# LongBench v2 / 6703933bbb02136c067ccd78

task_id: 8c28fea5-42ed-5a96-b06f-d899c01d3fbd
task_key: train--6703933bbb02136c067ccd78
task_revision_id: 3

{"choice_A":"Because Mr. O'Hara is a loud- voiced, red-faced little man who came hardly up to her ears.","choice_B":"Because the one she love has already died. She does not care whoever to marry.","choice_C":"A miracle had happened.","choice_D":"Because Ellen takes Gerald's eye.","context":"7\n\n\nSCARLETT O’HARA WAS not beautiful, but men seldom\nrealized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton\ntwins were. In her face were too sharply blended the\ndelicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of\nFrench descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish\nfather. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin,\nsquare of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a\ntouch of hazel, starred with bristly black lashes and\nslightly tilted at the ends. Above them, her thick black\nbrows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line\nin her magnolia-white skin–that skin so prized by\nSouthern women and so carefully guarded with bon-\nnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns.\nSeated with Stuart and Brent Tarleton in the cool\nshade of the porch of Tara, her father’s plantation,\nthat bright April afternoon of 1861, she made a pretty\npicture. Her new green flowered-muslin dress spread\nits twelve yards of billowing material over her hoops\nand exactly matched the flat-heeled green morocco\nslippers her father had recently brought her from At-\nlanta. The dress set off to perfection the seventeen-\ninch waist, the smallest in three counties, and the\ntightly fitting basque showed breasts well matured\nfor her sixteen years.\nBut for all the modesty of\n\n\nPART ONE\nher spreading skirts, the demureness of hair netted\nsmoothly into a chignon and the quietness of small\nwhite hands folded in her lap, her true self was poorly\nconcealed. The green eyes in the carefully sweet face\nwere turbulent, willful, lusty with life, distinctly at\nvariance with her decorous demeanor.\nHer man-\nners had been imposed upon her by her mother’s\ngentle admonitions and the sterner discipline of her\nmammy; her eyes were her own.\nOn either side of her, the twins lounged easily in\ntheir chairs, squinting at the sunlight through tall\nmint-garnished glasses as they laughed and talked,\ntheir long legs, booted to the knee and thick with sad-\ndle muscles, crossed negligently. Nineteen years old,\nsix feet two inches tall, long of bone and hard of mus-\ncle, with sunburned faces and deep auburn hair, their\neyes merry and arrogant, their bodies clothed in iden-\ntical blue coats and mustard-colored breeches, they\nwere as much alike as two bolls of cotton.\nOutside, the late afternoon sun slanted down in\nthe yard, throwing into gleaming brightness the dog-\nwood trees that were solid masses of white blossoms\nagainst the background of new green.\nThe twins’\nhorses were hitched in the driveway, big animals, red\nas their masters’ hair; and around the horses’ legs\n9\n\n\nPART ONE\nquarreled the pack of lean, nervous possum hounds\nthat accompanied Stuart and Brent wherever they\nwent.\nA little aloof, as became an aristocrat, lay\na black-spotted carriage dog, muzzle on paws, pa-\ntiently waiting for the boys to go home to supper.\nBetween the hounds and the horses and the twins\nthere was a kinship deeper than that of their con-\nstant companionship. They were all healthy, thought-\nless young animals, sleek, graceful, high-spirited, the\nboys as mettlesome as the horses they rode, mettle-\nsome and dangerous but, withal, sweet-tempered to\nthose who knew how to handle them.\nAlthough born to the ease of plantation life, waited\non hand and foot since infancy, the faces of the three\non the porch were neither slack nor soft. They had\nthe vigor and alertness of country people who have\nspent all their lives in the open and troubled their\nheads very little with dull things in books. Life in\nthe north Georgia county of Clayton was still new\nand, according to the standards of Augusta, Savannah\nand Charleston, a little crude. The more sedate and\nolder sections of the South looked down their noses\nat the up-country Georgians, but here in north Geor-\ngia, a lack of the niceties of classical education carried\nno shame, provided a man was smart in the things\n10\n\n\nPART ONE\nthat mattered. And raising good cotton, riding well,\nshooting straight, dancing lightly, squiring the ladies\nwith elegance and carrying one’s liquor like a gentle-\nman were the things that mattered.\nIn these accomplishments the twins excelled, and\nthey were equally outstanding in their notorious in-\nability to learn anything contained between the cov-\ners of books.\nTheir family had more money, more\nhorses, more slaves than any one else in the County,\nbut the boys had less grammar than most of their poor\nCracker neighbors.\nIt was for this precise reason that Stuart and Brent\nwere idling on the porch of Tara this April afternoon.\nThey had just been expelled from the University of\nGeorgia, the fourth university that had thrown them\nout in two years; and their older brothers, Tom and\nBoyd, had come home with them, because they re-\nfused to remain at an institution where the twins were\nnot welcome. Stuart and Brent considered their lat-\nest expulsion a fine joke, and Scarlett, who had not\nwillingly opened a book since leaving the Fayetteville\nFemale Academy the year before, thought it just as\namusing as they did.\n“I know you two don’t care about being expelled,\nor Tom either,” she said. “But what about Boyd? He’s\n11\n\n\nPART ONE\nkind of set on getting an education, and you two have\npulled him out of the University of Virginia and Al-\nabama and South Carolina and now Georgia. He’ll\nnever get finished at this rate.”\n“Oh, he can read law in Judge Parmalee’s office over\nin Fayetteville,” answered Brent carelessly. “Besides,\nit don’t matter much. We’d have had to come home\nbefore the term was out anyway.”\n“Why?”\n“The war, goose! The war’s going to start any day,\nand you don’t suppose any of us would stay in college\nwith a war going on, do you?”\n“You know there isn’t going to be any war,” said\nScarlett, bored.\n“It’s all just talk.\nWhy, Ashley\nWilkes and his father told Pa just last week that our\ncommissioners in Washington would come to–to–an–\namicable agreement with Mr. Lincoln about the Con-\nfederacy. And anyway, the Yankees are too scared of\nus to fight. There won’t be any war, and I’m tired of\nhearing about it.”\n“Not going to be any war!” cried the twins indig-\nnantly, as though they had been defrauded.\n“Why, honey, of course there’s going to be a war,”\nsaid Stuart. “The Yankees may be scared of us, but\nafter the way General Beauregard shelled them out of\n12\n\n\nPART ONE\nFort Sumter day before yesterday, they’ll have to fight\nor stand branded as cowards before the whole world.\nWhy, the Confederacy–”\nScarlett made a mouth of bored impatience.\n“If you say ‘war’ just once more, I’ll go in the house\nand shut the door. I’ve never gotten so tired of any\none word in my life as ‘war,’ unless it’s ‘secession.’ Pa\ntalks war morning, noon and night, and all the gen-\ntlemen who come to see him shout about Fort Sumter\nand States’ Rights and Abe Lincoln till I get so bored I\ncould scream! And that’s all the boys talk about, too,\nthat and their old Troop. There hasn’t been any fun\nat any party this spring because the boys can’t talk\nabout anything else. I’m mighty glad Georgia waited\ntill after Christmas before it seceded or it would have\nruined the Christmas parties, too. If you say ‘war’\nagain, I’ll go in the house.”\nShe meant what she said, for she could never long\nendure any conversation of which she was not the\nchief subject. But she smiled when she spoke, con-\nsciously deepening her dimple and fluttering her\nbristly black lashes as swiftly as butterflies’ wings.\nThe boys were enchanted, as she had intended them\nto be, and they hastened to apologize for boring her.\nThey thought none the less of her for her lack of in-\n13\n\n\nPART ONE\nterest. Indeed, they thought more. War was men’s\nbusiness, not ladies’, and they took her attitude as ev-\nidence of her femininity.\nHaving maneuvered them away from the boring\nsubject of war, she went back with interest to their im-\nmediate situation.\n“What did your mother say about you two being ex-\npelled again?”\nThe boys looked uncomfortable, recalling their\nmother’s conduct three months ago when they had\ncome home, by request, from the University of Vir-\nginia.\n“Well,” said Stuart, “she hasn’t had a chance to say\nanything yet. Tom and us left home early this morn-\ning before she got up, and Tom’s laying out over at\nthe Fontaines’ while we came over here.”\n“Didn’t she say anything when you got home last\nnight?”\n“We were in luck last night. Just before we got home\nthat new stallion Ma got in Kentucky last month was\nbrought in, and the place was in a stew.\nThe big\nbrute–he’s a grand horse, Scarlett; you must tell your\npa to come over and see him right away–he’d already\nbitten a hunk out of his groom on the way down here\nand he’d trampled two of Ma’s darkies who met the\n14\n\n\nPART ONE\ntrain at Jonesboro. And just before we got home, he’d\nabout kicked the stable down and half-killed Straw-\nberry, Ma’s old stallion. When we got home, Ma was\nout in the stable with a sackful of sugar smoothing\nhim down and doing it mighty well, too. The darkies\nwere hanging from the rafters, popeyed, they were so\nscared, but Ma was talking to the horse like he was\nfolks and he was eating out of her hand. There ain’t\nnobody like Ma with a horse. And when she saw us\nshe said: ‘In Heaven’s name, what are you four do-\ning home again? You’re worse than the plagues of\nEgypt!’ And then the horse began snorting and rear-\ning and she said: ‘Get out of here! Can’t you see he’s\nnervous, the big darling? I’ll tend to you four in the\nmorning!’ So we went to bed, and this morning we\ngot away before she could catch us and left Boyd to\nhandle her.”\n“Do you suppose she’ll hit Boyd?” Scarlett, like the\nrest of the County, could never get used to the way\nsmall Mrs. Tarleton bullied her grown sons and laid\nher riding crop on their backs if the occasion seemed\nto warrant it.\nBeatrice Tarleton was a busy woman, having on\nher hands not only a large cotton plantation, a hun-\ndred negroes and eight children, but the largest horse-\n15\n\n\nPART ONE\nbreeding farm in the state as well.\nShe was hot-\ntempered and easily plagued by the frequent scrapes\nof her four sons, and while no one was permitted to\nwhip a horse or a slave, she felt that a lick now and\nthen didn’t do the boys any harm.\n“Of course she won’t hit Boyd. She never did beat\nBoyd much because he’s the oldest and besides he’s\nthe runt of the litter,” said Stuart, proud of his six\nfeet two. “That’s why we left him at home to explain\nthings to her. God’lmighty, Ma ought to stop licking\nus! We’re nineteen and Tom’s twenty-one, and she\nacts like we’re six years old.”\n“Will your mother ride the new horse to the Wilkes\nbarbecue tomorrow?”\n“She wants to, but Pa says he’s too dangerous. And,\nanyway, the girls won’t let her. They said they were\ngoing to have her go to one party at least like a lady,\nriding in the carriage.”\n“I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow,” said Scarlett. “It’s\nrained nearly every day for a week. There’s nothing\nworse than a barbecue turned into an indoor picnic.”\n“Oh, it’ll be clear tomorrow and hot as June,” said\nStuart. “Look at that sunset. I never saw one redder.\nYou can always tell weather by sunsets.”\nThey looked out across the endless acres of Gerald\n16\n\n\nPART ONE\nO’Hara’s newly plowed cotton fields toward the red\nhorizon. Now that the sun was setting in a welter\nof crimson behind the hills across the Flint River, the\nwarmth of the April day was ebbing into a faint but\nbalmy chill.\nSpring had come early that year, with warm quick\nrains and sudden frothing of pink peach blossoms\nand dogwood dappling with white stars the dark\nriver swamp and far-off hills. Already the plowing\nwas nearly finished, and the bloody glory of the sun-\nset colored the fresh-cut furrows of red Georgia clay\nto even redder hues. The moist hungry earth, wait-\ning upturned for the cotton seeds, showed pinkish\non the sandy tops of furrows, vermilion and scarlet\nand maroon where shadows lay along the sides of the\ntrenches.\nThe whitewashed brick plantation house\nseemed an island set in a wild red sea, a sea of spi-\nraling, curving, crescent billows petrified suddenly at\nthe moment when the pink-tipped waves were break-\ning into surf. For here were no long, straight furrows,\nsuch as could be seen in the yellow clay fields of the\nflat middle Georgia country or in the lush black earth\nof the coastal plantations. The rolling foothill country\nof north Georgia was plowed in a million curves to\nkeep the rich earth from washing down into the river\nbottoms.\n17\n\n\nPART ONE\nIt was a savagely red land, blood-colored after rains,\nbrick dust in droughts, the best cotton land in the\nworld. It was a pleasant land of white houses, peace-\nful plowed fields and sluggish yellow rivers, but a\nland of contrasts, of brightest sun glare and densest\nshade. The plantation clearings and miles of cotton\nfields smiled up to a warm sun, placid, complacent.\nAt their edges rose the virgin forests, dark and cool\neven in the hottest noons, mysterious, a little sinis-\nter, the soughing pines seeming to wait with an age-\nold patience, to threaten with soft sighs: “Be careful!\nBe careful! We had you once. We can take you back\nagain.”\nTo the ears of the three on the porch came the sounds\nof hooves, the jingling of harness chains and the shrill\ncareless laughter of negro voices, as the field hands\nand mules came in from the fields. From within the\nhouse floated the soft voice of Scarlett’s mother, Ellen\nO’Hara, as she called to the little black girl who car-\nried her basket of keys. The high-pitched, childish\nvoice answered “Yas’m,” and there were sounds of\nfootsteps going out the back way toward the smoke-\nhouse where Ellen would ration out the food to the\nhome-coming hands. There was the click of china and\nthe rattle of silver as Pork, the valet-butler of Tara, laid\nthe table for supper.