must know where he is. If hes not here, you must receive your instructions from somewhere. That had worked in San Francisco. She watched as he mulled this over. Suddenly his face cleared. He had come to a decision. She threw up her head and waited, ready to make a scene if necessary. We receive our instructions from London, Mrs. Butler. There. That ought to get rid of her. London? England? Yes, madam. Oh lordy! It appears I am going to have to go to London. Mr. Lieberman, I will need some help, for I dont know my way around New York at all. Ive only been here once before and that was ages ago. Do you think someone could help me with the arrangements? Well probably have to find a hotel, too. Scarlett could turn on the charm when she had to. Charm on tap. Which is why the chief clerk at Hays and Lieberman found himself escorting Scarlett and Prissy on shopping expeditions for days, preparatory to an oceanic voyage. Scarlett didnt 85

mention that part to Prissy until they were on the dock ready to embark. Oh no, Miss Scarlett. I cant. I just cant. Prissy wailed as she saw their luggage disappear. She was shaking and holding on to the pier railing. But Scarlett was adamant. If you ever hope to see San Francisco again, you get on that boat. And dont make a scene. She grabbed Prissys elbow and she and Mr. Lieberman got her aboard between them. Mr. Lieberman was seeing them offonly in part because that what his client would have wanted. The other reason was to make sure his clients problematic wife was really gone. He waited until the ship actually pulled away from the pier before returning to the office to send a warning telegram to London. Scarlett and Prissy stood on the pier at Southampton waiting for their luggage. Well now, Prissy, youll have to admit that wasnt as bad as the trip to San Francisco. Prissy hadnt been able to eat at sea, but the steward had kept her alive with tea and toast, and Scarlett had kept her well topped off with the chartreuse liqueur Mr. Lieberman had recommended. After the first day or two, shed even managed her own basins and this time the cabin hadnt reeked to high heaven. Scarlett spent very little time in the cabin, anyway. Shed mostly paced the decks as if that would help reach their destination sooner. She had spoken to no one except Prissy and the steward and had taken her meals at the second sitting where she could usually find a place by herself. Now she heard a soft hem behind her. Mrs. Butler, I presume? She speaker was a tall, spare man with a long, thin face, no beard or moustaches, but with luxuriant sidewhiskers. I am Bruce McAllister from Dobsons. We see to your husbands interests in London. Might I be of assistance? 86

Mr. McAllister I am so glad to see you. She shook hands heartily. I have never actually been abroad before and Im not at all sure how to go about... We have taken the liberty of making arrangements for you. With your permission, I will see you settled at your hotel before we discuss business. That is very kind of you, Im sure, sir, but I would really like to get down to business as quickly as possible. Perhaps our luggage can be left here until we know exactly where well be meeting my husband. She was not going to be managed. We do not know that you will be meeting your husband, madam. Perhaps if you would divulge the nature of your business It would, of course, be about money. Estranged wives demanding to see their husbands only ever wanted to talk about money. Mr. McAllister, I have not traveled all this way to discuss the nature of my business with anyone but my husband. You would be doing us all a favor by arranging a meeting with him as quickly as possible. I will accompany you toDobsons did you say? There I will wait until you have done so. In that case, might I suggest taking your luggage? We have a train journey ahead of us if we are to go to the office to pursue this matter. Mr. McAllister bowed almost imperceptibly and offered a chilly, formal elbow. She took it, and with Prissy in tow, commandeered the stiff attorney to her errand. She hardly looked out the window of the hansom cab as they wended their way to the train station. The only impression she had of Hampshire and Sussex was that they were fairly flat and largely uninteresting. The closer the train approached London, the darker and dirtier the air became. She started looking out for a city but all she saw were houses, more houses, closer and closer together. When will we get to London? she asked. 87

Weve been in London for some few minutes. This is the city? All spread out like this? This is London, the city. The City of London is our destination. Then were there. Not yet, madam. Dobsons is in the city of London which is a separate incorporation from London, the metropolis. Americans were so ignorant. This woman didnt seem to care a whit about the distinction he was trying to explain. Finally he gave up. At last, after a hectic time with the luggage, they were all dropped at Dobsons, a warren of dingy offices in a dingy building in a dusty, and to Scarletts mind, shabby little quarter. Scarlett was dismayed at the appearance of the offices. The San Francisco offices of Harris, Harris, and Fitzsimmons, and the New York offices of Hays and Lieberman, were sharp looking concernspolished countertops, marble floors, elegant woodwork. These offices looked as if they were cobbled together out of dust, cobwebs, and reams and reams of paper. She couldnt help wondering if Rhett was really doing all that well, if this was all the representation he could afford. She had no way of knowing the Dobsons was one of the most solid, if stodgy, concerns of its kind, and that their ancient offices were in the most respected corner of one of the most respected square miles on the face of the earth. Those reams of paper were records of holdings worth an incalculable amount of money and their clients were people who could afford the best of everything. But the place was dusty and smelled of ink. Mrs. Butler, Im going to send a telegram informing Mr. Butler that you are here and wish to meet with him. It could take some time. That is quite all right, Mr. McAllister. Ill wait. If she sat in the office, they would have to act; at least thats what she thought. If she went straight to her hotel, they could fob her off indefinitely. He indicated a wooden armchair near the door, bowed slightly entered his office, and shut the door. Five minutes later she heard a bell. Five 88

minutes after that, a small page answered it. The small page went out. Half an hour later, he came back and knocked on the office door. Scarlett heard Mr. McAllister call him in. Five minutes later, the page came out again, left again. Forty minutes later he returned and repeated his performance. Scarlett sat and alternately fumed and fretted. She was tired: she was hungry. Her stomach was growling. Prissy, whose appetite had returned with a vengeance, was getting woozy with hunger. Finally, Mr. McAllister emerged from his lair. Mr. Butler has agreed to meet with you, madam. He has invited you to tea the day after tomorrow. If you will allow me, I will escort you to the hotel where we have arranged rooms and dinner. Tomorrow morning you will take the boat train to Dover. I shall make all the arrangements. With your permission I will call on you this evening to lay the plans before you. Scarletts head was swimming. She was going to see Rhett! She was actually going to see Rhett in less than two days! And tonight she was going to sleep in a bed that held still, and before that she was going to eat! And eat! And eat she did. She had a generous tray sent upstairs to Prissy while she roamed about happily in the hotels bill of fare. It was while she was attacking a plum tart drenched with cream that Mr. McAllister was shown to her table. Mr. McAllister, how nice to see you. Do have some coffee with me. Scarlett hungry and Scarlett full were two different people. Its so nice of you to arrange everything for me. Unbeknownst to her he had just spent hours making impossible reservations and wanted nothing more than to get home to his own long-delayed dinner. I dont know how nice youll think Ive been when youre getting on the train tomorrow morning. He took out his pocket watch. As a matter of fact, you will have to be on the train inten hours. Our Mr. Brooks will call for you at half past five. He will have your tickets. 89

Scarlett had just put a large forkful of tart in her mouth, so could only express her dismay by staring at him while she chewed. She had so been looking forward to a solid nights sleep. And her traveling wardrobe could use some sprucing up. Oh well, there was no help for it. She started getting a few butterflies on top of all the roast beef with trimmings, not to mention plum tart. Rhett. She was going to see Rhett, tomorrow. She put her fork down. How silly of meI havent asked where we are going. Why do we have to get on the train so early? How far away can he be? He is in Monaco, madam. You will cross to Calais, then head for Paris. From Paris you go on to Nice and from Nice, to Monaco. Monaco? Ive never heard of it. Is it in France? Technically, no. But it is very close to Nice. Perhaps you have heard of Monte Carlo? Isnt that a casino? RhettCaptain Butler cant live in a casino! Captain? Yes. Ive noticed you all call him Mr., but were used to calling him Captain. Mr. McAllister looked at her quizzically. From the War, from when he was running the blockade. He ran cotton to England. That was his business during the warhe ran cotton to England and guns to the Confederacy. That was the official story. He hadnt run guns to the Confederacyhe had run hairpins, silk thread, hoops, tea, and a lot of other high-profit items and he very rarely had to actually run the blockade. Hed usually bribed his way through, though he was an excellent pilot in the off-shore waters of the Carolinas when he had to be. Oh, I see. Mr. McAllister was well aware of the original source of Rhett Butlers wealth. But Monte Carlo isnt a casino. It is the name of the capitol city of Monaco, though the casino is very famous.

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No one actually lives in the casino. Mr. Butler lives in the city near the palace. The Palace? Is that a hotel? No madam. The princes palace. Monaco is a principality and the prince lives in the palace. Mr. McAllisters dinner seemed far off. Oh. A real royal palace? Like the one Queen Victoria lives in? No, not royal, more like an estate with a minor title. Though a Scotsman, McAllister had his share of British snobbery. Really, this woman was so ignorant he was almost surprised she knew who Queen Victoria was. There was a pause. Mr. McAllister, do forgive me but if Im going to be up at fourthirty in the morning I had better get along to bed. I wont be seeing you again so please let me express my appreciation for everything youve done for me. She held out her hand to shake his. I cant thank you enough. Its been a pleasure, madam. He said it without a trace of sarcasm, the social lie being part of his professional demeanor. He bowed her upstairs and left, eager to get home to his own warmedover dinner, but less eager to face the questioning of his wife. Exhausted as she was, Scarlett was frustrated to find she couldnt sleep. Perhaps it was the beef. Perhaps the plum tart. But mostly it was anticipation keeping her eyes from closing. Who would Rhett react to seeing her? How would she react to seeing him? She tried to picture him glad to see her, but couldnt visualize it. Would he be angry? Annoyed? Flattered? But most importantly, would he see the purchase of the Orchard House as advantageously as she did? Her head was a puzzle of memories, schemes, and wishful thinking, as she finally dozed. It seemed she had just shut her eyes when there came a knock at the door. Dobsons Mr. Brooks was waiting. In all the bustle of last-minute packing and the rush to get to the station and onto the train, Scarlett had little time to reflect on the end 91

of her journey. Prissy was dismayed to find yet another body of water to be crossed but the Cannel crossing was mercifully smooth that day. Finally, in Calais, they boarded their final train before reaching their destination. At last, Scarlett could sit back and muse on the possible outcomes of this odd journey. And yet, all the while that France was sliding by her shoulder, she couldnt arrange her thoughts in a logical sequence. They would insist on meandering off on irrelevant tangents and the harder she tried to marshal her ideas, the slipperier they became. The strain of the last fortnight coupled with weariness and uncertainty, made her increasingly irritable. At times, she would lose her train of thought and doze. Paris failed to attract her attention. She was merely annoyed at the endless fits and starts until they finally got past yet another great city in which she had no interest. She remarked the novelty of the dining car but could hardly enjoy it. She returned to her compartment to find her bed made up. She crawled into it gratefully only to find that her eyes refused to close. She was so tired she wanted to cry; her eyes felt gritty, but she tossed and turned and all but prayed for sleep. The rhythm of the clacking wheels would not synchronize with her thoughts. Instead of lulling her to sleep, the motion of the train disturbed her and she found herself tensing as the train wound its way around gentle curves. She must have dozed intermittently for morning did come sooner than she expected, but she had never fallen into a deep, restful sleep. She arose, nervous and exhausted, and had too much coffee for breakfast. By the time they arrived in Nice she had a severe case of butterflies and was downright snappish. Scarlett was in a state. Just a few miles more and they would be a stones throw from wherever Rhett was. In just a few hours she would see him. She thought she could feel her stomach shake. Before she was ready, the train glided into the Monaco train station and she had to pull herself together while Prissy got both Scarlett and her hand luggage assembled for the short 92

drive to their hotel. She had lunch sent up, but found she couldnt eat. But a glance around the suite had shown her a large bathroom, shared with the suite next door, which had a huge, gleaming tub enclosed in teak. A bath! Yes, that would calm the collywobbles. A deep, hot bath. Oooooh, Prissy! Quick, draw a bath! Then the wine-colored suit needs to be brushed. You can unpack after Ive left. The ship was bobbing and a boom swung loose and knocked against the featherbed which a cat was neatly folding. She was in the water when the boom swung and knocked again and she saw the cat open its mouth and say Hello, in there. Are you all right? She looked hard at the cat, which became very shiny and metallic looking. The cat turned itself into a faucet near where her feet were bobbing. As she stared at the faucet, the rest of the unfamiliar bathroom came into focus. Hello. Hello? The water was cold. There was a film of soap over the top. Her back hair was wet at the nape and she was all over gooseflesh. The knocking came again. Hello? Hello? Are you all right in there? Scarlett lay for a moment trying to remember where she was. Oh yes, Monaco. Having a bath in Monaco. She pulled the plug, then turned on the hot water tap. Yes. Yes, Im fine. Thank you. She shouted back. Will you be much longer? Suddenly Scarlett realized that the golden light streaming into the bathroom was the light of a very late afternoon and she hollered for Prissy. Poor Prissy had been as exhausted as her mistress and as she walked back and forth across Scarletts room finding the various things she would need to dress her, she walked past the bed once too many times. She didnt make excuses to herself, just collapsed onto the satin coverlet, lying on the

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wine-colored afternoon suit she had just brushed. She was deep in a dreamless sleep when she finally heard Scarlett yelling for her. Yes maam, she mumbled, without moving. The hollering increased a notch and Prissys eyelids twitched. She blinked and sat up. There was a damp spot where her mouth had been. Prissy, too, had to take a moment to realize where she was. She yawned and stretched, then shook herself into action. Goodness, Miss Scarlett was yelling her head off. Im coming, Im coming. Prissy stumbled into the bathroom. Land sakes! she said, as she caught sight of Scarlett, dripping wet and shivering. Prissy felt the water coming out of the tap. It wasnt very warm. It would be quicker to give a brisk toweling to warm Miss Scarlett back up. She grabbed a thick Turkish towel and began scrubbing at her, hard. Ow-w-w-w! Ow-w-w-w-w-w! Scarletts teeth were chattering. Hu-r-r-r-r-y-y-y u-u-u-u-p-p-p! You got to get warmed up and dry before you get dressed! W-e-l-l-l-l hu-u-u-u-r-r-r-y-y-y u-u-u-p-p I-I-I-Im-m-m l-l-l-a-a-ate. She was only half dry and not warm at all when Prissy started in with the powder. At least she wasnt shivering any more except on the inside. Do we have any brandy left? I dont want to send down for any. I dont think so. We got some of that green stuff you made me drink on the boat. Prissy shuddered. Well, get it. I need something. At least it will warm me up a little. Prissy poured a finger of the liqueur into the tooth glass and, before she could say anything, Scarlett downed it without even looking at it.

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Oh my land! she gasped. Water! Water! and she made a mad dash for the pitcher on the toilet table. Prissy bit her lips hard. If Scarlett were to catch her grinning there would be hell to pay. Quick! Quick! Drawers-chemise-corset-stockings. Damn! The stockings were hard to pull up over not-quite-dry legs. Carefully. Carefully. Dont want to tear them. Quick! corset cover-bustle framepetticoat-petticoat-petticoat-skirt-omygodI thought I told you to brush this suit! What in hell have you been doing? Scarlett seated herself at the dressing table and Prissy started in on her hair. No time to find the combing-cape. Ow. Ow. Ow! Ow! Ow! Dammit! If you are going to put your earbobs in while I am trying to do your hair you are going to get your hair pulled and thats a fact! Prissy yanked on the strand she was working with to make her point. Scarlett glared at her in the mirror but sat still. Hair finished-bodiceshoes-hat-gloves-handbagparasol? Scarlett glanced out the window where the sun seemed to be dropping from the sky. No parasol. Finally, she was ready. Then the hunt began for the piece of paper with address written on it. At last, Prissy thought to look in Scarletts handbag. Lo and behold, there it was! Scarlett almost ran out of the room and down the stairs. She forgot there was an elevator. Breathlessly, she approached the concierges desk and held out the paper with the address on it. Ah yes, Madame. I will fetch you a carriage. Please sit down. It will take only a moment. But Scarlett couldnt sit, even for a moment. She waited for the carriage under the awning. It was indeed only a few minutes, but she was fidgeting the whole time. She had butterflies, and at the same time her stomach felt as if it was shaking. Now that she was at last going to see Rhett, it dawned on her that she had no strategies planned, no script to follow. For the past few weeks she had been so taken up with the bullying of agents, the rushing from hotel to 95

train to hotel, the packing and running back for forgotten items, and the brooding over seeing Rhett again, that she had forgotten to think of what she would say to him. And now that the carriage was actually on its way to his address, she was having to fight down waves of panic. The carriage stopped after having gone only a few blocks. She wondered what the delay was when the coachman turned and bowed. There were there. Her hand was shaking when she paid him. There was a handsome brass plate that read Pensione San Michel embedded in the stucco of a large, pretty house. She pushed into the lobby. A genial looking man stood behind a small open window in the wall and smiled at her. H-h-hello. Im here to visit CaptMr. Butler. It took all her strength to keep her voice sounding normal. Oui, Madam, Monsieur Bootlaire ees een suite two-oh-four. Eef you will wait un moment I will show you to the lift. But when he came around the wall to show her, she had already whisked up the stairs. All the suites on the first landing had numbers beginning with one, so she rushed up the next flight only to find her heart pounding and the butterflies trying to migrate. The landing was large and comfortable and there was a settee nestled in a corner and surrounded by enormous potted palms. Scarlett sank onto it and frantically tried to calm herself and catch her breath. Suddenly the enormity of her actions struck her like a bolt. She was an idiot. What in the world was she trying to do? What had possessed her to tear halfway around the world to see a man who didnt want to see her, and try to convince him to give her an enormous amount of money? Why had she ever left San Francisco? Why, all this was impossible. Rhett didnt want to see her shed forced this meeting. Oh lord, she would just go home. That would be best. This whole enterprise was just a mistake. She stared at her shoe and decided that, after she caught her breath, she would return to her hotel and quietlygo home. 96

Bootlehr? Someone was standing quite close by. Madame Bootlehr? A middle-aged parlor maid with her hands demurely clasped was bending toward her with a questioning look. Madame Bootlehr? Oh! Yes. Yes. Dis vay, bitte. She indicated a door on the other side of the landing. Scarlett got up and followed her mechanically. It was out of her hands, now. If this whole thing were to be a disaster, she would just have to suffer through it. She was afraid to look anywhere but at the floor as the maid ushered her though the door, then stayed in the hallway and closed it. Scarlett finally looked up to see an elderly couple at their tea. They were both looking at her. Oh, Im terribly sorry to disturb you, the maid must have made a mistake, she blurted. The lady rose and came toward her, holding out her hand. My dear, Im so sorry we started without you. She spoke with a lovely English accent. Scarlett noticed there was a third cup on the table. They must have been expecting someone and were mistaking her for their guest. The gentleman stood up. He was quite tall and rather gaunt. He was clean-shaven except for a modest grey moustache and had grey hair brushed across the balding top of his head. She noticed a slight tremor in his right hand. There was a pause. Hello, Scarlett. She stared. It was Rhetts voice. He had Rhetts height. As she stared at him, she saw one eyebrow go up and the other down. It was Rhett. Scarletts knees wobbled and she felt suddenly light-headed. She grasped the back of the empty chair to steady herself. Fool that she was, shed forgotten he was almost twenty years older than she, and that she hadnt seen him in twelve years. Is something wrong? 97

No, she said hastily. How nice to see you, Rhett. Suddenly, to their consternation and her own horror, her face crumpled up and she began to cry. Scarlett, if this is one of your tricks, he began. But the lady frowned at him and shook her head. Wont you sit down, my dear? she asked, kindly. Do have a cup of tea. Im sure youll feel better in a moment. Youve had quite a journey. You must be exhausted. She busied herself with a cup, putting in plenty of sugar, and not looking at Scarlett while the latter was pulling herself together. Scarlett looked at Rhett, bewildered. Livy, may I present Mrs. Butler? Scarlett, this is Lady Olivia Beaumont. Scarlett was a little startled by the familiarity with which he addressed her, but then, she seemed to be the hostess and quite at home. She bowed formally before she remembered where she had heard the name before. Oh, yes! I remember. Your husband was Rhetts business partner during the war. Yes, I remember now. Your husbands name is Henry, am I right? Yes, Rhett used to tell me about visiting you all in London. Did she dare ask about Henry? Was he dead? Was Olivia a widow? Were she and Rhett? Scarlett had to remind herself that it wasnt her business; she was here only to ask Rhett for the money to buy the Orchard House. Yes. We used to see quite a lot of Rhett whenever he was in England. He told us a lot about you, and about the war, and how everyone was coping. Ill admit I understood very little of the politics involved. But then, neither Henry nor Rhett was particularly political. It was all business, as far as I understood it. And lots of fun, dont forget, Rhett put in. Oh, fun! Well, yes, sometimes. I seem to remember when the price of cotton went through the roof and you finally sold the

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warehouseful there was something about champagne flowing like waterwas that the fun you meant? Partly. But business is fun. Fun for men, perhaps. All was said lightly. I thought business was hard work, but it felt good to be doing it. I always felt pretty proud to be making money when I owned the sawmills and the lumberyard. Scarlett thought she could see an opening in the conversation. I think I could like doing business again. Why dont we finish our tea, and then Ill leave you two to discuss No, Livy, dont leave us. We might need a referee. Precisely what I was trying to avoid, Rhett dear. Oh please dont go. Scarlett suddenly didnt want to be left alone with Rhett. He wouldnt tease her into a quarrel if Olivia stayed. At least, she hoped not. All right, Scarlett. Whats this business you want to discuss? I want to buy the Orchard House, where I live. Damn, she hadnt meant to just bust out with it. Rhett leaned back and lifted his eyebrows. He was silent. She waited for him to say something. He didnt. You see, the owner is thinking of selling and I think if he had a firm offer, he would. I know at least one other person wants to buy it and I dont want him to know Im interested, but I think it would be a really good business for me. I like business. I think I could do well running a small hotel. She trailed off. She was babbling, she knew she was babbling. He was still silent. All I need is the money to buy it. You can have my third of Tara and the house in Atlanta and I think that might be enough and if it isnt, well, her pulse sounded in her ears. It made a rushing sound. if it isnt, I was hoping youd let me

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use the capital from my allowance. There. Shed done it. Shed shot off all her guns at once, just like a damfool. Youd sell your share of Tara? Yes. And the house in Atlanta? Yes. What about Ella? Where would she live? With you? Scarletts eyes grew large and Rhetts narrowed. She dropped her head and stared at her hands. Good God, she had forgotten Ella. Franks daughter. Her daughter. Ella had lived in that house almost all of her life. Shed been little over a year old when Scarlett married Rhett. She lived there now with Miss Jones, who had been her governess and was now a combination companion, guardian, and housekeeper. I always said a cat was a better mother than you. The words were spoken quietly but they stung. I was a good mother to Bonnie! He flinched. Oh God, what had possessed her to mention Bonnie? And Wade, no doubt. You were a good mother to Wade. Where is Wade? Do you even know? Yes I do! Hes in Boston and he works in a ban. Which bank? Which bank? She wished she could think of the name. She couldnt remember. When had she last heard from Wade? Was he still working for the bank? She thought she had his address but it was at home in San Francisco. Yes. Still looking after your children, I see. If you had paid either of them half the attention you paid Look, Rhett. I didnt come here to quarrel. Dont lets quarrel anymore. ImImI wasnt a good mother to Wade and Ella. I know it. I dont think I can make it up to them. Do you even know how old they are? I know you dont write them on their birthdays. 100

Of course I do! Scarlett frantically did some quick arithmetic in her head. Wade is twenty-six and Ella is twenty-one. And that makes Beau twenty-four. And Beau is reading English literature at Oxford University, she added triumphantly. She had no idea what it meant but remembered it from one of his letters. You seem to know more about your nephew than you do either of your own children. Why shouldnt I be fond of him? Hes Mellys only child. And Ashleys. Is that why youre so fond of him? Oh Rhett, dont lets go into all that, now. I wish Id never come here, she said miserably. Ill just leave. Id decided to leave already, before the maid brought me in here. I wish Id just gone away. She started to get up. Ill go now. Olivia was frozen in her chair, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She had been holding her breath so as not to get caught in the crossfire. Rhett glanced at her stunned face. No, Scarlett. Sit down. Sit down. I didnt mean to go into all that. Im sorry I ever brought it up. Ill start looking into the hotel business tomorrow. You mean youre going to let me have it? I mean Ill look into it. I have to be sure its a good deal or I wont do it. If its too big a risk, or I think its too expensive, well, youll have had your first trip to Europe. Thank you, Rhett. Youre very good to me. She meant it. Only, please hurry. Im so afraid to lose it. Mr. Pettibrew seem anxious to Pettibrew! Jackson Pettibrew? Why, yes. Do you know him? I thought I killed that son of a bitch! Tell me, does he have a knife scar about so long on the left side of his stomach?

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Why Rhett! How on earth should I know? She was genuinely shocked. Then the full import of the question hit her and she blushed from her roots to her toes. He saw her redden. Well, if you should ever see it, I put it there. He said, wryly. Is he the man you had that knife fight with out in California? Hes the one. Scarlett, I wouldnt have more to do with him thanhow do you know him, anyway? He lives at the Orchard House. What was the fight about? Did he try to cheat you at cards? Probably. But that wasnt what the fight was about. He glanced at Olivia. I thought hed raped a child. Both women recoiled sharply. Olivia stood up and walked around the room, breathing hard, before she sat down again. I thought she was a child. She was billed as The Infant Flower of the Gold Camps and she looked to be about six. Well, she was young enough. Her mother told Pettibrew she was eight. After the fight I talked to her and she told me she was twelve. Thats still awfully young, and he believed she was eight. Im glad I fought him and, until just now, I believed Id killed him. Goodness! Why I she was caught unawares by a gaping yawn. Oh I do beg your pardon! Why, youve been traveling for weeks and here we are keeping you from your rest! My dear, you must return to your hotel and catch up on your sleep. May I call on you tomorrow? We could have luncheon at your hotel, or a restaurant, while Rhett looks into your business venture. That sounds very nice. You know, I think Ill just go straight to bed and sleep just as hard as ever I can. We had such a miserable journey! Im so looking forward We? Whos we? Rhett frowned. Why, Prissy and me.

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Prissys here? Oh Lord, that I should live to see Prissy in France! Bring her with you tomorrow, Scarlett. Livy, youve got a treat in store. After theyd all said their adieux and the door had finally closed upon Scarlett, Olivia had the final word. My goodness! was all she said. Scarlett tried to have an early night. She had a very light and very early dinner, drank half a bottle of wine, and went to bed. The bed was soft and comfortable, the pillows deep. But she couldnt get to sleep. The tiny hopes shed tried so hard to quell had had a sudden stop put to them. There was no question that she and Rhett could ever resume their marriage. She had to accept that; but it was so hard. So very hard. She tried to tell herself shed had no real hopes, butt And just what was the living arrangement, anyway? Again she had to take herself in hand. It wasnt her business. Over and over again. She tried to recall all that had happened that day, but it all had gone so quickly it was mostly a blur. And theyd had one of their same old quarrels. No, it was impossible. All they would ever do was fight. Rhett had been right all those years ago. It was better left as it was. And on, and on, over and over. It wasnt until she started thinking about the Orchard House and planning the renovations that she finally fell asleep. Scarlett and Olivia did have luncheon together, on the terrace of Scarletts hotel. Afterwards, they strolled from the hotel to the pensione, with Prissy a discreet few paces behind. While Olivia went to take off her hat, Rhett entered the drawing room. Prissy! Youre a sight for sore eyes! Rhett was grinning and shaking Prissys hand like a pump handle.

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Oh, Mr. Rhett, its so good to see home folks. Prissy was grinning too. Mr. Rhett, you eating enough? You look mighty skinny. Youre looking handsomer than ever, Prissy. How many hearts are you breaking now? Prissys face suddenly glowed and she looked sheepishly at her shoes. Only one, Mr. Rhett, she said with quiet pride. Rhett peered into her face. Prissy, this looks serious. Yessir, it is. Who is it? Not another jockey? No sir! Is he a waiter? She shook her head. Another train porter? Nossir. Hes a doctor. A doctor! A colored doctor? Yessir. Whered you meet him? In church. Hes a trustee and a deacon. And a real good doctor. Youre really engaged then? When is the wedding going to be? It was going to be next month, but now I dont think Ill have time to Next month? Fiddlesticks! Whats all this about a wedding, Prissy? Youre not getting married! Scarlett was aghast. Yes mam I am. I am marrying Dr. Jefferson James McGee just as soon as we get home. I been telling you about the wedding the church folds are going to put on for us for about two months now. I just thought you were talking about a wedding. I didnt hear you say you were getting married. Well, Miss Scarlett, you just dont listen and thats the truth! Rhetts grin had been getting wider and finally he burst out laughing. 104

What are you laughing at? Youre no help at all! What am I going to do without Prissy? For heavens sake, hire another maid or do without, Scarlett. Why shouldnt Prissy get married? Shes certainly handsome enough. And after putting up with you, marriage should be a picnic. But Scarlett was in a pet for the rest of the day, miffed that she hadnt known, and even more so because she would have to hire a new maid, something shed never done before. Prissy had been her maid since she was sixteen and Prissy, twelve. She was used to her. She didnt want a stranger dressing and undressing her, and shed never had anyone else touch her hair. Well, except Mammy, of course, but that was different. And there was no news about the hotel. Scarlett, this could take some time. Fogarty has to look into the title and check that there are no liens on the property, as well as finding out how its doing as a going concern. Cant you just buy it and look into all those details later? You know better than that. If Im going to do this at all, Im going to do it right. It will take at least two weeks and probably longer. Two weeks? What on earth am I going to do for two weeks? Why dont you go to Paris? You couldnt see any of the city just riding around it in a train. Livy, you havent been to Paris this year, why dont you both go? Then I could get some work done. You work? What do you do? I count my money. He was teasing her. At least, he sounded like it. They did go to Paris, taking Prissy and a hired courier to escort them and fetch carriages and carry parcels. Olivia knew the city well

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and shepherded Scarlett to attractions, restaurants, and of course, shops, to both of their satisfaction. It was heavenly. Prissy enjoyed Paris, too. There was a different social climate than she had ever experienced before. She was frankly stared at, but only out of curiosity, not scorn or anger. Strangers smiled at her. Sometimes they tipped their hats and bowed. Olivia explained it was because she was unusual; the French considered her quite exotic. Wed better be getting back to Monte Carlo, Olivia. Im getting too fat here. Scarlett was rearranging the contents of the new trunk shed had to buy to hold all her Paris fal-lals. Olivia handed her a box of cigars. Here. If you hide it, Ill forget I bought it and then I wont feel so guilty. Rhett isnt supposed to smoke, so I ration them. Theres nothing really wrong with him, is there? Oh, you know what doctors are like! They have to have their little rules so they can feel important, I suppose. Olivia hadnt answered the question, but Scarlett didnt notice. She also didnt notice when Olivia had the seamstress take Prissys measurements as well as Scarletts. She was too busy looking at the model dresses and fabrics. A few days later, when they went back for more fittings, Olivia entered negotiations with the manageress all the time Scarlett was trying on her new clothes. Her business was concluded satisfactorily without Scarlett being aware that a modest trousseau had been ordered for Prissy. As for Prissy herself, she was fascinated by the large dress shops, the fitting rooms, the show rooms, the mannequins. She even peeped into one of the workrooms and looked at the roomful of women and all the arrangements of supplies and equipment. She was thoughtful for the rest of the day. At last, they returned to Monaco and Scarlett entertained Rhett with her impressions of the great city that he knew as well as Olivia did. But his chief delight was in hearing Prissys impressions. 106

There was dogs everywhere, Mr. Rhett. All kinds of dogs, little ones and big ones. And dog messeslordy, lordy, our shoes was a sight at the end of the day, never mind, well, you know. And the people talk so funny! I couldnt understand a word they said. I know they talk French in New Orleans and Ive been to New Orleans lots of times and can understand a little bit, but they dont sound like that. I cant even make some of the noises people make when they talk. And they had gentlemens conveniences right on the street! I mean to say! Rhett threw back his head and laughed as he hadnt laughed in years. Olivia smiled to see him. Prissy, youre a tonic. Your Dr. McGee is a lucky man. Thank you, Mr. Rhett. I think Im pretty lucky, too. But there was no news about the hotel. Well, there was, but it wasnt what Scarlett had been so anxious to hear. Fogarty was still looking into it. But it looked good, so far. The building was solid and in good repair. The taxes were paid up, and it looked as if the business showed a profit. Price was still being negotiated. Scarlett chafed. Olivia was running out of ideas for amusing her guest. Monaco had only one chief amusement, and Scarlett didnt like gambling. Is that why you moved here, for the casino? she asked Rhett, grumpily. You know Im not a gambler. Besides, residents are not allowed in the casinos. What do you mean, youre not a gambler? So what were you doing in California to make your stake? I was dealing cards and taking bets. I was not gambling. Theres a big difference. Gambling is for people who are trying to get something for nothing. I dont gambleI take calculated risks. And I dont play if I dont expect to win, most of the time. The same as the casino. 107

Then why Monaco? Because nearly everybody with money comes here. At least, most of the people who come here have money. The location is good, the climate is close to perfect, and I can see everybody I want to see, because they all come here eventually. I can get a lot of business done with people who come here to relax and then get bored. And as long as we have a telegraph office I can do business all over the world even in San Francisco. She had to be content with that. She and Olivia took to walking everywhere, the plaza in front of the palace, the casino gardens, the botanical gardens, walks and terraces overlooking the two little bays. All the gardens were pristine, all the walkways swept, everything as picturesque as it could be. The sky was blue, the Mediterranean was blue, the grass was green and there were flowers everywhere. It was so perfect it started to get on her nerves. The walks helped. Sometimes Prissy accompanied them, but Rhett enjoyed her company, so often she stayed and did the mending while she sat with him and amused him. It was on a day she stayed with Rhett that Scarlett and Olivia stopped to rest a bit on a bench overlooking the larger of the little bays. The day, like almost all of the days, was bright and warm, with just enough breeze for the pretty little sailboats to scoot around on. They were so perfect they looked like little toys on the water. Its so pretty here. Scarlett just said it for something to say. Olivia sighed. Yes, very pretty. Excessively pretty. Dont you like it here? Oh, yes. Yes I do. Its very comfortable. And its convenient. Convenient? For what? For visitors. People can call on me here who couldnt receive me at home. Oh. Scarlett was a little taken aback. This was the first time Olivia had referred to her irregular living situation even obliquely. 108

