Alexandra Ripley - Scarlett

Scarlett broke a cardinal rule of table manners and talked with food in her mouth. The ham was delicious. “Yes, yes, go on.” Her hands were busy cutting another bite.

“Me, too,” Ella piped up.

“Me, too,” echoed Suellen’s Susie.

“You’re not invited,” said Wade. “Fields are man’s business. Girls stay in the house.”

Susie began to cry.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Suellen said to Scarlett.

“Me? It’s not my child making all that noise.” Scarlett always meant to avoid quarrels with Suellen when she came to Tara, but the habits of a lifetime were too strong. They had begun fighting as babies and had never really stopped.

But I’m not going to let her ruin the first meal I’ve been hungry for in who knows how long, Scarlett said to herself, and she concentrated on swirling butter evenly through the gleaming white mound of grits on her plate. She didn’t even lift her eyes when Wade followed Will out the door and Ella’s wails joined Susie’s.

“Hush up, both of you,” Suellen said loudly.

Scarlett poured ham gravy over her grits, piled grits on a piece of ham, and speared the arrangement with her fork.

“Uncle Rhett would let me go, too,” Ella sobbed.

I won’t listen, thought Scarlett, I’ll just close my ears and enjoy my breakfast. She put ham and grits and gravy in her mouth.

“Mother . . . Mother, when is Uncle Rhett coming to Tara?” Ella’s voice was sharply piercing. Scarlett heard the words in spite of herself, and the rich food turned to sawdust in her mouth. What could she say, how could she answer Ella’s question? “Never.” Was that the answer? She couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it herself. She looked at her red-faced daughter with loathing. Ella had ruined everything. Couldn’t she have left me alone at least long enough to eat my breakfast?

Ella had the ginger-colored curly hair of her father, Frank Kennedy. It stuck out around her tear-blotched face like rusted coils of wire, always escaping from the tight braids Prissy plaited, no matter how much she slicked it down with water. Ella’s body was like wire, too, skinny and angular. She was older than Susie, almost seven compared to Susie’s six and a half, but Susie was half a head taller already and so much heftier that she could bully Ella with impunity.

No wonder Ella wants Rhett to come, Scarlett thought. He really cares for her, and I don’t. She gets on my nerves just like Frank did, and no matter how hard I try I just can’t love her.

“When’s Uncle Rhett coming, Mother?” Ella asked again. Scarlett pushed her chair away from the table and stood up.

“That’s grown-ups’ business,” she said. “I’m going to see to Mammy.” She couldn’t bear to think about Rhett now, she’d think about all that later, when she wasn’t so upset. It was more important—much more—to coax Mammy into swallowing her broth.

“Just one more little spoonful, Mammy darling, it’ll make me happy.”

The old woman turned her head away from the spoon. “Tired,” she sighed.

“I know,” said Scarlett, “I know. Go to sleep, then, I won’t pester you any more.” She looked down at the almost full bowl. Mammy was eating less and less every day.

“Miss Ellen . . .” Mammy called weakly.

“I’m here, Mammy,” Scarlett replied. It always hurt when Mammy didn’t know her, when she thought the hands that tended her so lovingly were the hands of Scarlett’s mother. I shouldn’t let it bother me, Scarlett told herself every time. It was always Mother who took care of the sick, not me. Mother was kind to everyone, she was an angel, she was a perfect lady. I should take it as praise to be mistook for her. I expect I’ll go to hell for being jealous that Mammy loved her best . . . except that I don’t much believe in hell any more . . . or heaven either.

“Miss Ellen . . .”

“I’m here, Mammy.”

The old, old eyes opened half way. “You ain’t Miss Ellen.”

“It’s Scarlett, Mammy, your very own Scarlett.”

“Miss Scarlett . . . I wants Mist’ Rhett. Something to say . . .”

Scarlett’s teeth cut into her lip. I want him, too, she was crying silently. So much. But he’s gone, Mammy. I can’t give you what you want.

She saw that Mammy had slipped into a near-coma again, and she was fiercely grateful. At least Mammy was free of pain. Her own heart was aching as if it were full of knives. How she needed Rhett, especially now, with Mammy sliding ever faster down the slope to death. If he could just be here, with me, feeling the same sorrow I feel. For Rhett loved Mammy, too, and Mammy loved him. He’d never worked so hard to win anyone over in his life, Rhett said, and he’d never cared as much for anyone’s opinion as he did Mammy’s. He’d be broken-hearted when he learned that she was gone, he’d wish so much that he’d been able to say goodbye to her . . .

Scarlett’s head lifted, her eyes widened. Of course. What a fool she was being. She looked at the wizened old woman, so small and weightless under the quilts. “Oh, Mammy, darling, thank you,” she breathed. “I came to you for help, for you to make everything all right again, and you will, just the way you always did.”

She found Will in the stable rubbing down the horse.

“Oh, I’m so glad to find you, Will,” Scarlett said. Her green eyes were sparkling, her cheeks flushed with natural color instead of the rouge she usually wore. “Can I use the horse and buggy? I need to go to Jonesboro. Unless maybe— You weren’t fixing to go to Jonesboro yourself for anything, were you?” She held her breath while she waited for his answer.

Will looked at her calmly. He understood Scarlett better than she realized. “Is there something I can do for you? If I was planning to go to Jonesboro, that is.”

“Oh, Will, you are a dear, sweet thing. I’d so much rather stay with Mammy, yet still I really need to let Rhett know about her. She’s asking for him, and he’s always been so fond of her, he’d never forgive himself if he let her down.” She fiddled with the horse’s mane. “He’s in Charleston on family business; his mother can barely draw breath without asking Rhett’s advice.”

Scarlett looked up, saw Will’s expressionless face, then looked away. She began to braid pieces of the mane, staring at her work as if it were of vital importance. “So if you’ll just send a telegram, I’ll give you the address. And you’d better make it from you, Will. Rhett knows how I adore Mammy. He’s liable to think I was exaggerating how sick she is.” She lifted her head and smiled brilliantly. “He thinks I haven’t any more sense than a June bug.”

Will knew that was the biggest lie of all. “I think you’re right,” he said slowly. “Rhett should come as soon as he can. I’ll ride over right away; horseback’s quicker than a rig.”

Scarlett’s hands relaxed. “Thank you,” she said. “I have the address in my pocket.”

“I’ll be back in time for dinner,” said Will. He lifted the saddle down from its stand. Scarlett helped him with it. She felt full of energy. She was sure Rhett would come. He could be at Tara in two days if he left Charleston as soon as he got the wire.

But Rhett didn’t come in two days. Or three or four or five. Scarlett stopped listening for the sound of wheels or hoof beats on the drive. She had worn herself ragged, straining to hear. And now there was another sound that took all her attention, the horrible rasping noise that was Mammy’s effort to breathe. It seemed impossible that the frail, wasted body could summon the strength needed to draw air into her lungs, push it out again. But she did, time after time, the cords on her wrinkled neck thick and quivering.

Suellen joined Scarlett’s vigil. “She’s my Mammy, too, Scarlett.” The life-long jealousies and cruelties between them were forgotten in their joint need to help the old black woman. They brought down all the pillows in the house to prop her up, and kept the croup kettle steaming constantly. They spread butter on her cracked lips, spooned sips of water between them.