Gone with the Wind (146 page)

“A Scallawag receive when all the prominent ex-Confederates and Democrats are going to be there? Your notions are as enchanting as they are muddle headed. It's only because of Miss Melly's loyalty that you are invited at all.”

Scarlett dressed with more than usual care that afternoon for her trip to the store and the lumber yard, wearing the new dull-green changeable taffeta frock that looked lilac in some lights and the new pale-green bonnet, circled about with dark-green plumes. If only Rhett would let her cut bangs and frizzle them on her forehead, how much better this bonnet would look! But he had declared that he would shave her whole head if she banged her forelocks. And these days he acted so atrociously he really might do it.

It was a lovely afternoon, sunny but not too hot, bright but not glaring, and the warm breeze that rustled the trees along Peachtree Street made the plumes on Scarlett's bonnet dance. Her heart danced too, as always when she was going to see Ashley. Perhaps, if she paid off the team drivers and Hugh early, they would go home and leave her and Ashley alone in the square little office in the middle of the lumber yard. Chances to see Ashley alone were all too infrequent these days. And to think that Melanie had asked her to hold him! That was funny!

Her heart was merry when she reached the store, and she paid off Willie and the other counter boys without even asking what the day's business had been. It was Saturday, the biggest day of the week for the store, for all the farmers came to town to shop that day, but she asked no questions.

Along the way to the lumber yard she stopped a dozen times to speak with Carpetbagger ladies in splendid equipages—not so splendid as her own, she thought with pleasure—and with many men who came through the red dust of the street to stand hat in hand and compliment her. It was a beautiful afternoon, she was happy,
she looked pretty and her progress was a royal one. Because of these delays she arrived at the lumber yard later than she intended and found Hugh and the team drivers sitting on a low pile of lumber waiting for her.

“Is Ashley here?”

“Yes, he's in the office,” said Hugh, the habitually worried expression leaving his face at the sight of her happy, dancing eyes. “He's trying to— I mean, he's going over the books.”

“Oh, he needn't bother about that today,” she said and then lowering her voice: “Melly sent me down to keep him here till they get the house straight for the reception tonight.”

Hugh smiled for he was going to the reception. He liked parties and he guessed Scarlett did too from the way she looked this afternoon. She paid off the teamsters and Hugh and, abruptly leaving them, walked toward the office, showing plainly by her manner that she did not care to be accompanied. Ashley met her at the door and stood in the afternoon sunshine, his hair bright and on his lips a little smile that was almost a grin.

“Why, Scarlett, what are you doing downtown this time of the day? Why aren't you out at my house helping Melly get ready for the surprise party?”

“Why, Ashley Wilkes!” she cried indignantly. “You weren't supposed to know a thing about it. Melly will be so disappointed if you aren't surprised.”

“Oh, I won't let on. I'll be the most surprised man in Atlanta,” said Ashley, his eyes laughing.

“Now, who was mean enough to tell you?”

“Practically every man Melly invited. General Gordon was the first. He said it had been his experience that when women gave surprise parties they usually gave
them on the very nights men had decided to polish and clean all the guns in the house. And then Grandpa Merriwether warned me. He said Mrs. Merriwether gave him a surprise party once and she was the most surprised person there, because Grandpa had been treating his rheumatism, on the sly, with a bottle of whisky and he was too drunk to get out of bed and—oh, every man who's ever had a surprise party given him told me.”

“The mean things!” cried Scarlett but she had to smile.

He looked like the old Ashley she knew at Twelve Oaks when he smiled like this. And he smiled so seldom these days. The air was so soft, the sun so gentle, Ashley's face so gay, his talk so unconstrained that her heart leaped with happiness. It swelled in her bosom until it positively ached with pleasure, ached as with a burden of joyful, hot, unshed tears. Suddenly she felt sixteen again and happy, a little breathless and excited. She had a mad impulse to snatch off her bonnet and toss it into the air and cry “Hurray!” Then she thought how startled Ashley would be if she did this, and she suddenly laughed, laughed until tears came to her eyes. He laughed, too, throwing back his head as though he enjoyed laughter, thinking her mirth came from the friendly treachery of the men who had given Melly's secret away.