Scarlett, my dear, I should like to explain why I am living with your husband. You dont have to. I didnt come here to make trouble. I should like to. I think I would want to know why someone was living with my husband. Im sorry Rhett hasnt corresponded with you in so long. Im rather glad you came, dear. Ive often wished I could meet you and talk with you. We may never have the opportunity again. Ive never told anyone my history. A few people know parts of it. Rhett knows more than anyone, but even he doesnt know all of it. Scarlett looked at her and waited. She seemed to have difficulty talking about herself. You see, I didnt think it was fair of me to have heard so much about you not tell you about myself. Or rather, usHenry and me, I mean. I wanted to explain why Im living with your husband, and not my own. She looked off to the horizon for a few moments before she began again. He was so beautiful, Henry was. Wed known each other since we were children. Our families lived near each other in the country. I was a plain child but we loved each other as children do. When we grew up I was still plain. And he still loved me. She spoke with a sad triumph. As she listened Scarlett pictured, not the English countryside with which she was not familiar, but Clayton County, Georgia, and the plantations scattered across it, and the county families who all knew each other. Neither of us ever imagined marrying anyone else. We knew each other well, I thought. As well as one can when there is plenty of money and nothing to fear. On really cant tell about a person can one, unless one can see them in adversity? I dont believe either of us knew there was any such thing. We were so happy. So happy. There was a pause before she began again. As she went on, describing Henry in his youth, Scarlett could think of nothing but Ashley. How handsome he 109

had been! If shed know Greek mythology she would have compared him favorably with Apollo. Yes, she hadnt really known Ashley until there was enough adversity for everyone to have had second helpings, and even thirds. Hadnt really known him until Melly died and he was helpless. It had been Rhett whod seen that Beau went to the schools Melanie would have wanted, and Beau was only his nephew if you were to stretch a point. Beau, to Rhett, was really only his wifes sons cousin. But to a southerner, that was kin, blood relation or no. Scarlett let her mind wander as Olivias voice went on, telling her own story but often evoking Scarletts own memories. Olivia and Henry had had a good life full of friends, good cheer, and moneythe amount of money always considered wealth by those who didnt have it and just comfortable by those who did. Life was jolly. The war in the States couldnt be helped. Someone was bound to make a fortune at itwhy not the popular and charming Beaumonts, and the equally popular and charming Rhett. Their partnership proved hugely profitable. So profitable, that it went to Henrys head. He rather lost his head and imagined that opportunities were his to pick and choose. He imagined himself a financial wizard rather than a man whod made a lucky guess and, for a while, things went along fairly well. Rhett was back in the States now, and Henry and Olivia heard from him only rarely. Henry started speculating, as well as spending lavishly. He spread himself too thin. And, he was drinking and gambling more than was absolutely necessary. Why is it that we can never see disaster until its too late to remedy? Maybe because our faces are turned toward pleasant things and danger creeps up behind? Why is it such a smash? I should thin there would be a gradual decline; perhaps one could notice a change of landscape and pull up. But its a cliff edge and ones back is towards it and we cant see it until were already plunging down. And 110

at the bottomand there are always people who ask why you didnt do thus and so to prevent it. What if one has never heard of thus and so? She sighed, remembering. Scarlett hadnt been listening. She produced that most useful of monosyllables. Mmmmmmmmmm, uttered in a tone of deep interest can indicate rapt attention. It isnt as though girls were taught anything about money. Did you learn anything useful about money when you were a child? Goodness, no! Only that we werent to talk about it, or let on we cared. Exactly. And yet, we were raised in a way that required quite a bit of it. And we didnt know it. And Olivia resumed the tale of the Beaumonts. She spoke as if she had given these matters much thought, and hadnt been able to express them to anyone before. Scarlett was intrigued by the question of money. No, she hadnt paid much attention until there wasnt any at all. Then, of course, shed remembered all the money wasted on frippery before the war and resented every penny that hadnt been saved against a rainy day. Of course, it was hindsight that taught her about money. By the time shed acquired the sawmills and lumberyard, every penny became her bosom friend and she hated to part with any money shed earned herself. actually hungry. Id never really been hungry before. When there is plenty to eat, we come in from a days hunting and say were famished. But so few people know what that really means. And I didnt know how to be poor. I knew nothing about how poor people cope, where to shop, how to say clean. I knew all about ordering a ton of coal but not where to buy a bucketful, and what it ought to cost. And Henry didnt cope at all well. Thats when I started worrying if the strain mightnt be too much for his mind Scarletts own mind was wandering. Poor? God, yes, shed been poor. Thirteen mouths to 111

feed, the planting to plan, cotton to pick, Lord, yes. And all by a green girl whod never done a lick of work in her life. But then, theyd had Tara. They could grow food. But food took a year to grow and that first year was the worst. A couple of years later their clothes were worn to rags, but at least they could eat. and then he died. Olivia sat gazing out at the sea, but without seeing it. Scarlett merely looked at her blankly, wondering who died? Henry? But she said nothing. Yes, our son died. He was eleven. He died because we couldnt afford a doctor, and we hadnt been able to feed him properly, even when we ate almost nothing ourselves. Again, she was speaking almost to herself. After a pause she said. How does one cope? There is always the problem of trying to get through to the end of a day without screaming. You know, I still sometimes forget hes dead. Then I have to remember all over again. Yes, Scarlett did know. It was a few months after that Rhett found us. It was quite a bit after he left Atlanta. Forgive my mentioning it, dear, but there is little point in our having secrets from one another. Hed gone to South America and Japan and parts of Africa before he decided to visit us, but we, of course, werent where he expected to find us. He said it took him many weeks. He rescued us. Henrys mind and health were impaired. At first, I thought I could take care of him, but it was too difficult. Its almost as if the worry being lifted actually made him worse. Hes in a sanitarium in Switzerland and has been there for eight years. He is very well looked after. I go and see him several times a year. Hes quite content. He works a little in the garden, and hes writing his memoirs. Sometimes he writes quite a nice line or two, but then the thoughts get a little garbled. She paused again. Only her pauses indicated any emotion. So you see, dear, it appears we have the same problem. It seems we both love our own husbands.

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Scarlett was caught off guard. How did you know? she gasped. But Olivia only patted her hand. Olivia went on. There is nothing actually improper about our sharing a home. We live together because we get along well, and because we each have no other home to go to. I like to think I make life more comfortable and pleasant for Rhett. He certainly makes it comfortable for me. But we dont share a bed. I thought you might want to know that. Thank you. She meant it. Isnt it odd? People do just what they please, and as long as no one knows, or as long as appearances can be kept up, ones reputation is intact. But if one deviates from the expected behavior, no matter how rational the act, one is condemnedmost often by those who did nothing to help avoid The reality of ones life, the truth of it, isnt considered at allmerely the appearance of virtue. Oh, listen to me. Ill be giving sermons in Hyde Park next! She spoke lightly, perhaps to relieve the weight of memory. Neither of them had anything more to say. They sat on the pretty bench in the pretty park overlooking the pretty bay and looked for all the world like two wealthy matrons enjoying the view from under their parasols. The deal was struck and at last, Scarlett could go home. There was no rushing now. There was no need for hurry. Rhett hadnt wanted any part of Tara but had accepted her half of their house in Atlanta. The Orchard House was hers, or would be as soon as she could get to John Fogartys office to sign the papers. Reservations were made on the next ship leaving Marseilles and all tickets were soon in hand, thanks to Rhetts very efficient secretary, a young German who liked performing miracles. At last the day came to leave. Prissy and the trunks had already gone to the train station with Rhetts 113

valet. Scarlett carried her reticule, a small satchel, and a hatbox that had almost been left behind. Rhett, his secretary, Olivia, and Scarlett all rode to the station in the carriage. Olivia would wait while Rhett escorted Scarlett to her compartment. The women embraced with real feeling. Im glad he has you, Scarlett whispered as she kissed Olivias cheek. Best of luck, dear. God bless. For the last time, Scarlett took Rhetts arm and they made a stately progression through the depot. The secretary took Rhetts other arm and they were soon joined by Prissy and the valet, bringing up the rear. At last, they came to the train and neither of them knew what to say. So, youre going? It was an idiotic thing to say. Yes. Well, here we are. It was equally idiotic. Suddenly, Scarlett didnt want to leave him. Good-bye, then, he said, and he carefully lifted her little spotted veil and deliberately, and the face of God, Prissy, and the assorted souls in the depot, kissed her full on the mouth. He let the veil down again, tipped his hat, and turned around. Good-bye. No. No, she wouldnt cry. She took a deep breath, then stepped onto the train without looking back. So she didnt see the procession going back, with the secretary on one side and the valet on the other, slowly making their way to the waiting carriage. Rhett stumbled slightly on the carriage step and three pairs of hands reached out to steady him. Then minutes later, the train got underway. The steam whistle shrieked, the train shuddered into motion, and Scarlett sat back in her seat. Well, Prissy, were finally going home.

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CHAPTER 4

They had sailed to Boston from Marseilles, and then taken the train overland back to San Francisco. They had not gone to Atlanta. Altogether they had been gone for only four months, a very quick journey by antebellum standards, an ordinary one in 1888. Scarlett was eager to be home and scanned the depot as they pulled in. Oh, look! Theres Mr. Fogarty. Whos that beside him Prissy? Do you know? Land sakes, he looks as if he thought he was somebody, doesnt he? Prissy didnt answer. Do you know him? Yes mam I do. Well, who is he? That gentleman is Dr. Jefferson James McGee. Prissy had drawn herself up tall and her chin was sticking straight out. It was her tone rather than the name (which shed forgotten) that reminded Scarlett that Prissy was engaged. Oh, was all she said. Neither of them spoke again until they were on the platform and Scarlett greeted Fogarty with less enthusiasm than she had felt just a few minutes before. Mr. Fogarty, how kind of you to meet us. Scarlett suspected he was compensated for his kindness, but it didnt matter. At any rate, he wasnt her employee so she treated him as a business associate. As such, their relative social standing was irrelevant. Mrs. Butler, welcome home. I trust you had a safe journey. May I hope it was also a pleasant one? He did not utter the fiction that it was good to see her, or even that she was looking wonderful. She was, 115

in fact, looking as if she had just traveled thousands of miles on a train, a little raddled and a bit crumpled. And tired and snappish. He stretched out his hand and she put her baggage claims in it. He gestured toward Dr. McGee. Allow me to introduce my friend, Dr. Jefferson McGee. Jeff, this is Mrs. Butler. Scarlett gave him a cool little nod and found her hands busy with the clasp of the small bag she carried. Youre probably anxious to get home. I asked Willi Hodel to have tea ready for us. It shouldnt take long to arrange the luggage. Mr. Fogarty, why dont we step aside and allow Prissy andDr. McGee a little privacy. She moved off to be out of earshot of the other two. Fogarty had no choice but to follow. Tea for us, Mr. Fogarty? You and me? She spoke quietly so as not to be overheard, but with barely concealed rage. All four of us, Mrs. Butler. What sort of game are you playing, Mr. Fogarty? This is no game, madam. Jeff McGee is a friend of mine; our churches do a lot of work together. He knew that his fiance was traveling with the wife of one of my clients and wanted to see her as soon as possible. I told him when your train was expected and we met here. Part of my work with my church is to foster better relations between the races. What church is that? The Friends. Some people call us Quakers. Scarlett rolled her eyes. God help us. Amen. Youve been planning this, havent you? Mrs. Fogarty and I thought it might be a good idea. Does Mrs. Fogarty drink tea with her maid? She watched her question sink in. His eyes dropped and he flushed. His philanthropic zeal had blinded him to other realities, other relationships than racial. 116

The Friends believed in treating all people humanelyeven the household help. But no, Mrs. Fogarty did not drink tea with her maid. He began to think he might have made a blunder. Mr. Fogarty, I have lived surrounded by colored people all my life. Do you suppose I need you to teach me about the race? And now you have committed me to something I cant get out of without being rude. Well, thank goodness it will only be this once, and there isnt anyone else to tell tales. It would have been easy to plead a headache, but she realized that Fogarty would be off the hook if she did, so she determined to see it through and make him squirm. It was an uncomfortable homecoming. Ever since she left France, shed been looking forward to coming back to San Francisco, looking forward to a relaxing few days before she rolled up her sleeves and took the hotel in hand. New, exhausted as she was, she would have to postpone the relaxation and spend the next couple of hours exerting herself with hospitalityfor her maid! The few minutes of the ride to the Orchard House were among the most awkward Scarlett had ever spent. Fogarty was very little help. She had to make most of the very small talk, only occasionally addressing a remark to Dr. McGee, and never speaking to Prissy, who sat stiffly, with her eyes lowered. Prissy knew who would pay for this. At last, they drew up to the entrance, only to find Willi Hodel, with a huge bunch of flowers, waiting for them in the lobby, and beside him, Jack Pettibrew with a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm and another in ice, beside three glasses on a tray. Velcome home, Mrs. Bootlehr! The dapper little Swiss was demonstrative, but seemed genuine. Mrs. Butler, youre a sight for sore eyes. Pettibrews enthusiasm seemed a little forced. He didnt appear too happy about being anticipated by John Fogarty. Besides, Scarlett knew she had dark

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circles around her eyes, she felt a mess, and she was liable to pop at the slightest provocation. The flowers are lovely, Mr. Hodel. Mr. Pettibrew, I think tea is what were looking forward to. Thank you for the thought, but Im really not in the mod for champagne right now. Fine. Fine. Well have tea, then. Willi, old friend, tea in the dining room. Scarlett was taken aback at Pettibrews appropriation of authority, let alone his assumption that he was of the party. On the contrary. Mr. Hodel, will you join us all for tea in my parlor? Well be six all together, I think. And Scarlett stepped into the dining room to order the changes before she even took off her gloves. It was her first act as proprietor. She bowed to Willi Hodel and took the little mans arm to go up the stairs. He was the only bright spot of the day, so far. Dr. McGee followed with Prissy on his arm, and Jack Pettibrew and John Fogarty merely nodded to one another and followed them. They knew just enough about each other, and had heard just enough more, to each be wary of the other. If the drive from the depot was awkward, the tea was an embarrassment. Scarlett longed to take of her shoes and unlace her stays, but all she could do was take off her hat and jacket and throw them on the bed. Ordinarily, Prissy would help her, but thanks to that busybody Fogarty, Prissy was a guest! No one except Willi Hodel was behaving at all well. He was exuding bonhomie from every pore. Scarlett had often wondered about him; how he could be so charming every day. She wondered if maybe he was too stupid to recognize a disaster when he was in the midst of it. She never could tell. But then, how could he be stupid and have made such a splendid success of the Orchard House? Prissy sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa beside her intended. Dr. McGee was sitting stiffly beside her with his hat on his knee, wondering how on earth hed been roped into this. Fogarty and Willi 118

Hodel were going at the weather hammer and tongs, occasionally tossing a conversational scrap to Pettibrew, who appeared to be sulking. It was Scarlett who engaged the good doctor in a conversation about his church. It seemed an age before the tea appeared. It had really been only ten minutes or so. Vell, vell, vot haf ve here? Ah, dis must be da tea? Willi Hodel feigned astonishment and delight. Completely forgetting he was a guest, he bustled about seating everyone at Scarletts round table, barely big enough for all of them. Scarlett found herself between him and Fogarty and directly across from Pettibrew, who was sitting between Dr. McGee and Prissy. They all pretended to be vastly interested in the tea. They exclaimed over the sandwiches and cake as if they had never seen a tea table before. Herr Hodel, Im going to have my work cut out for me if Im going to keep up the standards of the Orchard House! This is really lovely! Dont vorry Mrs. Boolehr. Ven Im dont vit you, you vill be perfect! Pettibrew looked up with a question on his face. Mr. Hodel is going to take me under his wing for six months to teach me everything I need to know about running this hotel. Villi, Villi, please, my dear Mrs. Bootlehr. Oh, Mr. Hodel, I really couldnt. This cake is just scrumptious. I did miss the food here, well, except when we were in France. But I just cant get enough of this cake. You mustnt take your receipts when you go. I dont have any for cake as good as this. Scarlett noticed Pettibrew beginning to glower. He had not exchanged a syllable with anyone. He had been planning quite a different homecoming. Scarletts departure had caught him by surprise, but he thought little of it until Hodel, bursting with his secret, told him a purchaser had been found for the hotel. Pettibrew, who had been trying to scare up financing to buy to himself, was disappointed. 119

But when Hodel confided who had bought it, he was furious. He felt hed been duped and wanted to get even. He hadnt planned his revenge yet, but had decided to stay very close to Scarlett. He would find her weak spots. But at the moment, he was seated too far away for the intimate conversation he had been planningand between two niggers, to boot! Scarlett would pay for this. Hed been tricked, and now she was humiliating him. She would pay. He glowered at his plate and then indulged himself by letting his fork surreptitiously wipe a bit of whipped cream onto Dr. McGees sleeve. Prissy was miserable. She wanted to be alone with Jefferson and catch up on the four months they had been apart, and here they were with Mr. Pettibrew stuck between them. She was hungry but didnt want to eat with any of these people except Jefferson. What had Mr. Fogarty been thinking? She concentrated almost all her attention on her plate, only looking up to catch Dr. McGees eye from time to time. She was conscious of his awareness of her and knew he wanted to be alone with her. She sighed. Not today, obviously. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Pettibrew smearing whipped cream on Jeffersons coat sleeve. Suddenly she hated him. She remembered how ingratiating he had been before they had left. And now he had not a word for her. Well, he must have wanted something. At last, tea was over and the charade could end. Mr. Hodel, that was a lovely tea, thank you! Scarlett seemed to have forgotten that, not only was she the hostess, she also owned the hotel kitchen. The thank yous were echoed around the table. Everyone seemed in a hurry to go. Dr. McGee and Prissy were standing in a corner whispering earnestly, then he touched her hand in farewell. He walked over to where Scarlett was bidding good afternoon to Fogarty. He waited until Fogarty stepped aside, then bowed slightly and thanked her for a pleasant time. The two men went out together. Willi Hodel stayed just long enough to agree to start working with Scarlett in two days time. 120

Scarlett closed the door on him and turned around and nearly jumped. Pettibrew hadnt left. Goodness, Mr. Pettibrew! We mustnt keep you. She opened the door again but he didnt seem to take the hint. My dear Mrs. Butler, at last we have a chance for some quiet conversation. He spoke in a low, insinuating voice. Im so sorry Mr. Pettibrew, but I really am too tired. Perhaps some other time. Any time, madam. I wanted to express what great pleasure it gave me to welcome you home again. Please allow me to Mr. Pettibrew, I am through entertaining for the day. Will I see you tomorrow? I will be resting tomorrow. When, then? Tomorrow evening, at dinner. Good afternoon, Mr. Pettibrew. At last he left, bowing himself out just before the door closed firmly. Oh, Lord! At last thats over. Prissy, come help me get my shoes off. And Prissy Yes, mam? That will never happen again. No mam! I think Ill take a bath and go to bed. You can finish unpacking in the morning. Yes mam. A few days later Dr. Jefferson James McGee sat in his cozy parlor in his favorite chair with his after-dinner coffee beside him and his newspaper open before him. Also seated in the small, comfortable room were two elegant ladies, one of whom was knitting lace; the other was embroidering a collar. Papa, said one of the ladies, has Miss OHara arrived home? 121

Yes, she has, came from behind the newspaper. So you are going to go ahead with your plan, Papa? This was the other lady. Yes, Im going to go ahead with my plan. Dr. McGee had started making his plans more than a year ago, when he first heard the new contralto in the choir. The voice had moved him but from where he sat he couldnt turn around to look at the singer. After church he asked who the new voice was and when told it was a Miss OHara he asked to be introduced. And when he first saw Prissy, tall, buxom, and handsome, he was moved again, somewhat differently. That was when he started making the plans that were destined to destroy the hopes of every widow and spinster in the congregation, and arouse the chagrin of the Misses Ophelia and Cordelia McGeehis daughters. The Misses McGee had been brought up by their mother to think well of themselves. But this good lady had died many years ago before she could temper their good self-opinions with the modesty of thought that allowed good opinions of others to co-exist. Their father was not a very wealthy man; there were much wealthier negro men in San Francisco at the time. But he was educated, cultured, and a pillar of their church. They had a right to hold their heads up. In fact, they held them so high, they looked down their noses at such an angle as put them in danger of tipping over backwards at most of the eligible men they knew. As a consequence, the men looked elsewhere for wives, and the Misses McGee, well into their thirties, were unmarried still. Papa, is there nothing we can do to change your mind? She is sounsuitable! Miss Ophelia had been keeping house for her father since she was in her early teens when her mother died, and so, of course, thought herself a proper mentor for him. Unsuitable? How, pray? 122

Oh, Father, how can you pretend not to know? My goodness, Mother was well-educated and properly brought up. How can you replace her with aaa domestic? And Papa, shes illiterate. Her grammar is dreadful! And shes so very Very what? The ladies had warmed to their subject and didnt notice they were being led farther than theyd intended. Well, she is rather. Rather..? Oh, all right. Shes dark. She is indeed, he agreed. And, Papa, its not as if you had to get married. Is it? Miss Ophelia had gone too far and now Miss Cordelia realized that far too much had already been said. Well ladies, is there anything more you want to say? Just this, Papa. I will not live under the same roof as Miss OHara. In the first place, she isnt going to be Miss OHara. Shes going to be Mrs. McGee. And in the second place, I never intended you to. As it happens, the Houlihans are moving to Los Angeles next month and you two ladies will spare me the necessity of finding new managers for the boardinghouse. Oh, Papa, no! Not the boardinghouse. A workingmens boardinghouse! You cant expect us to live with a lot of men! Its not proper! They wailed and lamented but he was unmoved. You two have managed to keep your unassailable virtue intact for so long, Im sure your reputations will protect you from tired men who just want you to provide them with hot meals and clean laundry. Besides, you will be on the spot to safeguard your inheritance as well as your income. Im going to marry Priscilla (as he had dubbed her) OHara next month and before that you two will be practicing your airs 123

and graces at the boardinghouse. And furthermore, you will treat the new Mrs. McGee with the courtesy that is due her, and not one iota less! The month before Prissys wedding was Scarletts first month learning to run the hotel. It was exactly like running a big house, with one minor differenceshe was supposed to make a profit. Scarlett had to get over the hurdle of charging for hospitality, and not giving anything away that had cost hard cash. She had never had difficulty charging for lumber, or with the idea of dunning people (she had made Frank do the actual dunning) for purchases at the store, but charging for hospitality went a little against the grain, even though buying the hotel had been her idea. Somehow, she had forgotten that aspect of it. And she had to make sure she got her money before her guests left. She had to get acquainted with her kitchen staff and there she was handicapped by multiple language difficulties. There were South Americans, Europeans, Chinese, Sandwich Islanders, and who knows what all in her kitchen, all jabbering away in various languages as well as sailors pidgin. She could never hope to understand them all. The waiters were all negroes and she got along famously with them. The headwaiter could communicate with the kitchen, which was a great relief to her. Willi Hodel somehow managed to get his views across to the various cooks, and she watched and learned. She managed well with the Mexican chambermaids, too, even though almost the only Spanish word she knew was pronto. So the hectic weeks flew by. One afternoon, a few days before Prissys wedding, John Fogarty arrived and had the hall porters carry up three crates to Scarletts suite. The smallest one was addressed to Scarlett, and one a little larger was addressed to Prissy. The third one was enormous and it was addressed to Prissy, too. All three had been shipped from Paris. 124

Ooooh, goodie! Those must be my lovely Paris frocks! But whats in these other crates? Prissy looked bewildered. The crates were pried open. Scarletts indeed held the dresses shed ordered in Paris. But Prissy hadnt ordered anything. Shed been measured for a dress just for a lark, and that had been delivered before they left Monaco. But what was this? A modest trousseau came out of the box piece by piece. Everything was simple, but handsome and well made. Prissy recognized the excellent quality and was overwhelmed. At the bottom of the crate were one large box and some more, smaller ones. The largest box held a simple lawn wedding dress, another box held a wreath of wax orange blossoms, another held gloves and stockings, and last of all, a pair of satin pumps. Prissy had been planning to get married in her best Sunday dress. But a wedding dress and white satin pumps had been the dearest wish of her heart all her life and to have them and a crown of orange blossoms! Prissy could only gasp as one thing after another emerged. She was finally overwhelmed by the wedding dress. Oh, Miss Scarlett! Oh, Mr. Rhett! Oh my! Oh, my! And she burst into happy tears. Now Mr. Fogarty, well have to open the other box. Im dying of curiosity. That must be your wedding present, Prissy. It looks big enough for a grand piano! There was no piano in the crate. It was full of pasteboard boxes of all sizes, cunningly fitted together like a Chinese puzzle to fill every corner of that huge crate. What on earth can all that be? Scarlett was merely echoing the thought printed on Prissys face. II dont know. Prissy reached out for one of the smaller boxes on the top layer. John Fogarty was grinning. She opened the box and was even more bewildered. Inside were nested a dozen iridescent green feathers. She handed the box to Scarlett, then opened up another one. Ribbon; yards and yards of ribbon. There were boxes 125

upon boxes of buttons, tapes, more buttons, more ribbons, hat veiling, horsehair, whalebone, an assortment of thread, hat blanks, hat trimmings, the finest English needles and pins, gimp, lace, braid, and toward the bottom of the crate, bolts of cloth for dresses, linings, underlinings, enough for at least half a dozen dresses. The fabrics and trims had been cunningly chosen to appeal to Scarlett particularly, and she did. She coveted every item in that huge crate, but they belonged to Prissy. If she wanted those dresses, she would have to buy them, and pay Prissy to make them up. How do you like your wedding present, Miss OHara? John Fogarty asked. My wedding present. Prissy spoke as if in a daze. My wedding present. Mrs. Fogarty had an idea that you might like to keep busy and perhaps keep earning some money after you marry. I discussed it with Jeff and he agreed. I suggested it to Mr. Butler and he was very pleased. And Lady Olivia wrotehere, Ill read the note: My dear Miss OHara You can imagine how much fun it was to select all these things. I know that in your hands, they will become something beautiful. Think of this box as a box of seedsseeds for money. You will be able to do work you love, and in the comfort of your own home. You will be able to work as much or as little as you please. Mr. Fogarty has a list of all the suppliers so when you need to replenish your materials, he can help you order them. It has given Mr. Butler and me some very pleasant hours selecting these items and we think fondly of the time you spent with us in Monaco. We hope this gift will enable you to spend many happy and profitable hours in your new life, and we wish you and Dr. McGee great joy. Sincerely, Olivia Beaumont Scarlett was well aware of the value of this gift; both its cost, and its potential. Well, she had not yet purchased a gift. In truth, she hadnt had the foggiest notion what to buy. Her dilemma was solved.

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Prissy, would you like a sewing machine? Prissy looked at her, stunned. Then she fainted dead away. Prissys wedding day was upon them. Somehow Scarlett and Prissy managed to get each other dressed and in the carriage in good time. John Fogarty waited alone outside the church with an enormous sheaf of carnations, a gift from him and his wife. Prissys jitters all came to a head when she saw the flowers. I guess its too late to change my mind now. She was joking but her voice was a little quavery. Youd always have a job with me. Scarlett had a momentary, insane hope. They all laughed nervously. One of the ladies from the church was waiting just inside, and she signaled someone, Scarlett heard a piano start a solemn processional, and she and John Fogarty were escorting Prissy up the aisle toward the front of the church. Scarlett had to grit her teeth to keep down the fit of giggles that was just below the surface. She had hardly been inside a church since the brief time she lived on Peachtree Street during the war. She had gone then with Melanie and Aunt Pittypat because it would have caused a scandal if she hadnt. She was supposed to have gone to the catholic one, but she hadnt wanted to go alone. So, the unfamiliarity of being in a church was enough to make her nervous. But to be in a negro church was so outlandish, and to have wedding party jitters on top of everything else, put her decorum to the severest test it had ever undergone. To Scarlett, the negro church seemed a parody, and she had a hard time keeping a straight face during the ceremony. The singing she found especially comical. Why, the choir sang wildly; they shouted, they clapped their hands, they rocked from side to side. And the congregation socked right along with the music. Scarletts shoulders were jostled on one side and then the other. She had to 127

rock, too, in self-defense. It was all she could do not to laugh out loud. That would have hurt peoples feelings. At last it was over and the torture of having to keep from laughing ended. As they were all crowding toward the church basement, Scarlett gawked all around. Why, everything was fitted up just like in a real church. And the people were dressed fit to kill. She had never seen so many gorgeous hats all in one place. In spite of herself, Scarlett couldnt help admiring some of them. Of course, most of them were simply in outrageous taste, to her mind. But her inclination to giggle was subsiding. She and the Fogartys were still outside maneuvering to get into the basement where all the food was, when they heard laughter and applause coming from inside. Shortly they were inside but whatever had occasioned the applause was over. They were escorted to seats near, but not at, the head table. Everyone there was already seated and had loaded plates in front of them. Scarlett sat down and was going to wait to be served, when John Fogarty asked if she wasnt eating. Then she noticed the line at the buffet. She automatically started toward the front of the line, but Fogarty tapped her on the shoulder and glanced toward the end. Scarlett was rapidly losing her sense of humor. First, she had been excluded from whatever had been taking place while they were waiting outside, and now she had to stand in line behind a bunch of darkies! Just who had turned the world on its head? She was inwardly fuming by the time she got to the food, but she took one look at the table and her anger evaporated. There were hams, and pork of all kinds, mountains of mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas, greens, oceans of gravy, feather biscuits, casseroles of all kinds, fish balls, hush puppies, every kind of down-home food she hadnt even known shed been hankering for. And just as at the Aguilar wedding, those representatives of fashionable San Francisco who were present pounced on the food as if they were starving. Scarlett piled her plate 128

high before she even got to the middle of the table and had to walk past all the pralines and doughnuts and dainty muffins and tarts because she literally couldnt carry any more. John Fogarty finished eating before she did, and brought her and his wife some coffee and a small plate of assorted desserts. The church ladies were already clearing off the tables, and some the they young men were pushing back tables and chairs before Scarlett finished her coffee. Goodness! I havent eaten like that since I dont know when. Whats happening now, Mr. Fogarty? I think there is going to be dancing. Mrs. Fogarty and I do not dance, so we will be leaving. Will you be staying? Dancing? Oh, I love to dance! But she remembered how excluded she had felt not two hours before, and realized that, after all, there was really nobody for her to dance with. But I ate so much I dont think I can move, except to go home. Wheres Prissy? I should say good-bye. She looked for Prissy but she was on the other side of the crowded room. It took a few minutes to catch her eye and pantomime her farewells. Prissy smiled and nodded. So Scarlett went home alone. She was too full to go down to dinner and just had a little whiskey before she remembered she still and to get undressed. She had to waken one of the chambermaids to come and unbutton her down the back. Damn. Tomorrow she would have to find another maid. Weeks later, Scarlett sat at her desk in her parlor and worked some numbers over, changing now one, now another. Pettibrew had made a suggestion that intrigued her and she was trying to figure a way to work it out. There was a building next door the hotel which was coming up vacant, and hed thought it would be a good location to put a gentlemens saloon with a small stage for entertainment. There was no bar in the Orchard House and a saloon should be highly profitable. 129

But it would mean dipping into what little capital Scarlett possessed and probably meant even taking a mortgage. Scarlett shuddered at the thought. It would take a lot of money to re-do the building and furnish it, and stock the bar and hire helpScarlett kept adjusting estimates, but even the smallest amount she came up with was more than she had. And she knew it would cost much more than she expected. Everything always did. Will you be wanting anything, or can I go get my tea, mam.? Goodness, you startled me, Birdie. Yes, yes, go get your tea. Birdie was a buxom fifteen-year-old Irish lass Scarlett had promoted from chambermaid to ladies maid. She was still clumsy with buttons, slow with the mending, and hopeless with hair, but Scarlett found that a ladies maid with experience, nimble fingers, and a magician with hair, came at a price. And one who would put up with a royal temper was simply unavailable. Birdie was what she could get for what she was willing to pay. Now that Prissy was married, Rhett no longer paid her salary, so Birdies pay came out of Scarletts own pocket. Scarlett went back to her figures. Almost an hour later she was still engrossed in the numbers, when the door opened and closed again. Scarlett spoke without looking up. Before you finish the minding Birdie, make sure you brush the blue dress for tomorrow. There was no answer. She turned to snap at Birdie and nearly jumped out of her skin. Aaaahhhhhhh! Sitting down, she was eye-to-eye with what looked like a huge doll, a doll like the ones she had seen in toy shop windows in Paris; dolls dressed like children, but with grown-up faces and huge eyes. She stared. But waitthis wasnt a doll. It blinked. The eyes were normal-sized but painted all around, a garish blue, with black lashes painted in an exaggerated way. Scarlett shrieked with hysterical laughter. This must be an escapee from a circus. Ha ha ha 130

ha ha! The midget stood holding a tiny beaded handbag in one hand and she had the other hand inside it. He he he he he! She was holding it side-on to Scarlett, as if she were pointing it at her. Ha ha ha ha ha! Are you Scarlett Butler? The voice was high-pitched and childlike. Scarlett threw back her head and yelped until she collapsed. Are you Scarlett Butler? Scarlett gasped out some more laughter, but had mostly wound down. Whohoohoowho are you? she finally managed to get out. Never mind who I am. Are you Scarlett Butler? There was no humor in the little womans voice. Scarlett was more sober now, but there was a lingering smile on her face. I am not accustomed to being thus accosted in my own parlor. But since this is my parlor, I must confess I am Mrs. Butler and I repeat: who are you? The little woman pulled a newspaper clipping from her bag and silently handed it to her. Scarlett unfolded it and saw a picture taken at a recent society ball. It showed a group of people, among them Scarlett, and Jack Pettibrew, at the ball supper, all looking enormously pleased with themselves. The caption read: and Mrs. R. Butler and her frequent escort, Mr. J. Pettibrew. Scarlett looked at the clipping and looked at the little woman wonderingly. I fail to see the significance of a newspaper picture. Are you engaged to Jack Pettibrew? What? Are you and Jack Pettibrew engaged to be married? Good gracious, no! Why would a picture in a newspaper make you think we were engaged? And you still havent told me who you are, let alone why you are asking me personal questions in my own parlor. Scarlett was getting irritated.