\n18\n\n\nPART ONE\nAt these last sounds, the twins realized it was time\nthey were starting home. But they were loath to face\ntheir mother and they lingered on the porch of Tara,\nmomentarily expecting Scarlett to give them an invi-\ntation to supper.\n“Look, Scarlett. About tomorrow,” said Brent. “Just\nbecause we’ve been away and didn’t know about\nthe barbecue and the ball, that’s no reason why we\nshouldn’t get plenty of dances tomorrow night. You\nhaven’t promised them all, have you?”\n“Well, I have! How did I know you all would be\nhome? I couldn’t risk being a wallflower just waiting\non you two.”\n“You a wallflower!” The boys laughed uproariously.\n“Look, honey. You’ve got to give me the first waltz\nand Stu the last one and you’ve got to eat supper with\nus. We’ll sit on the stair landing like we did at the last\nball and get Mammy Jincy to come tell our fortunes\nagain.”\n“I don’t like Mammy Jincy’s fortunes. You know she\nsaid I was going to marry a gentleman with jet-black\nhair and a long black mustache, and I don’t like black-\nhaired gentlemen.”\n“You like ‘em red-headed, don’t you, honey?”\ngrinned Brent. “Now, come on, promise us all the\n19\n\n\nPART ONE\nwaltzes and the supper.”\n“If you’ll promise, we’ll tell you a secret,” said Stu-\nart.\n“What?” cried Scarlett, alert as a child at the word.\n“Is it what we heard yesterday in Atlanta, Stu? If it\nis, you know we promised not to tell.”\n“Well, Miss Pitty told us.”\n“Miss Who?”\n“You know, Ashley Wilkes’ cousin who lives in At-\nlanta, Miss Pittypat Hamilton–Charles and Melanie\nHamilton’s aunt.”\n“I do, and a sillier old lady I never met in all my\nlife.”\n“Well, when we were in Atlanta yesterday, waiting\nfor the home train, her carriage went by the depot and\nshe stopped and talked to us, and she told us there\nwas going to be an engagement announced tomorrow\nnight at the Wilkes ball.”\n“Oh. I know about that,” said Scarlett in disappoint-\nment. “That silly nephew of hers, Charlie Hamilton,\nand Honey Wilkes. Everybody’s known for years that\nthey’d get married some time, even if he did seem\nkind of lukewarm about it.”\n“Do you think he’s silly?” questioned Brent. “Last\n20\n\n\nPART ONE\nChristmas you sure let him buzz round you plenty.”\n“I couldn’t help him buzzing,” Scarlett shrugged\nnegligently. “I think he’s an awful sissy.”\n“Besides, it isn’t his engagement that’s going to be\nannounced,” said Stuart triumphantly. “It’s Ashley’s\nto Charlie’s sister, Miss Melanie!”\nScarlett’s face did not change but her lips went\nwhite–like a person who has received a stunning\nblow without warning and who, in the first moments\nof shock, does not realize what has happened. So still\nwas her face as she stared at Stuart that he, never ana-\nlytic, took it for granted that she was merely surprised\nand very interested.\n“Miss Pitty told us they hadn’t intended announc-\ning it till next year, because Miss Melly hasn’t been\nvery well; but with all the war talk going around, ev-\nerybody in both families thought it would be better\nto get married soon. So it’s to be announced tomor-\nrow night at the supper intermission. Now, Scarlett,\nwe’ve told you the secret, so you’ve got to promise to\neat supper with us.”\n“Of course I will,” Scarlett said automatically.\n“And all the waltzes?”\n“All.”\n21\n\n\nPART ONE\n“You’re sweet! I’ll bet the other boys will be hopping\nmad.”\n“Let ‘em be mad,” said Brent. “We two can handle\n‘em. Look, Scarlett. Sit with us at the barbecue in the\nmorning.”\n“What?”\nStuart repeated his request.\n“Of course.”\nThe twins looked at each other jubilantly but with\nsome surprise.\nAlthough they considered them-\nselves Scarlett’s favored suitors, they had never be-\nfore gained tokens of this favor so easily.\nUsually\nshe made them beg and plead, while she put them\noff, refusing to give a Yes or No answer, laughing if\nthey sulked, growing cool if they became angry. And\nhere she had practically promised them the whole of\ntomorrow–seats by her at the barbecue, all the waltzes\n(and they’d see to it that the dances were all waltzes!)\nand the supper intermission. This was worth getting\nexpelled from the university.\nFilled with new enthusiasm by their success, they\nlingered on, talking about the barbecue and the ball\nand Ashley Wilkes and Melanie Hamilton, interrupt-\ning each other, making jokes and laughing at them,\nhinting broadly for invitations to supper. Some time\n22\n\n\nPART ONE\nhad passed before they realized that Scarlett was hav-\ning very little to say.\nThe atmosphere had some-\nhow changed. Just how, the twins did not know, but\nthe fine glow had gone out of the afternoon. Scar-\nlett seemed to be paying little attention to what they\nsaid, although she made the correct answers. Sensing\nsomething they could not understand, baffled and an-\nnoyed by it, the twins struggled along for a while, and\nthen rose reluctantly, looking at their watches.\nThe sun was low across the new-plowed fields and\nthe tall woods across the river were looming blackly\nin silhouette. Chimney swallows were darting swiftly\nacross the yard, and chickens, ducks and turkeys\nwere waddling and strutting and straggling in from\nthe fields.\nStuart bellowed: “Jeems!”\nAnd after an interval\na tall black boy of their own age ran breathlessly\naround the house and out toward the tethered horses.\nJeems was their body servant and, like the dogs, ac-\ncompanied them everywhere.\nHe had been their\nchildhood playmate and had been given to the twins\nfor their own on their tenth birthday. At the sight of\nhim, the Tarleton hounds rose up out of the red dust\nand stood waiting expectantly for their masters. The\nboys bowed, shook hands and told Scarlett they’d be\n23\n\n\nPART ONE\nover at the Wilkeses’ early in the morning, waiting\nfor her. Then they were off down the walk at a rush,\nmounted their horses and, followed by Jeems, went\ndown the avenue of cedars at a gallop, waving their\nhats and yelling back to her.\nWhen they had rounded the curve of the dusty road\nthat hid them from Tara, Brent drew his horse to a\nstop under a clump of dogwood. Stuart halted, too,\nand the darky boy pulled up a few paces behind\nthem. The horses, feeling slack reins, stretched down\ntheir necks to crop the tender spring grass, and the pa-\ntient hounds lay down again in the soft red dust and\nlooked up longingly at the chimney swallows circling\nin the gathering dusk. Brent’s wide ingenuous face\nwas puzzled and mildly indignant.\n“Look,” he said. “Don’t it look to you like she would\nof asked us to stay for supper?”\n“I thought she would,” said Stuart. “I kept waiting\nfor her to do it, but she didn’t. What do you make of\nit?”\n“I don’t make anything of it. But it just looks to me\nlike she might of. After all, it’s our first day home and\nshe hasn’t seen us in quite a spell. And we had lots\nmore things to tell her.”\n“It looked to me like she was mighty glad to see us\n24\n\n\nPART ONE\nwhen we came.”\n“I thought so, too.”\n“And then, about a half-hour ago, she got kind of\nquiet, like she had a headache.”\n“I noticed that but I didn’t pay it any mind then.\nWhat do you suppose ailed her?”\n“I dunno. Do you suppose we said something that\nmade her mad?”