PART 5
Author's Note- sorry for the delay. This is the beginning to a much longer chapter, which I realized was far too long, which was why I was struggling with it. Life has been busy. I'm spending all of my time chasing kids out holding a baby bottle when I'm not at work. Thank you MissCyn for your feedback and edits! I really appreciate it! If you haven't been reading A Shift in the Trajectory, you should!
PART 5
The sky was once again angrily spitting when she came out of the building, and the sky was a dull putty color. The soldiers on the square had taken shelter in their huts, and the streets were deserted. There was no vehicle in sight, and she knew she would have to walk the long way home.
The brandy glow faded as she trudged along. The cold wind made her shiver and the chilly needle-like drops drove hard into her face. The rain quickly penetrated Aunt Pitty's thin cloak until it hung in clammy folds about her. She knew the pathetic, threadbare dress she'd worn was even more ruined, if that was possible. The bricks of the sidewalk were broken and, for long stretches, completely gone. In these spots the mud was ankle deep and her slippers stuck in it as if it were glue, even coming completely off her feet. Every time she bent over to retrieve them, the hem of the dress fell in the mud, so that it dragged her down and grew heavier and heavier as she traversed the town.
She did not even try to avoid puddles but stepped dully into them, dragging her heavy skirts after her. She could feel her wet petticoat and pantalets cold about her ankles, but she was beyond caring about the wreck of the clothing she had worn. She was chilled and disheartened and desperate. Yes, Rhett had promised to take care of her, but she couldn't imagine how he would manage such a feat from within the jail. He might very well be dead within a few days. And she couldn't quite explain to herself why her stomach ached at the thought
How could she ever go back to Tara and face them after her brave words and assurances that she would take care of things? How could she tell them they must all go—somewhere? How could she leave it all, the red fields, the tall pines, the dark swampy bottom lands, the quiet burying ground where Ellen lay in the cedars' deep shade?
Hatred of the situation burned in her heart as she plodded along the slippery way. Thank God, Rhett couldn't see her now, with her clothes soaking wet, and her hair straggling, and her teeth chattering. How hideous she must look and how he would laugh! But, no he wouldn't laugh. He'd looked at her so strangely, she wasn't sure if he would be terrified by her failing health or by her haggard appearance.
Everyone she passed seemed to turn insolent grins at her and laugh among themselves as she hurried by, slipping and sliding in the mud, stopping, panting to replace her slippers. How dare they laugh! How dare they grin at her like that, Scarlett O'Hara of Tara!
As she walked down Washington Street, the landscape was as dreary as her own heart. Here there was none of the bustle and cheerfulness which she had noted on Peachtree Street. Here many handsome homes had once stood, but few had been rebuilt. Smoked foundations and the lonesome blackened chimneys appeared with disheartening frequency.
Overgrown paths led to nothing but old lawns thick with dead weeds, carriage blocks bearing names she knew so well, hitching posts which would never again know the knot of reins. Cold wind and rain, mud and bare trees, silence and desolation. How wet her feet were and how long the journey home!
She heard the splash of hooves behind her and moved farther over on the narrow sidewalk to avoid more mud splotches on Aunt Pittypat's cloak, pointless as that effort seemed. A horse and buggy came slowly up the road and she turned to watch it, determined to beg a ride if the driver was anyone she knew. The rain obscured her vision as the buggy came abreast, but she saw the driver peer over the tarpaulin that stretched from the dashboard to his chin. There was something familiar about his face and as she stepped out into the road to get a closer view, there was an embarrassed little cough from the man and a well-known voice cried in accents of pleasure and astonishment: "Surely, it can't be Miss Scarlett!"
"Oh, Mr. Kennedy!" she cried, splashing across the road and leaning on the muddy wheel, heedless of further damage to the cloak. "I have never been so glad to see anybody in my life!"
He colored with pleasure at the obvious sincerity of her words, hastily squirted a stream of tobacco juice from the opposite side of the buggy and leaped spryly to the ground. He shook her hand enthusiastically and holding up the tarpaulin, assisted her into the buggy.
"Miss Scarlett, what are you doing over in this section by yourself? Don't you know it's dangerous these days? And you are soaking wet. Here, wrap the robe around your feet."
As he fussed over her, clucking like a hen, she gave herself up to the almost forgotten luxury of being taken care of. She had spent so much time at Tara trying to take care of everyone else, it was almost as though she had forgotten how to allow someone to take care of her. But it was nice to have a man fussing and clucking and scolding, even if it was only that old maid in britches, Frank Kennedy.