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Im Zo Morgenstern. She used no form of address and spoke her name as if she assumed Scarlett was familiar with it. Indeed, it did ring a tiny bell, but Scarlett couldnt place it. And to what do I owe the pleasure Mrs.? Morgenstern? Its miss, if you must know, but you may as well call me Zo, everybody else does. I repeat, Miss Morgenstern, to what do I owe the pleasure? I just wanted to make sure you knew that I am engaged to Jack Pettibrew, and have been for a long time. Dont even think of poaching my territory. My dear Miss Morgenstern, I wouldnt dream of marrying Mr. Pettibrew, but if I did, I wouldnt consider myself to be poaching on anybodys territory. Youre not thinking of marrying him? Miss Morgenstern, I have a business to run. I cant do that and look after a husband, too. No, Im not thinking of marrying him or anyone. Now, if that satisfies your curiosity, I have work to do. She spoke in a tone of dismissal, but the little painted woman in the burlesque childs dress made no move to go. Was there anything else, Miss Morgenstern? Just this. Why didnt you know who I was? I thought everybody knew who I wasLord knows I try hard enough! And here we are, practically neighbors, and have been for donkeys years, and you dont know who I am! And you, youre supposed to be running a hotel for chrissake! Why on earth should I know who you are? Scarlett asked. To herself she couldnt help thinking I think I know what you are. And what do you mean by neighbors? Both our back doors open onto the alley almost across from each other. As for your running a hotelJesus Christ, woman, I suppose when a gent asks you where he can find a little amusement 132

you send him to Sutros baths! Good lord, if it werent for Jimmy, Id be losing money! Jimmy? My back hall porter? Jack told me you were green, but I didnt think you could be that green! Yes. Jimmy gets a cut of whatever business he sends my way, and Im sure he kicks back to Hodel. I didnt think Id have to spell it to you. Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Aha. Suddenly, little details that didnt seem to fit before rearranged themselves, and Scarlett put two and two together. Of course! Why hadnt she seen it before? Well, because she hadnt been thinking in those terms. She had thought running a hotel involved the renting of rooms, providing clean linens, good food, small extra services. It hadnt dawned on her that there was a whole other avenue of profit to pursue. Everybody was on the take in this town. One had washed the other, and God only knew where either one of them had been. She and Willi Hodel would have to sit down for a heart-to-heart talk one of these days. Whatever else he was in on, he hadnt bothered mentioning it to her. As these thoughts were passing through her brain, Zo watched her face. She saw light dawn. Finally she caught her eye. Scarlett cocked an eyebrow. Tea, Miss Morgenstern? Id rather have whiskey, if its all the same. Whiskey, Miss Morgenstern? Its Zo, honey. And I thought youd never ask. While Scarlett poured them each a generous tot, Zo marched to the settee, stepped up onto a needlepoint footstool, climbed onto the seat, and perched o the arm, as if she were quite at home. It was the beginning of an oddfriendship. Scarlett put the problem of the saloon aside until after Willi Hodel should have gone back to Switzerland. She didnt want him horning in 133

on any new deals. And there was still the little matter of compelling him to tell her who all he had ongoing deals with, and how they were worked. So far, he had been teaching her the internal workings of the hotel. Now, she decided, it was time to learn to do the ordering. Willi tried to tell her she wasnt ready yet, but Scarlett was adamant. Henceforth, she would be present whenever a tradesman made a delivery, and she was alive to any signals that there were other transactions taking place. Her profits went up. Shortly thereafter, Willi Hodels agreed-upon six months were up and he finally went back to Europe, a wealthy man. And Scarlett made a discovery. She was lonely. She couldnt believe it, but she missed Prissy. She was now and ingrained part of San Francisco society and received invitations as a matter of course to any event that mattered, but the social whirl was not as exciting as it had been at first. One met all the same people doing the same things over and over. Come to think of it, she hadnt seen Evelina Vanderhaak in a long while. Well, one of these days she might go call on her; someday, when she wasnt quite so busy. She tried inviting the Fogartys to dinner but found she had really nothing in common with either of them. They were both a little stiff and formal with her. After all, she was a business client. In desperation she actually called on Prissy, but Prissy was so obviously eager to get back to her workroom that Scarlett cut short her call. She could see Prissy only if she bought a dress and scheduled fittings! Of course, she still ate dinner with Jack Pettibrew when she was home, but they always ate in the dining room even when he hinted broadly hed be more comfortable in her parlor. She was careful to allow him in only when there were plenty of other men there. She only entertained the gentlemen once a month, now. They all understood she had a business to run and treated her quite like one of themselves.

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She decided to resurrect the idea of the saloon and became more and more enamored of the idea. The only problem was how to finance it. She didnt have a lot of options. She balked at mortgaging the hotel. The very idea of a mortgage sent shudders down her back. She still owned half of the house on Peachtree that everyone in the family referred to as Aunt Pittypats house even though Aunt Pittypat had been dead for years. But that half should eventually go to her son, Wade. Melanies son, Beau, had inherited the other half when Melly died. Ashley lived in the house now, and was supposed to be taking care of it for both their sons. Then there was her third of Tara, but that was too complicated a property to try to mortgage. Besides, she meant to leave that to both her children, or to Will, who had really earned it. What to do? What to do? She had so positively assured Rhett that she would make a success of the hotel and couldnt possibly ever need any more money that she would be too embarrassed now to ask him for any more. Besides, even though the visit had gone well enough after the rocky start, she had an instinct he hoped hed seen the last of her. She didnt want to risk hearing that, or even having to think it consciously. Then she hit on it. She would take out a loan on her good jewelry. She hardly ever wore the diamonds and emeralds anymorethe settings were outdated and she hadnt gotten around to having them reset. Yes, she could use them as collateral for the loan to build the saloon. She was positive the saloon would be a success, so she didnt really feel she was taking much of a risk, but she was superstitious about mortgaging her source of income, never mind her home. Yes. She would borrow against her jewels. She would build her saloon.

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CHAPTER 5

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Think about it, Scarlett. Pettibrew went on eating, concentrating on his plate as if he hadnt just proposed marriage. You need a mana husband to protect you from men who want to marry you for your money. Scarlett looked down at her own plate. Mammy had taught her many ways to handle proposals but not by men who proposed between mouthfuls. She was furious at his insistence on using her given name. He had started doing it a few weeks ago and had refused to respond to her outraged stare. She had even said, I dont recall you asking to use my name, Mr. Pettibrew. I dont feel we are on terms of such intimacy when hed interrupted. Come off it, Scarlett. Weve had dinner together every day for years. Dont give me that terms of intimacy stuff. You may as well call me Jack. And because he knew it irritated her, he kept calling her Scarlett. And because he had told her to call him Jack, she called him Mr. Pettibrew without fail. Of all the reasons shed ever had for kicking herself, this, thisshe didnt know what to call the situation between themthis was the worst. She tried to remember how it happened, how a simple acquaintanceship turned into whatever this was. She didnt even like the man, but ever since she started turning the property next door into a saloon, hed begun to act as if he had some stake in itand her. True, he had arranged the loan on the jewelry for her, and hadnt made her sign any papers. He had made himself useful in the ordering of stock, which had already begun to arrive. He knew people who knew people; wholesalers, delivery people, bartenders, people she wouldnt have known. But he was surprised at her knowledge of bookkeeping, and astonished to learn he knew far less than she did about building. Just think about it. He pushed back his chair, gave her a slight nod, and left. She stopped even pretending to eat. Of all the people who might want to marry her for her money, she knew who would be 137

first in line. As if she even could marry. As if she would even want to marry. She was still married to Rhett, he was still alive, and even if he werent, she didnt want to marry anybody. She liked her life just the way it was. And of all times to start pushing her Goodness, he could have proposed any time for years, but he hadnt. And it wasnt as if he even pretended to love her. She couldnt figure out exactly what it was that disturbed her about him. But there was a nagging discomfort in his presence that must have been there all along, she just hadnt noticed it until now. And he had startled her just the other day by suddenly appearing at her elbow when she didnt expect him. He treated her sudden fright as if it were a good joke. You didnt scare me, you just startled me. It would take more than you to scare me, Mr. Pettibrew. Dont tell me you werent scared! You should have seen your fact! And since then, he had startled her two more times. No, not startledscared. She knew he was trying to scare her and it was working. She didnt know what to do. She had never known anyone behave like him. No, he definitely wasnt a gentleman, but she couldnt categorize him, either. And there wasnt a thing she could do about it. He paid his rent, he had been helpful with contacts, and his cronies were police and other officials. He knew where to find the strings to pull and knew how to pull them whereas she didnt. Yes, Scarlett was learning to fear Jack Pettibrew and cast about for a way out of the dilemma, or at least some kind of buffer between them. There was still some work left to do in the saloon. Staircases needed to be built, and the paneling hadnt arrived yet when Scarlett received a wedding invitation from her daughter, Ella. Actually, it was not so much an invitation as an announcement. The invitation portion of the letter was as lukewarm as if Ella were hoping shed stay away.

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Dearest Mother, I write to let you know Im going to be married to Anthony Picard in three weeks. We are going to be married on Thursday evening, the twenty-second, at his grandmothers house. We would be delighted if you came, but if you are too busy, we will understand. Wade and his wife are coming down from Boston and he will give me away. Uncle Rhett gave us a life interest in the house and Jonesy is going to stay on and keep house for us! I am delighted with the plan. I shant have to leave home, after all. I had always dreaded that. I am very happy, Mother. I get along well with Mother Maybelle, too. She is very kind to me and is doing so much to make our wedding pretty that I cant thank her enough. We all look forward in anticipation of seeing you among us. With Love, Ella Lorena P.S. Miss Jones sends her best regards. She was mulling over what to send as a wedding gift when she suddenly sat up as if inspired. Ashley. Of course! Ashley would make the perfect foil for Pettibrew. She dismissed the notion that he might not want to come to San Francisco. Of course he would come. She needed him. She looked at her calendar and started making her plans. The saloon would just have to wait. Orshe tapped her pencil. Could she trust Pettibrew to continue the work while she was gone? It was a choice between leaving the saloon in his hands and leaving herself in his hands. She would have to go and hope for the best. When she came back, she would have Ashley beside her. Pettibrew would have to leave her alone, then. Dr. McGee, Scarlett was having difficulty keeping her voice from shaking with rage, I understand that it might be more convenient for you to keep Prissy here, but I need her. I must attend my daughters wedding. How can I travel all the way to Atlanta by myself? Mrs. Butler, I recognize your desire to be accompanied by a person very familiar with your habits. But your convenience must be

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subservient to her responsibilities. You are no longer her responsibility. She will not be accompanying you. I thought you had hired a new maid. She didnt work out. She didnt feel it necessary to explain Birdie had quit after a flung hairbrush had given her a black eye. The girl had no reflexes. Her mother had given Scarlett a sizeable piece of her mind when she fetched her away. Prissy, what do you say? Will you come to Atlanta with me? Prissy was standing behind her husbands shoulder and looked hard at his sleeve seam. No, Miss ScarmamMrs. Butler. Im sorry. Im going to stay here. Well, thats that. Thank you for calling, Dr. McGee. Good afternoon. She held the door open. Dr. McGee bowed himself out. Prissy bobbed a quick curtsy in spite of herself before she quickly followed him, without looking up. Scarlett indulged herself by slamming the door. That didnt help. She stalked around the room rapidly. She needed more movement. She went out into the hall and ran quickly down the stairs, then quickly up them. That wasnt enough either. She went back down the stairs and her eye lit on an aspidistra in a heavy ceramic pot. She bent down, put both arms around it, and hefted it. Good. That would do. She bent her knees and picked it up. She hoisted it to her shoulder, took a couple of running steps, and heaved it as far across the lobby as she could. It made a satisfying crash on the marble floor near the wall, leaving a gouge in the marble floor as it broke into large pieces. Several porters came running and one of the waiters stuck his head out of the dining room. Clean up that mess, was all she said, but the most violent part of her fury was spent. She was still clearly angry at dinner and Pettibrew noticed it. When she explained why she was angry, he said, Would you like him to be taught a lesson? 140

Scarlett was taken aback for a second, then realized what he was saying. For one delicious moment she imagined Dr. Jefferson James McGee with his face a bloody pulp, or tarred and feathered. But then she pictured a devastated Prissy. No, please dont. I wouldnt want him to have any kind of accident. Scarlett had never done her own packing in her life. To her, packing meant tossing everything she wanted to take with her on the bed and letting Prissy sort it out and remember whatever Scarlett had forgotten. She didnt even know where the luggage was and had to ask the head porter. In the end, she decided to take only one small trunk and carry a carpetbag herself. She was only half packed and she was supposed to be on a train in three hours and still hadnt had lunch, when there was a knock on the door. There stood Jack Pettibrew with a man she didnt recognize. Mr. Pettibrew, how do you do? Im afraid Im all flustered with packing, and I really cant see anybody right now. Thank you for calling. Scarlett, this is my friend Rampart Brooks. Ramp is an attorney. Ive told him about the trip youre taking and he says youre taking an awful risk. I am honored to meet a lady of your undeniable and, may I say, devastating charms, madam. The attorney swept off his hat and bowed. How do you do, she said coldly. I dont know what youre talking about Mr. Pettibrew. And I really dont have time to chat. I know that, thats why we drew up a little safeguard so you wouldnt have to spend time on it. A safeguard for what? Mr. Pettibrew, I really must pack. A safeguard for the saloon, dear lady. The lawyer said. What if something happened while you were gone; a fire or an earthquake, 141

say? Who would be responsible for the building while you are gone? I know youve left the foreman in charge, but how well do you know him? Is he capable of dealing with emergencies? What if the workers went on strike? You would want someone with your interests at heart to be able to deal with any situation effectively, wouldnt you? Of course. What is the nature of the safeguard, as you call it? Merely a little agreement that you appoint me your representative while you are gone, and I can make any decision that needs to be made on the spot. Otherwise, of course, we could just wire you. Well, let me look at it. She reached out her hand but the papers were not forthcoming. She looked at Pettibrew and he looked as hurt as a child wrongfully accused. Oh, for heavens sake, Mr. Pettibrew, Im not going to sign anything I havent read! Of course not, of course not, my dear lady. Allow me to encapsulate and expound on the meanings of each paragraph. And Rampart Brooks began to perform a monologue that left Scarlett utterly mystified, and more impatient than ever to get back to her packing. In short, madam, this little agreement is simply a most informal way of protecting your interests and seeing that Mr. Pettibrew merely oversees, in your name, of course, all that you wish to have done. Since he is conversant with your wishes, he feels he is the most Yes, yes, all right. She signed the paper. She did not notice the quick look the two men shot each other while her head was bent. Thank you, gentlemen. That will ease my mind while I am gone. Now, if you dont mind, I really must get back to my packing. It was a pleasure to have met you, Mr. Brooks. Good day.

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So once again Scarlett was on a train racing east. At least she had done it before so she wasnt unprepared, but she had never traveled alone in her life. Traveling unescorted would put another black mark next to her name in Atlanta. Oh well, it could hardly do her any damage, she was persona non grata as it was. She couldnt wait to surprise Maybelle, her old rival from their crinoline days, who would hardly be expecting her to show up. Two days before the wedding Scarlett knocked on what had been her own front door in Atlanta. It was answered by a maid shed never seen before, and when Scarlett explained who she was, the woman said, Just a moment, Mam. Ill see if Miss Jones is at home. Scarletts jaw dropped. It was Miss Ella Kennedy who was mistress of the house, not Miss Jones. She was in a fine stew when Miss Jones entered with a formal smile on her face. Mrs. Butler, how nice of you to come. Our little Ella is out calling, just now. She should be back soon and then we can have a nice tea. Let me show you to a bedroom, and then you can make yourself comfortable. How was your trip? Scarlett was a little mollified. At least Ella wasnt in the house hiding from her. She stopped automatically at the door that had led to her bedroom, but Miss Jones passed it saying, We dont use that room anymore. All the furniture is under dust sheets and the carpet is rolled up. We mostly use the smaller bedrooms. Ella is still in the nursery. She feels most comfortable there. So Scarlett was put up in the best spare room. Are the Benteens coming from Tara? she asked. No, Im afraid not. They were just a little upset that Mr. Picard is going to be running Ellas store instead of their oldest boy. Ella had never actually promised him the position, butwell, you know Mrs. Benteen. Yes, Scarlett did indeed know Mrs. Benteen. Prissy had never told her about Suellens attempt to kill her with the morphia years before, but Scarlett was nevertheless fully aware of Suellens 143

hatred of her. It was a relief to know she wouldnt have to deal with her. And Mr. Wilkes will be there, of course. There could be no question about Ashleys presence. But Miss Jones paused as if she didnt quite know what to say. Im not sure about Mr. Wilkes. He has been invited, of course, and very warmly. But Mr. Wilkes isntdoesnthe does not socialize anymore. Indeed, he never did much, to my knowledge. But I understand he doesnt leave home anymore. He still lives in the house on Peachtree Street? Oh yes, but he never leaves it. And I understand he doesnt care for visitors. That house is half mine. I have a mind to look at it tomorrow and make sure its being properly taken care of. Mother? It was Ellas voice in the passage. Ella came in, still in her bonnet and shawl, half eagerly, half timidly. Mother! The two looked at each other, not knowing what to do. Kiss your mother, dear. Miss Jones had to coach her. Ella approached slowly and the two embraced awkwardly. Scarlett didnt like social embraces and Ella was in such awe of her mother that they would have had an even more uncomfortable time of it without Miss Jones. Well leave you to get settled in. Ill send Liza up to help you and Ill go down and arrange the tea. Then we can all have a cozy chat. Come take off your bonnet, Ella. The next morning Scarlett drove alone to Peachtree Street. This part of the neighborhood had changed less than she expected. She was used to San Francisco where people pulled down buildings and put different ones in their place almost on a schedule, so it was nice to see the little house looking exactly as it had, though a little unkempt. The small lawn looked neglected, though. 144

Im here to see Mr. Wilkes. She told the little boy who opened the door. Ma, lady wants to see Mr. Wilkes. Well, tell her he dont see anybody. He dont see anybody. The boy was closing the door. Im Mrs. Butler. I own this house. At that, a slightly frowzy looking woman came out of the back drying her hands on her apron. I thought Mr. Wilkes owned the house. His son and I both own it. His son was born in this house during the siege. She didnt know why she said that. These people might not know what she was talking about. But she saw the boys eyes get big and she smiled at him. Do you folks take care of Mr. Wilkes? No, Uncle Bob does for him. We just rent this floor. The upstairs floor is rented, too. Well, where does Mr. Wilkes live? Hes got the whole attic. He dont like visitors, though. Its all right. Were old friendsfamily too, in fact. Can I come through the kitchen to go upstairs? Surely. Do you know the house? Yes, I lived here part of the time during the war. Then youll know the way. Youll have to knock pretty hard. Uncle Bob dont hear too well. Uncle Bob certainly didnt hear too well. She had to knock so hard she thought her knuckles would be bruised, when finally the door creaked open and an ancient negro peered out at her. Help you? he croaked. Im here to see Mr. Wilkes. Mr. Wilkes dont want to see nobody. Well, hes going to see me. Ashley! she shouted. She shouted again.

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That sounds like Scarlett. Could it be? It was Ashleys voice coming from the back room of the attic. Let her in, Uncle Bob. The old man opened the door reluctantly and Scarlett stepped into the room. She very nearly stepped right back out again. The room smelled as if it hadnt been aired in years. In the dim light Scarlett saw books and newspapers piled up everywhere, and the kind of disorder one finds when people have no notion of housekeeping whatever. Scarlett? Scarlett? She followed the voice to a little nook where there was a grimy window. She peered about. Ashley? Im right here. She saw a form stand up from a deep easy chair. She went closer, then almost backed away. Dear god, he stank. Ashley Wilkes, whatever are you doing in this attic? His hair hung down to his shoulders and even in the dim light she could see it was dirty. She didnt even want to touch his hand. Good Lord, his nails needed cutting! Well, Scarlett, first I moved upstairs and rented out the bottom floor. I needed a little money. Then I rented out the top floor and moved up here. See, that way I can still buy my books without being a burden on anyone. It is good to see you. What are you doing in Atlanta? Thats what I want to talk to you about, but I guess we can do that at the wedding. You came for little Ellas wedding! How grand. Ashley, if Im taking you to Ellas wedding, you have to have a bath. But Scarlett, I never go anywhere anymore. I find life much simpler that way. He spoke as matter-of-factly as a child. And this whole place stinks. Youve got to open the windows. Really? I never noticed. It seems all right to me.

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No, its not all right. Good heavens, Ashley, look at yourself! Do you even have a mirror? Dont you care how you look? Why should I? Who wants to look at me? Uncle Bob doesnt complain. The books dont care. Im comfortable the way I am. And I never said I was going to Ellas wedding. She knows I dont go out anymore. Now he sounded like a hurt child. Oh Ashley, what would Melly say if she could see you like this? He folded back down into the shabby old chair that hed worn to his own shape, and which had a huge grease spot behind his head. How could you disappoint her so, by living like this? Mellys dead, Scarlett. Shes dead because I Stop it! She died nearly twenty years ago. You cant bury yourself in this room because Melly died. She wouldnt have wanted you to do this. This isnt right. The words rained down on him like blows. He cowered, hunching over a little and flinching. Im Sorry, Ashley. I guess I was just surprised to see you like this. But honestly, you need someone to take care of you. Uncle Bob takes care of me just fine. But who takes care of Uncle Bob? Im sorry Im being a little bossy, Ashley. I guess Im just surprised, thats all. What do you do with yourself all day? Well, I read the newspaper. And then I read my books. Im writing one, you know. Really? What about? Im not sure, yet. I dont think my life is interesting enough for anybody to read my memoirs, but thats all that really interests me. So, Ive been making notes and seeing if they take me in any particular direction. Id like to write history. So much of what I read I know is wrong and needs to be corrected, and I start on it but then somehow the head of Charles the First gets in the way. He was laughing quietly 147

now, but she had no idea why. Scarlett, it is good to see you. Are you going to stay long? No, I have to get back to San Francisco. Im in the middle of building a saloon onto my hotel and I rally shouldnt have left at all. But, oh Ashley, I need help! She had been going to lead up to needing him but ended up blurting out her fears and worries all at once. But what could I do for you? How could I help you? You could come live with me. I have a spare bedroom in my suite. You see, while Im gone, Im having the builders knock out a wall between my set of rooms and the next one over, so Ill have quite a big apartment. Theres plenty of room. Besides, I have the whole hotel, too. You could bring all your books. I couldnt just live with you, Scarlett! Im a widower and youre a married woman! For heavens sake, Ashley, its San Francisco! Nobody cares! Besides, youre my brother if you care to look at it that way. And thats what I needa brother. I never had one, you know. Not over the age of six months, anyway. And not a big brother. Oh Ashley, I need you so! What about Uncle Bob? Hes too old to travel far. He can go to Tara. It wouldnt cost anythingI still own my share and dont take anything for it. What about Rhett? Rhett doesnt care. Honestly. Please say youll come, Ashley. I need you so dreadfully. I dont know, Scarlett. I dont really want to. He saw tears welling up in her eyes. Ill think about it. They sat without speaking for a few moments, she biting the corner of her lower lip with anxiety, he staring into space. You seem to have thought about this in great detail. 148

I couldnt think about anything else all the way here. They were quiet again for a long moment. Ellas wedding is tomorrow night, Ashley. Ive been looking forward to going with you all this time. Please dont disappoint me. But Ashley, youve got to take a bath, whether you come to the wedding or not. Im going to come back tomorrow morning and if Uncle Bob doesnt put you in the tub, I will. And give me your best suit. Im going to take it home and give it a good brushing. And your shirt, too. Im sure it needs to be properly starched. Youre going to look like yourself tomorrow. Miraculously, he did look like himself on the morrow. She hadnt wanted to touch to old suit but had carried it back to the big house, Ellas house now, and put it out in the sun in the back yard for hours, with a couple of pounds of cornmeal around the collar, the underarms, and in the crotch of the trousers. When it was a little less whiffy she laid it out on the kitchen table and went at it with the stiffest clothes brush she could find. There was nothing she could do about the rottedout lining under the arms. But that wouldnt show. When she was through brushing it she tried to press it but the smell of the steam was too much for her, so she hung it back outside to get as much air as possible. She dressed early, then went back to Peachtree Street with the suit and a shirt shed boiled, starched, and ironed herself. Ashley bathed and dressed was a far cry from the pitiful creature of the day before. She liked his hair longit had a sort of John the Baptist look about it. Im going to be might proud to walk into Maybelles parlor on your arm tonight, Ashley. Shes going to be positively green with envy! You always did like other people to be green with envy, Scarlett. I dare say she will be, Scarlett. Youre as pretty as ever. Why Ashley Wilkes, youre teasing me. I know exactly what I look like, but goodness knows were none of us young anymore. 149

No, were not young anymore. I wonder if I ever was? Silly! Here, let me do up your tie. He stood meekly while she tied his tie, then she looked at him coquettishly and curtsied as if they were in a ballroom. He played to her mood and bowed, held out his arm, and escorted her to the carriage. She was in high good humor when they got to Maybelles house and it was a good thing, because seeing her son, Wade, was going to be as awkward as seeing Ella had been. Wade and his wife had called for Ella while she was at Peachtree Street so they hadnt met until now, at the wedding itself. There was time only for very quick introductions before the brief ceremony. Wades little wife looked a peevish thing. Neither of them looked very happy, and theyd only been married what, three years? Oh well, what could you expect from people who chose to live in Boston? The wedding came off without mishap if you didnt count Maybelles jaw dropping at the sight of Scarlett. Once over the shock she behaved very well, and to see the two of them chatting amiably over old times one could have thought they were old friends instead of old rivals. Everyone said they were happy to see her, especially since they knew she would be returning to San Francisco almost immediately. They were all genuinely pleased to see Ashley. Uncle Ashley, Im so glad you came. It wouldnt have felt complete if you hadnt been here. Ella cried, giving him a hug. Beau is really the only one missing. Ill have to write him a long, long letter and send him a bit of the cake! So, both her children were married and settled. How strange it seemed, to have two grown children, on their own. Why, she couldnt be that old. That was one area where Scarletts arithmetic sometimes failed hershe could hardly ever calculate anybodys age without sitting down and working it out in relation to the war. Her touchstone was the last barbeque at the Wilkes. It turned out to be the day war 150

was declared between the Northern and Southern states, the day that everything changed. She felt that, ever since that day, her life had been an improvisation. The old, predictable days were gone forever. Suddenly she was blue and a little woebegone. She sighed. Sometimes she felt that ever since that day, shed been riding a carrousel that kept going faster and faster. Well, as soon as she had Ashley talked round, she would et back on that carrousel. It wasnt so bad, really, so long as she held on tight and didnt look back. *****

Zo Morgenstern was in a dressing gown and slippers while she interviewed the applicant. The applicant was a tall negro woman, broad through the shoulders, and of any age between fifty and seventy. Her bearing was upright, her face sober. She looked Zo steadily in the eye. What kind of experience have you had with fine laundry? Thats the only kind we do in the house; the sheets and towels are d one by a Chinese laundry. I been a personal maid off and on for a lot of years. I know how to do cotton, linen, wool, silk, and cashmere. I know how to clean gloves. Fancy ironing too, I suppose? Yes, mam. The girls mostly do their own flat ironing, so there wouldnt be a lot of it. Just the washing, mostly. You know what kind of house this is? Yes, mam. What else do you know how to do?

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I learned medicine plants and nursing when I was a girl. I been head woman on one plantation for a lot of years, and then second woman on a other one when I married their butler. Im a widow, now. I been housekeeper for a small family. Anything else: Midwife. Midwife? We dont have much call for that. Anyway, we aim not to. What do you know about not midwifing? You asking me do I know how to stop a baby? Yes. There was a long pause. I know some ways of trying. Some of them works, mostly. How do you happen to be out of work? I been traveling for a few years, just seeing the country. This is a mighty big country. I worked my way, going wherever the railroad went, and working here and there. I went and visited at the last place I was home at, where my husband died, just to see the folks and ask what was doing. They told me my daughter was here in San Francisco maiding for a lady what owns a hotel. I thought Id come and look around and maybe find her. You say the lady she works for owns a hotel? Yes, mam. Whats the ladys name? Mrs. Butler. Mrs. Rhett Butler. There was quite a long pause. Is her first name Scarlett? Yes mam! Do you know her? I surely do. Zo was tickled by the womans enthusiasm. But she was thrilled to have an extremely interesting piece of information. So Scarlett was the wife of, not Robert, not Richard, not Randall, not Randolph, not Rudolph, But Rhett Butler! Certainly there could not be more than one Rhett Butler. Scarlett had billed herself as Mrs. R. Butler all these years and, Butler being a fairly common name, neither she 152

nor Pettibrew had ever dreamed she could have been married to that R. Butler. Now, wasnt that interesting. Zo held the tiny, explosive bit of information tightly. There would come a time to use it, but not yet. Mrs. Butlers hotel is called the Orchard House, and its just kittycorner across the alley from here on the next street over. But shes not there right now. Shes in Atlanta, to go to her daughters wedding. Shell be back next week. Then guess I have to wait to see Prissy. No, you dont. Prissys right here in San Francisco. Ill send a note. Youll probably see her this very afternoon. I guess I wont be needing that job after all, mam. No, I guess not. But you could pick up some extra money once in a while, if we need you. Ill think about it. ***** Dilcey laid a plot with the chambermaids that she would be waiting in the parlor when Scarlett came home. She went into Scarletts bedroom and turned down the freshly-made bed. A knock on the door brought a smile to her face. One of the waiters whisked in with a tea tray, as Dilcey had arranged for him to do as soon as Scarletts carriage pulled up in front of the Orchard House. Dilcey laid out the tea things prettily on the round table, then stood beside it with her hands clasped demurely in front in proper parlor maid fashion. She heard the bustle of arrival coming up the stairs and down the hallway. The door opened and whether Scarlett was more surprised to see Dilcey, or Dilcey was more surprised to see Ashley was anybodys guess. There were whoops and laughter and scrambled explanation. Scarlett never even remembered that the last time she had given

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Dilcey a thought, years before, she had been angry with her for her perceived desertion. Dilcey, what on earth?! Scarlett, you didnt tell me Dilcey was here! I thought you said Id see Prissy. Mister Ashley! Mister Ashley! Oh happy day! I never thought to be seeing you again! And Scarlett, who had been dreading what she might find when she returned to San Francisco, was grateful for the respite from care that Dilceys surprise afforded. She would deal with whatever disasters had inevitably fallen tomorrow. Today she would enjoy herself. Dilcey had, by some miracle, appeared when Scarlett most needed someone to lean on. Ashley did not make the sturdiest prop; Dilceys help would be invaluable in both the hotel and as her maid. She was a comfort, and the three of them together might be strong enough to stand up to whatever Pettibrew had been up to in the meantime, or so she hoped. Scarlett looked around her newly enlarged suite, mostly pleased with what she saw. The rooms that had been added to hers were a parlor, two more bedrooms, one large, one small, and a bathroom. Her original rooms had not had a bathroom; she had had to use the one in the hall. The parlor was now twice as large, and L-shaped. At the far end, around the corner, were a pair of French windows that opened onto a small balcony which overlooked, not gardens, but the inside of the new saloon. A door at the side of the balcony opened onto a new staircase that descended behind the paneling to the liquor storage room, and from there to the bar. Scarlett looked down into the saloon and saw the confusion of construction. Tomorrow, she told herself. Ill deal with it tomorrow. She installed Ashley in the larger bedroom in the new half of the suite and, weary from traveling and settling back in, decided to have 154

their dinner sent up. This was Pettibrews first indication that something had changed. He knew she was home and purposely avoided her until dinnertime, thinking she would be anxious to see him. He waited and waited for Scarlett to come downstairs so he could watch as she began to realize his hold over her. But she never came down to the dining room. Finally, he went ahead and ate his dinner, but he didnt enjoy it. The next afternoon, while Scarlett and Ashley were having tea, Dilcey answered a knock on the door. There was a well-fed, welldressed man who took one look at her and said, Who are you? and without waiting for an answer, Wheres Mrs. Butler? She ignored both questions. I will see if Mrs. Butler is at home. And she closed the door on him, allowing him to cool his heels in the hallway. Miss Scarlett, theres a man at the door axing for you. What you want me to tell him? What kind of man? A gentleman? He gots good clothes on. It must be Pettibrew. I knew it wouldnt be too long. I suppose I have to see him. Im not inviting him to sit down to tea, though, she said to Ashley. You can clear, Dilcey. Scarlett went to the door herself. How do you do Mr. Pettibrew? I trust you have come to inform me about the progress on the saloon while Ive been gone. She led him to the table where Dilcey was removing the plates of sandwiches and pastry. Ashley, this is Mr. Jackson Pettibrew who very kindly looked after the saloon construction while I was gone. Mr. Pettibrew, let me introduce my brother, Mr. Ashley Wilkes. Mr. Wilkes has kindly consented to help me run my business. I thought I was running your business. Whatever gave you that impression, Mr. Pettibrew? 155

The contract you signed before you left. Mr. Pettibrew, I do not recall signing any contract with you. What I signed was merely an agreement that you would look after the construction while I was gone. I suggest you read the agreement. Ill send you a copy. You signed a contract which makes me your manager. He indicated Ashley with a tip of his head, not even looking at him. He isnt involved. I beg to differ, Mr. Pettibrew. Even if I did sign a contract, as you say, I am still the owner and Mr. Wilkes will directly represent me. I will have my own lawyer look over what you refer to as a contract. I fear this is no longer a social call Mr. Pettibrew. I suggest you go down to the saloon and wait for us there. We can at least discuss the work that still needs to be done, while this disagreement is sorted out. Good afternoon, Mr. Pettibrew. When the door closed behind him Scarlett put her hands over her mouth and started shaking. Oh Ashley, it cant be. He told me it was just for while I was away. Well take a look at it when he sends it. You have an attorney? Well see what it says and see whatwho is it? Who is what? Your attorney. Who is he? Mr. Fogarty. Mr. John Fogarty. Yes, well ask him what we can do. Oh Ashley! What if you hadnt come with me? Oh, thank God youre here. But John Fogarty could only confirm that is was indeed a management contract. Scarlett was close to tears. So what does that mean, exactly, Mr. Fogarty? It means that Mr. Pettibrew stands to make twenty-five percent out of the earnings of the saloon in exchange for managing it.