\nThey both thought for a minute.\n“I can’t think of anything. Besides, when Scarlett\ngets mad, everybody knows it. She don’t hold herself\nin like some girls do.”\n“Yes, that’s what I like about her.\nShe don’t go\naround being cold and hateful when she’s mad–she\ntells you about it. But it was something we did or\nsaid that made her shut up talking and look sort of\nsick. I could swear she was glad to see us when we\ncame and was aiming to ask us to supper.”\n“You don’t suppose it’s because we got expelled?”\n“Hell, no! Don’t be a fool. She laughed like every-\nthing when we told her about it. And besides Scarlett\ndon’t set any more store by book learning than we\ndo.”\nBrent turned in the saddle and called to the negro\n25\n\n\nPART ONE\ngroom.\n“Jeems!”\n“Suh?”\n“You heard what we were talking to Miss Scarlett\nabout?”\n“Nawsuh, Mist’ Brent! Huccome you think Ah be\nspyin’ on w’ite folks?”\n“Spying, my God!\nYou darkies know everything\nthat goes on. Why, you liar, I saw you with my own\neyes sidle round the corner of the porch and squat in\nthe cape jessamine bush by the wall. Now, did you\nhear us say anything that might have made Miss Scar-\nlett mad– or hurt her feelings?”\nThus appealed to, Jeems gave up further pretense of\nnot having overheard the conversation and furrowed\nhis black brow.\n“Nawsuh, Ah din’ notice y’all say anything ter mek\nher mad. Look ter me lak she sho glad ter see you an’\nsho had missed you, an’ she cheep along happy as a\nbird, tell ‘bout de time y’all got ter talkin’ ‘bout Mist’\nAshley an’ Miss Melly Hamilton gittin’ mah’ied. Den\nshe quiet down lak a bird w’en de hawk fly ober.”\nThe twins looked at each other and nodded, but\nwithout comprehension.\n26\n\n\nPART ONE\n“Jeems is right. But I don’t see why,” said Stuart.\n“My Lord! Ashley don’t mean anything to her, ‘cept\na friend. She’s not crazy about him. It’s us she’s crazy\nabout.”\nBrent nodded an agreement.\n“But do you suppose,” he said, “that maybe Ashley\nhadn’t told her he was going to announce it tomorrow\nnight and she was mad at him for not telling her, an\nold friend, before he told everybody else? Girls set a\nbig store on knowing such things first.”\n“Well, maybe. But what if he hadn’t told her it was\ntomorrow? It was supposed to be a secret and a sur-\nprise, and a man’s got a right to keep his own engage-\nment quiet, hasn’t he? We wouldn’t have known it if\nMiss Melly’s aunt hadn’t let it out. But Scarlett must\nhave known he was going to marry Miss Melly some-\ntime. Why, we’ve known it for years. The Wilkes and\nHamiltons always marry their own cousins. Every-\nbody knew he’d probably marry her some day, just\nlike Honey Wilkes is going to marry Miss Melly’s\nbrother, Charles.”\n“Well, I give it up. But I’m sorry she didn’t ask us to\nsupper. I swear I don’t want to go home and listen to\nMa take on about us being expelled. It isn’t as if this\nwas the first time.”\n27\n\n\nPART ONE\n“Maybe Boyd will have smoothed her down by\nnow. You know what a slick talker that little varmint\nis. You know he always can smooth her down.”\n“Yes, he can do it, but it takes Boyd time. He has\nto talk around in circles till Ma gets so confused that\nshe gives up and tells him to save his voice for his law\npractice. But he ain’t had time to get good started yet.\nWhy, I’ll bet you Ma is still so excited about the new\nhorse that she’ll never even realize we’re home again\ntill she sits down to supper tonight and sees Boyd.\nAnd before supper is over she’ll be going strong and\nbreathing fire. And it’ll be ten o’clock before Boyd\ngets a chance to tell her that it wouldn’t have been\nhonorable for any of us to stay in college after the way\nthe Chancellor talked to you and me. And it’ll be mid-\nnight before he gets her turned around to where she’s\nso mad at the Chancellor she’ll be asking Boyd why\nhe didn’t shoot him. No, we can’t go home till after\nmidnight.”\nThe twins looked at each other glumly. They were\ncompletely fearless of wild horses, shooting affrays\nand the indignation of their neighbors, but they had a\nwholesome fear of their red-haired mother’s outspo-\nken remarks and the riding crop that she did not scru-\nple to lay across their breeches.\n28\n\n\nPART ONE\n“Well, look,” said Brent.\n“Let’s go over to the\nWilkes. Ashley and the girls’ll be glad to have us for\nsupper.”\nStuart looked a little discomforted.\n“No, don’t let’s go there. They’ll be in a stew getting\nready for the barbecue tomorrow and besides–”\n“Oh, I forgot about that,” said Brent hastily. “No,\ndon’t let’s go there.”\nThey clucked to their horses and rode along in si-\nlence for a while, a flush of embarrassment on Stu-\nart’s brown cheeks. Until the previous summer, Stu-\nart had courted India Wilkes with the approbation\nof both families and the entire County. The County\nfelt that perhaps the cool and contained India Wilkes\nwould have a quieting effect on him. They fervently\nhoped so, at any rate. And Stuart might have made\nthe match, but Brent had not been satisfied.\nBrent\nliked India but he thought her mighty plain and tame,\nand he simply could not fall in love with her him-\nself to keep Stuart company. That was the first time\nthe twins’ interest had ever diverged, and Brent was\nresentful of his brother’s attentions to a girl who\nseemed to him not at all remarkable.\nThen, last summer at a political speaking in a grove\nof oak trees at Jonesboro, they both suddenly became\n29\n\n\nPART ONE\naware of Scarlett O’Hara. They had known her for\nyears, and, since their childhood, she had been a fa-\nvorite playmate, for she could ride horses and climb\ntrees almost as well as they. But now to their amaze-\nment she had become a grown-up young lady and\nquite the most charming one in all the world.\nThey noticed for the first time how her green\neyes danced, how deep her dimples were when she\nlaughed, how tiny her hands and feet and what a\nsmall waist she had. Their clever remarks sent her\ninto merry peals of laughter and, inspired by the\nthought that she considered them a remarkable pair,\nthey fairly outdid themselves.\nIt was a memorable day in the life of the twins.\nThereafter, when they talked it over, they always\nwondered just why they had failed to notice Scarlett’s\ncharms before. They never arrived at the correct an-\nswer, which was that Scarlett on that day had decided\nto make them notice. She was constitutionally unable\nto endure any man being in love with any woman\nnot herself, and the sight of India Wilkes and Stuart\nat the speaking had been too much for her predatory\nnature. Not content with Stuart alone, she had set her\ncap for Brent as well, and with a thoroughness that\noverwhelmed the two of them.\n30\n\n\nPART ONE\nNow they were both in love with her, and India\nWilkes and Letty Munroe, from Lovejoy, whom Brent\nhad been half-heartedly courting, were far in the back\nof their minds. Just what the loser would do, should\nScarlett accept either one of them, the twins did not\nask. They would cross that bridge when they came\nto it. For the present they were quite satisfied to be in\naccord again about one girl, for they had no jealousies\nbetween them. It was a situation which interested the\nneighbors and annoyed their mother, who had no lik-\ning for Scarlett.