And oh, how good to see a County face when she was so far from home! He was well dressed, she noticed, and the buggy was new too. The horse looked young and well fed, but in contrast Frank looked far older than his years. She had been too wrapped up in her worries when he had visited Tara to really see the effects of how much the war had damaged his health. He was thin and sallow faced and his yellow eyes were watery and sunken in creases of loose flesh. His ginger-colored beard was scantier than ever, streaked with tobacco juice and as ragged as if he clawed at it incessantly. And yet he was bright and cheerful, contrasting so with the worry and weariness which Scarlett saw in faces everywhere–the same weariness she herself felt.
"It's a pleasure to see you," said Frank warmly. "Did your visit with Captain Butler go well? That's the only thing that I can imagine would have brought you to this area." He chirruped to the horse and it plodded off, picking its way carefully down the slick road, and then looked back at her, "Miss Scarlett, I would have taken you there, if I'd known you were going this morning. You are practically family, and you soon will be. You shouldn't be walking these roads alone. It isn't safe. I'd never forgive myself if I allowed something to happen to you when I had any way to prevent it."
"No," she said, wrapping the warm lap robe about her and trying to pull it up around her neck. "I didn't give Aunt Pitty any warning."
She must think of something to talk about, yet it was so hard to talk. Her mind was leaden with defeat and all she wanted was to lie back in this warm blanket and say to herself: "I won't think of Tara now. I'll think of it later, when it won't hurt so much." If she could just get him started talking on some subject which would hold him all the way home, so she would have nothing to do but murmur "How nice" and "You certainly are smart" at intervals.
It was easy to get him to start talking about his store, and if the store had been something that she would be benefiting from she would have tried to pay more attention, but eventually he turned towards her, "Miss Scarlett, was Captain Butler able to help you?"
"Um," said Scarlett absently. She was getting warmer now and a little drowsy. "He promised to take care of it, but I can't imagine how he would be able to do anything from his jail cell. He thinks they will hang him!" She exclaimed at the end, feeling like she would cry from the fact. The situation again settled as though it were a physical weight upon her chest, making it nearly impossible to continue breathing.
"Let me know if he can't help you. Give him a few days, but you're as good as family Miss Scarlett." He continued to explain, "After the surrender I had about ten dollars in silver and nothing else in the world. You know what they did to Jonesboro and my house and store there. I just didn't know what to do. But I used the ten dollars to put a roof on an old store down by Five Points and I moved the hospital equipment in and started selling it. Everybody needed beds and china and mattresses and I sold them cheap, because I figured it was about as much other folks' stuff as it was mine. But I cleared money on it and bought some more stuff and the store just went along fine. I think I'll make a lot of money on it if things pick up."
At the word "money," her mind came back to the conversation, crystal clear.
"You say you've made money?"
He puffed up under her interest. Few women except Suellen had ever given him more than perfunctory courtesy and it was very flattering to have a former belle like Scarlett hanging on his words. "I'm not a millionaire, Miss Scarlett, and considering the money I used to have, what I've got now sounds small. But I made a thousand dollars this year. Of course, five hundred of it went to paying for new stock and repairing the store and paying the rent. But I've made five hundred clear and as things are certainly picking up, I ought to clear two thousand next year. I can sure use it, too, for you see, I've got plans to build Miss Suellen a home to be proud of." at which he blushed.
For a moment she considered asking him to lend her the three hundred dollars, but wearily she rejected the idea despite his kind offer. Three hundred dollars wasn't a small amount to asking for, except for Rhett, no one had that kind of money to spare. Frank would be embarrassed; he would stammer; he would offer excuses, but he wouldn't lend it to her, even though he might really want to be that generous. He had worked hard for it, so he could marry Suellen in the spring and if he parted with it, his wedding would be postponed indefinitely. And at least ridding herself of Suellen would mean one less soul to worry about and feed. It wasn't as though Suellen ever came close to pulling her own weight, and the amount of complaining about the labor far outweighed the amount of gain that was received.
Even if she worked on his sympathies and his duty toward his future family and gained his promise of a loan, she knew Suellen would never permit it. Suellen was getting more and more worried over the fact that she was practically an old maid and she would move heaven and earth to prevent anything from delaying her marriage.
What was there in that whining, complaining girl to make this old fool so anxious to give her a soft nest? Suellen didn't deserve a loving husband and the profits of a store. The minute Sue got her hands on a little money she'd give herself unendurable airs and never contribute one cent toward the upkeep of Tara. Not Suellen! She'd think herself well out of it and not care if Tara went for taxes or burned to the ground, so long as she had pretty clothes and a "Mrs." in front of her name.