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Well, thats not too bad. I was afraid he might have mortgaged it or something. Thats twenty-five percent of sales, Mrs. Butler, not profit. Twenty-five percent of sales! Gods nightgown! That could mean I make nothing at allor even lose money! On a saloon! It could. And there is a clause here which might allow him to mortgage the saloon if he so choosesdepending on interpretation. Ashley spoke up quietly. Is there nothing at all we can do about it? Are there any provisions for revocation, or for dissolving the partnership? We could try to invalidate it in the courts. After all, we could claim Mrs. Butler was under duress, but unless he was holding a pistol to her head, I dont think that would work. No, no. It was my own damned fault. I know better than to sign anything without reading it. Is there any way the agreement could end at all? One of you would have to die. I know Rampart Brooks. We could contest this, but it would probably cost you money in the end, instead of saving it. I would prefer to avoid becoming involved in this, Mrs. Butler, for both our sakes. Im afraid youre going to have to comply. If he does try to mortgage the property we might act then, but I still dont see what we could do about it besides trying to put a spoke in his wheels by very strict oversight and daily monitoring of the books. Thank you, Mr. Fogarty. I guess Im just going to have to make the best of it. Profits are just going to have to be more than the twenty-five percent of sales, she said sadly, knowing it would be a miracle if they were. Paying Pettibrew twenty-five percent of the saloon sales would mean she would have to use profits from the hotel to make up the difference. There might be precious little left. There might be nothing left. Eventually, with the constant drain, she could 157

lose everything. She would just have to see that didnt happen. No more new clothes. No more gadding about the country. No more frivolous expenditures. She would have to count every pat of butter, every napkin, every sheet of paper in the office. She knew better than to stint her gueststhat would be the kiss of death for the Orchard House. But behind the scenes, frugality would be the new order, and Scarlett enjoyed being open-handedor at least having the reputation for it. So Jack Pettibrew was installed as manager of the soon-to-be opened saloon. Scarlett resolved to know everything that went on, and to do the books herself. She also made sure never to be alone with him. Ashley or Dilcey was always at her side whenever she set foot in the saloon. Pettibrew had won an easy income, but the lady was more elusive than ever, and she kept an eagle eye on the liquor room. Gone forever were the tte--tte dinners he now missed. Under the circumstances even he found it awkward to renew his suit. Ashley was downstairs in the library so Scarlett was alone when the head porter brought up a telegram. Is there a reply expected? No, mam. All right. Thank you. He tipped his had and hurried back downstairs where paying customers would give him tips. Scarlett was paying bills. Actually, she was sorting bills into those she had to pay right away, those she could put off for a while, and those she would try to put off indefinitely. The saloon was finally open and should start pulling in good money soon. Meanwhile, she was supporting it with proceeds from the hotel. Every day she cursed herself for having signed that damned contract with Pettibrew. It looked as if there would be a war between them over that saloon. But Pettibrew didnt know all her resources. He didnt know the hard times she had survived. Well, lots of people had 158

made it through the hard times, but not many with Scarletts determination not to be beaten. But she was so tired of fightingshe didnt want to be fighting. Sometimes she felt like giving upgoing back to the little house on Peachtree Street and ensconcing herself in an armchair as Ashley had done. But, no. No. No, she wouldnt give up yet. Not quite yet. Scarlett was deep in the books and so set the telegram aside for the moment. If it wasnt a reservation, it could wait until she finished all her entries. At last, she closed the books and pushed them away. She clasped her hands behind her neck and pulled her elbows forward. She stretched her spine and rolled her head. Now, what was that telegram? DEAR SCARLETT REGRET TO INFORM YOU RHETT DIED PEACEFULLY LAST NIGHT STOP LETTER FOLLOWS OLIVIA Scarlett sat and stared at it but couldnt really take it in. Of course shed known he wasnt well. Shed known when she was in Monaco. Shed known at the time that she would probably never see him again. But there was a difference between knowing something would happen, and having it happen. She didnt know what she was feeling, if anything. But suddenly she felt stifled, as if someone had muffled her in cotton batting, and she knew she had to get away from that telegram. She jumped up and rushed to find her outdoor things. She wanted outanywhere she didnt have to talk to anybody. She ran down the stairs and out the back door and down the alley, and once out on the street, she walked. She walked for miles, in parts of San Francisco that she had never been to before, because she wanted to avoid anyplace where she might have to notice, or bow to, anyone. 159

She walked without seeing, without knowing or caring where she was, up hills, down hills, sometimes around and around the same blocks. She walked until the sun was very low in the sky and a chill in the air brought her back to herself. She began to notice her surroundings. She was in an unfamiliar part of town in an area of shops, not the fashionable shops she frequented. She stopped in front of one window and saw what she wanted. She went inside. It was late and the shop was about to close. A tired looking girl looked up from where she was evidently tidying up for the evening. Yes, madam? I want to buy that hat in the window. The one with the grey feathers? No, the other one, the one with the flowers. The hat certainly had flowers. It could be said it had a young garden. It had been made as a larkno one seriously expected anyone to buy it. If that hat could be worn by anybody, she had better be under eighteen and so pretty she could wear a wheelbarrow on her head and get away with itnot a woman approaching fifty. For a young lady, perhaps? No. I want to try it on. The shop girl was surprised, but went and got the hat. Scarlett sat in front of the mirror with the hat one her head and saw neither it, nor the shop girl, trying not to smile. She saw the dearest little love of a bonnet in green silk, with the jauntiest green plumes flirting with the breeze. She was seeing Rhett putting it on her head, using that sweet bonnet to lure her out of her hypocritical mourning for Charlie. How Rhett hated mourning! It was odd that she wished she still had that little bonnet so she could wear it for him now. Ill take it. Put my hat in the box. I want to wear this one. The shop girl was amazed, but she was anxious to get home. Scarlett gave her address to have the bill sent. This was one she would pay promptly. She stood up and gathered her bag and the new hatbox. 160

There was something about a new hatbox that always made her feel better. Well, she couldnt wear mourning for a husband nobody knew she hadbesides, her entr into San Francisco had been made in false mourning. She didnt want anybody to remember that and wonder about it. She had to ask how to get back to a familiar part of town and, being now pretty tired, she caught a cable car that took her within two blocks of home. As she walked the rest of the way to the Orchard House, she felt she was coming home to a safe place. Pettibrew was forgotten for the moment. She walked through the lobby and up the stairs, oblivious to the stares of everyone she went past. She went into her bedroom and sat at her dressing table, watching her life in the mirror. She had married Rhett without loving him. She had still been in love with Ashley, though why in the world, she couldnt make out, now. But she forced herself to remember that it had been Ashley she thought she had loved. She sat and shook her head in disbelief of her own young stupidity. She went over every moment with Rhett and was surprised to realize there had been very few. They had only lived together less than six years, but remembering them with advantages it seemed a long time. The years of running and hiding, and eating and drinking too much, were much longer, and yet, they seemed hardly to show in her tally. It was as if she hadnt really been alive all those years, because she kept waiting and hoping for a miracle. Then that hope finally died with a kiss in the Monaco train station. She had started coming back to life again in San Francisco. And seeing Casita Encantada reawakened something in her. Then, wanting the hotel so badly forced her to act, and carried her across two continents and one ocean, and she felt herself alive again when she came back and the Orchard House was hers.

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Thank you, Rhett, she whispered to the gathering dusk. He had always been there, at the back of her mind. It was funny that with all the deaths she had witnessed, she had never yet wondered about death itself. Shed thought people just stopped, if she thought about it at all. She really only grasped other peoples deaths in relation to herselfnot them. Oh, she was supposed to believe in heaven and hell, but she didnt really. Now, for the first time, she wondered what really happened, because if it was Rhett who died, he couldnt just stop. He wouldnt. There would be something wrong with the universe if Rhett juststopped. But these thoughts were too big and alien. She had to retreat to her memories. Dilcey came in without seeing her, and lit the gas. When she noticed Scarlett, she didnt exclaim. She merely said, I been wondering where you got to, Miss Scarlett. Of course, she couldnt help noticing the hat. Indeed, it was nearly the size of a cartwheel. Ive had some sad news, Dilcey. Mr. Rhett passed away yesterday. Dilcey didnt exclaim then, either. Her expression hardly changed while she took in the news. Then she smiled. That hat would have made him laugh, Miss Scarlett. That it would, Dilcey. That it surely would. They laughed together. And at last, Scarlett began to cry.

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CHAPTER 6

My dear Scarlett, You will have received my telegram by the time you get this. Im writing not just to tell you how Rhett passed away, but how much you meant to both of us. My dear, I never told you how glad I was that you came to visit. I can tell you now that Rhett was very apprehensive before you came, though he tried not to let me know. I can tell you now that he loved you very muchbut I think you know that. Im afraid some of what I have to say may give you pain. My dear, when Rhett found us in London, he was running away from you. I didnt realize it at the time because I was preoccupied with our own disaster. Later, when I did realize it, I knew he and I were clinging together just because thats what one does in a shipwreck. We were one anothers floating debris to cling to. Thats all I ever was to hima life raft. A safe place from which to observe the wreck ones made of ones life. And thats all he ever was to me. Happily, we liked and respected one another. Thats always good on a life raft, dont you think? But your visit did me so much good, my dear. I had always wondered what I could do to have a function in life besides simply making a man comfortable. But you didnt wonder. You did things,

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and I so admired you for it. I began to think of what I could do, what I should do. Do you remember the day we sat on the bench for so long? We talked of places wed dreamed about. You told me of a place in the country, a rancho, I think you called it. You made it sound like heaven, and you said youd always wished someday to live there. I told you about wanting a small country house. I think I want something else now. I think I too, want to do something, something useful. If I live in the country I want to have a farm and learn farming; something really practical. Or I could live in London and really learn what a woman needs to know about laws, and money. I want to learn enough to teach other women. Why should we be taught to be so dependent on men, when so many men are not to be depended upon? Oh, Ive just discovered Im riding my favorite hobby-horse! That was not what I intended when I started writing. Im not used, yet, to Rhetts having passed out of life. His body has been cared for and is still lying on his bed. He will be buried tomorrow in the little strangers cemetery here. We strolled through it once, remember? I dont know when I will finally understand he is gone. It took a long time when my darling boy died. Sometimes I dont believe it still. We had, of course, known for a long time that Rhett was not well. It must be so hard for someone accustomed to an active life to live as an invalid. He didnt want you to see him unwell and strove to look as strong as possible when you were here. But afterwards, he hardly ever left the house. He would sit in an invalid chair in the garden and be wheeled about in it. Last month he had a bout of influenza which weakened him considerably. He seemed to have recovered from that, but was very weak, of course, when pneumonia set in. The end was mercifully swift, he didnt suffer much. I think he was glad to go, my dear. He spoke of you often, and he talked to me about Bonnie. Hed never talked about her before. And he finally told me something else, something Id suspected but we never discussed. And when he knew he was dying, he wanted me to tell you. He said, tell Scarlett about Maximilian. And so dear, I must tell you something I am only too sure will give you pain. Bonnie was not Rhetts only child. He had a son by a woman he said you knew of; Belle Watling. I cant judge her harshly. Surely a woman must be in desperate straits to earn her living in that way. The only consolation I can offer is that the boy was born before he ever met you. He hadnt wanted to believe the child was his, but supported him out of friendship with the mother. But Scarlett, I have seen pictures of him. I have no doubt about it. There, my dear, I have done what I promised. But Scarlett, be generous. Please dont let this mar your memories of the man who loved you dearly, and who died with your name on his lips. He told me to do whatever I pleased with his personal belongings so Ive sent you his pocket watch and pearl shirt studs and one of his 164

hairbrushes. Im keeping the other one myself. Most of his clothing and other things Ive given to his valet; Im sure you would approve. There is very little else. Rhett was not an acquisitive manhe lived very comfortably with rented things around him. Of course, this pensione is very pretty and comfortable and I will stay on while I decide what to do next. I hope, my dear, you will not grieve overmuch. You have interesting work to keep you occupied. I dont think we will ever meet again, but I wanted you to know how much knowing you has meant to me. With great fondness, Olivia At last the long-awaited letter had come. It had finally been brought upstairs after Ashley had gone to bed. The small package that contained it was travel-worn and had a number of post office cancellations on it indicating the errors that sent it traveling the world before it finally reached San Francisco. Inside the small package were Rhetts pocket watch and shirt studs, and one silver hairbrush. The watch was the one he had bought just after Bonnie was born and had her given name, Victoria Eugenie, and her birthdate engraved inside the cover. Scarlett had seen that watch in his hands thousands of times, and had to swallow hard and blink her eyes rapidly when she saw it in her own hand. But the letter hit her hard. Why that should be, she had no idea. Why should it hurt so much after all these years to know that Rhett had had an unacknowledged child? She had known all about Belle Watling; known Rhett owned her house, known Rhett visited Belle openly after she told him she wanted separate bedrooms. Why should it come as a blow that hed had a son with Bell before she had met him, that day at the Wilkes barbeque? Oh, but it did. Her brain knew she hadnt been betrayed, but her body didnt, and she found she was bunched over and protecting her stomach. It was hard to straighten up. It was a little easier after a drink. And then another. A bastard son. Rhett had had a bastard son and never told her. The knowledge did not soften the blow of Rhetts death; just made it 165

morecomplicated. There were little shakings of pain the Scarlett had been unaware of before. She thought she knew all about heartache, but found there was always more to discover. By the time Dilcey put her to bed, she had drunk herself into a stupor. The morning light crashed into her eyeballs while her eyes were still closed, and her head felt as if it would explode from it. She tried to fling an elbow across her eyes and found she was too weak to lift her arm. She was weak and sick and in pain. It had been a long, long time since she had been that drunk. At first she wondered why, then caught sight of Rhetts watch on her bedside table. Dilcey must have put it there when shed put her to bed. Dilcey would have recognized it and understood why she was drunk. God, what a relief to have her there, to know she didnt have to explain anything, to not have her disapprove or sit in judgment. But it was small comfort to appreciate when she had cannons going off in her head and simply turning her eyes could turn her stomach as well. Dilcey came into the room carrying a tray with two basins and a glass of water. One of the basins was empty; the other had cold water and a washcloth in it. She wrung out the cloth and put it on Scarletts forehead, then handed her the glass. Then she held the other basin at the ready. Scarlett drank thirstily. Whats in it? She could only manage a whisper. A little salt, a little sugar, a little lemon juice. At the words lemon juice, Scarlett retched. Eventually she stopped, exhausted. She wiped her face. Rinse your mouth. Scarlett obediently rinsed her mouth. Breathe slow. Scarlett breathed slowly and deeply. She had a couple more spasms, but didnt retch again. You aint getting up just yet. Ill tell Mr. Ashley you got a headache. And I wont be lying. Scarlett lay back and kept breathing slowly and deeply to keep the room from 166

spinning. She dozed for a time. Then she fell into a real sleep and woke only in the middle of the afternoon to find Dilcey standing beside her bed. That Petti-man is in the parlor, Miss Scarlett. He says you were supposed to meet with him this afternoon. I told him you werent feeling well but he wont go away. Scarlett groaned. She was supposed to have met with Pettibrew to discuss the details of hiring entertainers for the saloon. She wanted only the type of entertainment suitable for a drawing room, and he wanted to hire variety artists. Wheres Mister Ashley? Hes down in the library with that Major. Theyre talking about them battles again. We wont see Mister Ashley for some time yet. And I dont want to leave you to go fetch him. Well, ring for one of the porters and have him fetch Ashley. I do not want to get up. What the? There was a quick rap on her bedroom door and it began to open. Dilcey hurried to the door to prevent Pettibrew from looking in. She was several inches taller and broad through the shoulders, so he couldnt even get a glimpse of Scarlett while Dilcey came resolutely through the door, forcing him to back up, and then closing it firmly behind her. She kept between him and the bedroom door, and stepped forward, forcing him to step back even farther. The look in her eye cowed even him. Mrs. Butler isnt feeling well, I told you already, Mr. Pettiwhatever-your-name-is. Im going to have Mr. Wilkes fetched. You can talk to him. Dilcey had heard Pettibrew address Scarlett by name when he thought no one else heard him. She knew Scarlett didnt like it. She didnt like it either. My business isnt with him, its with her.

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I reckon she know her business best. If she dont want to see you right now, that is her business. You can wait to speak with Mr. Wilkes, or you can come back another time. Good afternoon. Tell her Ill see her at ten oclock tomorrow morning, then. Promptly. Dilcey had been herding him toward the front door that he had left open. Almost before he was out, she shut the door on him and did something shed never done before. She turned the key in the lock just so he could hear it. Some weeks later, Scarlett and Ashley were sitting quietly after dinner, she with a bit of needlework, he with a book, when he suddenly closed the book and looked at her. Scarlett, I think we should get married. Scarlett was so startled she jabbed herself with the needle. She stuck her finger in her mouth. Good heavens, Ashley, look what you made me do. Its a good thing I wasnt cleaning a gun! What on earth put it into your head that we should get married? I just dont feel right, our living together like this, especially since RhettI know theres nothingnothing to be embarrassed about, but I dont feel right. I think people who live together should be married. Why? Were perfectly comfortable. Everybody who knows us knows were not living in sin. Whats the difference between now and when Rhett was alive? I dont know. I know it isnt logical, but Id feel better if we were married. No, thank you, Ashley. Ashley, dear, if I were going to marry anybody, you know it would be you. But I just dont want to get married again. Three times should be enough for anybody! Well, all right. But if you should ever change your mind, the offer stands. 168

Offer of what? Scarlett couldnt help thinking to herself. I support him. What is he offering me? But she thought it without rancor. He had only his companionship to offer, and she had as much as she wanted of that, already. As for anything moreno, that was not possible. She didnt want anybody after Rhett. She had never worn that absurd hat in public again, but she still would get the hatbox down and take the hat out. Once in a while she would set it on her head and cry for a while, though she couldnt explain the difference between never seeing him when he was alive, and his being dead. As far as she was concerned, the marriage question was as dead asas dead as Rhett was. One lovely, quiet Sunday afternoon, Ashley went driving with Prissy and Dr. McGee. Scarlett was comfortably leafing through the newspaper in the parlor, and Dilcey was busy sorting out mending in her own room. Scarlett leaned back and stretched. Maybe she would go down and check up on the kitchen staff. Sometimes it seemed it was the quiet times that people got complacent and things fell apart. She disliked the kitchen to ever get into a panic. Yes, she would go the parlor door opened and Scarlett looked up, thinking Ashley was back early. It was Pettibrew. There was a look on his face that made her think he might have gone mad, and suddenly she was frightened. She stood up quickly. Mr. Pettibrew, what a surprise. I thought you were out of town for a few days. I was, but I heard some news that made me want to se you Mrs. Butler, Mrs. R. Butler. I cant imagine what you can have heard Mr. Pettibrew. Nothing noteworthy has happened that I know of. You got married, Mrs. R. Butler. You got married a lot of years ago to a Mr. R. Butler, didnt you? What did the R stand for Mrs. R. Butler? Was it Richard? Was it Robert? How about Roland? Robespierre? Rogue? Rotter? Scarlett could only shake her head. 169

Her mouth was dry and tasted like metal. She had always had a great deal of courage, but was a little out of practice confronting madmen. He must have found out she had been married to Rhett. Rhett, whod almost killed him because he thought hedand suddenly Scarlett put the pieces together. Zo! Of course, it had been Zo they had fought about. Rhett had believed she was a very young child when shed actually been, well, only twelve, but girls were sometimes married at that age, and besides..yes, that must be..her thoughts skittered away and she knew only that he was coming closer. So, Mrs. R. Butler, Mrs. Rhett Butler, Widow Butler, Ive decided to come courting. Yes, mam, I aim to marry you, Mrs. R. Butler, Wilkes or no Wilkes. Mr. Pettibrew, I am not accustomed to being thus accosted in my own but he was coming nearer and she froze in utter disbelief. He threw one arm around her waist and the other around her neck and shut her mouth with a violent kiss. She struggled and twisted this way and that, but he only held her tighter, squeezing the breath out of her. Her arms flailed, ineffectually. She tried to kick him but he was holding her too tightly. She couldnt hit him hard enough to make any difference. She opened her mouth to gasp of air and he rammed his cold tongue in, over and over. She wanted to scream but couldnt even breathe. She kicked over a small table and bit his tongue, hard, at the same time. He screamed in dead earnest and suddenly Dilcey had hold of his collar and was frog-marching him out the door. She gave him a shove that made him nearly lose his balance, and he had to stand panting for a while, holding his handkerchief over his bleeding mouth, before he could compose himself enough to even go back to his room. When Dilcey returned to Scarlett, she was spitting into the hem of her petticoat, gagging and almost screaming in inarticulate rage and humiliation. Dilcey poured her a big tot of whiskey and Scarlett took a 170

mouthful, but found she couldnt swallow it. She spit it into her petticoat as well. Dilcey shepherded her into the bathroom and had her gargle with whiskey, but even that didnt help. She couldnt wash the cold, nasty taste of him away. For a mad moment she even considered setting fire to the whiskey in her mouth to burn away the sensation of Pettibrews tongue. Waves of revulsion swept her and she cried and stamped her feet in rage and frustration. She wanted to break things. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to shoot him in the face as she had done that Yankee looter. She wanted to hit him with a rock again and again. She swished out her mouth with the whiskey over and over. She scrubbed her mouth out with a towel. She scrubbed it out with soap. Nothing would remove the horrible sensation of his tongue in her mouth. How dared he! How dared he! No one but Rhett had ever kissed her like that; not Charles, not Frank, not even Ashley at the height of their madness. Finally the crying and hiccupping and gagging and sobbing began to subside. You want to drink some whiskey, now? Dilcey was wiping her face with a cool, wet cloth. Y-y-y-e-s-s-s> Scarlett was still shaking. As the whiskey warmed and relaxed her, Dilcey undressed her and put her to bed with an extra eiderdown over her and another cool cloth on her forehead. Dont leave me, she murmured. I wont leave you, child. Even as she dropped off, Scarlett realized Dilcey had never before called her child.

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CHAPTER 7

I, Kathleen Scarlett, take thee, George Ashley, to be my lawful, wedded husband. She promised to love and obey in sickness and in health until death did them part, as if she were playing a role she knew only too well. Scarlett felt uncomfortable at all weddings. Her own 172

weddings had always had a nightmarish quality to them; she never quite believed they were happening. So, she smiled for Ashley, and sighed for herself. She was so used to playing a role in public that she slipped into it without even thinking. She was married again. She didnt want to be married; she was reasonably certain Ashley didnt want to be married. And yet, here they were, both acting happy. One quick little kiss and they turned to the tiny group in the parlor, wearing smiles that would have looked genuine to anyone who didnt know them well. Scarlett thought she finally understood why women cry at weddings. Her hand shook as she cut the very small cake and poured from one of only two bottles of champagne. Only the Fogartys, the McGees, and Dilcey, were guests at the discreet wedding which had been performed by the pastor of the McGees church. There were no photographsthere was no time to sit for them, since Scarlett was only taking a few hours off work. And this did this in haste and desperation to keep Pettibrew at bay. Her feelings were so mixed between resentment and gratitude that she was too confused to figure them out. Her resentment was not toward Ashleyit was toward a situation that forced them to marry, even thought neither of them really wanted to. She might repent of a hasty marriage; leisure in which to do it she had none. But Scarlett had never been one to shirk a burden. Ashley proved to be a fragile defense at best for, after quietly explaining to Pettibrew that if he were to annoy Mrs. Wilkes ever again he would find himself summarily shot, it seemed he had no energy left for much else. He took over the library and happily incorporated his own books into it, disposing of the books he considered unworthy to keep company with them. Scarlett had difficulty keeping any light reading there at all, of the kind preferred by most of her guests. Their evenings were spent quietly in the parlor where Scarlett tried her best to be a proper wife to Ashley, pretending to be interested 173

in his conversation and trying to learn chess for his sake, thought she could see no point to it. Just that evening theyd played a game with Ashley luring her pieces toward a win. His queen had to practically seduce her bishop and then very nearly commit hara-kiri so the bishop would have his king in a checkmate. There, now. Im well and truly trapped, he said, feigning surprise. Well, you cant complain. It was you who proposed to me. Scarletts tone was light and flirtatious. He looked up in real surprise, then laughed a little. He did not suggest a second game, but picked up the newspaper instead. Shall I read to you? That would be pleasant. Just let me get my mending. She pretended interest in what he read, all the time wishing she could work on the bookkeeping or oversee the bar from her balcony. At last, he folded the newspaper and leaned back in his chair. She looked up from her mending. That was interesting, Ashley. She hadnt actually heard a word, having been thinking of the liquor inventory. You look tired, dear. Would you like Dilcey to turn down your bed? I wish she didnt have to go to the trouble. I wish nobody had to go to any trouble. Of turning down beds? Its not hard work. Scarlett was amused. Of doing anything at all. Sometimes I feel as if just taking another breath would be too much trouble. Goodness! Scarlett had known Ashley all her life but never pretended to understand him. That had been Melanies territory. Well, I hope you keep breathing long enough to go to bed. After that, youre on your own. She put an arm on his shoulder and kissed his temple. She was adept at remote displays of affection. They were 174

sweet and domestic and seemed to fulfill her obligations of intimacy. In truth, neither of them wanted anything more, and Ashley knew how to respond to her little fondnesses with affectionate pats of her hands when she caressed him lightly. They were old friends of proximity, not affinity. Dilcey came in with a small brandy on a tray for Ashley. Beds all ready Mister Ashley, and your nightshirt is warm. Thank you, Dilcey. Goodnight Scarlett. He kissed her forehead. Goodnight, Ashley. Sleep well, dear. She watched him go out of the room with a little quizzical pucker of her brow before sitting down at her desk with the liquor bills. She had counted the inventory in the locked liquor room and had waited all day to compare it with the bills. Dilcey walked up to the desk and waited with her hands folded. Yes, Dilcey, what is it? Scarlett was squinting, blaming the lamplight for the difficulty she was having reading some of the number. Miss Scarlett, I got to talk to you. Scarlett closed her eyes and stroked her thumb and forefinger over them, stroking in and out toward the bridge of her nose. She sat back and looked up impatiently at Dilcey. Suddenly she felt guilty. Well? Whats so important you have to interrupt me when Im working? She would have spoken far more strongly to Mammy or Prissy, but it was hard to take Dilcey to task. What I got to say aint going to make no difference but it needs saying. You shouldnt have brought Mister Ashley her, Miss Scarlett. I knows a awful lot about plants and some can be upped and planted somewheres else and some cant. Folks is like that too, and Mister Ashley is one of them what cant be planted nowheres but where he belongs. If they be upped they roots just shrivel up and die, then the whole plant dies. What you done aint right. And I seen rapscallion boys stick pins in snails and pull them poor snails out they shells and 175

laugh at them all naked. You aint left Mister Ashley no roots and no shell. He aint got no way to protect himself. You shouldnt ought to have brung him. He dont belong here. And now you married him and he cant get away no more. Nobody forced Mr. Ashley to do anything. I didnt notice a gun to his head. Scarlett could have kicked herself. She should have upbraided Dilcey for presuming to criticize her and here she was defending herself. You know he couldnt tell you no. Hardly nobody ever could. You just run over folks what gets in your way. Only person ever told you no was Mister Rhett. And then you didnt listen. All you ever done was hurt him. You hurt everybody when you want something. You just run right over them. You got poor Mister Charles to marry you and you didnt even want him and Miss Honey did. You stole Mister Frank away from your own sisterI know why you done it but you still done it, and then you got him killed and Mister Ashley shot. You going to be the death of him yet. You got to stop hurting people now. It aint never done you no good. What business is it of yours how I run my life? Damn! Damn! Damn! Why couldnt she just tell Dilcey to shut up and leave the room? And if youd behaved yourself with that Petti-man, you wouldnt have had to go running to Mister Ashley for help in the first place. What? What? How dare youwhat do you know about it, anyway? You werent even here! My Prissy done told me how you eat your dinner with him every night and gone gallivanting all around San Francisco. You got your name in the paper all the time. Your poor ma would be ashamed. Its different now. People like getting their names in the paper. Anyway, this is San Francisco, not Savannah, or even Atlanta. Scarlett was stung. She was certainly not the daughter Ellen would have 176

wanted. But then, times had changed so much she didnt imagine anyone could have met Ellens standards anymore. She sighed. Oh, whats the use of arguing? Ashleys here and were married now. I guess weve just got to make the best of it. Well, Miss Scarlett, I reckon Mister Ashley aint got a shell and he aint got no roots. You done killed him this time except hell take a while to notice. In fact, it seemed that as soon as they had married, Ashley had started a downhill slide, slowly and almost imperceptibly at first, but then faster and faster. Scarlett had already learned about Ashleys violent headaches; now she was learning about his nightmares. They didnt happen often, but it seemed he was almost mad when they did. And they left him drained and depressed. Neither of them knew they were a legacy of the war, for when Ashley had been in Rock Island prison, he had found the prison doctor was an old friend from Harvard days. There was little leisure for the doctor, but out of his own kindness, and fond memories of grand debates and long, intense chess games, he made sure Ashley got the best care he could provide. And when Ashley had become ill in prison (as indeed, most of the prisoners were at one time or other), he saw to it that he didnt lack for the panacea of the daycalomelshortage or no shortage. And calomel had mercury in it, which was thought to possess almost magical curative powers. But all Scarlett knew was that, on top of running the hotel, keeping a weather eye on the saloon, keeping her nose above water from month to month, and making sure there was no avoidable waste and a minimum of theft, she also spent hours sitting with Ashley in his room with the shades drawn, replacing the cool cloths on his forehead. He liked her to talk quietly about old times, as long as she didnt mention the war. They had had far different wars. His war was on the battlefield and in prison. Hers had had a dizzying, kaleidoscopic feel to 177

it ranging from exciting balls to ghastly nursing, to the siege, and at last, the grim, hungry years at Tara. It was now that Scarlett once again came to depend upon Dilcey, whose strength and efficiency were a godsend. But she felt she needed more help. With Dilcey having to spend so much time with Ashley, Scarlett felt squeamish around Pettibrew. Not that she thought he would insult her again. No, she just hated having to deal with him at all. At the same time, she had almost a nostalgia for the earlier times when it was fun to be with him, queening it in society. It had been fun, and there was precious little fun and frivolity in her life now. But she was stuck with that damned contract and fulfilling it was a drain on the hotel. She finally decided to write to Beau and ask him to come and help. After all, Ashley was his father and besides being his aunt, she was now also his stepmother. She had a right to ask. But many weeks passed before he wrote back and his letter, while charming, was unsatisfactory. He regretted, he felt badly, he would dearly love to be able to help, but the upshot was he wasnt coming. Hes not coming, Scarlett said to Dilcey. She hadnt told Ashley she had written. Dilcey frowned. That boy know where his duty lie. Whys he say he aint coming? He says he has responsibilities to his students. He gots responsibilities to his pa. I know. But he says he cant possibly come for at least another year. Another year! Mister Ashley needs him now. Ill another year him! You tell him I said so. So Scarlett wrote again, emphasizing how long it had been since she had seen Beau, or that he had seen his father. But the answer came back the same. Beau couldnt leave his students.