\n“It will serve you right if that sly piece does accept\none of you,” she said. “Or maybe she’ll accept both of\nyou, and then you’ll have to move to Utah, if the Mor-\nmons’ll have you–which I doubt. . . . All that both-\ners me is that some one of these days you’re both go-\ning to get lickered up and jealous of each other about\nthat two-faced, little, green-eyed baggage, and you’ll\nshoot each other. But that might not be a bad idea\neither.”\nSince the day of the speaking, Stuart had been un-\ncomfortable in India’s presence. Not that India ever\nreproached him or even indicated by look or ges-\nture that she was aware of his abruptly changed al-\nlegiance. She was too much of a lady. But Stuart felt\n31\n\n\nPART ONE\nguilty and ill at ease with her. He knew he had made\nIndia love him and he knew that she still loved him\nand, deep in his heart, he had the feeling that he had\nnot played the gentleman. He still liked her tremen-\ndously and respected her for her cool good breed-\ning, her book learning and all the sterling qualities\nshe possessed. But, damn it, she was just so pallid\nand uninteresting and always the same, beside Scar-\nlett’s bright and changeable charm. You always knew\nwhere you stood with India and you never had the\nslightest notion with Scarlett.\nThat was enough to\ndrive a man to distraction, but it had its charm.\n“Well, let’s go over to Cade Calvert’s and have\nsupper.\nScarlett said Cathleen was home from\nCharleston. Maybe she’ll have some news about Fort\nSumter that we haven’t heard.”\n“Not Cathleen. I’ll lay you two to one she didn’t\neven know the fort was out there in the harbor, much\nless that it was full of Yankees until we shelled them\nout. All she’ll know about is the balls she went to and\nthe beaux she collected.”\n“Well, it’s fun to hear her gabble. And it’ll be some-\nwhere to hide out till Ma has gone to bed.”\n“Well, hell! I like Cathleen and she is fun and I’d\nlike to hear about Caro Rhett and the rest of the\n32\n\n\nPART ONE\nCharleston folks; but I’m damned if I can stand sitting\nthrough another meal with that Yankee stepmother of\nhers.”\n“Don’t be too hard on her, Stuart. She means well.”\n“I’m not being hard on her. I feel sorry for her, but\nI don’t like people I’ve got to feel sorry for. And she\nfusses around so much, trying to do the right thing\nand make you feel at home, that she always man-\nages to say and do just exactly the wrong thing. She\ngives me the fidgets! And she thinks Southerners are\nwild barbarians. She even told Ma so. She’s afraid of\nSoutherners. Whenever we’re there she always looks\nscared to death.\nShe reminds me of a skinny hen\nperched on a chair, her eyes kind of bright and blank\nand scared, all ready to flap and squawk at the slight-\nest move anybody makes.”\n“Well, you can’t blame her. You did shoot Cade in\nthe leg.”\n“Well, I was lickered up or I wouldn’t have done it,”\nsaid Stuart. “And Cade never had any hard feelings.\nNeither did Cathleen or Raiford or Mr. Calvert. It was\njust that Yankee stepmother who squalled and said I\nwas a wild barbarian and decent people weren’t safe\naround uncivilized Southerners.”\n“Well, you can’t blame her. She’s a Yankee and ain’t\n33\n\n\nPART ONE\ngot very good manners; and, after all, you did shoot\nhim and he is her stepson.”\n“Well, hell! That’s no excuse for insulting me! You\nare Ma’s own blood son, but did she take on that time\nTony Fontaine shot you in the leg? No, she just sent\nfor old Doc Fontaine to dress it and asked the doctor\nwhat ailed Tony’s aim. Said she guessed licker was\nspoiling his marksmanship. Remember how mad that\nmade Tony?”\nBoth boys yelled with laughter.\n“Ma’s a card!”\nsaid Brent with loving approval.\n“You can always count on her to do the right thing\nand not embarrass you in front of folks.”\n“Yes, but she’s mighty liable to talk embarrass-\ning in front of Father and the girls when we get\nhome tonight,” said Stuart gloomily. “Look, Brent. I\nguess this means we don’t go to Europe. You know\nMother said if we got expelled from another college\nwe couldn’t have our Grand Tour.”\n“Well, hell! We don’t care, do we? What is there to\nsee in Europe? I’ll bet those foreigners can’t show us\na thing we haven’t got right here in Georgia. I’ll bet\ntheir horses aren’t as fast or their girls as pretty, and\nI know damn well they haven’t got any rye whisky\nthat can touch Father’s.”\n34\n\n\nPART ONE\n“Ashley Wilkes said they had an awful lot of scenery\nand music. Ashley liked Europe. He’s always talking\nabout it.”\n“Well–you know how the Wilkes are. They are kind\nof queer about music and books and scenery. Mother\nsays it’s because their grandfather came from Vir-\nginia. She says Virginians set quite a store by such\nthings.”\n“They can have ‘em. Give me a good horse to ride\nand some good licker to drink and a good girl to court\nand a bad girl to have fun with and anybody can have\ntheir Europe. . . . What do we care about missing the\nTour? Suppose we were in Europe now, with the war\ncoming on? We couldn’t get home soon enough. I’d\nheap rather go to a war than go to Europe.”\n“So would I, any day. . . . Look, Brent! I know where\nwe can go for supper. Let’s ride across the swamp to\nAbel Wynder’s place and tell him we’re all four home\nagain and ready for drill.”\n“That’s an idea!”\ncried Brent with enthusiasm.\n“And we can hear all the news of the Troop and find\nout what color they finally decided on for the uni-\nforms.”\n“If it’s Zouave, I’m damned if I’ll go in the troop. I’d\nfeel like a sissy in those baggy red pants. They look\n35\n\n\nPART ONE\nlike ladies’ red flannel drawers to me.”\n“Is y’all aimin’ ter go ter Mist’ Wynder’s? ‘Cause ef\nyou is, you ain’ gwine git much supper,” said Jeems.\n“Dey cook done died, an’ dey ain’ bought a new one.\nDey got a fe’el han’ cookin’, an’ de niggers tells me\nshe is de wustest cook in de state.”\n“Good God! Why don’t they buy another cook?”\n“Huccome po’ w’ite trash buy any niggers? Dey ain’\nnever owned mo’n fo’ at de mostes’.”\nThere was frank contempt in Jeems’ voice.\nHis\nown social status was assured because the Tarletons\nowned a hundred negroes and, like all slaves of large\nplanters, he looked down on small farmers whose\nslaves were few.\n“I’m going to beat your hide off for that,” cried Stu-\nart fiercely. Don’t you call Abel Wynder ‘po’ white.’\nSure he’s poor, but he ain’t trash; and I’m damned if\nI’ll have any man, darky or white, throwing off on\nhim. There ain’t a better man in this County, or why\nelse did the Troop elect him lieutenant?”\n“Ah ain’ never figgered dat out, mahseff,” replied\nJeems, undisturbed by his master’s scowl. “Look ter\nme lak dey’d ‘lect all de awficers frum rich gemp-\nmum, ‘stead of swamp trash.”\n“He ain’t trash! Do you mean to compare him with\n36\n\n\nPART ONE\nreal white trash like the Slatterys? Able just ain’t rich.\nHe’s a small farmer, not a big planter, and if the boys\nthought enough of him to elect him lieutenant, then\nit’s not for any darky to talk impudent about him. The\nTroop knows what it’s doing.”