“Come in, Scarlett. I'm going over the books.”

She passed into the small room, blazing with the afternoon sun, and sat down in the chair before the roll-topped desk. Ashley, following her, seated himself on the corner of the rough table, his long legs dangling easily.

“Oh, don't let's fool with any books this afternoon, Ashley! I just can't be bothered. When I'm wearing a
new bonnet, it seems like all the figures I know leave my head.”

“Figures are well lost when the bonnet's as pretty as that one,” he said. “Scarlett, you get prettier all the time!”

He slipped from the table and, laughing, took her hands, spreading them wide so he could see her dress. “You are so pretty! I don't believe you'll ever get old!”

At his touch she realized that, without being conscious of it, she had hoped that just this thing would happen. All this happy afternoon, she had hoped for the warmth of his hands, the tenderness of his eyes, a word that would show he cared. This was the first time they had been utterly alone since the cold day in the orchard at Tara, the first time their hands had met in any but formal gestures, and through the long months she had hungered for closer contact. But now—

How odd that the touch of his hands did not excite her! Once his very nearness would have set her a-tremble. Now she felt only a curious warm friendliness and content. No fever leaped from his hands to hers and in his hands her heart hushed to happy quietness. This puzzled her, made her a little disconcerted. He was still her Ashley, still her bright, shining darling and she loved him better than life. Then why—

But she pushed the thought from her mind. It was enough that she was with him and he was holding her hands and smiling, completely friendly, without strain or fever. It seemed miraculous that this could be when she thought of all the unsaid things that lay between them. His eyes looked into hers, clear and shining, smiling in the old way she loved, smiling as though there had never been anything between them but happiness. There was
no barrier between his eyes and hers now, no baffling remoteness. She laughed.

“Oh, Ashley, I'm getting old and decrepit.”

“Ah, that's very apparent! No, Scarlett, when you are sixty, you'll look the same to me. I'll always remember you as you were that day of our last barbecue, sitting under an oak with a dozen boys around you. I can even tell you just how you were dressed, in a white dress covered with tiny green flowers and a white lace shawl about your shoulders. You had on little green slippers with black lacings and an enormous leghorn hat with long green streamers. I know that dress by heart because when I was in prison and things got too bad, I'd take out my memories and thumb them over like pictures, recalling every little detail—”

He stopped abruptly and the eager light faded from his face. He dropped her hands gently and she sat waiting, waiting for his next words.

“We've come a long way, both of us, since that day, haven't we, Scarlett? We've traveled roads we never expected to travel. You've come swiftly, directly, and I, slowly and reluctantly.”

He sat down on the table again and looked at her and a small smile crept back into his face. But it was not the smile that had made her so happy so short a while before. It was a bleak smile.

“Yes, you came swiftly, dragging me at your chariot wheels. Scarlett, sometimes I have an impersonal curiosity as to what would have happened to me without you.”

Scarlett went quickly to defend him from himself, more quickly because treacherously there rose to her mind Rhett's words on this same subject.

“But I've never done anything for you, Ashley. Without
me, you'd have been just the same. Some day, you'd have been a rich man, a great man like you are going to be.”

“No, Scarlett, the seeds of greatness were never in me. I think that if it hadn't been for you, I'd have gone down into oblivion—like poor Cathleen Calvert and so many other people who once had great names, old names.”

“Oh, Ashley, don't talk like that. You sound so sad.”

“No, I'm not sad. Not any longer. Once—once I was sad. Now, I'm only—”

He stopped and suddenly she knew what he was thinking. It was the first time she had ever known what Ashley was thinking when his eyes went past her, crystal clear, absent. When the fury of love had beaten in her heart, his mind had been closed to her. Now, in the quiet friendliness that lay between them, she could walk a little way into his mind, understand a little. He was not sad any longer. He had been sad after the surrender, sad when she begged him to come to Atlanta. Now, he was only resigned.