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Ashley had short stretches of good days when he felt well enough to potter around in the library or sit in the parlor with Scarlett while she read the newspaper to him. His eyes hurt now if he tried to read himself, but that didnt stop him from ordering books that Scarlett would eventually have to pay for. But it wasnt too long before he would have another devastating nightmare and emerge weak as a kitten. Scarlett wrote Beau again, more urgently. But the reply was the same. She was losing patience with him. There came a day when Ashley lay curled up in bed with the covers pulled over his head. Scarlett wrote again to Beau, demanding that he come, describing Ashleys condition brutally. Beau regretted, he sorrowed, he commiserated, but he couldnt come. Then there seemed to be a respite. Ashley got up and dressed. It was heartbreaking to see this man, once so beautiful, her shining knight, trying to pretend there was nothing wrong. Again he spent his days in the library, chatting quietly with those hotel guests who spent time there, reading, or writing letters, rather than in the lounge, or next door in the saloon. It was during this respite that San Francisco was startled by the news that Jackson Pettibrew was engaged to the eighteen-year-old orphan heiress of a meat packing fortune from Kansas City. Scarlett wondered idly where and how he could have met her, but was not really interested. In fact, the girl had been brought to San Francisco by an aunt who was supposed to have taken her to Arizona Territory for her consumption, but had taken her to San Francisco instead. No, Scarlett was too busy to care. But what about Miss Zo? Dilcey asked. Scarlett merely shrugged. She wanted to get as much work done as she could while Ashleys respite lasted. She knew it couldnt be long. They lied to each other that he was getting stronger every day when in reality, he was merely in a pause before an inevitable decline. It was as if he was 179

gathering himself for the end. He and Scarlett both pretended all was well. The last bout of illness began with just a little chill one damp afternoon. Dilcey caught him shivering in the library and put him to bed. He never left it again. When the last decline came, it was sudden and steep, and Scarlett was tempted to hang onto his shoulders to keep him from visibly sliding away into the vortex. This time she telegraphed Beau, but got no answer for weeks when he finally wrote back that school holidays were coming up soon and he would try to get to San Francisco then. Scarlett was incensed, but powerless. At this rate, Beau would never see his father alive again. And he never did. The day finally came when Scarlett came slowly out of Ashleys bedroom and yawned and stretched, then bathed and went to bed, where she slept the clock around. She rummaged out the mourning she had worn when shed first come to San Francisco. The dresses were sadly out of fashion, far too fussy, and far too snug. Well, a couple of gussets and an inch or so added to the side seams would take care of the snugness. She would need a new hat and veil, but they would be the last shed ever need, so she neednt begrudge the money. All these practical matters were dealt with as a matter of course. She didnt cry. She altered the dresses and purchased the new hat all in a very business-like and matter-of-fact mood. Ashley was dead and now she was a widow again. She could dress very economically now. At last, she was an honest widow. Scarlett was surprised at the number of people who wanted to go to Ashleys funeral. They quite filled the trolley that took them to the cemetery. When had Ashley had time to make so many acquaintances? It was surprising how many hotel guests there were, and there were several people she didnt know at all. John Fogarty told her they were booksellers and librarians. During the simple graveside ceremony she paid no attention to what was being said, but became lost in her own thoughts. She stood at the graveside and looked down 180

on Ashleys coffin at the bottom. It wasnt that she couldnt accept that he was dead; after all, she had nursed him for months, and closed his eyes when he died. She just felt so alone now, now that it seemed everyone she had ever loved was gone. First Melly, then Rhett, now Ashley, and they had all left her alone. Why had they all gone on without her? She felt so drained, so empty now. It wasnt that she had loved Ashleywell, she had, but only as an old friend. But she felt he was her last tie to the old life, the last of the people who knew her history. Dilcey touched her arm and handed her the flowers to drop in the grave. She dropped them in. A minister she didnt know held out a small dish of earth for her to scatter into the grave. She scattered it. She didnt know what to do next. It wasnt that she didnt know how to behave at a funeral. Of course she knew, she had just forgotten momentarily. Fogarty took her arm and she was grateful. She hadnt known she was so weak, but she faltered a little walking back to the trolley. Dilcey stayed close to her shoulder all the way back home. She had only planned a small cold buffet in her own parlor for after the funeral, but they would have to move into the hotel dining room instead. She received condolences silently, merely bowing her thanks, not really wanting to talk to anybody. She exchanged only commonplace remarks with Fogarty and spoke to no one else. She just passed through the dining once to thank everyone for coming, then went to her room and didnt come out again that day. She couldnt understand it. She had been widowed four times. One would think she would be used to it by new. But she didnt feel much like doing anything. She would begin a task she knew was urgent, then forget what she was doing and stare off into space. If Dilcey neglected to bring her bedtime brandy, she forgot it herself. She didnt care what she ate or wore, what day it was, whether or not the weather was fine. Dilcey propelled her through her days, put her to bed at night, woke her in the morning. When a telegram finally 181

came from Beau announcing his arrival in Boston and telling her he would be in San Francisco in less than two weeks time, she just shrugged. What did it matter? What did anything matter? She would hang onto the hotel as long as she could while Pettibrew drained her profits and then, and thenshe didnt really care. And then her old nightmare came back, the one she had had so often before Melly died, and which had gradually left off; the one where she was running, running, running in the mistor fog, running without knowing where she was running to, while all the time the ground under her feet wobbled and shook. It was shaking her now. She felt her feet fly out from under her while she was still running, running, trying to keep her balance and still she was being shaken. She was struggling, sweating, and finally opened her eyes to find Dilcey shaking her awake. At first, she didnt recognize herdidnt know where she was. She was panting. You awake now? Yes. Yes, Im awake now. Want a cup of tea? Or would you rather have coffee? Coffee. She leaned back into her pillows with a sense of relief. It was good to be alive, safe, in her own comfortable bed. Dilcey brought the coffee and started setting Scarletts clothes out. Mister Beau is supposed to be here this afternoon. Anything special you want to order? No, Dilcey, I dont think so. Im still so mad at him I could spit. He can just eat what everyone else is eating. Did they send up the menu for today? Scarlett hadnt even checked over the dining room menu for at least a week. Yes, mam. Here it is. You going to need help dressing? No, thank you Dilcey. I can manage. You just get on about your business. The nightmare had one positive result. It shook Scarlett out of her daze and rattled her enough to get her attention. She gave 182

herself a shake, squared her shoulders, and picked up her load again. Being blue and despondent for a little while was all very well, but there was a hotel to be run and a payroll to be met. And Beau would be arriving this afternoon. Scarlett and Dilcey both stared at the young man whod just set his carryall down on Scarletts carpet and was looking from one to the other with apprehension. He had carried with him from Oxford the most confusing set of emotions. He had made a life for himself in the university, one of the very few Americans to do so, when out of the blue had come Scarletts demand that he drop everything and hasten to San Francisco. The very words San Francisco were enough to send a thrill to the pit of his stomach, but the thought of leaving his college, his students, and his studies, was a wrench. Just when he thought his life and settled into a pattern it was all shaken up again, and there could be no going back whichever way he decided to jump. If he didnt go to San Francisco, the door to his past would be closed forever. If he left Oxford, the scholarly life would be left behind. He had been sorely tempted to stay in England where he had just settled into a groove that could carry him smoothly the rest of his life. Every day would be predictable. He could stay in the insular, safe world of the university where all the tempests fit comfortably in teapots, and the only dangers were of small snipings or minor back-stabbings. The world outside could be reduced to a few footnotes and familiar jokes. It was all too tempting. But lately he had taken to looking at the lives of his colleagues; some plodders, some brilliant, and noticed a characteristic shared by so many of themthe desiccated youth, the faces marked only by time, not experience, the experience of academia being mostly academic and vicarious. Their lives were lived at a remove from the world in a rarified air that he suddenly felt had grown stale. Scarletts 183

letters had been vague about what she wanted him to do. Shed mentioned no specific tasks, no salary, and after paying his passage and the train from Boston, he had no money left. The appeal to visit his dying father had not moved him. He couldnt have explained why he was even standing there on Scarletts carpet. Scarlett hadnt seen him since he was twelve years old and had been expecting someone much taller. In her minds eye she had been seeing him as the boy hed been, superimposed on the image of Ashley. He was much shorter than she expected, perhaps five foot six in comparison with Ashleys five foot eleven. But then, Melly had been tiny. He had Ashleys fair hair, perhaps a little darker, and Melanies eyes. As she looked at him, her preconceptions evaporated and the real man asserted himself. He stepped forward hesitantly until Dilcey sniffed. Then he threw his arms around her and squeezed her hard. Mammy, Mammy Im here. I came as quickly as I could. In many ways, that was true. He turned to Scarlett. Aunt ScarlettI meanI dont know what Just call me Aunt Scarlett like always, Beau. Aunt Scarlett, you look even prettier than I remember you. Oh go along with you! Scarlett was exasperated enough, caught between wanting to kiss him and throttle him. His welcome was mixed. All three of them had so many conflicting feelings that they all seemed to be holding themselves in check. The surface calm held all afternoon, but it was only the calm before the storm. It broke at dinner. Beau, I still dont understand why it took so long for you to make up your mind to come. Humph! Seem to me he just waiting for his pa to die, Dilcey muttered under her breath. She was serving, but none of them pretended she was uninvolved. Oh Dilcey, thats ridiculous! 184

No, its true. Beau spoke quietly. He knew he was in for it now, no point in dragging it out. Both women were shocked, Dilcey silently, Scarlett at the top of her lungs. Just what is that supposed to mean? She half rose in her seat. Just what I said. I waited for him to die. I didnt want to see him. No one said anything. I hadnt seen him for more than twelve years. That was no accident. I didnt want to see him. You going to tell us why? Dilcey had folded her arms and was glaring at him. He killed my mother. He seemed to hold himself ready for a blow. Indeed, Dilcey had her arm raised, but let it fall again. She was shaking her head as she looked at him. Beau, have you lost your mind? Scarlett was dumbfounded. No. Would you mind explaining what you just said? Id rather not. Its indelicate. Indelicate? Indelicate? You think you can drop a bomb like that and not explain yourself because of my ladylike ears? For heavens sake, I watched you being born! I dont want to hear about indelicacy. Now you explain yourself this minute. Beau stared hard at the tablecloth while his ears got redder and redder. At last he spoke in a strangled voice. You know howhow you know why she died. She had a miscarriage and bled to death. Scarletts voice was flat and tired. Well, Aunt Scarlett, that couldnt have happened if he hadnt, hadnthe knew she couldnt risk it. He knew he shouldnt his voice was rising. The little nine-year-old boy whod lost his mother was crying to be heard. He forced himself on her. He killed This time Dilcey did strike him so hard he almost fell out of his chair.

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Scarlett leaped to her feet. Ashyour father was the last man on earth to ever have forced himself on a woman, you young idiot! Is that why you stayed away all those years? Is that what you thought? Goddammit, Beau, that is the stupidest thing I ever heard of! What other reason could there be? Dilcey was shaking her head. How could a child I raised be so goddam dumb? Scarlett was amazed. She had never heard Dilcey swear before. But she was intrigued. She had often wondered how that miscarriage had come about when the whole town knew Ashley and Melanie had separate bedrooms for that very reason. Did Miss Melly know another baby would kill her? I dont know. I suppose so. You suppose so. Of course she knowed it. Everybody knowed. Miss Melly wanted to get in the family way and she worked on your pa for nigh onto a year before he gave in. He was scared to risk it but she wasnt. It was your ma, fool! I seen her working on him. Nobody else would ever know she was doing it, but she knowed how to get to him, playing that there chest game, playing the piano, talking about god knows what them fool books they read together. They talked all kinds of fool stuff didnt make no sense to nobody but their own selves. It was your ma done it, not your pa. He blamed himself but it wasnt him. It was her done it. Dilcey was weary. She had loved Melanie fiercely and had considered her to be one of the most decent of white folks. Scarlett was frowning with concentration. Melanies death had nagged at her gently for many years, but she never would have thought of this. She had tried to avoid thinking about it altogether, but now it was unavoidable. ButI dontif she didI dont believe it. That would have been suicide. The word made the other two flinch. They were silent. Beau was trying to digest the enormity of his 186

mistake. He couldnt dispute what Dilcey had said. If anybody would know, it would be Dilcey. He rose, slowly. Aunt Scarlett, please excuse me. As he passed Dilcey he stopped as if for reassurance. Get along with you. You look tired. She sighed heavily. He walked out of the room as if he were an old man. The next few days were quiet ones in Scarletts parlor. All three were thinking of the past that had been, and Beau was wrestling with the past that might have been. He had overheard his father express remorse for his mothers death when he was still a child and didnt understand what he was talking about, but when he grew up, he thought he had put two and two together. But there were unknowns in the equation that he was unaware of, and his conclusion was false. With the earnestness of youth, and in the belief that only the young can determine truth, he had rejected his father and gone as far away from him as he could. Now, he was trying to reconstruct his father using Scarletts and Dilceys memories, and his fathers books to do it, but couldnt help seeing the hole in his life, of his own making. Whats Mister Beau going to do now? Is he going back to that place in England? I dont know. I could use him here, but I couldnt pay him. She finally enlisted him in a thorough audit of the hotel and saloon. Well, aunt Scarlett, the way I see it, if we work like beavers, count every penny, and keep the hotel full up all the time, we might break even. That was what I thought. We cant do better than our best, but Im afraid that damn contract is going to skim off any money we might actually make. What are you going to do? You know I cant offer you a salary. Do you want to stay, or are you going to go back?

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I cant go back. My position has been filled, and besides, I dont even have the price of the train back to Boston, let alone passage back to England. Beau, Im sorry Ive landed you in this position. You had a good thing going and Ive spoiled it. No, you didnt. Before I left I looked around at everyone else there and saw what I would have become if I had stayed. It was all right for a while, but I dont think Id want to teach in a university for the rest of my life. It seems to limit people after a while. Besides, you supported my whole family for years; helping out now would only begin to pay that debt. Debt! Dont be silly, It was family. We dont count things like that. Precisely. So Im not thinking of what Im doing as any kind of sacrifice. Its family, thats all. He grinned at her. Besides, weve got all that money rolling in from the rental house in Atlanta. At least well never starve. They both laughed. That rental money was a token amount compared to what rolled through the Orchard House in a single month. Well work something out. Maybe I could find work and help out with cash. I think wed be better off if you help with the management. I need somebody I can trust in the saloon. Pettibrew doesnt really work. He just hangs around with his friends. If you were on the spot to do the actual management Id feel much better. You could at least see to it he pays for his friends drinks. Some hopes. Id like to learn as much as I can, and make myself as useful as possible. Well figure out a way to survive. They were sitting with their heads together, working out Beaus specific tasks, when Prissy came into the room.

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Prissy! At last! Your mother told me you were in town and that youre married and all! Whats this I hear about a dressmaking business? Mister Beau, I isam sorry I couldnt come before but I been swamped with work. I just had to come and see you all growed up. Didnt grow very high, did you? Prissy was beaming and walked all around him, inspecting him. Them English clothes? Yes, mostly. Not much style to them. Theyre serviceable enough. Oh they look like theyll wear forever. Too bad. Mister Beau, I gotsI has a favor to ask. Well, what is it? I need help with some of my bills. My husband dont have time to do my bills and I hoped, since was here to help Miss Scarlett with her business, maybe you could help me with mine. Can you do the arithmetic? Some of it. My husband been teaching me. Im up to the seven times now. Thats wonderful! Perhaps I could teach you to read and write? Oh no, please, Mister Beau. Mister Ashley, he tried, and I got most of the ABC but none of the rest of it makes any sense. It just seems crazy. I did some of the writing practice but it makes my hand cramp up. And besides, I dont want Mister Will to know. Mr. Will? Benteen? Mr. Will Benteen? Yessir. Long time ago Mister Will was saying he aint got no use for niggers that could read. Excuse me, but thats what he said. Mr. Will is never going to know, unless you write him a letter and tell him. But Prissy, you need to do it for yourself. You cant depend on other people to write your bills for you. What if someone was dishonest? What if I wasnt available? 189

Well, I would just wait til you was. What would you do in the meantime? You cant just let bills pile up without getting paid. How would you pay for materials if you dont get paid yourself? You must learn to read, Prissy. I dont get it. It dont make no sense. It dont make no sense! Poor Prissys wail was genuine. She had been trying for weeks to pound reading into her head with sheer will, but it eluded her. You say thats a A and you tell me it stands for a sound except when it stands for a different one. And now you tell me it dont make a sound at all. And these words is just full of sounds that aint there and theys all the time different. How is a body supposed to learn all this stuff when it dont make no sense? Prissy was close to tears. Suddenly she had an awful thought. Mister Beau, you aint funning with me? Why Prissy, what a thing to say. I would never do anything like that! It hurts my feelings to hear you ask it. I didnt mean to hurt your feelings, but my feelings isare hurting with all this stuff. It makes my head hurt. And trying so hard makes my insides hurt. Her voice was shaking and she was close to tears. Beau threw himself into an easy chair and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Just put the book down. I have to think for a minute. He threw his head back and tried to think. Then he tried getting up and walking around the room. Finally, he sat back down across the table from Prissy. I want us both to take a break from this. Should I go and get some coffee, maybe some sandwiches? That would be fine, but its not the kind of break I mean. I think we should leave the reading alone for a little while. Prissy looked at him hopefully. She would have loved to leave it alone permanently. Well, maybe coffee and sandwiches might be a good idea. While she

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was g one, he circled the room again, deep in thought. By the time she came back, hed decided what he needed to do. All right, Prissy. Were going to leave the reading alone for a couple of weeks and then were going to start over. Oh no, please, Mister Beau. I is too stupid to learn. Am, Prissy, am; I am too stupid to learn. But youre not! You mustnt believe that. It cant be true. Youre not stupid at allhow could you be? Havent I watched you run Miss Scarlett all my life? Could a stupid person have done that? No, Prissy, youre not stupidI am. I thought I could teach. I thought it would be easy simply because I know youre smart. I know you are smart enough to learn to read. I just have to figure out a way to teach that makes sense to you. Now, for the next couple of weeks I want you to keep practicing making your letters like I showed you, so your hand doesnt cramp up. But I dont want you trying to read. Agreed? Prissy took a deep breath. And I dont have to try to read? No. I dont want you to worry about it. Were going to do this, Prissy. I just have to figure out how. Two weeks later Scarlett was coming down the front stairs into the lobby when she me Beau just coming in. He was whistling and had a large globe under his arm. What on earth are you going to do with that? And how much did it cost? Those things cost money, you know. Im going to use it to help Prissy learn about languages. It didnt cost a pennywell, it didnt cost me a penny. No, you wont be getting a billI swapped for it. Swapped what? Books. And never mind which ones. If I dont tell you, youll never know.

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How on earth are you going to teach Prissy to read with a globe? Want to come and watch? Ive got a business to run. I might look in later. and see the very top of the boot? There in that little corner right between France and Italy, theres where Monaco is. Its too small to seethe name covers it up and sticks out into the water. Now in France, they speak French. You can tell French when you hear it, cant you? Yes, but I dont understand more than bon jour. Thats more than a lot of people understand. Now long, long ago, in Bible times, when Jesus was alive, the people in this part of Italy spoke a language called Latin The next week he set up the magic lantern so the light would fall only on the globe, and pulled all the curtains. Now, Prissy, remember all the funny business about the clocks when you were traveling? Im going to s how you why they did that. So he spun the globe and showed her how daylight falls and night comes around and explained time zones. Finally he drew the curtains to let the daylight fall on Prissy, glassy-eyed and grasping the arms of her chair. Prissy! Prissy, are you all right? She didnt answer, but pointed weakly to the globe which was still spinning. She moaned, and he stopped the globe with both hands. Oh Prissy, Im sorry! He poured her a little brandy from the sideboard. Aunt Scarlett told me about that, but I forgot. He moved the globe to the floor, out of Prissys line of sight. She finished the brandy and breathed slowly and deeply while he watched her. Lets not talk about that anymore today. Feel better? Yes. A little. 192

All right. Now remember when we were talking about Latin? And week by week he would tell her stories about the countries in Europe and the languages spoken in them. He told her about the Romans and Greeks and how they spread their languages, about England and the different people who conquered it and contributed languages. He drew pictures and told about mythologies and made the language process fascinating. One day Dilcey stood in the doorway and listened, until Beau noticed her and invited her in. No, no, I aint got time for all that folderol. But a few minutes later she came in and sat down across the room, pretending she wasnt listening. While he was explaining why alphabets were developed, Scarlett passed through the room. Good heavens, I would have thought youd be way past the alphabet by now. Well, Aunt Scarlett, weve only been at it a few thousand years and weve only just started on alphabets. Whats all this? She looked down at a table littered with books open to pictures and diagrams of what looked like Chinese, and a number of other languages that looked like chicken scratches to her. Im just showing Prissy how different people do the impossible. Well, this stuff is impossible to read if its supposed to be real writing. Not if you happen to know how. Whats impossible is to hear with our eyes, but thats what were pretending to do when were reading. Thats ridiculous. I know. But its not as ridiculous as sharing our ideas by making sounds with our mouths, and we do that all the time. Im doing it right now. He grinned at her. The next time she entered the room that afternoon, she sat at her desk with a stack of bills, pretending to work

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on her books. Finally, she turned her chair around and frankly listened. Long before she was ready to stop listening, the lesson ended. Well, you learn something new every day. I wish the teachers I had at school had been as interesting as that. It doesnt seem like schoolwork, the way you teach, Beau. Thereafter, both Dilcey and Scarlett made a point of sitting in on Prissys lessons. They both became enthused and curious and the classes were casual and often funny. One day, they all took turns making funny noises while Beau tried to spell the noises they made. They were all laughing so hard, they didnt hear a knock on the door. Finally, the door opened and Scarlett looked up to see John Fogarty with a man she had seen before, but couldnt place. Why, Mr. Fogarty, how nice to see you. She rose and met them at the door, still smiling. Mrs. ButlerI mean, Mrs. WilkesIm sorry if were intruding. Oh, thats quite all right, Mr. Fogarty. Were all just trying to help Prissy learn to read. Indeed! Thats admirable, madam. If this is not a convenient time, perhaps Mr. McAllister and I Mr. McAllister! Of course, from London. How nice to see you in San Francisco. But what on earth are you doing here? In truth Mrs. Butler, or should I say, Mrs. Wilkes, I came to see you. Oh my word, all that way just to see me. Im flattered, Mr. McAllister. Please, come in and sit down. When did you get in? I arrived yesterday afternoon and Mr. Fogarty kindly invited me to stay with him. Weve been discussing business all morning and now we are here to see you. But if its not convenient He looked at the group still at the table. Mr. McAllister, if you came all the way from London to see me, I think well just make it convenient, shall we. We could step around the 194

corner and sit in the other parlor. That way we wont disturb the lesson. Would you care for coffee, or tea? Perhaps later, thank you. Scarlett ushered them into the back part of the parlor around the corner of the L-shaped room. Now, lets sit down and you can tell me all about why youre here, Mr. McAllister. Its about your late husbands will, Mrs. ButWilkes. Surely you must have been wondering about it. No, not at all, Mr. McAllister. I thought I had my share when he arranged to buy the hotel. He was so very generous then, I was sure Mr. McAllister opened his case and took out a folder. He very deliberately took his spectacles out of his pocket, polished them, perched them on his nose, picked up the folder, and opened it. In the first place, I think I must assure you that having remarried does not affect your status under this will. Mr. Butler made no stipulation, no conditions in regard to your marital status. When Mr. Fogarty informed me of your having been so recently married and again widowedand do please allow me to offer my condolences for your most recent bereavement, as well as for the passing of Mr. Butler Yes, Yes. Thank you. Oh, were Ashley and Rhett going to keep on dying forever? Was she never to be allowed to let them go? As I was saying, when Mr. Fogarty informed me of the most recent circumstances, we went over the wording of the entire will very carefully and found no reason why it should not be valid. Now, would you like to read it for yourself or shall I read it to you? Please, you read it. Im not sure I could make head nor tail of it. So McAllister read out Rhetts last will and testament. First, there was a series of generous bequests to his valet, his secretary, and several people Scarlett didnt know, gifts to both Wad and Ella, whose 195

stepfather he had been, and for my dear friend, Lady Olivia Beaumont, the sum of Scarletts mouth fell open at that point. The amount left to Olivia was almost twice what he had given Scarlett to buy the hotel. There was a muffled burst of laughter from the other room. They were still working on spelling noises. No wonder Olivia could look around and decide what she wanted to do! Scarlett wondered if she was jealous. She couldnt tell. She couldnt feel a thing. McAllister was still reading. on condition that he use the name Butler henceforth. Im sorry, Mr. McAllister, I wasnt paying attention. Could you read again what came after Lady Olivia? The residue of the estate is to be divided equally between my wife and my son, Maximilian Watling, on condition that he use the name Butler henceforth. Residue? Whats residue, Mr. McAllister. The rest. Whats left after the specific bequests, Mrs. Butler. Mr. Butler left specific instructions as to which items he wanted liquidated and which were to be left intact, but divided equally. This is what took so much time; why weve been over a year fulfilling the terms of the will. The monetary bequests were relatively simple matters. I have just come from New Orleans where I met Mr. Watling. He had decided to combine the two names into Watling-Butler. Quite an interesting young man. After the specific bequests and leaving half the residue in New Orleans, Mr. McAllister, I have to wonder what can be left? Truthfully, I hadnt even thought about it until today. Fogarty and McAllister exchanged what could almost be called smiles. McAllister began taking more papers out of his case. There were stock certificated, deeds, several kinds of bonds and securities, and on the top he laid a cashiers check. Scarlett looked at the check and gasped. Surely there werent, there couldnt have been two 196

commas in the amount! And, dear God, it was for pounds sterling. She looked from the check to the two men, back to the check, back to Fogarty and McAllister. She was too stunned to speak. Mrs. Butler, we do need you to sign a receipt for all this, so Im afraid well have to go over it item by item. Would you like to do that now or would tomorrow be more convenient? Lessons are over for the day, Aunt Scarlettoh, excuse me. No, Beau, come in. Beau, Beauwere rich. And Scarlett burst into tears. Dear madam, pray do not distress yourself. We understand it is a surprise; Mr. Watling-Butler left the room without a word when I told him, and went out and walked for several miles, very quickly. He turned to Beau with an inquiring look. Aunt Scarlett, shall I get you a brandy? Scarlett nodded and indicated he should pour drinks for all of them. After a few swallows of brandy she was calmer. Oh, Mr. McAllister, I do apologize. My presence of mind quite deserted me more a few moments. I declare, my manners seem to have deserted me as well. May I present my nephew, Beau Wilkes. Wilkes? Related to your latest husband? Yes, his son. His mother was my first husbands sister and she died many years ago. Im sure Mr. Fogarty has made you acquainted with the circumstances of my last marriage. Oh my goodness, all that money. Beau has been kind enough to help me with my business. Oh, Beau, Mr. McAllister says we need to go over all these things, she waved her hand over the stack of papers, and sign a receipt for them. Would you help me do that? Im feeling a little scattered. Scarlett sat back in her chair gazing off into space while everything was neatly ticked off by the three men. The only thing she took personal notice of was the check. When Beau assured her that the list was complete, she signed the receipt. 197

Gentlemen, lets have another drink. This time Scarlett poured herself. Lets drink a toastto Rhett. To Uncle Rhett. To Mr. Butler. To Rhett. Dinner that evening was a very quiet affair. Lately, Scarlett had been taking her meals in the dining room to save expenses, but tonight she had dinner sent up. Dilcey had gone home with the McGees overnight. Scarlett dismissed the waiter. Well just leave the table in the hall, David, thank you. Beau ate absent-mindedly, and Scarlett pushed her food around her plate. After dinner, by unspoken agreement, they both went into the back parlor where they had sat with Fogarty and McAllister. Beau poured generous tots of brandy for each of them and they sat in silence. Scarlett sat all the way back in her chair, leaning against the back. Her mother would have been scandalized to see her stretch out her legs, put her feet on the seat of another chair, and rest her head against the back of her own. She groaned. Oh god, I feel as if Ive spent the day picking cotton and all Ive done is look at a pile of money. You dont have to worry about the saloon draining the hotel dry, now. Thats true. I wish we could keep this money secret. Id love to drive Pettibrew crazy wondering how Im staying afloat. But you cant keep money a secret in this town. Well, well see how long we can keep it under our hats. What will you do now? Buy a mansion on Nob Hill? No. There isnt enough money for that, not to do a good jog of it and keep it up, anyway. I used to be jealous of the people who live up thereI dont know why Im not, anymore. I feel very comfortable here. Theres no reason to change. She had a sudden thought. Beau, would you mind if I went back to being Mrs. Butler again 198

instead of Mrs. Wilkes? I never really had time to get used to the Wilkes. I feel like Ive been trapped on a runaway wagon thats going too fast, and I cant get off. Id feel a little better with my own name. Frankly, Aunt Scarlett, I never thought of you as a Wilkes anyway. Youve always been Uncle Rhetts wife and I was a little disoriented when you wrote that youd married my father. No, of course I wouldnt mind. It seems much more natural. Maybe a place in the country. Like Tara? Beaus earliest memories were of toddling around the backyard at Tara. No. No, not Tara. With the Benteens there it would be awkward. I know Will wants to buy my share, but I dont feel right about that. You know, I could give it to them! Beau stared at her. Scarlett had never willingly parted with anything of value. Aunt Suellen would take it but I dont think Uncle Will would. Will and Suellen were not actually Beaus relations, but they were Scarletts, so in the best southern tradition, Beau appropriated them. Youre probably right. No, not Tara. I want to stay here. You know, I went to a wedding down in Santa Barbara County about a year or two after I came here. Every now and then I think about that place. I dont know why it sticks in my mind so, but I think I might like someplace like that. I never saw anything like it. There were these round hills all around the place, perfectly round hills that looked like velvet, but when you got up in them, they were all sage scrub, very rough. Ive never seen a sky so blue. But Santa Barbara is pretty far away. Not with the train. No, youre right. It took ages to get across the hills. It was a strange wedding. Wonder whatever happened to that girl? Come to think of it, I havent seen Evelina in an age; I should ask her. Scarletts tongue was wandering. 199

Im tired, Aunt Scarlett. I think Ill go to bed. Beau was the soul of tact. Good idea. I think I will, too. He gave her a hand up out of the chair. Oh dam, Dilcey isnt here. Beau, if you promise not to look at what youre doing, would you undo the buttons in the middle of my back? Theyre the only ones I cant reach myself. Of course. There. I wont tell a soul about the tattoo. She let out a mock scream. Get along with you, you bad boy! She couldnt help laughing. She was still chuckling after she undressed and climbed into bed. Oh why couldnt her own son have been as nice as his cousin? It never occurred to her that theyd had had vastly different mothers.

CHAPTER 8

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Scarlett lowered herself wearily onto one of the balcony chairs. She was still trying to keep her money a secret, so she worked as hard as ever. So far, the only difference the money had made was in allowing her to pay Beau a salary, and get all the bills caught up. But it was nice knowing it was there. The gaslight in the parlor was turned as low as it would go without sputtering, the glass doors from her parlor were shut, the drapes pulled tight. The lights from the saloon fell on the lace curtains in front of her, rendering her invisible from the floor. She could see everything that happened in the saloonat least she could see the tops of everythingher view of the people and objects closest to her was severely foreshortened; only the people on the stage looked nearly normal from her perspective. She recognized many of the men by the tops of their heads. There were several errand-cum-newsboys milling around, too. She could see the new boy, fat little George, talking to one of the waiters. She recognized the oversized cap he wore. He seemed to be popular with the rest of the boys, which was unusual. The newest boy was often picked on until he established himself in the pecking order, but from all she could tell, George had been a leader from the start. From where she sat, she could look directly down on the bartender and the cash register. That was the main reason she was on the balcony. The other reason was minor. Pettibrew had engaged a famous artist, a chanteuse as she was billed, and she was curious to know what all the shouting was about. The woman had a reputation of being more than slightly risqu and Scarlett wanted to make sure there was nothing in the act that would harm the Orchard Houses reputation. She took a sip from the tumbler beside her. Whiskey, neat. She wished she could kick off her shoes and thought about getting into her dressing gown but rejected that idea. She would have had to get up to get it and she was just too tired. She tucked one foot beneath her and 201

leaned against the back of her chair feeling a little guilty. Her mother would have been shocked. Of course, she would have been shocked at a lot of things: the whiskey, the fact that Scarlett ran a business, the fact she had no male protector (except Beau, of course). But a father, brother, husband, even a son, was a far more potent protector than a mere nephew. Scarlett rolled her head down and stretched the muscles in her upper back. She had been up at six oclock and working like a demon all day. Beau was expected back from a wellearned camping holiday the next day. She was wishing he would turn up early. The door opened behind her and closed swiftly. Is that you, Beau? Its me, Miss Scarlett. Aint you going to bed? Dilcey loomed beside her. Not yet. I want to see this Louise French. Would you like to watch, too? Maybe just a little bit. There was a pause, but Dilcey did not sit down in the other chair. Would you like a drink? Gone were the days of a single toast at Christmas. Theyd been through too much together. Besides, Dilcey carried her liquor well. Just a drop would suit me. Well bring me a buttonhook so I can take my shoes off. Then help yourself. Scarlett had poured her own tumbler half full. She would probably not drink it all; she just didnt want to get up once she was comfortable. In a minute, Dilcey was back. She carried a tumbler, too. Scarlett took the buttonhook and bent to undo her shoes herself. There were a few things she didnt feel comfortable asking Dilcey to do. Dilcey snorted. Hunh. Theres that Petti-man. He sure do like to annoy you, dont he? Scarlett looked up from her task and scanned the floor below. She saw Jack Pettibrew and a couple of men she didnt 202

know sit down at one of the best tables right in front of the stage. That wasnt his usual table. He usually sat where he could see without being seen. He must have wanted to be seen tonight. He appeared to be at his most jovial and just before he sat down he glanced up at her balcony and gave an ironic, and almost sneering nod. She bent back to her shoes. Looks like a bachelor party. The wedding is supposed to be Saturday, I think. I only feel sorry for the poor girl; she cant know what shes getting into. but then, she thought, who ever does? She pulled off one shoe, groaned with relief, and rotated her foot, wiggling her toes. Then she started on the other shoe. While Scarlett was occupied with her shoes, Dilcey watched the musicians come in. The usual piano player was joined by a drummer and two violins. They set their music up and exchanged a few words. The piano player was Scarletts employee, the drummer was the entertainers husband, and the violins were hired for the occasion. The drummer also did comic sound effects that were scripted. They had only rehearsed briefly in the afternoon for the simple reason that the entertainer and drummer, and their four chorus girls, had all come in on the noon train. Their conference ended, the drummer nodded to the bartender, who nodded to the floor manager, who lowered the lights as far as they would go without going out, and brought up the footlights. The floor manager then jumped onto the stage from the short flight of stairs at the side, and the little spotlight came on. Ladies and gentlemenladies, he shaded his eyes and pretended to look over the audience. Ladies?...Guess not. Well then, gentlemen! Have we got a treat for you! Youve all heard of our chanteuse, the most innocent flower of them all! He paused for effect. There was a chuckle from the crowd. Im sure, gentlemen, your wives would all approve of the wholesome, innocent, pure, and ladylike(the drummer had started an almost imperceptible drumroll 203

which suddenly became audible)Louise (crescendo) French! He flung his arm toward the curtain and stepped aside out of the spotlight while the curtains slowly opened to wild applause. All that was visible on the stage were four huge parasols opened broadside to the audience and covered with daisies. The piano played a sweet, innocent, vernal song and the parasols slowly parted to reveal the chanteuse. The audience started clapping and shouting, and Scarlett could understand why. Her own jaw dropped at the sight of the woman, and yet, what was she doing? She was standing with hr back to the audience but at a slight angle, with her head turned over her shoulder, and one hand on the handle of an enormous furled parasol that was serving as a huge walking stick. That was all. She was wearing a simple black and white vertically striped dress that looked as if it had been painted onto her body. It accentuated the extreme hourglass figure she was famous for. Her dcolletage was cut to there and made just barely decent with a sprinkling of daisies near the top. She wore what looked like a bushel of daisies on the hair that was piled on the very top of her head. She walked a few steps away from the audience and even at that distance Scarlett could tell that magnificent posterior wasnt padded. Her walk was languid and insolent. The men clapped and stamped, and when she turned around they started hollering. She posed for about five minutes, slowly turning this way and that, not looking at the men until she was turning away, and then she would simply glance over her naked shoulder with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow. The noise was deafening. When she was ready she nodded to the piano player and the room grew silent. The audience wanted to hear every precious word. Again, the simple, dainty music started and Louise French sang a simple, dainty song, the words of which were innocent enough, but the pauses, which she delivered with an absolutely straight face, were devastating. The woman was a genius. She wrote all her own material 204

and could size up an audience in the time it took to flirt with them before her first song. She timed her pauses perfectly to allow the roars of appreciation to die down just in time for the punchline, which she would deliver in an offhand manner, perhaps flicking a bit of fluff off her glove. Most of the time, Scarlett couldnt figure out what the men were laughing at, but Dilcey gasped and chuckled a few times, and once Scarlett thought the words could meanoh not possiblyand she blushed so hard her ears throbbed. Thank God she was sitting in the dark. Well, this woman was certainly worth her exorbitant fee. The house was packed and the bartender was as busy as an octopus. Maybe she should hire him some help while this woman was engaged. The daisy song was ending and the four parasols gradually lifted to reveal four girls painted to look innocent. They twirled their parasols over their shoulders as they strolled offstage, innocently seducing the audience, while Louise followed them offstage, innocently waving her rear. The band played one of the popular tunes from The Mikado while Louise French was changing costumes, and Scarlett turned her eagle eye onto the cash register. She hadnt been able to make the bar books tally. The saloon was losing money somehow, apart from the twenty-five percent off the top, but she couldnt figure out how. The lights were still down, and would remain so for the next forty-five minutes of the first show. Her eyes were still glued on the bar when Dilcey whispered in her ear. Whats Mister Beau doing down there? It looks like hes talking to that Petti-man. Hmmmm. What? Look, just by that front table. Aint that Mister Beau? Scarlett shifted a little from side to side, trying to catch a clearer glimpse through the lace.