\nThe troop of cavalry had been organized three\nmonths before, the very day that Georgia seceded\nfrom the Union, and since then the recruits had been\nwhistling for war. The outfit was as yet unnamed,\nthough not for want of suggestions. Everyone had\nhis own idea on that subject and was loath to relin-\nquish it, just as everyone had ideas about the color\nand cut of the uniforms. “Clayton Wild Cats,” “Fire\nEaters,” “North Georgia Hussars,” “Zouaves,” “The\nInland Rifles” (although the Troop was to be armed\nwith pistols, sabers and bowie knives, and not with\nrifles), “The Clayton Grays,” “The Blood and Thun-\nderers,” “The Rough and Readys,” all had their ad-\nherents. Until matters were settled, everyone referred\nto the organization as the Troop and, despite the high-\nsounding name finally adopted, they were known to\nthe end of their usefulness simply as “The Troop.”\nThe officers were elected by the members, for no\none in the County had had any military experience\nexcept a few veterans of the Mexican and Seminole\n37\n\n\nPART ONE\nwars and, besides, the Troop would have scorned a\nveteran as a leader if they had not personally liked\nhim and trusted him. Everyone liked the four Tar-\nleton boys and the three Fontaines, but regretfully re-\nfused to elect them, because the Tarletons got lickered\nup too quickly and liked to skylark, and the Fontaines\nhad such quick, murderous tempers. Ashley Wilkes\nwas elected captain, because he was the best rider in\nthe County and because his cool head was counted on\nto keep some semblance of order. Raiford Calvert was\nmade first lieutenant, because everybody liked Raif,\nand Able Wynder, son of a swamp trapper, himself a\nsmall farmer, was elected second lieutenant.\nAbel was a shrewd, grave giant, illiterate, kind of\nheart, older than the other boys and with as good or\nbetter manners in the presence of ladies. There was\nlittle snobbery in the Troop. Too many of their fa-\nthers and grandfathers had come up to wealth from\nthe small farmer class for that. Moreover, Able was\nthe best shot in the Troop, a real sharpshooter who\ncould pick out the eye of a squirrel at seventy-five\nyards, and, too, he knew all about living outdoors,\nbuilding fires in the rain, tracking animals and finding\nwater. The Troop bowed to real worth and moreover,\nbecause they liked him, they made him an officer. He\nbore the honor gravely and with no untoward con-\n38\n\n\nPART ONE\nceit, as though it were only his due. But the planters’\nladies and the planters’ slaves could not overlook the\nfact that he was not born a gentleman, even if their\nmen folks could.\nIn the beginning, the Troop had been recruited ex-\nclusively from the sons of planters, a gentleman’s out-\nfit, each man supplying his own horse, arms, equip-\nment, uniform and body servant. But rich planters\nwere few in the young county of Clayton, and, in or-\nder to muster a full-strength troop, it had been nec-\nessary to raise more recruits among the sons of small\nfarmers, hunters in the backwoods, swamp trappers,\nCrackers and, in a very few cases, even poor whites,\nif they were above the average of their class.\nThese latter young men were as anxious to fight the\nYankees, should war come, as were their richer neigh-\nbors; but the delicate question of money arose. Few\nsmall farmers owned horses. They carried on their\nfarm operations with mules and they had no surplus\nof these, seldom more than four. The mules could not\nbe spared to go off to war, even if they had been ac-\nceptable for the Troop, which they emphatically were\nnot. As for the poor whites, they considered them-\nselves well off if they owned one mule. The back-\nwoods folks and the swamp dwellers owned neither\n39\n\n\nPART ONE\nhorses nor mules. They lived entirely off the produce\nof their lands and the game in the swamp, conduct-\ning their business generally by the barter system and\nseldom seeing five dollars in cash a year, and horses\nand uniforms were out of their reach. But they were\nas fiercely proud in their poverty as the planters were\nin their wealth, and they would accept nothing that\nsmacked of charity from their rich neighbors. So, to\nsave the feelings of all and to bring the Troop up\nto full strength, Scarlett’s father, John Wilkes, Buck\nMunroe, Jim Tarleton, Hugh Calvert, in fact every\nlarge planter in the County with the one exception\nof Angus MacIntosh, had contributed money to com-\npletely outfit the Troop, horse and man. The upshot\nof the matter was that every planter agreed to pay for\nequipping his own sons and a certain number of the\nothers, but the manner of handling the arrangements\nwas such that the less wealthy members of the outfit\ncould accept horses and uniforms without offense to\ntheir honor.\nThe Troop met twice a week in Jonesboro to drill\nand to pray for the war to begin.\nArrangements\nhad not yet been completed for obtaining the full\nquota of horses, but those who had horses performed\nwhat they imagined to be cavalry maneuvers in the\nfield behind the courthouse, kicked up a great deal\n40\n\n\nPART ONE\nof dust, yelled themselves hoarse and waved the\nRevolutionary-war swords that had been taken down\nfrom parlor walls. Those who, as yet, had no horses\nsat on the curb in front of Bullard’s store and watched\ntheir mounted comrades, chewed tobacco and told\nyarns. Or else engaged in shooting matches. There\nwas no need to teach any of the men to shoot. Most\nSoutherners were born with guns in their hands, and\nlives spent in hunting had made marksmen of them\nall.\nFrom planters’ homes and swamp cabins, a varied\narray of firearms came to each muster. There were\nlong squirrel guns that had been new when first the\nAlleghenies were crossed, old muzzle-loaders that\nhad claimed many an Indian when Georgia was new,\nhorse pistols that had seen service in 1812, in the\nSeminole wars and in Mexico, silver-mounted duel-\ning pistols, pocket derringers, double- barreled hunt-\ning pieces and handsome new rifles of English make\nwith shining stocks of fine wood.\nDrill always ended in the saloons of Jonesboro, and\nby nightfall so many fights had broken out that the\nofficers were hard put to ward off casualties until the\nYankees could inflict them. It was during one of these\nbrawls that Stuart Tarleton had shot Cade Calvert and\n41\n\n\nPART ONE\nTony Fontaine had shot Brent. The twins had been\nat home, freshly expelled from the University of Vir-\nginia, at the time the Troop was organized and they\nhad joined enthusiastically; but after the shooting\nepisode, two months ago, their mother had packed\nthem off to the state university, with orders to stay\nthere. They had sorely missed the excitement of the\ndrills while away, and they counted education well\nlost if only they could ride and yell and shoot off ri-\nfles in the company of their friends.\n“Well, let’s cut across country to Abel’s,” suggested\nBrent. “We can go through Mr. O’Hara’s river bottom\nand the Fontaine’s pasture and get there in no time.”\n“We ain’ gwine git nothin’ ter eat ‘cept possum an’\ngreens,” argued Jeems.\n“You ain’t going to get anything,” grinned Stuart.\n“Because you are going home and tell Ma that we\nwon’t be home for supper.”\n“No, Ah ain’!” cried Jeems in alarm. “No, Ah ain’!