As Scarlett thought of Suellen's secure future and the precarious one of herself and Tara, anger flamed in her at the unfairness of life. Hastily she looked out of the buggy into the muddy street, lest Frank should see her expression. She was going to lose everything she had, while Sue—
Suellen didn't deserve them. She thought of Tara and remembered Jonas Wilkerson, venomous as a rattler, at the foot of the front steps, and she grasped at the last straw floating above the shipwreck of her life.
"What's the matter, Miss Scarlett? You got a chill?"
"Yes," she answered helplessly.
" And you haven't any gloves! My, my, what a brute I've been idling along like this, talking my head off when you must be freezing and wanting to get to a fire. Giddap, Sally!"
"Oh, I shall die if you tell Aunt Pittypat where I was and how far I've fallen!" she cried in real anxiety and burst into tears. She had been on the verge of a meltdown for days and weeks, holding herself together by sheer determination. The effect of hers breakdown was startling. Frank could not have been more embarrassed or helpless if she had suddenly begun disrobing. He clicked his tongue against his teeth several times, muttering "My! My!" and made futile gestures at her.
She sobbed on, saying a few words now and then, and he gathered that all was not well at Tara, even more so than he had realized on his recent visit. Mr. O'Hara was still "not himself at all," and there wasn't enough food to go around for so many, though that he had understood that. Frank clicked his tongue again and suddenly he found that her head was on his shoulder. He did not quite know how it got there. Surely he had not placed it there, but there her head was and there was Scarlett helplessly sobbing against his thin chest. He patted her shoulder timidly. "I won't tell Miss Pittypat, but you must promise me, Miss Scarlett, that you won't let your family go without, not as long as I can do anything about it. I don't have that much, but I won't let you starve. The idea of your father's daughter—"
Her wet green eyes sought his helplessly and ashamedly. "You are a brave little woman," he pronounced, "but I won't have you do this sort of thing. Your family would die of shame."
"Then what will I do?" The swimming eyes looked up to him.
"Well, I don't know right now. But I'll think of something." He fretted before admitting, "I imagine that somehow Captain Butler will find a way out of this situation. He always does. He could charm his way out of the pits of hell if needed."He paused and patted her hand, "But, Miss Scarlett, you just remember this, when Miss Suellen and I are married, there'll always be a place for you under our roof and for Wade Hampton too."
Mammy was standing on the front porch when Frank helped Scarlett out of the buggy. She had evidently been standing there for some time, for her head rag was damp and the old shawl clutched tightly about her showed rain spots. Perhaps Mammy was the wisest and shrewdest person in her entire life. Mammy knew too much and saw through Scarlett's excuses too easily. It was unnerving, and Scarlett realized that if Mammy needed to, Mammy could take care of the family as well as she could. But her wrinkled black face was a study in anger and apprehension and her lip was pushed out farther than Scarlett could ever remember.
She peered quickly at Frank and, when she saw who it was, her face changed—pleasure, bewilderment and something akin to guilt spreading over it. She waddled forward to Frank with pleased greetings and grinned and curtsied when he shook her hand.
"It sure is good to see home folks," she said. "If I'd known Miss Scarlett was out wid you, I wouldn' worried so. I knew she was taken care of. I came back here and found that she was gone an' I've been as distracted as a chicken with its head off, thinking' she was runnin' roun' this town by herself. How come you didn't tell me you gwine out, honey? And you with a cold!"
Scarlett's lips were quivering and as much as she wanted to dismiss Mammy or command her to do something, Scarlett's own weariness and exhaustion was too real to not weigh upon her. After bidding Frank farewell, she went into the house, and Mammy gave her an inscrutable look and followed her up the stairs to the bedroom. She was silently disapproving while she stripped off the sodden, mud saturated clothes and hung them over chairs and tucked Scarlett into bed.
When she had brought up a cup of hot tea and a hot brick, rolled in flannel, she looked down at Scarlett and said, with the nearest approach to an apology in her voice Scarlett had ever heard: "Lamb, why didn't tell yo' own Mammy what you was up to? Then I wouldn't have to traipse all this way to Atlanta. I'm too old for such running around."
"What do you mean?" Scarlett peered up at her.
"Honey, you can't fool me. I know you. An' I know you've been to see Captain Butler. I see the way that you look when you talk about him, a lot like you used to look like when you talked about Mr. Ashley." Her looking was penetrating, "But you don't seem to look at him like that anymore. I think you might be growing up."
"Well," said Scarlett shortly, snuggling under the blankets and realizing it was useless to try to throw Mammy off the scent, "what other reason did I have for coming to Atlanta? I had to try and save Tara, and Rhett was my only hope." She stuttered out, and then closed her eyes as though to try and block the reality of his situation, "But the Yankees are going to hang him!"