“I hate to hear you talk like that, Ashley,” she said vehemently. “You sound just like Rhett. He's always harping on things like that and something he calls the survival of the fitting till I'm so bored I could scream.”

Ashley smiled.

“Did you ever stop to think, Scarlett, that Rhett and I are fundamentally alike?”

“Oh, no! You are so fine, so honorable and he—” She broke off, confused.

“But we are. We came of the same kind of people, we were raised in the same pattern, brought up to think the same things. And somewhere along the road we took different turnings. We still think alike but we react differently.
As, for instance, neither of us believed in war but I enlisted and fought and he stayed out till nearly the end. We both knew the war was all wrong. We both knew it was a losing fight. I was willing to fight a losing fight. He wasn't. Sometimes I think he was right and then, again—”

“Oh, Ashley, when will you stop seeing both sides of questions?” she asked. But she did not speak impatiently as she once would have done. “No one ever gets anywhere seeing both sides.”

“That's true but—Scarlett, just where do you want to get? I've often wondered. You see, I never wanted to get anywhere at all. I've only wanted to be myself.”

Where did she want to get? That was a silly question. Money and security, of course. And yet— Her mind fumbled. She had money and as much security as one could hope for in an insecure world. But, now that she thought about it, they weren't quite enough. Now that she thought about it, they hadn't made her particularly happy, though they had made her less harried, less fearful of the morrow. “If I'd had money and security and you, that would have been where I wanted to get,” she thought, looking at him yearningly. But she did not speak the words, fearful of breaking the spell that lay between them, fearful that his mind would close against her.

“You only want to be yourself?” she laughed, a little ruefully. “Not being myself has always been my hardest trouble! As to where I want to go, well, I guess I've gotten there. I wanted to be rich and safe and—”

“But, Scarlett, did it ever occur to you that I don't care whether I'm rich or not?”

No, it had never occurred to her that anyone would not want to be rich.

“Then, what do you want?”

“I don't know, now. I knew once but I've half forgotten. Mostly to be left alone, not to be harried by people I don't like, driven to do things I don't want to do. Perhaps—I want the old days back again and they'll never come back, and I am haunted by the memory of them and of the world falling about my ears.”

Scarlett set her mouth obstinately. It was not that she did not know what he meant. The very tones of his voice called up other days as nothing else could, made her heart hurt suddenly, as she too remembered. But since the day she had lain sick and desolate in the garden at Twelve Oaks and said: “I won't look back,” she had set her face against the past.

“I like these days better,” she said. But she did not meet his eyes as she spoke. “There's always something exciting happening now, parties and so on. Everything's got a glitter to it. The old days were so dull.” (Oh, lazy days and warm still country twilights! The high soft laughter from the quarters! The golden warmth life had then and the comforting knowledge of what all tomorrows would bring! How can I deny you?)

“I like these days better,” she said but her voice was tremulous.

He slipped from the table, laughing softly in unbelief. Putting his hand under her chin, he turned her face up to his.

“Ah, Scarlett, what a poor liar you are! Yes, life has a glitter now—of a sort. That's what's wrong with it. The old days had no glitter but they had a charm, a beauty, a slow-paced glamor.”

Her mind pulled two ways, she dropped her eyes. The sound of his voice, the touch of his hand were softly un-locking
doors that she had locked forever. Behind those doors lay the beauty of the old days, and a sad hunger for them welled up within her. But she knew that no matter what beauty lay behind, it must remain there. No one could go forward with a load of aching memories.

His hand dropped from her chin and he took one of her hands between his two and held it gently.

“Do you remember,” he said—and a warning bell in her mind rang: Don't look back! Don't look back!

But she swiftly disregarded it, swept forward on a tide of happiness. At last she was understanding him, at last their minds had met. This moment was too precious to be lost, no matter what pain came after.