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It certainly looks like him. She craned her neck. Yes, that is him. I cant imagine what he wants with Mr. Pettibrew. The Mikado music ended and the band was playing a new introduction. The curtains opened and the four girls were dressed in bathing costumes and san an innocent ditty in front of a flat painted to look like a changing hut. Beau was still standing by the table, and she could see some of the men at tables around him begin to fidget impatiently. He and Pettibrew seemed to be discussing something hotly. The music became a fanfare and the door to the changing hut opened to reveal Louise French, posing. This time, she was supposed to be a mermaid. The cut of her dress was exactly the same as the striped one, but this one shimmered blue and green, and there were seashells in strategic places, and more seashells on her head. And this time, she was posing with a trident instead of a parasol. The piano player was having to play louder and louder because Beau and Pettibrew were shouting at each other and there was an angry murmur rising around them. The chanteuse sang with her mouth but used her ears to try to understand why the audience had slipped from the palm of her hand. It wasnt much good trying to see through the glare of the footlights. The hubbub became a roar. No one was paying any attention to the stage, and the performers knew it. Louise motioned the band to stop. She stood on the stage with one hand on the trident and the other on her hip. This time, it was the audience putting on the show, shouting at Beau to sit down, and at Pettibrew and his cronies to shut up. Meanwhile, Beau and Pettibrew still looked at each other menacingly until Pettibrew said something with a sneer. Scarlett saw Beau recoil, and the, slowly, deliberately pull from his vest pocket a tiny, single-shot derringer. She shot to her feat.

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Beau, no! No! It was a whispered scream. In the saloon, men were instinctively scooting their chairs back, and the noise of the shouting died down. Now she could hear his voice perfectly. Say that again, about my mother. I didnt say anything about your mother. I said you were a son of a bitch. At this, Dilcey gasped and Scarlett moaned. They, and everyone else, saw Beau extend the tiny pistol to within a few feet of Pettibrew. They saw the tiny movement of his finger as he pulled the trigger. They were all frozen in shock and it seemed like years until they heard the report of the pistol. They all watched in horrified fascination as a trickle of blood became a flood down his shirtfront. He was still looking quizzically at Beau when his head collapsed onto his chest. Suddenly, there was movement and sound again. Scarlett whirled out of the balcony and down the privy stair behind the paneling to emerge suddenly behind the bar. She whisked under the counter and rushed to Beaus side before she was overwhelmed with a series of conflicting emotions. The foremost was fury, fury that he was such an idiot. Oh, not for killing Pettibrew, certainly not. She herself had blown the face off a Yankee deserter marauding at Tara. They had both needed killing. No, certainly not for killing a piece of vermin like Jackson Pettibrew. But for heavens sake, why did he do it in front of a hundred witnesses, many of whom were the mans cronies, and many of those in political office? Scarlett grabbed onto Beaus left arm. His right arm was grasped by a large, beefy Irishman with a red face, obviously a policeman. People were jostling them and shouting murder! and hang him, right now. One of Pettibrews friends jumped up from across the table. Friends! he shouted. Friends, we mustnt behave lawlessly. You tell em, Judge. Friends, I dont think we need to go to the trouble and expense of a formal courtroom trial. We can try this murderer right here and 207

now. Wholl be the jury? Fifty voices volunteered. The judge, Judge Noah Bryant, the well-known hanging judge and crony of the deceased, selected the first twelve men who stepped up. He quickly orchestrated the impromptu courtroom and selected another crony, the oily, elusive, theatrical Rampart Brooks, Esquire, to serve as prosecuting attorney. He had a little trouble getting a volunteer for the defense, but finally a neophyte lawyer said he didnt see much point in it but he would go on record. Beau stood silently all the while with a baffled look on his face. In record time, everyone was sworn that needed to be and the instant trial began. Rampart Brooks had a reputation to maintain, and he certainly was as good as a stage show. He worked himself into a dramatic frenzy describing the blameless life and tragic death of his friend, Jackson Pettibrew. The man had been a saint, the benefactor of widows and orphans. Louise French was still standing on the stage with her hand on her hip, nodding with appreciation whenever he worked up a tear, or a choke in his voice. a life cut down in the prime. Cut down by this viper, this brute, this murderer, who, in the throes of raging fury, took out his weapon, he picked up the tiny pistol from the table where it had lain since Beau dropped it, took careful aim at this mans great heart, he took careful aim after having sobbed over Pettibrews great heart, and pulled the trigger. He pulled the trigger. The pistol went off and the body slumped a little more in response. There was a collective groan. Scarlett grimaced, the singer looked startled. The beefy Irish policemans grasp on Beaus arm relaxed and he slumped to his knees while his face drained of all color. He toppled sideways onto the floor. The entire assembly, which had watched almost impassively while the man was murdered, had watched his lifeblood gush down his ruffled shirtfront, now felt a deep revulsion when another small bit of lead

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pierced his flesh, too late to do any real damage. Now, the baffled look that had been on Beaus face was reflected in others. I guess we dont need to look at that anymore. And Scarlett whipped the tablecloth off and covered Pettibrews body. Look! The tablecloth! The tablecloth! Several people were shouting at once. Scarlett looked where they were pointing and gasped, as did everyone else who saw it. About a foot from the edge of the tablecloth, in that portion of it which had overhung the table, there was a small, dark hole. She took hold of it, keeping well away from the corpse, and sniffed at the hole, then held it toward the judge. He sniffed. The prosecutor sniffed. There was a palpable draining of the energy that had driven the trial. It was obvious that the first shot, the one they all thought they had seen Beau fire, had come from under the table. Of course, there was no one there now. That was what had baffled him so. He knew hed pulled the trigger, but hadnt felt the recoil. Hed assumed his gun had failed to fire, but then hed heard the shot, and so further assumed that in the heat of the moment his senses were playing tricks on him. There was a general hubbub as each man started to explain to his neighbor what had actually happened, whether hed seen it or not. Scarlett prodded Beau with her finger and motioned him to the bar. They whisked through the counter, through the liquor storage room, and up the privy stair. In the balcony, Dilcey still sat glued to her chair, her eyes huge. She was breathing hard and when they appeared, tears stood in her eyes. You dam young fool! You dam fool! I dont know how you come to be standing here and aint hanging from the chandelier. How come you do such a blame fool thing. Her voice was shaking with the rage of love. Scarlett felt herself start trembling as well and she stumbled forward to her chair. Beau hung his head at Dilceys onslaught. He looked sheepish. 209

Im sorry I upset you, Mammy. He was saying some pretty ugly things and it just seemed like the right thing to do. Suddenly Scarlett started laughing. Shed been down in the saloon in her stocking feet. Her tumbler of whiskey was still almost half full and she took a hefty swig of it. She looked up at Beau. You all right? She examined him while he appeared to do a mental check of himself. Yes, I guess so. He shrugged. His color was good. His voice was steady. His hands were calm. He yawned. I think Ill go to bed. Im pretty tired from my holiday. And it still is my holidayuntil tomorrow. Well, goodnight Mammy. Goodnight Aunt Scarlett. Well! She couldnt for the life of her think of anything to say. Mmmmm, mmmm, mmmm. Dilcey was shaking her head. They sat, sipping their whiskey, and letting the excitement drain away. They were both too overwrought to go to bed. Might as well watch the second show, though I dont see how it will top the first. Indeed, the second show did seem a little tame after all the excitement of the first, and Scarlett and Dilcey both nodded off several times. In fact, by the time the show was over, the saloon emptied, the floor swept, the lights turned off, and the doors locked, they had both been frankly snoring for some time. Scarlett awoke in complete darkness wondering what in the world she was doing there instead of being in bed. Her stretching and gaping brought Dilcey whuffling out of her doze. I wonder what time it Hush. Whats that? Scarlett heard it, too. They both waited, listening. They were almost ready to give up when they heard it again, a sound like a sob. They looked toward each other even though it was too dark to see each others faces. Where is sit coming from? Scarlett barely mouthed the words.

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The staircase back of the paneling. Dilceys reply was just audible. They were both silent for a minute or two, then it seemed they both made up their minds simultaneously. They rose and tiptoed toward the door that opened onto the staircase. Dilcey stopped to slide out of her slippers. Scarlett was already in her stocking feet. She grasped the door handle and slowly turned it, being careful not to make a sound. Her eyes were dilated to their widest, but she could see nothing down the dark stairwell. There was definitely someone crying at the bottom of the stairs, crying as if they were trying not to be heard, but also as if they couldnt help themselves. Dilcey tapped her to move aside and went silently down the stairs toward the crying. Scarlett heard a rustle and guessed she was picking someone up. She heard her coming up the stairs, breathing as if she were carrying something heavy. Scarlett turned and opened the French doors into the parlor where the gas was very low, but after the almost complete darkness, it was quite bight enough to see Dilceys burden. It was the fat little newsboy, George. His face was pressed into Dilceys shoulder, his oversized cap was pulled down around his ears, and his shoulders were heaving with highpitched sobs. Dilcey laid him on his back on Scarletts settee and backed away to where they could both see his face. Miss Zo! Zo! Scarlett was dumbfounded. It was indeed Zo Morgenstern with no paint on her face, and a well-worn brown corduroy coat and knickerbockers on. She sobbed in earnest now, one elbow flung in front of her face. Ow, ow! She reached into her back pocked where something hard was poking her, and pulled out a tiny, single-shot derringer nearly the twin of Beaus. At the sight of it, she wailed, Goddammit, I loved that son-of-a-bitch! and burst into the sobs she had tried so hard to suppress. Scarlett and Dilcey looked at each other in silent 211

confederacy. Dilcey left the room and came back with smelling salts and a cool damp towel, while Scarlett sat on the edge of the settee and patted Zos back. Half-an-hour later, Zo, with her face swollen and blotchy but otherwise calm, was perched in her customary seat on the arm of Scarletts settee with a splash of whiskey of her own. Scarlett had never seen her with her face washed before and thought she looked like someones nice little grandmother. Indeed, she was plenty old enough. So, there it is. A tale of betrayal and revenge, quickly told. Scarlett remembered the first time she had met Zo and couldnt help wondering if she hadnt meant to kill her that time, in the event she had been planning to marry Pettibrew. Better not ask. Better not to know. What do we do now? We got to get Miss Zo back home. Do anybody know where you is at? No, but even if they did, my girls wouldnt say anything. So, how are we going to get you home? Scarlett asked. Lee Chow will be by at five oclock to pick up the laundry. He come by here and then stop at Miss Zos. Nobody will see nothing. And so it was agreed. Five oclock was still three hours away, but they didnt dare go to sleep in case they didnt wake up in time. No one must see Zo. But what to do in the meantime? You know, Scarlett, Jack still has a room here, doesnt he? Yes. What was Zo getting at? Dont you think we should take a look at it? The police will probably go all through it tomorrow. I cant imagine what they would hope to find.

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I think we should go through it first. Doesnt he have some of your jewelry somewhere? Maybe its there. I know it isnt at my house. What if somebody sees us? What if somebody sees you? Well, you have a passkey. You go on ahead and Dilcey and I will follow together. That wont look too peculiar. I could say I was running an errand for Dilcey. At two oclock in the morning? Its better than all of us being together. Besides, no one is going to see us. And no one did. Ten minutes later they were all three in Pettibrews room rummaging through his bureau and desk drawers, but found nothing of interest until Dilcey opened the doors of the wardrobe. Inside was a small safe. Well, what are we going to do with that? Scarlett whispered. They all whispered. I could try to carry it. Dilcey squatted and wrapped her arms around the safe and tried to stand up. She could lift it but knew she couldnt possibly carry it down the stairs. Zo sat on the floor in front of the open wardrobe. Scarlett sat down beside her, crossing her legs tailor-fashion. Let me think. Ill bet I can figure out the combination. I have one of these myself. The combination goes two turns right, two turns left, and one right, and one left. So, lets try Zo turned the dial several times and tried to turn the handle. Nothing. All right, that one didnt work so She repeated the effort several times, pausing in between tries to think out another combination. On her fourth try, the handle went down and she opened the door a crack. Then she started weeping softly. What is it? Whats wrong?

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That one was my birthday, she sniffed. She pulled the door open and amongst the tumbled contents crammed inside, Scarlett spied her own jewelry boxes. She let out and hungry little cry. Ssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhh!! Happily, she fished them onto her lap, but her happiness vanished as she opened the boxes one by one. They all held the same thingempty, twisted settings. She bit her lips and tried not to cry, but the tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped onto the empty settings. She wasnt crying just for the diamonds and emeralds, she was crying because Rhett had given them to her while they were married, in the time she now remembered as having been happy. That bastard! That damned bastard! I hope he rots in hell! she whispered shakily. She searched for a handkerchief in both sleeves, but couldnt find one. Dilcey fished a clean one out of one of Pettibrews drawers and handed it to her. So, what is all the rest of this stuff? Scarlett turned her attention back to the safe, where Zo was rummaging. Some time later, they had sorted it out into rough piles: stocks, notes, bills (mostly unpaid), deeds, cash, letters. The cash pile was very small, just a few hundred dollars. There were lots of stocks and, except for a few they both recognized as either worthless or of modest value, they were for companies neither had ever heard of. Most of the deeds were from small holdings that must have been foreclosed on. The notes were many, and there were several names both Scarlett and Zo knew, scions of wealthy families. Scarlett became more and more puzzled as she looked over the piles of papers. I dont know all that much about business, but it doesnt look as if all this made much sense. Did he even keep books? Doesnt look like it, does it? It looks as if he couldnt help buying stuff just to buy it. I dont even see any kind of ledger for

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money loaned out. I knew he liked to have a lot of things going on at once, but how could he have kept track of all of this? And what are we going to do with it? Lets finish looking at it and then lock it back up. You dont mean all of it, Zo? Of course not all of it. The money doesnt have anybodys name on it, does it? And we havent looked at the letters yet. So they divided the letters in half and each of them took a pile and skimmed through them while Dilcey starting putting everything else back into the safe. The letters were mostly from desperate people begging for time. The name on one rang a bell she hadnt heard for a long timeDon Pedro Aguilar. Scarlett perused it carefully, then folded it back up and slipped it into its envelope. She slipped the envelope into her pocket. Zo, Do you think there is anything here worth anything besides the money? According to this, there should be a lot of money. Its certainly been paid. I wonder what he did with it? Or do you think he spread himself to thinthere are an awful lot of different holdings here. He was always sure his next deal would make a lot of money. He was always looking to make a name for himself as a wheeler-dealer, but he never did. Well, I think we can lock all this stuff back up. We still have to get you into a laundry trunk without anybody seeing you. The next day the newspapers were full of the mysterious killing and they all ran florid obituaries of the murder victim. Business in the saloon was booming, and Beau was busier than ever, for suddenly the whole saloon fell to him, and he was having to learn on the run. Scarlett took a grim pleasure in the fact that she could happily pay Beau a fair percentage of profit. Now that Pettibrew was dead, so was 215

that accursed contract. The police came and searched Pettibrews room and took away the little safe. The newspapers, of course, kept printing rehashes of the story until another story broke. Vanderhaaks bank, the fourth largest in San Francisco, suddenly went bust. Scarlett had palpitations when she heard that. Goodness! If banks were going to go bust, there was no safe place for her money. Thank heaven she had put her money in the second largest bank. But still, it wasnt safe to leave such a large amount in any one bankshe would have to divide it up. She would have to invest in something stable. Land was stable. Good land was always a good investment. And she still had that pathetic letter to Pettibrew. Beau, when things quiet down a little, I think Im going to take a little trip to Santa Barbara Count. Arent you sort of hoping well stay this busy? Of course. Do you think you could handle both the hotel and the saloon for about a week? Only one way to find out, isnt there? And anyway, your money troubles are over. Scarlett heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God! And Uncle Rhett, of course. Of course. And Jack Pettibrew is dead, yippee! Scarlett danced a little jig. Aunt Scarlett! You shock me. Said the man who pointed his pistol at him and pulled the trigger. They both chuckled. I wonder who did kill him, thought? Whoever it was certainly did us a big favor. Maybe we should just let it go at that. Do you think I should take Dilcey? Or should I just be like Nellie Bly and carry one little carpetbag? Why ask me? If youre going visiting, take Dilcey.

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No, this would be business. Remember the ranch I told you about? I think it might be for sale. I want to look into buying it. I might be able to get it pretty cheaply. If its cheap enough, it might be worthwhile to buy it even though it is hundreds of miles away. But I dont want anybody to know Im interested or theyll drive the price up. So, I guess Ive got to go look into it myself. Two days later, Scarlett found herself in the Santa Barbara County courthouse being sent from one counter to the other. Answers to her questions led to more questions, then more answers. Finally satisfied with her inquiries, she took a room at the best hotel in town, then went to see about getting out to the Aguilar place. I cant rent you a buggy to go all that way, mam. It would take you at least eight hours to get there. If youll pardon my saying so, mam, you dont look as if youve driven anything for quite a long time. The ride itself is tiring, but to drive fifty miles in one day is no joke if youre not used to it. You say you want to get to the Aguilar place? The man scratched his head and spit into the sawdust on the floor. Well, if you wont rent me a buggy and a horse, will you sell them to me? And if I dont smash up the buggy or kill the horse, you can buy them back. Could you drive a pair? Be a lot quicker if you could. If theyre trained, I can drive them. She had only driven a pair once, and it certainly took a lot of concentration, but if it would get her out to the rancho quicker, she was willing to risk it. Ill be around early in the morning, say about seven oclock, then. The ride the next morning would have been delightful if she hadnt had to concentrate on driving. In her haste, she had forgotten to bring any lunch, and envied the horses mightily when they grazed while she rested them midday. Her stomach was growling and her forearms ached by the time she saw the rancho in the distance as she was driving down the last hill. The sun had almost dropped below the 217

hills behind her and the sky in front of her was darkening, but the last rays picked out the light-colored stucco of the adobe house and outbuildings in golden light that looked like a benediction. All the way to the house, she felt a sense of homecoming, even though she had only been there once before. The valley was peaceful and content. Someone must have heard her pulling in for she was met by one of the brothers (she had forgotten their names) carrying a shotgun. When he saw a solitary woman in a buggy, he set the gun in the house and came to meet her. Good evening. I dont know if you remember me, but Im Mrs. Butler. Im a friend of Don Pedros. The man bowed. I remember you Senora. It has been many years since my sisters wedding. Yes, it has. How is your sister? And how are you all? We are fine. She is fine. Everything is fine. My father is fine. We are all fine. Im sorry, I havent kept everyones name straight. You are? I am Alonzo Aguilar, Senora. We spoke together. Oh yes, you took me for a ride. I beg your pardon, could I have a drink of water? Ive been driving all day. Si, si. Come in. I will send someone to look after the horses. I came to speak with your father. May I see him? He is sleeping, senora. He gets very tired lately. He will get up for dinner. An old woman passed through the hallway. Juana, agua por la senora, por favor. She turned around and went off in another direction. Please come into the sitting room. Perhaps I can help you. Perhaps you can. Scarlett paused, trying to think of how to put what she wanted to say. She had been rehearsing a conversation with Don Pedro, not his son. At last she said, I visited the county courthouse today. She saw his eyes become hard.

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Then you know all about it. Why did you come here? To tell me that? I think I could help, a little. How much money would you need to pay off everything and leave the title clear? Senora, if we pay off everything, we are left standing in our shirts. Scarlett had been driving all day without anything to eat. She was tired, hungry, and never had been fond of self-pity in herself or anyone else. If you dont pay off everything, the sheriff will have a sale and youll be standing in your shirts in the newspapers. Did you come here to insult us? No. I came here because Don Pedro is a very nice man and I dont want to see him humiliated. I came to ask what would clear the title and maybe leave you all enough to get started someplace else. Started someplace else. Someplace else where my family has not lived for over a hundred years. Four generations of Aguilars were born on this rancho. And in less than twenty years I have seen it vanish. We used to have so much land we couldnt ride around it in a week. So many sheep we couldnt count them. So many head of cattle There were people who counted on us for work, many families, generations of the, just like us. One by one those families have had to leave us, to start someplace else. They go to other ranchos, to Los Angeles, to San Diego. Where do we go? Where is someplace else for us? He wasnt talking to her, wasnt even seeing her. He was looking back, back to the Old California, back to the missions, to adollar-a-hide fortunes, to the beautiful austerity, the slower pace, the slower turn of only two seasons, the gracious life of magnificent land grant ranchos, back to a time that had gone. His way of life had ended as irrevocably as Scarletts old life at Tara, before the war. Hers changed abruptly when the war started, that lovely April morning so long ago. His had ended ten years sooner than hers, with the 219

discovery of gold in California. It had just taken longer to realize what had happened. In retrospect, his family should have sold out twenty years before, before they had started to sell a bit here, a bit there, and pile mortgage on mortgage until there was nothing left but bitterness. And what do the Aguilars do now? We are gentlemen. We do not chase money like these Americanos. Where can we go and still be gentlemen? I dont know, Mr. Aguilar. But I do know that if you look back, you will go under. Ive seen a lot of people go under because they gave up. Mr. Aguilar, I am exhausted. Might we discuss all this tomorrow, with Don Pedro? Would you not wish to see him at dinner? If I try to sit through dinner Ill fall asleep in my plate. I will have Juana take you to your room and bring you something to teat. We will speak in the morning. Buenos noches. In the morning, Scarlett was dismayed to find Don Pedro had gotten feeble. He seemed pleased to see her, but couldnt be brought to see her purpose in coming. He talked about everything but the impending sale. I have missed seeing you Senora. We used to have good talks, you and I. I am glad you come to visit an old man. We can sit outside under the pepper tree, where we had the party when my daughter married. Yes, I remember. We had a lovely time. How is your daughter? She is well. She writes and tells me she is well. But I have not seen her since that day. Try as she might, Scarlett never could bring the conversation around to what she wanted to do, so she waited until the old man went to take his nap. She would have to conduct business with the bitter Alonzo.

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Mr. Aguilar, I wish I could convince you somehow that I am not some buzzard just waiting for you all to die. Why are you so suspicious? Dont you work with Pettibrew? And he is, what is the English wordin cahoots, yes? In cahoots with Vanderhaak. He spat the name of his sisters in-laws. Mr. Pettibrew has been murdered and Mr. Vanderhaaks bank is in trouble and he and his wife have disappeared. And if its any consolation, Pettibrew cheated me out of a lot of money and stole my jewelry. At last Alonzo Aguilar looked at her as if he was seeing her, and not the past whisking out of sight over the hills. But you are not ruined? You have enough money to buy Casita Encantada? Yes. Ive been very lucky. Now, are we agreed, Mr. Aguilar, that I will pay off the mortgages and maybe buy the furnishings and the livestock and equipment? I have been working on inventories already. I will show them to you. So Scarlett toured the house, the kitchens, the barns and sheds, looked over the stock that was kept at the homestead, the vineyards, the groves, and gardens. She didnt make an offer for the cattle or sheep, but she bought some of the horses and tack and most of the furnishings of the house. There are too few people here, only the ones who would stay without pay. How long will you need to sell the cattle and sheep? We can be gone in a month. We will be gone in a month. Fine. Please tell anybody who wants to stay that I will pay them their wages starting from that time. I will send my nephew down to manage the place. Ill leave very early in the morning, Mr. Aguilar, so please tell your father adios for me. She knew wishing him good 221

fortune would only sound like and insult so, having found nothing to say for several moments, she finally said good-night and went to bed. In the morning, she left before breakfast, and so arrived back in Santa Barbara once again famished and weary. The following day she spent an hour in the courthouse and came out the owner of a remnant of one of the largest of the old royal Spanish land grants in California. All the way back to San Francisco in the train, she thought about what to do with the land. She hadnt really planned any specific use for it except that the existing vineyard and groves and gardens could produce fruits and vegetables and probably the meat for the Orchard House. She was still sore from the driving, but was unusually content. She became aware that shed been harboring a tightness somewhere above her waist only when it was no longer there. It had been a long time since shed felt at home at Tara; but she hadnt known how much she needed land. Casita Encantada was hers. She finally had a home again.

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CHAPTER 9

Scarlett glanced down at the letter again. After six weeks she still hadnt the patience to read it straight through since the first time shed skimmed it. Dear Mother Butler, Scarlett snorted with annoyance. Mother Butler, indeed! It is with great joy that we have welcomed our daughter, Caroline, home from her studies in Europe. You can imagine how we have missed her, and how we now delight in her company. It is amazing to me how long a time it seemed until she would be ready to come home, and yet, in the short time since she has returned, it seems as if the time has just flown by. Now that we are together again, Maximilian thinks it would be appropriate for us to finally pay our too-long delayed visit with you, and I must concur. After all, we are all family; perhaps we ought to meet. Caroline never had the opportunity to meet her grandfather Butler. She is quite eager to have a grandmother again. We quite miss her grandmother Watling Scarlett ground her teeth at even standing in the same relationship to the unknown girl as Belle Watling. But it wasnt the same. Belle had been, in fact, this girls grandmother, whereas she herself had merely been her grandfathers wife! God, what a mess. And she said they missed Belle! Good heavens! What kind of person would find that redheaded so-and-so a welcome member of the family? Scarlett

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couldnt imagine Belle in any other context than as proprietor of a whorehouse. (Shed conveniently forgotten her own friendship with Zo. She wasnt related to Zo.) The letter went on to state when they could be expected. Today. This afternoon. Actually, any time, now. Scarlett tossed her head with impatience at the audacity of this woman whod invited herself to visit, and who styled herself Helene Watling-Butler. It was an insult to her just to see those two names linked so blatantly, will or no will. Who did this woman think she was, anyway? She seemed awfully complacent to be the wife of a bastard. A rich bastard, to be sure; there was that. But shed been married to him long before he became rich. At least, if not complacent, she could refer to it obliquely without the paper blushing. Scarlett somehow was of the opinion that a bastard would necessarily be a crude, coarse kind of person. She was not looking forward to this impending visit with any pleasant anticipation. so I will simply say farewell until we meet. Were looking forward to the long-anticipated day. Most Sincerely, Helene Scarlet had been stepping out onto the landing to look down at the foyer every three minutes for the last half-hour. At last, she decided to have a quick drink to relax her nerves. She had just poured herself a small brandy when she heard a slight commotion in the street. She went to the window and looked down. The little flock of excited boys were shouting something and pointing, and when she looked to where they were pointing, she saw one of those horseless carriage things come up the street with several people aboard. It stopped ratter suddenly in front of the Orchard House. Thats never them. She said they were coming on the train. They couldnt have driven that thing from New Orleans, she muttered

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to herself. Scarlett was tempted to go down and look at the contraption. It was the first one she had ever seen, and she didnt quite believe in it, even after having seen it lurch to a stop at her own front door. She kept gawking even as the boys and all the bystanders gathered round. She saw Beau go down the steps toward the thing. He spoke to the driver, who got out and shook his hand. There was another man in the car, but Scarlett guessed he was the actual coachmanwhat was the wordchauffeur. There were two ladies in the back in dusters that covered them from the shoulders to the ground, and wide-brimmed hats with heavy veils that muffled them from the shoulders up. Beau was being introduced to the ladies and there was a lot of bowing and hand-shaking and Beau was gesturing that they should enter the hotel. One of the ladies indicated some bulky parcels that she apparently didnt want to leave in the car. Beau, the gentleman, and the chauffeur carried the odd-shaped packages inside. There was no luggage. Scarlett sipped a little more brandy, then decided to go down and look at the register to see who these people were. She couldnt remember reservations for another party of one man and two women for today. She left her glass on the tray in the parlor and made her way out to the landing again. The ladies were standing near the odd parcels, and one of them was explaining to the head porter exactly how to pick them up. Scarlett couldnt hear her voice, but all her gestures were graceful and restrained. The other one stood by with her hands clasped low in front of her, ramrod-straight in the best finishing school fashion. Scarlett looked toward the desk where Beau was standing with the gentleman and found herself looking atRhetts shoulders. For a second, she thought it was Rhett. She would have known those shoulders anywhere. But no, of course not. Her heart was pounding and she had to blink back sudden tears and grasp the railing because of the way she seemed to reel. Maximilian Watling-Butler (it could be no one else) 225

spoke to the lady who had been so concerned about the parcels. Scarlett had to assume she was Helene, which would make the other one Caroline. Then he and Beau went back outside, just when she needed Beau the most! Men! The two veiled ladies looked toward one another (it was a mystery whether they could actually see each other through all that heavy veiling), then turned toward the stairs. Scarlett watched them ascend, seeing nothing amiss in their carriage and movements. Indeed, they were rather graceful than otherwise, the mother more so than the daughter. She moved over toward the head of the stairs and stood there in a welcoming attitude. Hello, hello! You must be dying to get out of those things. Come and get comfortable. Scarlett led the way into the parlor and closed the door. She stood, smiling a polite hostess smile while the older woman started unbuttoning her duster and the younger one unwrapped her veils and lifted them up. For a second, there was a tiny spark of some disturbing awareness, but Scarlett, shuddering, put it down to family resemblance. Scarlett reached out to hold the hat while the girl unbuttoned her duster. (Where was Dilcey? She was usually right where Scarlett needed her.) Helene handed Scarlett her duster, too. Then she lifted her own veil and the tiny spark grew fullblown into an explosion inside Scarletts head. It seemed as if everything she had ever known simply rose up and clashed together in that moment that Helene handed Scarlett her hat. Scarlett was looking at the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. A beautifully shaped head with delicate ears, deeply-cut nostrils, a swan-like neck, large, dark eyes, and chiseled lips. And a complexion that was colored. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Helene Watling-Butler was colored. That was the spark of recognition at Scarletts first glimpse of Caroline.