\nAh doan git no mo’ fun outer havin’ Miss Beetriss lay\nme out dan y’all does. Fust place she’ll ast me huc-\ncome Ah let y’all git expelled agin. An’ nex’ thing,\nhuccome Ah din’ bring y’all home ternight so she\ncould lay you out. An’ den she’ll light on me lak a\nduck on a June bug, an’ fust thing Ah know Ah’ll be\n42\n\n\nPART ONE\nter blame fer it all. Ef y’all doan tek me ter Mist’ Wyn-\nder’s, Ah’ll lay out in de woods all night an’ maybe\nde patterollers git me, ‘cause Ah heap ruther de pat-\nterollers git me dan Miss Beetriss when she in a state.”\nThe twins looked at the determined black boy in\nperplexity and indignation.\n“He’d be just fool enough to let the patterollers get\nhim and that would give Ma something else to talk\nabout for weeks. I swear, darkies are more trouble.\nSometimes I think the Abolitionists have got the right\nidea.”\n“Well, it wouldn’t be right to make Jeems face what\nwe don’t want to face. We’ll have to take him. But,\nlook, you impudent black fool, if you put on any airs\nin front of the Wynder darkies and hint that we all\nthe time have fried chicken and ham, while they don’t\nhave nothing but rabbit and possum, I’ll–I’ll tell Ma.\nAnd we won’t let you go to the war with us, either.”\n“Airs? Me put on airs fo’ dem cheap niggers? Naw-\nsuh, Ah got better manners. Ain’ Miss Beetriss taught\nme manners same as she taught y’all?”\n“She didn’t do a very good job on any of the three of\nus,” said Stuart. “Come on, let’s get going.”\nHe backed his big red horse and then, putting\nspurs to his side, lifted him easily over the split rail\n43\n\n\nPART ONE\nfence into the soft field of Gerald O’Hara’s plantation.\nBrent’s horse followed and then Jeems’, with Jeems\nclinging to pommel and mane. Jeems did not like to\njump fences, but he had jumped higher ones than this\nin order to keep up with his masters.\nAs they picked their way across the red furrows and\ndown the hill to the river bottom in the deepening\ndusk, Brent yelled to his brother:\n“Look, Stu! Don’t it seem like to you that Scarlett\nWOULD have asked us to supper?”\n“I kept thinking she would,” yelled Stuart. “Why do\nyou suppose...”\n44\n\n\nWHEN THE TWINS left Scarlett standing on the porch of\nTara and the last sound of flying hooves had died\naway, she went back to her chair like a sleepwalker.\nHer face felt stiff as from pain and her mouth actually\nhurt from having stretched it, unwillingly, in smiles\nto prevent the twins from learning her secret. She sat\ndown wearily, tucking one foot under her, and her\nheart swelled up with misery, until it felt too large for\nher bosom. It beat with odd little jerks; her hands\nwere cold, and a feeling of disaster oppressed her.\nThere were pain and bewilderment in her face, the be-\nwilderment of a pampered child who has always had\nher own way for the asking and who now, for the first\ntime, was in contact with the unpleasantness of life.\nAshley to marry Melanie Hamilton!\nOh, it couldn’t be true! The twins were mistaken.\nThey were playing one of their jokes on her. Ashley\ncouldn’t, couldn’t be in love with her. Nobody could,\nnot with a mousy little person like Melanie. Scarlett\nrecalled with contempt Melanie’s thin childish figure,\nher serious heart-shaped face that was plain almost\nto homeliness. And Ashley couldn’t have seen her in\nmonths. He hadn’t been in Atlanta more than twice\nsince the house party he gave last year at Twelve\n\n\nPART ONE\nOaks. No, Ashley couldn’t be in love with Melanie,\nbecause–oh, she couldn’t be mistaken!–because he\nwas in love with her! She, Scarlett, was the one he\nloved–she knew it!\nScarlett heard Mammy’s lumbering tread shaking\nthe floor of the hall and she hastily untucked her foot\nand tried to rearrange her face in more placid lines. It\nwould never do for Mammy to suspect that anything\nwas wrong. Mammy felt that she owned the O’Haras,\nbody and soul, that their secrets were her secrets;\nand even a hint of a mystery was enough to set her\nupon the trail as relentlessly as a bloodhound. Scar-\nlett knew from experience that, if Mammy’s curiosity\nwere not immediately satisfied, she would take up the\nmatter with Ellen, and then Scarlett would be forced\nto reveal everything to her mother, or think up some\nplausible lie.\nMammy emerged from the hall, a huge old woman\nwith the small, shrewd eyes of an elephant. She was\nshining black, pure African, devoted to her last drop\nof blood to the O’Haras, Ellen’s mainstay, the despair\nof her three daughters, the terror of the other house\nservants. Mammy was black, but her code of conduct\nand her sense of pride were as high as or higher than\nthose of her owners. She had been raised in the bed-\n46\n\n\nPART ONE\nroom of Solange Robillard, Ellen O’Hara’s mother, a\ndainty, cold, high-nosed French-woman, who spared\nneither her children nor her servants their just pun-\nishment for any infringement of decorum. She had\nbeen Ellen’s mammy and had come with her from Sa-\nvannah to the up-country when she married. Whom\nMammy loved, she chastened. And, as her love for\nScarlett and her pride in her were enormous, the chas-\ntening process was practically continuous.\n“Is de gempmum gone? Huccome you din’ ast dem\nter stay fer supper, Miss Scarlett? Ah done tole Poke\nter lay two extry plates fer dem. Whar’s yo’ man-\nners?”\n“Oh, I was so tired of hearing them talk about the\nwar that I couldn’t have endured it through supper,\nespecially with Pa joining in and shouting about Mr.\nLincoln.”\n“You ain’ got no mo’ manners dan a fe’el han’, an’\nafter Miss Ellen an’ me done labored wid you. An’\nhyah you is widout yo’ shawl! An’ de night air fixin’\nter set in! Ah done tole you an’ tole you ‘bout gittin’\nfever frum settin’ in de night air wid nuthin’ on yo’\nshoulders. Come on in de house, Miss Scarlett.”\nScarlett turned away from Mammy with studied\nnonchalance, thankful that her face had been unno-\n47\n\n\nPART ONE\nticed in Mammy’s preoccupation with the matter of\nthe shawl.\n“No, I want to sit here and watch the sunset. It’s so\npretty. You run get my shawl. Please, Mammy, and\nI’ll sit here till Pa comes home.”\n“Yo’ voice soun’ lak you catchin’ a cole,” said\nMammy suspiciously.\n“Well, I’m not,” said Scarlett impatiently. “You fetch\nme my shawl.”\nMammy waddled back into the hall and Scarlett\nheard her call softly up the stairwell to the upstairs\nmaid.\n“You, Rosa! Drap me Miss Scarlett’s shawl.” Then,\nmore loudly: “Wuthless nigger! She ain’ never whar\nshe does nobody no good. Now, Ah got ter climb up\nan’ git it mahseff.”\nScarlett heard the stairs groan and she got softly\nto her feet. When Mammy returned she would re-\nsume her lecture on Scarlett’s breach of hospitality,\nand Scarlett felt that she could not endure prating\nabout such a trivial matter when her heart was break-\ning.\nAs she stood, hesitant, wondering where she\ncould hide until the ache in her breast subsided a lit-\ntle, a thought came to her, bringing a small ray of\nhope. Her father had ridden over to Twelve Oaks, the\n48\n\n\nPART ONE\nWilkes plantation, that afternoon to offer to buy Dil-\ncey, the broad wife of his valet, Pork. Dilcey was head\nwoman and midwife at Twelve Oaks, and, since the\nmarriage six months ago, Pork had deviled his mas-\nter night and day to buy Dilcey, so the two could live\non the same plantation. That afternoon, Gerald, his\nresistance worn thin, had set out to make an offer for\nDilcey.