"Chile, I didn't know but I didn't like the look on yo' face yesterday. An' I 'membered Miss Pittypat writin' Miss Melly that rapscallion Butler man had lots of money an' I don't forget what I hear."
Scarlett gave her a sharp look and Mammy returned the gaze with calm omniscience. "He's not so bad, Mammy. But I don't think it matters much, but I just don't know how I'm going to tell everyone that I failed."
Mammy, tucking the covers about Scarlett's neck told her "Just wait a bit. Maybe he will find a way. We've nothing better to do at Tara, not now, so we might as well not return and instead wait a few days."
Scarlett lay quietly for a while, as Mammy fussed about the room, relief flooding her that there was no need for more words between them. No explanations were asked, no reproaches made. Mammy understood and was silent. In Mammy, Scarlett had found a realist more uncompromising than herself. The mottled wise old eyes saw deeply, saw clearly, with the directness of the savage and the child, undeterred by conscience when danger threatened her pet. Scarlett was her baby and what her baby wanted, Mammy was willing to help her obtain. Scarlett was in trouble and doing the best she could, and Scarlett was Miss Ellen's child. Mammy rallied to her with never a moment's hesitation.
Scarlett felt the silent reinforcement and, as the hot brick at her feet warmed her, the hope which had flickered faintly on the cold ride home grew into a flame. It swept through her, making her heart pump the blood through her veins in pounding surges. Not beaten yet, she thought hopefully.
But the time spent in the cold combined with Scarlett's inability to eat over the past few weeks had caught up with her. Instead of attending the wedding of Fanny Elsing to Tommy Wellburn as planned, she was bed bound with the cold she'd initially pretended to suffering from. As much as she wished to attend a social gathering, she knew that her body was finally demanding that she stop. The next day she woke with a sore throat and raspy voice.
Mammy frowned at the blooming color in her cheeks and even more so at the heart radiating from her body. "Now, Miss Scarlett , you done made yourself sick. You've got a fever. You're spending the day in bed, and I will stay and make sure that you do."
Exhaustion washed over Scarlett, and she agreed to stay in bed. But she protested that Mammy could go ahead and join Aunt Pittypat, "There's no point in you staying here. Go ahead and go help. I'll just be good and stay put." This earned a look of doubt and a harumph from a disbelieving Mammy. But Scarlett maintained her promise and ate the meager meal and weak tea she was given, which at least helped the burning in her throat. She was not ill enough to sleep the entire day, and she loathed needlework and reading, which were her only true options for occupying her time.
It was late in the afternoon, and Scarlett was growing bored. It has been too long since she'd had time to lounge in bed like this, not since she'd left Atlanta. At Tara, even if she was feeling poorly, there was too much that needed to be done to stay in bed for an entire day. Aunt Pitty and Mammy had already returned and both had fussed over her. So it was a relief when there was a pounding on the door below, that continued until someone , probably Uncle Peter, answered the door. Scarlett hoped that it was Rhett, and he had made good on his promises.
There was a whispered conversation, as Aunt Pittypat joined in, though it was far too low for Scarlett to hear, though she strained to make it out. Finally Pitty came up the stairs, her voice trembling as it did anytime anything unusual happened, "Scarlett," she said upon entering the room, "There is a messenger downstairs that refuses to share any information with me, but refuses to leave without speaking to you. I told him that you were ill, but he claims that it is of the utmost importance– from Captain Butler of all people."
Scarlett nodded at the woman, and she dressed as quickly as she could. The dress was threadbare from many washings and faded, but it wasn't noticeably patched. She brushed at the mud spots as well as she could, but there was little that could be done other than allowing Mammy to wash the dress or find another to wear. So she hurried down the stairs to the waiting messenger. "I'm Mrs. Scarlett Hamilton," she voiced, though her voice cracked and scratched with the effort.
"Captain Butler requested that you hurry to see him. He says that it is urgent for you to come to the jail." The boy explained, handing her a small note, which she quickly read. But the note was nothing more than Rhett saying that he needed to see her, as it was of the utmost importance. And Rhett would not send such a note lightly.
At that moment, Mammy stepped forward. "It ain't fitting and you ain't going down there. It just ain't fitting to go to see him in a jail." Pittypat fluttered and was on the verge of a fainting fit as both women fussed over Scarlett in their own way.
Despite feeling under the weather, Scarlett was not deterred. "Let me grab my wrap. You can go on. Thank you." She dismissed him succinctly. "I've got to go Mammy. You can join me if you prefer." There was a look shared between them, and Mammy seemed to realize that the message must be important for Scarlett to agree so quickly. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but finally nodded at her charge. Mammy was consenting to keep her secret, even without knowing what might be waiting for her.