Alexandra Ripley - Scarlett

But nothing eased Mammy’s struggles. She looked at them with pity. “Don’t wear yo’selves out,” she gasped. “Nothin’ you kin do.”

Scarlett put her fingers across Mammy’s lips. “Hush,” she begged. “Don’t try to talk. Save your strength.” Why, oh why, she raged silently to God, why couldn’t You let her die easy, when she was wandering in the past? Why did You have to wake her up and let her suffer so? She was good all her life, always doing for other people, never anything for herself. She deserves better than this, I’ll never bow my head to You again as long as I live.

But she read aloud to Mammy from the worn old Bible on the nightstand by the bed. She read the psalms, and her voice gave no sign of the pain and impious anger in her heart. When night came, Suellen lit the lamp and took over from Scarlett, reading, turning the thin pages, reading. Then Scarlett took her place. And again Suellen, until Will sent her to get some rest. “You, too, Scarlett,” he said. “I’ll sit with Mammy. I’m not much of a reader, but I know a lot of the Bible by heart.”

“You recite then. But I’m not leaving Mammy. I can’t.” She sat on the floor and leaned her tired back against the wall, listening to the terrifying sounds of death.

When the first thin light of day showed at the windows, the sounds suddenly became different, each breath more noisy, longer silences between them. Scarlett scrambled to her feet. Will rose from the chair. “I’ll get Suellen,” he said.

Scarlett took his place beside the bed. “Do you want me to hold your hand, Mammy? Let me hold your hand.”

Mammy’s forehead creased with effort. “So . . . tired.”

“I know, I know. Don’t tire yourself more by talking.”

“Wanted . . . to wait for . . . Mist’ Rhett.”

Scarlett swallowed. She couldn’t weep now. “You don’t need to hang on, Mammy. You can rest. He couldn’t come.” She heard hurried footsteps in the kitchen. “Suellen’s on her way. And Mister Will. We’ll all be here with you, darling. We all love you.”

A shadow fell across the bed, and Mammy smiled.

“She wants me,” said Rhett. Scarlett looked up at him, unbelieving. “Move over,” he said gently. “Let me get near Mammy.”

Scarlett stood, feeling the nearness of him, the bigness, the strength, the maleness, and her knees were weak. Rhett pushed past her and knelt by Mammy.

He had come. Everything was going to be all right. Scarlett knelt beside him, her shoulder touching his arm, and she was happy in the midst of her heartbreak about Mammy. He came, Rhett’s here. What a fool I was to give up hope like that.

“I wants you to do something for me,” Mammy was saying. Her voice sounded strong, as if she had saved her strength for this moment. Her breathing was shallow and fast, almost panting.

“Anything, Mammy,” Rhett said. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Bury me in my fine red silk petticoat what you gived me. See to it. I know that Lutie got her eye on it.”

Rhett laughed. Scarlett was shocked. Laughter at a deathbed. Then she realized that Mammy was laughing, too, without sound.

Rhett put his hand on his shirt. “I swear to you that Lutie won’t even get a look at it, Mammy. I’ll make sure it goes with you to Heaven.”

Mammy’s hand reached for him, gesturing his ear closer to her lips. “You take care of Miss Scarlett,” she said. “She needs caring, and I can’t do no more.”

Scarlett held her breath.

“I will, Mammy,” Rhett said.

“You swear it.” The command was faint, but stern.

“I swear it,” said Rhett. Mammy sighed quietly.

Scarlett let her breath out with a sob. “Oh, Mammy darling, thank you,” she cried. “Mammy—”

“She can’t hear you, Scarlett, she’s gone.” Rhett’s big hand moved gently across Mammy’s face, closing her eyes. “That’s a whole world gone, an era ended,” he said softly. “May she rest in peace.”

“Amen,” said Will from the doorway.

Rhett stood, turned. “Hello, Will, Suellen.”

“Her last thought was for you, Scarlett,” Suellen cried. “You were always her favorite.” She began to weep loudly. Will took her in his arms, patting her back, letting his wife wail against his chest.

Scarlett ran to Rhett and held her arms up to embrace him. “I’ve missed you so,” she said.

Rhett circled her wrists with his hands and lowered her arms to her sides. “Don’t, Scarlett,” he said. “Nothing’s changed.” His voice was quiet.

Scarlett was incapable of such restraint. “What do you mean?” she cried loudly.

Rhett winced. “Don’t force me to say it again, Scarlett. You know full well what I mean.”

“I don’t know. I don’t believe you. You can’t be leaving me, not really. Not when I love you and need you so awfully. Oh, Rhett, don’t just look at me that way. Why don’t you put your arms around me and comfort me? You promised Mammy.”

Rhett shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You are such a child, Scarlett. You’ve known me all these years, and yet, when you want to, you can forget all you’ve learned. It was a lie. I lied to make a dear old woman’s last moments happy. Remember, my pet, I’m a scoundrel, not a gentleman.”

He walked toward the door.

“Don’t go, Rhett, please,” Scarlett sobbed. Then she put both hands over her mouth to stop herself. She’d never be able to respect herself if she begged him again. She turned her head sharply, unable to bear the sight of him leaving. She saw the triumph in Suellen’s eyes and the pity in Will’s.

“He’ll be back,” she said, holding her head high. “He always comes back.” If I say it often enough, she thought, maybe I’ll believe it. Maybe it will be true.

“Always,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Where’s Mammy’s petticoat, Suellen? I intend to see to it that she’s buried in it.”

Scarlett was able to stay in control of herself until the dreadful work of bathing and dressing Mammy’s corpse was done. But when Will brought in the coffin, she began to shake. Without a word she fled.

She poured a half glass of whiskey from the decanter in the dining room and drank it in three burning gulps. The warmth of it ran through her exhausted body, and the shaking stopped.

I need air, she thought. I need to get out of this house, away from all of them. She could hear the frightened voices of the children in the kitchen. Her skin felt raw with nerves. She picked up her skirts and ran.

Outside the morning air was fresh and cool. Scarlett breathed deeply, tasting the freshness. A light breeze lifted the hair that clung to her sweaty neck. When had she last done her hundred strokes with the hairbrush? She couldn’t remember. Mammy would be furious. Oh— She put the knuckles of her right hand into her mouth to contain her grief and stumbled through the tall grasses of the pasture, down the hill to the woods that bordered the river. The high-topped pines smelled sharply sweet; they shaded a soft thick mat of bleached needles, shed over hundreds of years. Within their shelter, Scarlett was alone, invisible from the house. She crumpled wearily onto the cushioned ground, then settled herself in a sitting position with a tree trunk at her back. She had to think; there must be some way to salvage her life from the ruins; she refused to believe different.

But she couldn’t keep her mind from jumping around. She was so confused, so tired.

She’d been tired before. Worse tired than this. When she had to get to Tara from Atlanta, with the Yankee army on all sides, she hadn’t let tired stop her. When she had to forage for food all over the countryside, she hadn’t given up because her legs and arms felt like dead weights pulling on her. When she picked cotton until her hands were raw, when she hitched herself to the plow like she was a mule, when she had to find strength to keep going in spite of everything, she hadn’t given up because she was tired. She wasn’t going to give up now. It wasn’t in her to give up.