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Ill put these things in the bedroom, she managed to say after a pause that was too long. Where in hell was Dilcey? Scarlett hadnt seen Dilcey open the door just as Helene lifted up her veil. At that moment, she was actually behind the door, which she had silently closed again, doubled over and shaking with silent glee. So Scarlett carried the dusters and hats to her own room and put them on the bed. She knew she should go back to her guests and offer them refreshment and turns in the bathroom to freshen up after having traveled for days, but first she had to stomp around her room. She turned this way and that, that way and this. She thought of asking, no, telling them to leave. She wanted to scram at somebody. She felt someone had played a colossal trick, a very unfunny joke. Family? Family! Damn Rhett. This was all his fault. He had to go and have a bastard in the first place. Of course a bastard would have no better sense that to marry aashe couldnt bring herself to even think any of the words. She wanted them out of her house, out of her life. They would have to go. But the girl was Rhetts granddaughter. It always came back to that. She might have stayed in her room for the rest of the day if she hadnt finally remembered that the girl would also have been Bonnies niece. Damn. The girl was Rhetts granddaughter and Bonnies niece. And family is family down to the third cousins thrice removed. Damn. Damn. Damn. She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders, gave herself a little shake andwent back into the parlor to face what she must face. After dinner, Scarlett and Helene carried their coffee cups around the corner of the L-shaped parlor, leaving Max, Beau, and Caroline in the larger part of the room. Caroline had sat down at the piano immediately and was noodling snippets of Mozart and Chopin, trying phrases, none of which she wanted to play very much. Beau sat down with the newspaper, and Max was leaning back in his chair with his 227

eyes closed. Caroline kept on noodling for a few minutes until one chord seemed to remind her of something. She sat with her hands suspended for a moment, then began softly to play Beethovens most beloved piano sonata. She played it carefully, trying to remember each note. The result sounded as if she were making it up on the spot, and she felt as if it was playing itself, as if her hands belonged to someone else, and all that was required of her was to listen, but from inside the music. The music possessed her as it had never done before. Behind his newspaper, Beau had been oblivious to the noodling, but at the first notes of the sonata he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes against unexpected tears. He was nine years old again, in the most precious of his memories. He was in his bed, hed been tucked in and kissed goodnight, and now Dilcey was softly moving around his room, putting away some fresh laundry. His door was open and he could see into the lamplit parlor. His mother was playing the piano. She was playing Beethoven. She was playing this piece, his fathers favorite. In his memories, this was the golden age which he felt had lasted a long time. It had really only been a few months, too few months, and then his mother had told him he would have a new brother or sister, and soon after that, she was dead. But this memory stayed constant. Mother was playing the piano. Dilcey was moving around his room. He felt safe in his bed, secure in the love of everyone around him. The golden lamplight in the parlor was mellow and sweet. He paid greater attention to the memory now, after what Dilcey had told him about his parents. He stayed with the image of this mother, watching her play, watching how aware she was of his father. He watched her face closely as she played. He could only see that part of the room where the piano was, and his mother was sitting in profile. All he saw of his father were his hands, as they stroked her head, then loosened her 228

hair until it all tumbled down her back. This time he watched her face, not her hair. She was smiling a small, secret smile. And now, he remembered too, that Dilcey had been watching as well. He heard her sigh, and saw her shake her head. He bit his lip and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. The tears slid past his closed eyelids. He kept the newspaper in front of his face. Around the corner, Scarlett sat in an armchair facing the settee where Helene had placed herself. This was where the business of acquaintanceship would occur. This afternoon, and at dinner, conversation had been general, and had ranged all the way from the weather, through train travel, and, of course, the horseless carriage. And their luggage had arrived. The mysterious parcels had been revealed as Helenes photographic equipment. But here and now was the time for the ritual genealogical inquisitions that Southern women imposed on each other upon meeting. As family, it was doubly important. Scarlett dreaded the coming ordealshe really didnt want to know, thank you. To buy a little reprieve, she asked Helene about her accent. It was actually both comforting and disturbing because in cadence, in modulation, and in the very slight French accent, it sounded almost exactly like Ellen Robillards. It was unnerving to have that voice coming out ofHelene. I must give credit to my schooling, I suppose, for my accent. Almost all of the nuns were French or French Canadians. Where was this? In New Orleans, the convent school of the Sacred Heart. Scarlett jumped. Thats the school my mother and her sisters went to! I didnt actually attend the school. I lived in the convent and the nuns gave me my lessons there. I spent most of my time studying, or drawing. I spent a lot of time in the gardenthe nuns garden, 229

separate from the garden the other girls used. Scarlett almost asked why she hadnt been in the classrooms before she caught herself. Of course, she couldnt be seen by the other pupils. Their parents would have removed them from the school. Thats where I met Max, there in the nuns garden. I was drawing by the fountain and I looked up, and there he was, with a rose in his hand. I had hardly ever seen a young man before. Young man! He was a boy, only fifteen. I was sixteen. We were both terribly shy; I think thats why we got along so well. He was allowed to visit me once a week. He was the only man, except for Father Jean, who was ever allowed in the garden. After a few months, we realized we were in love. We were married secretly in the convent chapel, then we went to live in Maxs house with his tutor and a housekeeper. But there was more to the story than Helene knew. Twenty years before this conversation took place in San Francisco, another had taken place in the convent in New Orleans, sometimes in the garden, sometimes in Mother Superiors sitting room; at different times, but still the same conversation: Mother Superior and Father Jean going back and forth about what to do with the young Helene de Poitier. Father Jean was for the convent, but Father Jean hadnt actually seen Helene for several years, only spoken to her through the grille of the confessional. It was Mother Superior who lobbied for the world, specifically, for marriage. My old friend, she said, you must see this girl before we continue to speak of her. Tomorrow I shall have coffee in the garden. Come and see her and speak with her. This is not a girl for the convent. I know she thinks she has a vocation, and she does, but not as a nun. This girl is a wife and mother. You will see tomorrow. And he had seen. The last time he had seen her, she was wearing a short skirt almost up to her knees, and skipping rope around the rose garden. On this day, she was dressed in a modest ankle230

length dress, simply cut, with her curly hair snugly brushed back into a simple roll with a braid wrapped around it. She wore a small pearl in each lovely ear, the ears enhancing the pearls rather that the other way around. Her only other ornament was a little gold cross on a thin, plain chain around her neck. She stood demurely before him with her eyes examining her shoes, the very model of a convent schoolgirl. Without a single coquettish act or glance, her very presence was devastating. After speaking with her for a few minutes, she was sent on an errand for the Mother Superior. The priest sat in silence for a few more minutes. He was an old man and had been celibate for all of his life, but in the last quarter of an hour he had been reminded of mans carnal nature and remembered that he too, was a man. He wiped his brow and dabbed his upper lip. She could not possibly be a nun. That would be a sin against nature. It would also be dangerous. I quite agree. Already I think some of the sisters are in love with her. I know I love her dearly. But how could we possibly find her a husband? For married she must be unless... I would hate to see her in her mothers profession. We must find her a husband. Actually, my friend, you must find her a husband. I am shut away from the world and know no young men. I do know a boyhe is only fifteen, but it would be as difficult to find him a suitable wife as Why? What is wrong with him? Is he lame, or scarred, or perhapslacking? No, no. Nothing like that. He is illegitimate and doesnt have a large enough fortune to marry well in spite of it. I would hate to see him have to marry beneath his deserts. He is a good young man. If he does not marry, it would be too easy for him to fall into a life of debauchery. I have seen it happen to too many young men. If we

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could introduce the young people, maybe nature will solve our dilemma. And so, these two aging celibates embarked on the romance of their lives. Maximilian was inserted into the convent garden at a time Helene was alone there. And even with permission, nature did indeed solve the dilemma. My father was captain of a ship based in Plymouth, in England. He was Scots, himself. He would visit once a year and stay for two or three months. Once, I remember, he came a second time and it was like Christmas coming twice in one year. He was a very kind man and I loved him very much. His name was James McIntyre. He met my mother at her very firstball, (so, thought Scarlett, there really were quadroon balls. I thought Rhett made that up.) and fell in love with her that night. She was so beautifulthey called her the Black Diane, after Diane de Poitier. Her name was really Debby, Deborah. A fascinated Dilcey had been hover all evening. She had just brought a small plate of tiny pastries as an excuse to get closer. At the name Deborah, she swiveled her head and looked sharply at Helene, who seemed unaware of her presence. Heboughther out of thehousewhere shed been brought up, and bought her a little house in the French quarter. He gave her the deed to the house and he gave herher freedom. Thats where I was born. So I never wasso I was freeborn and would have been even without the Proclamation. Helene had difficulty keeping her voice even. Scarlett had difficulty not squirming. She didnt really want to hear any of this, but Helene was not really speaking to Scarlett. She was speaking with her heart, telling things she had never been able to tell anyone. She was speaking for her own sake, so she could hear her own story, give it sound, give it life. As she spoke, memory crowded into memory and each demanded utterance. I lived 232

there until I was twelve and my father died. Then I went to the convent. Mother owned the little house and herself, but that was all. My father had a family in Scotland, you see, and they didnt know about us. Even if they hadwe didnt know he had died until the next year after he didnt come. Someone came and told my mother. I dont know who it was. Our little house was so pretty. There was a little walled garden and Cookie grew her own peppers and tomatoes against the wall where it was always warm. One of the oddest things I remember was the day my papa gave me a puppy, tiny puppy. I thought it was the cutest thing I had ever seen. It had a tiny little bark and I turned to my mother to say how cute but she looked as if she was screaming. But she didnt make a sound. I said Papa, Papa! and he saw and said, Deborah, my love, what is it? but she couldnt speak. She looked petrified with terror. Mama and I had been sitting on the floor and my papa helped her up and out of the room. And where she had been sitting was was shed been so terrifiedthere was a littlepuddle on the floor where she had been sitting. My papa came back and took the little puppy out into the garden and wrung the poor little things neck. I was so shocked I couldnt even cry. My kind papa! He dug a hole and buried it and went in and told mama what hed done and she started to cry. I could hear her tell my papa about when she was a little tiny girl and she had had parents and a sister, but just about all she could remember were their names and one night, running, running, and dogs. Oh, she was scared to death. She was crying and shaking while she was telling it. I could hear she was shaking from the way she sounded. That was the only time I ever remember her being unhappy. Well, the only time when my father was alive. After he died and there was no moneyshe sent me to schoolandshe started receiving gentleman callers.

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Helene sat silently for a few moments. Her mother had never lied to her about her livelihood, but she made it plain that it was her work, and her work made it possible for Helene to go to school and, hopefully, avoid having to have gentleman callers herself. Just how this was to be accomplished, Deborah didnt know. But she had faith that Helene might at least find a good man to keep her. If nothing else, it would keep her from having to work in a whorehouse. She wasnt happy about the gentleman callers. That was only for a few years. When Maximilian and I married, I could give her enough money so she could stop. It wasnt much, but since she owned the little house, it was enough. She was so happy to see me married, you cant think. So you see, Im very grateful to Max for marrying me. Not many men would have married me and never thrown it in my face that my mother was awas a So was his. Scarlett and Dilcey spoke in chorus. Helenes eyes opened wide with astonishment. Scarlett and Dilcey gave sidelong glances at each other. Never! Mother Watling? Oh my, are you sure? Yes, Im sure. She ran the most popularhouse in Atlanta. And his father owned it. I still cant believe it! Mother Watling? Why, she was always very strict with Max and made sure he went to confession and communion every week! Oh my goodness, I dont think he ever knew. But then, he must have known something because he knew his parents werent married. She was the sweetest lady; she was always very nice to me and she adored Caroline. It was hard for Caroline, too, that she died while Caroline was still in France. The atmosphere was a little lighter now and Helene had regained much of her composure. Oh, shes playing that Beethoven sonata. Its funny how that is still popular even with all this Gilbert and Sullivan that is almost all anybody is playing these days. 234

Scarlett took a sip of her coffee. It was cold. She warmed it up. Would you like me to warm up your coffee, Helene? It was the first time she had used her name. Oh yes, please. These little biscuits are delicious. She had taken one tiny bite and no more. She sat back against the settee, rather exhausted from the reminiscences she had never before shared. You said your ma remembered her folks. Dilcey was speaking directly to a guest! Scarlett couldnt remonstrate with her now, but it would have to be done. Helene looked a little startled to be thus addressed, but she felt, rather than saw, the eagerness of the question. She just had that one memory. She was a very small girl when that happened. Scarlett squirmed. Oh why does she have to harm on all that. I dont want to hear about the old slave days. It just makes me wish they would come back so everything could make sense again and we wouldnt have all this She tried to think of some way to turn the conversation, but the revelations of the day had worn her out. She was glad the worst was over. Dilcey was still hovering and Scarlett tried, but failed, to catch her eye to silently command her to leave. But their names, you said something about the names. Dilceys attention was riveted on Helene. I only heard them the one time. Its important to know all the names of your kin. Try and remember, honey. Helene was a kind person and wanted to humor this old servant. So she tried to remember what she had heard on that awful day that ended with a tiny dead puppy. So once again, though it hurt her, she remembered herself outside her mothers bedroom, tried to hear her shaking voice.

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I remember thinking my grandfathers name reminded me of an angel with a trumpet. Once again, Helene was in her reverie, her forehead puckered with the effort of memory. Which angel had a trumpet? Not many of them had names. Lets see, theres Luciferno, thats Milton. Angelsangelsarchangels! I remember! Gabriel. My grandfathers name was Gabriel. Dilcey sat down suddenly right beside Helene. Helene didnt seem to notice. She was still trying to remember. Dilcey examined her while she sat with her attention fixed on her memory, oblivious to Dilceys presence. Dilcey looked at her greedily, at the shape of her eyebrows, her cheekbones, her earlobes, the bridge of her nose, the cut of her chin. And a sister. You said your ma had a sister. Yes. But I dont think she mentioned her name. I think she just called her Sissy. Dilcey was nodding, encouraging her to remember. Helene looked into Dilceys eyes and saw the eagerness there. It was as if they were both in a spell of memory. And your grandmas name, lamb. What was your grandmas name? The two looked at each other intensely. They both waited for the name to come floating up and out of Helens mouth. Scarlett watched them in puzzled fascination when, suddenly, for the first time in her life, she knew! She knew the name that Helene would utter the second before she did. When she finally said it, it sounded as if she was speaking out of a trance. Dilcey. My grandmothers name was Dilcey. There was a brief, shocked silence. Oh my baby, my baby, oh my baby, Dilcey moaned. Tears poured down her face and she rocked back and forth. Her hands sought Helenes, they caressed her face, her hair, her hands again. Her eyes went over and over the details of her face where she could see traces of Debby and of Gabriel and of herself. Oh my lamb, my

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baby. I am Dilcey. I am your grandma. Your mama was my baby. Oh my baby, oh my baby, my lamb, my darling, darling girl. Helene sat in mute astonishment, then she in her turn examined Dilcey and found some of her own features and some of Carolines in the face before her. It had to be true. She reached a tentative hand to Dilceys cheek while her own eyes overflowed. I have family. I have family. Dear God, I have family, she whispered. And she laid her head on Dilceys bosom and wept. Scarlett sat in silence, a wholly unwilling witness. Her thoughts could hardly be called thoughts: there were so many conflicting waves of feeling washing over her she couldnt separate one from the other. The only thing she could identify for sure was the rage she felt about this whole unwelcome complication to an already extremely complicated relationship. Surely this was the biggest snarled mess since God first had breakfast. Everything was upside-down. She not only had a coloredwhat was the relationship, anyway? Helene was the wife of Rhetts bastard. She wasnt really related to Scarlett at all. But she was related to Bonnie. She was married to Bonnies halfbrother. Bonnie would have been Carolines aunt. It all came down to Bonnie and Caroline. And Dilcey was Carolines great-grandmother, which made herfamily. Good God! She remembered now how angry she had been when an ignorant northern woman had misunderstood Scarletts assertion that Aunt Pittypats old butler was considered one of the family. The woman had thought Scarlett meant he was an actual relation, and hadnt understood how southerners could consider their darkies as family. Well. Dilcey was now family in fact, rather than merely in tradition. Scarlett was usually unaware of irony, but could recognize it when it was shaped like a brick and hit her between the eyes. Now what? What on earth was she supposed to do with a darky servant who turned out to be a relative?

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The last notes of the Beethoven were fading. Caroline sat with her hands levitating above the keys, staring into space. She was badly shaken; the music had moved her so, she didnt want to break the spell. Moving carefully so as not to spill the feeling, she got up and left the room. Max was snoring gently. Beau, behind his newspaper, was trying to regain his composure. Around the corner of the el, two shattered women clung to each other. And Scarlett decided not to think about it anymore today. She would think about it all tomorrow. Tomorrow. The next day, Scarlett awoke from a restless sleep. Shed been so sure she wouldnt sleep at all shed fortified herself with a halftumbler of whiskey and tossed and turned all night. When Dilcey entered to roust her out of bed they glanced at each other warily. Dilcey noticed the tumbled bed. Scarlett noticed Dilceys swollen, reddened eyes. Neither spoke. Breakfast would have been silent but for Caroline, who teased her father into a light bantering about the automobile. Beau joined in. None of them noticed that neither Scarlett nor Helene had anything to say. One of the dining room waiters was serving instead of Dilcey, but no one asked about her. Happily, after breakfast Maximilian invited Beau for an automobile ride and Caroline demanded to go alone. With them gone, and the breakfast cleared, at last the important topic could be broached. Dilcey appeared as if she had been summoned, and all three women moved without speaking to the same seats they had sat in the night before. Some-how, that was where they felt they could talk, as if the chairs retained the atmosphere that had compelled the revelations that had been so devastating to all. Scarlett looked at Helene and Dilcey, sitting side-by-side facing her. What do we do? Who do we tell? Caroling? Maximilian? Prissy? Anybody? she asked. 238

Who is Prissy? My daughter, my one living daughter. No, not Sukie, the one your ma called Sissy. Prissy was born laterafterafter I didnt see my other babies never again. She couldnt say any more because her throat constricted. Was Gabriel her father too? The question coming from Helene was not thoughtless. She wanted to know how she was related to Prissy. Dilcey shook her head. She wasnt going to tell that. Not today, anyway. And maybe not ever. Do we tell Prissy? Scarlett asked. All three looked at each other, looked at their hands, then looked at each other again. It was Helene, speaking with great effort, who spoke. I dont think it is necessary to tell anybody. Dilcey nodded slowly. Scarlett was hugely relieved. She would never know the cost of those words. It was that day that they had to start learning how to behave with one another, and with Max, Beau, and Caroline. It was that day that Scarlett had to start leaning to concentrate on living so as not to crash into someone else. She had to learn to pay attention to what came out of hr mouth. The secret had to be guarded at all costs. Dilcey was now known to be family, but couldnt be publicly acknowledged. She had a granddaughter and great-granddaughter but could not behave as if she did. All Helene could do to encourage intimacy was to call Dilcey Grandma Dilcey and familiarize Caroline with the usage. You know, Dilcey, if I had ever known my grandmother, I think she might have been a lot like you. At least, I hope so. Helene spoke in Carolines hearing. She reached out and touched Dilceys arm. Would you mind indulging me in a little whim I have? I would like to call you Grandma Dilcey and pretend you were she. Dilcey patted the hand on her arm. 239

You just go right ahead, honey. I have some grandchildren in Canada but I dont never get to see them. I could pretend right along with you. And so, Grandma Dilcey she became. In time, thought Caroline never did, Helene often called her simply Grandma. No one thought anything of it because they were all used to negro servants, especially those whod been with a family for a long time, to be called uncle this or that, or mammy or aunt so-and-so. It was only the three women who understood the irony. They all settled down to a long visit in good southern tradition. It was understood the Watling-Butlers would stay in San Francisco for months. Beau was to return to the ranch in a few weeks time, but meanwhile, he gave himself up to examining the motorcar and reading the newspaper in company with a congenial friend. Max was only a few years older than he, and they discovered they had many interests in common: politics in which neither participated, news of the world from places theyd never been, sports they didnt play, and books they hadnt read but always meant to. The ladies had less in common. Scarlett was busy with the hotel all day; Helene took photographic studies in the morning and usually rested in the afternoons. Dilcey, keeping up the fiction that she was merely a servant, found plenty to occupy her. Her favorite tasks, of course, were waiting on Helene and Caroline. Now Scarlett often found herself ringing for a chambermaid to help her get dressed. Prissy, she said one afternoon as she was being fitted for a new dress, can you fake this one with the placket in front? Or maybe on the side? I want to be able to get dressed without needing any help. I want to get one of those corsets that ties on the side, too. Maybe that would be too bulky. How about one that ties in front? Yes, mam. You going to get lace-up shoes, too? Theyre a lot faster than buttons. Of course, buttons are prettier.

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Yes, they are. Maybe just one pair of lace-up shoes. Just to wear when Im in a hurry. You doing hour hair yourself? Yes. I dont like anybody but you fiddling with it. Scarlett heaved a sigh. You still wearing them switches. I notice theyre still black. The contrast between the switches and the rest of Scarletts hair was becoming more noticeable. Scarletts hair had become more of a steel color than the switches, which were still black as a ravens wing. At least its all my own hair, she said, nonchalantly. Prissy, is Dr. Jeff coming to pick you up today? Yes, mam. He should be here pretty soon. Do you think he could take a look at Mrs. Watling-Butler? Ive been trying to get her to see a doctor. I think she might see him. You could ax him. Nothing either Beau or Dr. Jeff could do would get her to pronounce sk as anything other than x in conversation. When she was reading, she would pronounce it x, then stop and work out the sk. She would do that for the rest of her life. It was almost dinner time when Dr. Jeff came to pick up his wife. Dilcey, too, thought it was a good idea for him to look at Helene. No one else need know. He often came to pick Prissy up from Scarletts fittings. He and Dilcey went into Helenes room, but they didnt stay long. Scarlett stayed in her room with Prissy; Caroline was driving with Max and Beau. No one was there to observe Dr. Jeff and Dilcey exchange glances as they left Helenes room, or to see the very slight nod he gave his mother-in-law. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, she said. But she couldnt help thinking, with all this world in his hands, why do he have to take so much from me?

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She has a little time. A yearmaybe two. I think she knows, he said. He might have softened his words if he had known everything there was to know. But it would have made no difference. Thats what I thought, she sighed. Ill tell Prissy youre ready to go. A few minutes after Dr. Jeff and Prissy had gone, Helene came out of her room looking composed. Then the others came in, carrying with them a little of the breeze they had driven in. Caroline came in laughing. I know I could, Papa. If youd just let me tryIve seen you and Morton do it hundreds of times. Its not fair to let Beau try and not let me! What have you ever driven besides the pony cart? Well, I did drive it, didnt I? How will you ever know if you dont let me try? Sugarpie, an automobile is a big, powerful machine. You couldnt drive a team, could you? This is much more powerful than a team. No, Caroline. You cant drive the auto. His voice was still good-humored, but she heard and I dont want to discuss it anymore as clearly as if he had said it. Well, I wouldnt have driven us into a ditch. No? Maybe you would have driven us off a cliff. Beau was equally in a bantering mood. She threw her gloves at him and he laughed and tossed them back. He treated the girl just as he had treated his young students at Oxford mainly because she behaved like them. She was playful, intense, wistful, well-read (for her age) idealistic, bright, argumentative, and articulate. If she had been a beauty he would have avoided her. If she had been a flirt he would have been back at the ranch long ago. But she was as much fun as a puppy, all bounce and enthusiasm one minute, ready to argue the virtues of university education for women with very reasonable (he 242

thought) arguments the next. And the minute after that, she could play Beethoven, or read Mark Twain aloud, convulsing them all. She had apparently been to a very good finishing school because her posture was perfect and she didnt lounge sloppily as so many other young women did, neither did she have the affected mannerisms that were so much the mode. Scarlett and Helene, however, found her quite alarming on occasion. She thought nothing of serving up her opinions with a little sass. They would raise their eyebrows but, since she never actually went out of bounds, said nothing. They were both wonder the same thing; how will she ever get anybody to marry her if she says whatever comes into her head? But Helene would add, at least Ill have her a little while longer. After dinner that night the ladies retreated around the corner. By this time, a big, comfortable rocker had been installed there for Dilcey. The men were seated near the piano, each reading. Caroline vacillated between the two groups, now sitting on a low stool between her mother and Dilcey, now reading a magazine beside her father. It was one of the times she was sitting with her mother, with Dilceys hand occasionally gently caressing her hair or her shoulder, that Max came into that part of the room. Dear, he said, speaking to Helene and laying a hand on her shoulder, how would you like to see Washington Territory? She frowned, thinking. Isnt that, yes, good heavens! Thats north of Oregon! Whatever has possessed you now? She took his hand. He bent and kissed her brow. I thought I might look into buying a few million trees. Theres always a good market for timber. I think thats a wonderful idea! Too bad Im busy with the hotel, Id love to go! Scarlett had always yearned to get back into the

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lumber business. Dont forget to buy a sawmill while youre at itand maybe a railroad! I wont need to buy a railroad, thank you. But I want to check the connections all the waymake sure I can get lumber down here easily. There should be a good market anywhere trees dont grow. For heavens sake! Youve seen our redwoods. Dont tell me trees dont grow here! I know that, but eventually theyll all be cut down for lumberunless we cut down some other trees where they grow like grass. It sounds like a wonderful idea, Dear. But I was hoping to do some photographing here. I dont want to drag all my equipment into the wild. Ill go, Papa. Id like to be dragged in the wild. You know, Max, that does sound like a good idea. Caroline could keep you company, Helene could take her pictures, and Ive been thinking I might like to run a hotel. Beau might even take it into his head to take a look at a ranch I think I own. And so it was decided. Within three days, Max and Caroline were traveling north and Beau had already returned to the Santa Ynez valley. Scarlett did get back to running the hotel, and found it was high time she d id. Her managers were competent and hadnt lost her any, or at least not much, money, but she found she was a little out of touch. There were several new faces whose names she didnt know among her staff, and she took to eating her luncheon in the dining room where she could observe everyone in action. Helene did take some remarkable photographsof Dilcey. Her photographers eye had long become accustomed to the light in Scarletts suite and in her own bedroom, so she knew exactly where to pose her subject. She photographed her in profile, full front, standing, sitting, looking up, looking down; she photographed her hands numerous times. They often had to wait for light, and it was while 244

Helene was photographing her working intently, that Dilcey gradually filled in the gaps of her own history, just so Helene would know. It was understood that she would tell no one. On one of those occasions, Dilcey told Helene about Prissy, and it was after that that Helene took her most famous series. They can still be found in old history and anthropology texts listed only as study-former slave. They are of Dilceys naked back, with the deep, lumpy scars perfectly delineated, and the gouged shoulder shown clearly. Dilcey sat impassively while Helene worked. Under the drape, Helene wept. One morning Helene was trying to get the light to fall just right on a study of a bowl in Dilceys hands, when there was a knock on the parlor door. Dont move, Grandma, Ill see who it is. Its probably someone at the wrong door. When Helene opened it and saw Zo Morgenstern standing there, she very nearly reacted as Scarlett had done the first time she saw her. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she forced it into a puzzled frown. Yes, can I help you? Zo marched straight in and said, wheres Scarlett? Helene was taken aback at this freedom. Mrs. Butler is not here at the moment. Perhaps I can assist you? But Zo was already well into the parlor. Scarlett? Scarlett! Miss Zo, its nice to see you. Miss Scarlett should be downstairs. Did you look there? Dilcey obviously knew her. Helene allowed herself to smile now; indeed, she couldnt help herself for Zo had reached her arms up and Dilcey bent down to embrace her. That would have made a photograph for Mr. Barnum, she thought. Honey, this is a neighbor our ours, Miss Zo Morgenstern How do you do? Helene held out her hand. Im Mrs. Watling. She cast a quick glance at Dilcey while she shook Zos hand. Shed decided it was more politic to leave off the Butler in front of strangers.

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Do you know when Scarletts going to be back? I have a juicy bit of gossip thats just big enough for twono sharing. She had climbed up onto her accustomed perch on the arm of the settee. Dilcey, you wouldnt happen to have some tea (big wink of painted eye) lying around loose, would you? We were just about to have lunch. Why dont you join us? Helene range the bell. Just then, Zo noticed the camera through the open door of the bedroom, where the light was departing anyway. Do you have a photographer here? Yes, Im a photographer. Suddenly a thought struck Helene. MissMorgenstern. Would you think itmay I photograph you? Of course, lovey. My, youre pretty! Is your husband alive? Do you live with him? Dilcey could see what was on her mind and with her eyebrows raised and her mouth pursed, shook her head violently at her. Oh well, cest la vie. Youre a little old anyway, beautiful of not. But if At this point, Dilcey harrumphed sharply. Well, where and when? Id have a couple of hours if you wanted me to sit for you here. Otherwise, youd have to step across the alley. Say, how much do you charge? I could use some new pictures of my girls. Oh, I dont charge for pictures I ask to take. But if you wanted to pay for the plates, I suppose that would be fair. And that was how Helene, chaperoned by Dilcey, and with a grinning hall porter to carry her bulky equipment, came to take rather lovely photographs of some prostitutes in their place of employment, while her husband was away buying a forest or two. There were some stock arrangements that Zo posed the girls in, at first. Those photographs came out rather demure because the girls felt a little selfconscious posing for a lady they could tell was truly genteel. And Helene was glad enough to hide under her drape. But after a while, they all relaxed and Helene not only got some pretty good candid 246

shots, she invented some beautiful poses for the girls which showed more of their individual characters than just eyes and teeth and hair. Zo had a box of hundreds of pictures that Helene referred to in arranging her poses. Some of them were daguerreotypes, and many of these were badly faded. She was sorting through them, setting aside poses she felt were less trite than others, when suddenly her fingers froze. Miss Morgenstern? her voice was husky. Where did all these pictures come from? Surely not all these women have worked for you? Oh, no. I wish they did. Id be rich as Croesus. The pictures come from all over. Sometimes the girls have their own; sometimes I have them made. Sometimes customers bring in pictures to show me what they like. Men collect these pictures, you know. Some of these are very interestingfrom a compositional viewpoint. Would you like to have some? There are plenty there. And Im going to have lots of prints made from the ones you took today. I dont really need all those old ones. Help yourself. The sittings were over for the day and the girls were getting ready for their customers to arrive, so Helene took the box back across the alley to rummage through at her leisure. In the end, she found three that she kept, all daguerreotypes, all more or less faded, all of the same woman, and labeled The Black Diana. The studio was in New Orleans. The woman was her mother. She was sitting on her bed with the pictures in her lap and dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief when Dilcey came in. Grandma, come, sit down. She passed the pictures to Dilcey. Dilcey looked and looked and looked. She took out her own handkerchief. Yes, thats her. Thats my Debby.

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She was so beautiful, Grandma. So beautiful. Dilcey started to hand them back. No, you keep them, Grandma. She was taken from you. You keep her new. Honey, just take one. All right. Ill keep one. Helene rigged up a darkroom and developed her own prints. When Zo saw them, she was astounded. These are beautiful. Theyre the best Ive ever seen. These pictures alone will make us a lot of moneylet me pay you. No, thank you. It was actually a lot of fun. Heretake the plates, too. You can have prints made. I dont want my husband finding these. But youre such a good photographer. You should open a studio. Oh, I make a little money from my photographs. I sell flower studies to horticultural publications, mostly. It sometimes even covers the cost of the pictures! I photographed your girls as if they were flowers. Ill bet you make your flowers look like girls. Helene laughed. Maybe I do. Both women suddenly looked like guilty schoolgirls when Scarlett entered her own parlor unexpectedly. Zo, how nice to see you. What on earth are you two looking so guilty about? Helene and Zo shot each other a no help for it now look. Zo hired me to take some photographs. Would you like to see? Helene suddenly got a fit of the giggles. At that, Scarlett picked up a photograph and gasped. With each one, she blushed more and more, but she didnt stop looking. She started giggling, too. At last, Zo couldnt help chiming in, but she was laughing at the giddy 248

discomfiture of Scarlett more than anything else. At last, Scarlett lay limply back in her chair, gasping for breath. Oh, my goodness! Did you actually go? Better not let Max see these. Scarlett was laughing and shaking her head. Helenes shoulders were still shaking, and she was smiling broadly. Scarlett could finally speak again. ZoZoZo, how do you get me into things? Me, a respectable widow lady. Four times, dont forget. Hey, Scarlett, you could work for me. And pose for some of these pictures? This time they went into shrieks of laughter which brought a scandalized Dilcey into the room. They laughed even harder and clapped their hands over their mouths and snorted until finally they could laugh no more. There was a knock on the door, and Dilcey hurried to open it and bring in the tea herself. She didnt want the water to know about the pictures. In a few minutes, the ladies were in their accustomed corner, Zo perched on the arm of the sofa, and Dilcey in her rocker, enjoying their tea every bit as much as many more staid matrons all over the city. Or perhaps, more. ***** Beau sat on a hillside overlooking casita Encantada, breaking off brittle little bits of tumbleweed and flicking them. He didnt know he was doing it. His horse waited patiently until Beau would remember where he was and what he had been doing before he sat on the ground to flick tumbleweed. He didnt know why he was so restless. He lost his temper easily, lately; he apologized even more quickly. He gave contradictory orders. He forgot what he was doing in the middle of a task. The men looked at each other behind his back. The older women looked at each other and nodded. They younger women looked at each other and sighed.

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He had always been so contented at the ranch, so glad to be doing useful work, and doing it well. He had taught Ernesto, the foreman, to take charge in his absence so well that he himself was almost in the way, now. Well, if he was in the way, maybe he might just as well go back to San Francisco and see if that would perk him up a bit. Yes, thats what he would do. He suddenly noticed how blue the sky was, and that from this angle, Casita Encantada did look small and cozy, rather than the sprawling series of courtyards it really was. The fields, the groves, the vineyard, all looked domestic and intimate. He could hear occasional animal sounds, and the sounds of people calling to each other, on the breeze. Now that he had made up his mind to run up to San Francisco, the rancho, tucked into the little valley, looked endearingly homelike. Yes, he would go to San Francisco and find out what had called him there. But he was already impatient to get back. He would always come back. He loved this place now as much as Scarlett did. He certainly spent more time there than she did. He was grateful for his position. That must be what was calling himhe needed to impress on Aunt Scarlett how much he appreciated this opportunity. He was already toying with several ideas in his mind about more things to do with the land. He would discuss them with her. Yes, that was a good reason to go. It wasnt until he was actually on the train that he remembered that Max and Caroline should be back from Washington Territory soon. Good. He liked Max. And he had no objections to Caroline. Caroline burst into the parlor. Mother, were back! Grandma Dilcey, where is Mama? The girl gave Dilcey a quick, offhand hug. Shes been resting, honey. Shell be here in a minute. Wheres Aunt Scarlett?

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Shes down in the dining room. No, dont you go down there and bother her. The more you leave her be, the quicker she can get up here. Wheres your pa? Just then, Maximilian stepped in the door the girl had left open. Helene entered from the bedroom and walked quickly over to him. Before he could take off his hat and coat, she put her arms around his neck. He put one arm around her and, taking his hat off with the other hand, kissed her warmly. She helped him off with his coat, and while she was holding it in her arms, he took a good look at her face. He reached out his hand to stroke her cheek. Been getting enough rest? Oh, yes. Tell me a bout the trip. Did you buy some trees? Mama, wheres Mr. Wilkes. I thought of a thumping rebuttal to one of our favorite arguments. Hell have to wave a white flag the size of a bedsheet when Im through with him! Hush, darling. Papa was speaking. Mr. Wilkes is at the ranch. She turned her attention back to Max. Yes, I bought some trees and, some coal. It will be interesting to watch what happens. Ill want to see Fogarty as soon as possible, maybe tomorrow. I have the name of a fellow Id like him to look into as an overseer. You sound pleased. I think I am pleased. This looks like a good, long-term thing. Tell me about the trip. And they sat down together with her hand in his, while he told her all about the trip and all the details of his decision-making, none of which interested her very much, and to all of which she listened with wifely attention. Caroline meanwhile, was pacing the drawing room, looking at objects without seeing them, sitting down now here, now there. She was oddly disconcerted to find Beau absent, and absurdly angry that he was. She tried playing the piano. Caroline dear, I cant hear what your father is saying. 251

Just then Scarlett came in and welcomed them back. She was genuinely glad to see them and kissed Caroline heartily. The place just hasnt been the same without you. We could actually hear ourselves think, and it wasnt nearly as much fun as listening to you rattle. Oh Aunt Scarlett, we had the best time! You cant imagine. I never saw so many trees in my life! It rained almost all the time we were therePapa, what was the name of the town where the mills are? She didnt give him time to answer. But when it stopped raining, oh! it was beautiful! And they have a bogeyman story all about some giant ape-thing. I kept hoping to see one, but never did. They spent the afternoon telling about the trip and showing the things theyd brought back as souvenirs. There were Indian baskets and miniature carved totem poles, all of which Scarlett thought were hideously ugly, and maple leaves as big as dinner plates, which she wouldnt have believed if she hadnt seen them. They were all having tea and talking at once when Beau walked in, for all the world as if hed never left. He kissed Scarlett, hugged Dilcey, shook Maxs hand, bowed to Helene, and merely gave Caroline an off-hand nod, before sitting down in his usual chair. She was mortified. He had seen her. He had known she was in the room even before he opened the door, and the knowledge had bothered him. He had felt the little thrill while he was still on the train, and known immediately what it meant. Caroline was at the Orchard House. He was sure of it. Now why should that be? Why should the thought of her be disturbing? She was no threat. She wasnt pretty. She wasnt a flirt. She was just a young woman he enjoyed arguing with. Why was he apprehensive about seeing her? Oh well, no help for it now. In a couple of hours he would be at the Orchard House himself.

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Dinner was an unusually quiet affair. All three travelers excused themselves early, claiming fatigue. Helene retired with Max, and Scarlett and Dilcey were left alone. Might as well make it an early night all around. Goodnight, Dilcey. Goodnight. Since the day of the big revelation Dilcey had not been able to decide what to call Scarlett. She couldnt call her by her name alone, especially in front of other people. Lifelong habit wouldnt allow it. Neither could she bring herself to keep calling her Miss Scarlett anymore. So, she just didnt call her anything at all. The next morning Max did go to see John Fogarty, and it was decided that Caroline and Beau would accompany Helene to Ocean Beach, where she wanted to take photographs. The morning was overcast, cold, and windy. They were going to spend the day, and had brought a huge picnic hamper which Beau and Morton carried between them. They had to make two more trips to the automobile to get all Helenes equipment, then one last trip for beach chairs, rugs, and wraps. Helen began searching for interesting bits to photograph, and Caroline started searching for driftwood for a fire. There were few other people about. By the time everything was set up, Caroline had brought back a respectable amount of wood for a good fire. They dawdled over lunch, and when they finished, Caroline said she wanted to take a walk down the beach. She would go alone, she said. She was still miffed with Beau for having ignored her the evening before. She set off, tying a scarf around her hat to keep it from blowing off. Oh, shes gone off without a shawl, and in this wind. Morton, please run after her and take her a sweater Ill go, Helene. Oh, thank you, Beau. Then Morton can help me here. Hes becoming quite proficient as a photographers assistant. And Beau dutifully followed after Caroline, carrying a heavy knitted jacket that 253

actually belonged to her father. When he caught up with her, they were several hundred yards from their little camp. Your mother wanted you to have this. He held the sweater out to her before he reached her. She stopped and turned around. Oh. Thank you, Mr. Wilkes. She turned to walk on, and he followed, just behind her shoulder. They walked on in silence. When at last he stopped and spoke, she kept walking until she registered what hed said. Do you ever think about marriage? What? She was about ten paces ahead of where he had stopped, before she stopped and turned around. They had discussed many issues, from Darwin to womens suffrage. She tried to think if theyd ever discussed marriage. In relation to what, Mr. Wilkes? Well, in relation to mefor instance. She stared at him for a long time. Is this a rhetorical question, Mr. Wilkes? No. I just wondered if you ever thought about it. Thenis this a proposal, Mr. Wilkes? Yes. I think so. You think so? Yes. Iyes. Yes. The girl was utterly nonplussed. She stared at him. She looked at the sand to her left. She looked at the sand to her right. She turned and took a few paces. She turned back. Really? Yes. I thiyes. She looked at the horizon. Then she looked at him again. He was her fathers friend. He was only a little younger than her father. Her parents had been young when she was born. He was Aunt Scarletts nephew, but no real relation. Her mind went skittering off in

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a dozen different directions at once, but could not address the question. I have to think. I have to walk. She started off in her original direction. He began to walk with her but she whirled on him and stamped her foot. It infuriated her that in the sand her shoe made hardly a sound. I have to think! Yes. Yes, of course. Yes. Ill go see if I can help your mother. And he turned on his heel and walked swiftly away. She stayed where she was, staring out at the water, which was a dark grey, today. Her mind was a complete blank. She looked back to where the two men were helping Helene arrange seaweed on a rock. She watched her mother duck under her drape, come out again, point to the arrangement. Morton adjusted something, and she ducked under the drape again. She stayed under a long time, then came out and looked at the sky. There were no breaks to be seen in the overcast. She ducked under one last time; then it appeared she had her picture. Then she saw her posing the men side-by-side with the ocean as backdrop. Finally, she had them hold the picnic hamper. There. It began to drizzle, and the three of them rushed to pack up the photographic equipment and get it safely stowed in the automobile. Caroline hurried back and helped with the chairs and rugs. Did you get the pictures you wanted, Mama? I didnt get the light I wanted. Maybe we could go back some other time. A chilly afternoon certainly makes for a welcome tea. And those were all the words spoken on the way home. Back at the hotel, Caroline was the first one inside and whisked up the stairs without waiting for the new elevator. She nearly ran into her room and tore off her veil, hat, sweater, and flung herself on her back on the bed with her hands clasped behind her head. She stayed that way, staring at the ceiling, until Dilcey came looking for her. 255

Child, what you doing in here all on your lonesome? And what you doing with your feet up on that bed cover! You getting sand everywhere! Take them shoes off that bed right this minute! Oh, please, Grandma Dilcey, dont scold me. Im so confused, I dont know what to do. I dont know what to think. Today, while we were at the beach, while Mother was taking pictures I wentI went for a walk while Mother was taking pictures andand she was taking pictures Honey, yous babbling. You better start over. Caroline took a breath, then another. Dilcey encouraged her with slow nods. You ready now? Yes. (Slow breath.) Today, Mr. Wilkes asked measked me he proposed. He proposed. He proposed what? Marriage. He proposed marriage. He asked me to marry him. Well? Are you going to marry him? I dont know! I dont know if I love him. He didnt say anything about loving me. I dont know if he loves me. I dont think Im in love, I meanI dont feel like..oh, I dont know. I thought people fell in love. I always thought Id know if I loved somebody. I mean, I always thought falling in love should feel likelikefalling downstairs or something. I dont know what I mean. Do you want to sleep in his bed with him? The bluntness of the question took the girl by surprise. Suddenly, she remembered the whispered late-night conversations, the muffled squeals and giggles as a roomful of schoolgirls speculated on adult secrets, and Dilcey saw the color rise up her throat all the way to her forehead. But the fog in her brain was clearing and the question was answering itself. She turned her face away in embarrassment and whispered. 256

Yes. Suddenly, she felt as if she were tumbling downstairs. The wedding was just a week away when Helene, Scarlett, Dilcey, and Prissy, all got together one afternoon to sew for Caroline. Ordinarily, when a girl was getting married, her girlfriends would get together and sew with her, helping her get ready for her future life; the sewing circle being a rite of transition. But Carolines young friends were all in England and France. And since the wedding was necessarily to be a tiny one, Helene wanted to see that Caroline had as much normalcy as possible. So, all the women in her family would sew for her. Neither Caroline nor Prissy was ever to know they were related, but Helene felt the event would not be complete without Prissy. Now, the sewing was, of course, completely superfluous. An ample trousseau had been ordered but would not arrive for some months after the wedding. But Caroline already had plenty of clothes, and the rancho where they were to live was already fully stocked with linen. Helen had been anxious to see Caroline married as soon as possible, which fell in exactly with Beaus and Carolines wishes. It was Max who had been reluctant, at first. But this afternoon Max and Beau had both been shooed out. Men have no place in a sewing circle. Prissy had brought her sewing machine to hem sheets, Dilcey would be hemming towels, Scarlett and Helene were working on a pair of lovely pillowcases, and Caroline was merely fiddling with her sewing box one minute, and looking dreamyeyed off into space the next. The sounds were not those of a typical pre-marital sewing circle, with giggling and breathless laughter, teasing and innuendo. The chat was pleasant, but quiet. Caroline occasionally joined in, but mostly she sat in her beatific state and tried to imagine what it would be like, living at Casita Encantada with Beau.

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Suddenly she asked, Aunt Scarlett, tell me about Beau, about when he was little. I want to know all about him. Was he a good boy? What naughty things did he do? You have to ask Dilcey about all that, Honey. She was his mammy. But you were there when he was born. Tell me about his mother. And his father. I want to know everything. Good heavens! Scarlett thought. She doesnt want much. Well, if you must know, Beau was born right in the middle of the siege of Atlanta. And she went on to tell about the years at Tara, and how Beau wouldnt even have been alive if it hadnt been for Dilcey; and she couldnt help telling about all the cotton she and Dilcey had picked. She left out the story of how she herself shot a deserter come to loot, and how Melanie helped her hide the body. But she told about the privations, making light of making do; she told about the Atlanta years, and how Melanie was a great favorite with everyone, black and white. As she talked, those years came back to her, and it seemed as if Melanie was right beside her. She was concentrating on her sewing as she spoke, and forgot about her audience. She hadnt thought about Melanie in a long time. Her head was still bowed, still thinking of those years so long ago. How I wish I could have known her. I wonder what shed think if she knew Beau was going to marry me. Scarlett was still amongst her memories, and shed forgotten where she was. Without thinking, she said the first thing that popped into her head. Oh honey, she would have shot him dead. Shed taken another stitch before she heard her own words. She froze. The words were right in front of her, hanging in space, and there was nothing she could do to unsay them.

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No one moved except Prissy, who hadnt heard over the whirr of the machine. Caroline left the room suddenly. Helene rose. She didnt look a Scarlett. For the first time in her life, Scarlett realized that she had wounded someone with a heedless word. Helene, Im so sor Helene stopped her with a gesture. I know, dear. But I dont think I can hear it just now. She left the room. Dilcey slowly got up, as if she were carrying a great weight. Dilcey had loved Melanie. What Scarlett said wounded her dreadfullybecause the moment she heard it, she knew it was true. She slowly left, too. Scarlett left her pillowcase on her chair and went to her room. When Prissy finished her seam, she looked up. Where did everybody go? Alone in her room, Scarlett had to face the enormity of those few syllables, so easily uttered, so devastating in their effect. She felt as low-down as she had ever felt in her life. She had hurt three people she had come to care for deeply: Dilcey, who had stayed and worked so hard to help her keep Tara; Helene, beautiful, gentle Helene; and Caroline. How could she have been so thoughtless as to hurt Caroline, who was about to marry her own beloved nephew? Scarlett realized she had come to love the girl herself, and could feel only shame for having hurt her. Then she thought of the words themselves, the words that had simply come out of her mouth without her even thinking about it. She would have shot him dead. They were true. Melanie would have shot her only child if shed thought he was about to marry a girl who wascolored. It had been many, many weeks since Scarlett had even thought about Caroline being very high yellow. Of course, Helene was colored; that was obvious at first glance. But even Helene was so 259

much a part of the family now, that Scarlett never gave it any thought, unless she handed a cup absently and was momentarily taken aback at the very light tan hand taking it from her. It didnt occur to Scarlett to wonder that Helene preferred not to pay calls and be introducedit was simply understood to be an impossibility. And Helene rested in the afternoons when Scarlett had callers of hr own. Come to think of it, none of her callers, except Zo, even knew Helene existed. Scarlett spent the rest of the afternoon alone, thinking many new and uncomfortable thoughts. Helene say sorrowfully on her bed. Her eyes were dry but she had to keep swallowing the lump in her throat. Poor Caroline. Poor baby. How Helene wished she could have been spared this knowledge. In all her nineteen years, Caroline had never personally been exposed to the brutality of the world because of the color of her mothers skin. She had always been so well protected. And then, in England and France, no one knew, and she had passed without question. She had returned so recently, and had spent so little time at home in New Orleans, that she hadnt known her own situation. She was painfully ignorant of her own position in the world. Helene had been happy about Carolines engagement. She liked Beau, and she liked the way they behaved together. They played, they argued, but they got along well and seemed to respect each other. In her own marriage, Helene knew she had extreme good fortune. She could only pray for the same for her daughter. When Dilcey entered Carolines room, the girl was sitting on the bed staring straight ahead. Dilcey spoke her name but she didnt react. Dilcey touched her cheek, then picked up her wrist, checked her pulse, and quickly left the room. She returned with a small tray that had a glass of milk on it, and a tiny dish of cayenne pepper powder. She spoke the girls name again. Nothing. She grasped her chin and pulled her mouth open. She picked up a few grains of the pepper on 260

the tip of her finger and touched the girls tongue with it. There was no reaction. She repeated the dose of pepper. Caroline still sat in a stupor. Two more times, Dilcey applied minute amounts of pepper. The last one took effect. Aaargh! She twisted away from Dilcey. Drink the milk, Sugar. Take some in your mouth and swish it around. Or just hold it. She drank the milk. Gradually, her mouth stopped burning. When it did, she remembered why she was in her room with pepper in her mouth, and she started to cry piteously. Why would Aunt Scarlett say something like that about Beaus mother? She cant have meant it. But she saw the truth in Dilceys eyes. No. No! No! Oh, no. She sobbed and sobbed. Oh no, I cant marry a man whose mother felt like that. But Aunt Scarlett said his father would have freed all the people if the war hadnt done it. She said his mother was always kind to the people and that they loved her. Grandma Dilcey, you knew her. Please tell me it isnt true. Miss Melly was one of the kindest white folks I ever did know. But its true. I always thought she was different, but she wasnt; I know that now. Guess I always knowed it but I didnt want to. She wouldnt have let your ma set in her parloror you neither. She wouldnt have had nothing to do with your pa for marrying a colored gal. What can make people like that? It doesnt make any sense. Oh, Honey, dont never expect the world to make sense! What am I going to do now? I thought my life was all planned andandand now.I dont even want to live, right now. Oh, what will I do? Her voice was coming in sobs. Dilcey patted her head. I guess right now youre going to cry. I know you dont think so, but youll live. Go to that varsity; play your piano. Youll live, honey

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child. Youll live. And Dilcey left her to wrestle with her new knowledge, and her heartache, alone. When Beau returned to the Orchard House some hours later, he was surprised to meet Caroline in the hall. She had been waiting for his footsteps. He saw the red, swollen face, and the tragic expression. She put something in his and spoke in a strangled voice. I cant marry you, Mr. Wilkes. Good-bye. He stood in the hallway, stunned, until he looked at what she had put in his hand. It was the little pearl engagement ring. Dinner was a silent meal that night. Neither Beau nor Caroline came in. No one else had much appetite. Helene had told Max all that had happened, and his face was as long as everyone elses. He had tried to shelter Caroline from any cruelty in regard to her mixed blood, but this had not come from outside, from the cold, impersonal world. This had come from Scarlett who had simply made a thoughtless blunder. Scarlett herself had wanted to stay in her room during dinner, but Dilcey rousted her out. Just cause the truth be ugly, dont make it not the truth. I know you didnt mean to say it. But its the truth, just the same. No point in hiding in here. You got to come out some time anyhow. Nothing was seen of Beau or Caroline. Beau could be heard, pacing, pacing. He was in his room making the tour from the washstand to the window, from the window to the wardrobe, from the wardrobe to the washstand, and then back again, first in one direction, then the other. This girl had become as necessary as breathing to him. It wasnt a question of loving or not loving; it was a question of life itselfCaroline was life. Without Caroline, nothing had any meaning. Caroline sat in her room staring at life without Beau. She would live. Or at least, she would not die. But she was looking down a perspective of long, empty years. So she just sat. Occasionally, tears 262

would roll down her face and she would sob, but then control herself and wipe her eyes. She had sat, and he had paced, for three days. Late on the third day, there was a knock at her door. She opened it to see Beau standing there, unshaven, distraught, in the same shirt hed been wearing since hed found the little pearl ring in his hand. He was wearing no collar, and his hair was standing up where he had run his hands through it, and pulled on it in frustration. He looked haggard and exhausted. His eyes were gritty. Caroline was in her wrapper, with her hair, unbrushed, hanging untidily. Her eyes were salty with tears, and dull with sorrow. He just stood looking at her for a moment, and then said in a husky voice, Please, Caroline. Please. They never knew who moved first. They just both knew it was imperative that they hold onto each other as tightly as they could.

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The sunlight lay sweetly on the patio in early April, just as it had done forty-five years before and far away, the spring Scarlett was sixteen. Dilcey sat in a rocker near old Juana, who was shelling beans, sitting on a bench that ran along the whole wall. Juana understood very little English, especially with Dilceys southern pronunciations, and Dilcey understood almost no Spanish at all. They were good friends. Whenever Scarlett and Dilcey went to the ranch, Dilcey spent most of her time in the kitchen patio, weather permitting, and Juana often joined her there. It was the most popular place to be in all but the coldest weather, or the rare, but violent, rainstorm. There were a couple of wandering chickens scratching in the flowerbeds, and a kitten came scampering through, followed by a dog, followed by three small children, followed by Scarlett, with a letter in her hand. Im going to town next week. Would you like to come along, or stay here? she inquired, looking at the letter she held at arms length. She never could find her spectacles. She looked at Dilcey with a little pucker between her eyes. Will is coming to visit for a few days, he says. She had almost said Mister Will, but caught herself in time. Whats he doing gallivantin around at this time of year? Fine way to run a farmrunning off just at planting time. Whats he coming for? I dont know. And Hes only staying a few days. Doesnt make sense to me. Anyway, if hes only going to be in town for a few days, theres no point in his coming all the way down here. Are you coming, or do you want to stay here? These old bones surely want to stay right here. But I truly would like to see Mister Will again. And it would give me a chance to see Prissy before they move. Prissy and Dr. McGee were moving to Oakland just before the middle of the month. Dr. McGee was going to retire, and Prissy had already sold her dressmaking business for a tidy 264

profit. O, I guess Ill go. I dont think Ill be going anymore after this, though. This chair is too comfortable. Caroline stuck her head outside. Have you seen Beau? she asked them both. They shook their heads. Try the horse barn, dear. Or the orchard, Sugar. How are you today, Grandma Dilcey? Over your cold? She came and put her arm around Dilceys shoulders. Dilcey patted her hand fondly. Yes, thank you, darlin. You just set right here and send one of the children after your man. I think I will. Pepito! The oldest of the children, the son of one of the women who worked in the house, came away from the game the children were playing, which involved a kitten, a chicken, and a string. Si, Senora? He was a bright, happy-looking boy of about seven. En Ingles, Pepito! she said, with mock severity. Yes, madam He smiled, a little abashedly. The senora spoke perfect Spanish and made a point of practicing it when giving instructions, but she wanted all the children to speak English as much as possible. Now she told him to find the senor and tell him the new grape starts had arrived. She waited for him to repeat it in English. The grapes, they have arrived Meester Bo. Just the grapes have arrived, Mister Beau . The grapes have arrived, Meester Bo. The boy shot away and Caroline sat down for a moment. One of the other two children happened to be one of her own, and came over to give her a grubby kiss before resuming the kitten-chicken-string game. She leaned against the sun-warmed adobe wall. Mmmmmmm. I think cats have the right idea.

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Honey, you need to rest more. Makin babies is hard work. Youre coming right along, but I like to see you rest more. I always do come along well. But I always have Grandma Dilcey to help. Caroline was never to know that Dilcey was, in fact, her greatgrandmother. Both Scarlett and Dilcey still honored Helens wish that Caroline be unencumbered with that piece of information. Generations later, the mostly black Canadian OHaras, and the mostly white American Wilkes were to live still in complete ignorance of each other. Caroline closed her eyes blissfully, and stretched her neck and shoulders. After four children, she was no longer the slender girl she had been, but the matronliness looked well on her. The fifth child was sitting high, as all her babies had, and she had not spread widely through her hips and thighs. She had broadened a little through the neck and waist and wrists. But she still lived with the same eagerness shed had as a girl. Beau came into the patio. Pepito had found him almost immediately, in his study. He looked a question at Caroline. The grapes are here? Yes. Jos rode up to tell me the man from the store told him the depot had telephoned to say the new grapes have arrived. I gathered they arrived a couple of days ago. Are you going to get them right now, or are you going to send Manuel? Id better. I dont want them to dry out before we can get them in the ground. Coming? Yes, I think so. We can stop at the store, too. She turned to Scarlett. We should be back for dinner. Oh, Beau! Your Uncle will is going to be paying a flying visit in town, and Dilcey and I are going to meet him, so well need to be driven to the depot tomorrow or the day after. Will could only be held peripherally related to Beau. Will was married to a woman whose 266

sister had once been married to Beaus mothers brother. But to a southerner, that was a very close relation, indeed. Oooooh, youre going to be in town when Caruso is there! Caroline was excited. Ca-who-so? Caruso. Enrico Caruso, the opera singer. Hes famous all over the world. We have all of his recordsIll play them on the gramophone after dinner and youll hear. Oh, youll have to see him and tell me all about it! Well see. But first, we have to get there. Beau? All right. Just let me now when you make up your mind, so I can have the horses ready. He held out his hand to help Caroline up, and they went out together. Scarlett sat down on the bench in the spot Caroline had vacated. Life at Casita Encantada was so comfortable it almost made her nervous. When voices were raised, it was usually in laughter. The bickering among the workers was mostly good-natured; children were shamelessly healthy. The old olive trees bore well, and for most of the year, the air was perfumed with orange blossom. Scarlett had long ago gotten used to the landscape and now felt quite at home. She dreamed only infrequently of Tara or Atlanta, and in those dreams, she was always fearful of being trapped, and not being able to get home to the hotel, to the ranchoto California. A few days later, in Scarletts own parlor in the Orchard House, Prissy set her cup daintily in its saucer. Now, Ma, I have a treat for you. She picked up her handbag and took out a letter. Dilcey looked at it eagerly, Scarlett, politely. Prissy sat up straight in her chair and self-consciously started to read the letter aloud. My dear Sister, 267

It is with a heavy heart I take pen in hand. Fear not. Teresa and I and the children are all well, but Teresas mother has passed on. (Dilcey sighed at this point.) She went peacefully, but the situation now is such that I must postpone my long anticipated (Prissy carefully worked her way through anticipated) trip to visit you and our Mother. It has been so many years since I have seen both of you, this current circumstance comes as a disappointment, but I look forward to seeing you both next year, God willing. We have a new grandson named William Gabriel Stokes. That makes the third grandchild. We are planning to have a family gathering this summer to celebrate Father Gabriels eightieth birthday and will have a photographer record the occasion. A print should find its way to you if all goes as planned. I plan to teach for another six years. Then, I think, Teresa and I may travel to California together and perhaps settle there. It sounds wonderful, and I confess, the winters here can be difficult. One would think I would be used to it by now! Please give Brother-in-Law McGee my heartiest greetings and share this letter with him and with our Mother. Teresa joins me in sending Love to You and Mother. With heartfelt sincerity, Hamish OHara

Dilceys head was leaning against the back of her chair. The letter, like all long-awaited letters, was too short, and said too little. Well. When are you writing back? Not until were moved and settled. The last load is going tonight, and were going with it. Ill be able to send him our new address at the same time. Do you want me to write anything special, Ma? No. No, nothing special. Just send them my love. It will be nice to see a picture of them all up there in Canada. Tell him Im looking forward to that. Dilcey was tired and ready for a nap. She dozed off before Prissy left, and Scarlett went to arrange a room for Will. *****

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The money lay in neat piles on the low marble-topped table. Will had insisted on counting it out, even though she protested. I want to count it out fair and square, Scarlett. Ive been waiting for this for years. But Will, you dont even need to buy my share of Tara. Ive told you Im leaving it to you. I dont want to wait until you die. I might not live that long. Besides, I bought Careens share back from the church. Its only fair I buy yours, too. I dont want to feel Im cheating Wade and Ella, either. They dont need it. They have the properties Charles and Frank left them. They dont need more than that. Scarlett had no intention of telling will she intended to leave the hotel, the ranch, and the investments Rhett had left her, to Beau and Caroline. After she was dead would be time enough for the uproar that would set off. Look, Scarlett, let me do this. I want to feel its really mine. I dont want to have come all the way to California and not do what I set out to do. Oh, all right, since your heart is set on it. She didnt want to argue anymore. It didnt matter, anyway. Youre really leaving this afternoon? Are you sure you wont stay over at least until tomorrow night? Ive got a whole box to hear that man, whats his name, that Caruso fellow sing. The papers are full of him. It would be something to tell Suellen when you get home. Yup. To much work to do on my place to go fritterin away time and money. He grinned. Now that Tara was all his, he couldnt bear to be away from it. Besides, he was right. It was spring, one of the busiest times of the year. Never was too interested in opera and all that folderol. You write and tell us all about it. At least youll let me see you to the train. Now that he really was going, she was beginning to feel the old ties, and didnt want to let 269

go so abruptly. So, she went to see him off, and came back alone, with very mixed feelings. Dilcey saw her come in slowly, take her hat off, and leave it absent-mindedly on a table. She sat down in the corner of her favorite sofa, the one-armed one, and leaning over, unbuttoned her shoes. She shoved them off, using her insteps, then curled her feet up underneath her. All the while, she was staring a little way in front of her, lost in thought. Dilcey rose with effort, and left the room. In a few minutes she was back, bearing a tray with two bottles of whiskey, one half-full, one full, and two tumblers. She set the tray down in front of Scarlett. It took a few seconds to register, then Scarlett looked up and met Dilceys eyes. God, Dilcey was old. Funny, she hadnt noticed before. Scarlett poured both tumblers full. Dilcey took hers over to her easy chair and sat down, heavily. She hauled her feet onto the hassock. The raised their glasses at each other. To Tara! To Tara! They drank. To San Francisco. To San Francisco. They drank. To Casita Encantada. To Casita Encantada. They drank To Caruso. To Caruso. They drank. They drank to Pettibrew. Good riddance. They drank to Rhett. Scarlett sighed heavily. They drank to Will. They drank to Suellen. At this point Dilcey said hunh and Scarlett giggled. They drank to Zo who had followed the gold rush to Alaska. They drank to Alaska. They drank to Beau and Caroline. They drank to the children, all of whose names they could neither remember correctly, nor pronounce with precision. Dilceys glass was empty. So was Scarletts. Scarlett wobbled over to Dilcey and refilled her glass.

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Then she wobbled back and refilled her own. Then Scarlett started laughing softly to herself. Member whenmember when and the memories buzzed around their heads. They tossed catchwords back and forth. Eventually, they both went off into monologues and finally subsided into grunts, as thoughts occurred to them separately. Scarlett was still uttering the occasional monosyllable long after Dilcey started snoring. At last, the room was still. She was in Rhetts arms, being held so tightly it seemed he would never let her go again. Happiness flooded through her and made her want to burrow deeper and deeper into his embrace. She laid her head on his shoulder, feeling his familiar muscles under her cheek. She sighed in deep contentment, almost floating with joy. This was the moment she had lived for all her life. She raised her head to nuzzle under his jaw and revel in the old familiar scents of tobacco, by rum, and brandy, and to scrape her cheekbone on his chin where the beard grew so quickly he had to be shaved morning and evening. His head seemed to be rising out of reach, and she stretched her neck to reach the spot she wanted to nuzzle. Farther and farther she stretched, sniffing to inhale that comforting scent. Aaaaaaaahhhh tschoooooo! Spinning, spinning, she was falling backwards, away, away. Rhett seemed to be holding her tighter even while he rose away and she spun down and down. Aaaa-aaaaahhhhhTSHOOOOOOOO! She came to so suddenly she almost seemed to thump down. Her arms were pinned to her sides, a wave of nausea was threatening to overwhelm her, and hammers were pounding her head with audible thwacks. Heavy velvet fabric, smelling horribly of her sneeze, was pressing into her face, and she held her breath and clenched her teeth 271

against either sneezing or vomiting. If she did either, she would surely die, if she wasnt dead already. She wasnt sure. The waves of nausea, and the thumping in her head made her wish she was dead, but she was beginning to think she might be alive. Gradually, she came to understand she was lying on her back, with something large and heavy pinning her to the floor. She blinked, to check whether her eyes were open. Yes, they were, but she could see nothing but blackness. Was she blind? She didnt think so, but couldnt have said why. She slipped back into the slowly whirling darkness for a timea few minutes, or and eternityshe didnt know which. When she next woke, she could sense it was daytime, though there was almost no light. She held her breath and tried moving. She was pinned so tightly she could barely move her fingers. She found she could move a fraction of an inch using her heels, fingertips, and elbows. Unfortunately, the slightest exertion brought back the nausea. She had to rest and breathe slowly after each miniscule movement. Each little push also jammed her hairpins directly into her scalp. After an eternity of moving a quarter of an inch each time, she felt her head bump against something. She tried pushing up against it, but couldnt budge it. After all that effortnothing . If she hadnt been pinned flat on her back, she would have thrown up her hands and given up. But she couldnt throw up her hands. She could barely move her fingertips. There was nothing else to do but try to move the other way. But first, she needed to rest. When next she woke, the hammers were only pinging lightly, the spinning had stopped, the nausea had left her, and her mouth was so dry it felt dusty. The taste in her mouth was horrible. She began to inch the other way. In this direction, her silk-clad heels could get no purchase on the carpet, but she dug in with her fingernails and elbows. Her toes found an opening, and she hooked her foot around the edge of something, and could pull from there. Slowly, slowly, she began to 272

emerge out from under the sofa; first her legs, stockings, garters, her drawers dragged up, then her petticoat inside-out, cocooning her upper body as she slid along. Her hairpins were sliding out, and she left a trail of them, and most of her hairpieces, behind her. Gradually her arms and torso emerged. She was free, but so tired she lay with her skirts still up over her head, catching her breath. At last, she rose up onto her elbows and pulled herself into a sitting position, leaning against the end of the sofa that had imprisoned her. She pulled her skirts down from around her head, and leaned her head back against the angle of the couch formed by the back and seat, which was now behind her head. She sat resting like that for a long time, eyes closed. She opened her eyes. She closed them again. Open. Closed. She left them closed for a long time. She opened them again, to see nothing she understood, nothing she recognized. Without moving, she looked first at one incomprehensible sight, then another. She looked and looked. Hell, she said. That was it. That must be it. That was the only thing that made sense of what she was looking at. She must have died and gone to hell. But she didnt feel dead. She felt exhausted, confused, and unbelievably thirsty, but much as she wished it, she didnt think she was dead. She had heard of people pinching themselves to see if they were dreaming. She pinched herself and winced. Damn. She turned her head to survey the room. Broken furniture was tumbled every which way. A breakfront was lying on its side and broken china was scattered all around the room as if it had been sown. A piano lay on its back, and there was an empty whiskey bottle inexplicably lodged on top of a curtain rod. The heavy curtains were drawn closed and the merest slivers o flight picked out motes ambling freely. Who the hell was that? Someone was sitting in the corner of the room in an armchair. Like everything else in the room, except 273

Scarlett herself, the figure was covered with plaster dust. The chest was not moving, and the plaster dust on the face had not been disturbed. Whoever she was, she was dead beforewhatever had happened. Scarlett stared at the face, trying to place it. Good Godit looked like an old darky in whiteface. And wearing a silk dress. It would have resembled Dilcey if Dilcey were that old. Nothing made sense. Scarlett recognized nothing. Nothing. Shoes. Shoes. She had to find shoes. There was broken crockery, broken glass, broken furniture everywhere. If she was going to understand anything, she had to be able to move around. She had to find some water to drink. She had to have shoes. She began to search slowly and carefully. She found one shoe inside the breakfront almost right away. While she was searching for the other one, she kept finding greenbacks. Again, it made no sense whatever. More money. Some time later, after she had stirred up enough dust to force her to hold her petticoat against her f ace, she found the other shoe under the chair where the dead woman sat. No what? Standing up made her almost dizzy, and she couldnt figure out why, until she realized the walls were listing. Crazy. Crazy. Where was the door? She had to find some water. There was a sound outside. What would she see if she looked out the window? She was afraid to look. Would there be gibbering demons? Hellfire? Emptiness? Ghosts? Hesitantly she pushed a curtain aside an infinitesimal amount, and peeked out cautiously. There was a street. Rather, there had been a street. Pavement was buckled, bricks strewn everywhere, and the buildings looking back at her appeared drunk and rakish. There was something wrong with the sunlight. It was dark and sickly. Boom! She was so surprised, she sat down suddenly, landed on a broken pitcher, and jumped back up instantly. Good heavens, that sounded like cannon fire! Boom! It

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sounded exactly like cannon fire. BOOM! Good God! It was cannon fire. She peeked out again. Yankees! Oh God. Oh Mother of God. Hail Mary, Mother of God shed forgotten the rest and so kept repeating hail Mary, mother of Godhail Mary, mother of God and suddenly everything made sense. She knew what was happening. Melly was having her baby and the Yankees had chosen to lay siege to Atlanta. But they would escape, yes, they would escape and go to Tara. She knew now what lay ahead, but it was a relief to know what to do. She found the door. It was out of kilter and stuck closed, but she found the strength to wrench it open. Then she smelled the smoke. That little bastard! That little Yankee bastard had set fire to the kitchen at Tara again. Well, baby or not, Melanie would have to help her fight it. They had put it out before, they would just have to do it again. But it was still a relief knowing Melly would be right beside her. She looked out into the unfamiliar hall. The staircase at Tara was in the other direction, but her body remembered the configuration of this building even as her mind was in Tara, forty years ago. She didnt notice the discrepancy. She was racing down the swaying staircase toward the door that would lead down to the kitchens. There were light, swift footsteps coming toward her where the hallway at Tara branched toward the kitchen and where, in the hotel, there was a solid wall. Melly, Melly was coming! Yes, Melly was coming to help her put out the fire. They would put out the fire together, and then there were all the hard years to follow. But this time she wouldnt marry Frank. She would only marry Rhett, and this time, she would know what to do. She would do everything right. He wouldnt leave her this time. But first, they had to put out the fire.

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She reached the kitchen door and grasped the handle, not noticing that it seared her palm. She pulled it open and, holding tightly onto Melanies hand, plunged headlong into the roaring maw of flame.

THE END Please scroll down

February 10, 2008 Dear Reader, I hope you enjoyed reading Scarlett & Dilcey. If you did, please forward it to everyone you know. Also, forward it to your congress representative, your senators, and all the media you can think of. Why? Because theyve all been asleep at their posts while public domain has been effectively stripped from us. There are only a handful of copyrights still profitable after more than ten or twenty years. Unfortunately, those few copyrights are owned by huge corporations that arent going to give them up without a fight. Gone With the Wind was published in 1936. Copyright has been extended again and again since then. Under the current Sonny Bono Copyright Extension Act of 1997, I would have to wait until 2031 (unless Congress extends copyright yet again) to publish my book. I doubt Ill even be alive then.

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There is one thing the major copyright players seem to have forgotten: THE FIRST RULE OF AVARICE: Never leave your mark with nothing to lose. I have nothing to lose. My right to publish my book has been taken from me. The Sonny Bono Copyright Extension Act was passed sneakily, while no one was paying attention. I had begun Scarlett & Dilcey more than ten years before the passing of that act, and I cant just sit patiently waiting for Congress to do the right thing of its own accord. Please help get their attention. If we get public domain back, maybe theres hope for the Constitution! All the best, Margarethe Zubler-Keller

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