\nSurely, thought Scarlett, Pa will know whether this\nawful story is true. Even if he hasn’t actually heard\nanything this afternoon, perhaps he’s noticed some-\nthing, sensed some excitement in the Wilkes family. If\nI can just see him privately before supper, perhaps I’ll\nfind out the truth–that it’s just one of the twins’ nasty\npractical jokes.\nIt was time for Gerald’s return and, if she expected\nto see him alone, there was nothing for her to do ex-\ncept meet him where the driveway entered the road.\nShe went quietly down the front steps, looking care-\nfully over her shoulder to make sure Mammy was\nnot observing her from the upstairs windows. Seeing\nno broad black face, turbaned in snowy white, peer-\ning disapprovingly from between fluttering curtains,\nshe boldly snatched up her green flowered skirts and\nsped down the path toward the driveway as fast as\n49\n\n\nPART ONE\nher small ribbon-laced slippers would carry her.\nThe dark cedars on either side of the graveled drive\nmet in an arch overhead, turning the long avenue into\na dim tunnel. As soon as she was beneath the gnarled\narms of the cedars, she knew she was safe from obser-\nvation from the house and she slowed her swift pace.\nShe was panting, for her stays were laced too tightly\nto permit much running, but she walked on as rapidly\nas she could. Soon she was at the end of the driveway\nand out on the main road, but she did not stop un-\ntil she had rounded a curve that put a large clump of\ntrees between her and the house.\nFlushed and breathing hard, she sat down on a\nstump to wait for her father.\nIt was past time for\nhim to come home, but she was glad that he was late.\nThe delay would give her time to quiet her breath-\ning and calm her face so that his suspicions would\nnot be aroused. Every moment she expected to hear\nthe pounding of his horse’s hooves and see him come\ncharging up the hill at his usual breakneck speed. But\nthe minutes slipped by and Gerald did not come. She\nlooked down the road for him, the pain in her heart\nswelling up again.\n“Oh, it can’t be true!” she thought. “Why doesn’t he\ncome?”\n50\n\n\nPART ONE\nHer eyes followed the winding road, blood-red now\nafter the morning rain. In her thought she traced its\ncourse as it ran down the hill to the sluggish Flint\nRiver, through the tangled swampy bottoms and up\nthe next hill to Twelve Oaks where Ashley lived. That\nwas all the road meant now–a road to Ashley and the\nbeautiful white-columned house that crowned the hill\nlike a Greek Temple.\n“Oh, Ashley! Ashley!” she thought, and her heart\nbeat faster.\nSome of the cold sense of bewilderment and disaster\nthat had weighted her down since the Tarleton boys\ntold her their gossip was pushed into the background\nof her mind, and in its place crept the fever that had\npossessed her for two years.\nIt seemed strange now that when she was growing\nup Ashley had never seemed so very attractive to her.\nIn childhood days, she had seen him come and go and\nnever given him a thought. But since that day two\nyears ago when Ashley, newly home from his three\nyears’ Grand Tour in Europe, had called to pay his\nrespects, she had loved him. It was as simple as that.\nShe had been on the front porch and he had rid-\nden up the long avenue, dressed in gray broadcloth\nwith a wide black cravat setting off his frilled shirt to\n51\n\n\nPART ONE\nperfection. Even now, she could recall each detail of\nhis dress, how brightly his boots shone, the head of a\nMedusa in cameo on his cravat pin, the wide Panama\nhat that was instantly in his hand when he saw her.\nHe had alighted and tossed his bridle reins to a pick-\naninny and stood looking up at her, his drowsy gray\neyes wide with a smile and the sun so bright on his\nblond hair that it seemed like a cap of shining silver.\nAnd he said, “So you’ve grown up, Scarlett.” And,\ncoming lightly up the steps, he had kissed her hand.\nAnd his voice! She would never forget the leap of her\nheart as she heard it, as if for the first time, drawling,\nresonant, musical.\nShe had wanted him, in that first instant, wanted\nhim as simply and unreasoningly as she wanted food\nto eat, horses to ride and a soft bed on which to lay\nherself.\nFor two years he had squired her about the County,\nto balls, fish fries, picnics and court days, never so of-\nten as the Tarleton twins or Cade Calvert, never so\nimportunate as the younger Fontaine boys, but, still,\nnever the week went by that Ashley did not come call-\ning at Tara.\nTrue, he never made love to her, nor did the clear\ngray eyes ever glow with that hot light Scarlett knew\n52\n\n\nPART ONE\nso well in other men. And yet–and yet–she knew he\nloved her. She could not be mistaken about it. Instinct\nstronger than reason and knowledge born of experi-\nence told her that he loved her. Too often she had sur-\nprised him when his eyes were neither drowsy nor\nremote, when he looked at her with a yearning and a\nsadness which puzzled her. She KNEW he loved her.\nWhy did he not tell her so? That she could not under-\nstand. But there were so many things about him that\nshe did not understand.\nHe was courteous always, but aloof, remote. No one\ncould ever tell what he was thinking about, Scarlett\nleast of all. In a neighborhood where everyone said\nexactly what he thought as soon as he thought it, Ash-\nley’s quality of reserve was exasperating. He was as\nproficient as any of the other young men in the usual\nCounty diversions, hunting, gambling, dancing and\npolitics, and was the best rider of them all; but he dif-\nfered from all the rest in that these pleasant activities\nwere not the end and aim of life to him. And he stood\nalone in his interest in books and music and his fond-\nness for writing poetry.\nOh, why was he so handsomely blond, so cour-\nteously aloof, so maddeningly boring with his talk\nabout Europe and books and music and poetry and\n53\n\n\nPART ONE\nthings that interested her not at all–and yet so desir-\nable? Night after night, when Scarlett went to bed\nafter sitting on the front porch in the semi-darkness\nwith him, she tossed restlessly for hours and com-\nforted herself only with the thought that the very\nnext time he saw her he certainly would propose.\nBut the next time came and went, and the result was\nnothing–nothing except that the fever possessing her\nrose higher and hotter.\nShe loved him and she wanted him and she did not\nunderstand him. She was as forthright and simple as\nthe winds that blew over Tara and the yellow river\nthat wound about it, and to the end of her days she\nwould never be able to understand a complexity. And\nnow, for the first time in her life, she was facing a com-\nplex nature.\nFor Ashley was born of a line of men who used their\nleisure for thinking, not doing, for spinning brightly\ncolored dreams that had in them no touch of reality.\nHe moved in an inner world that was more beauti-\nful than Georgia and came back to reality with re-\nluctance. He looked on people, and he neither liked\nnor disliked them. He looked on life and was neither\nheartened nor saddened. He accepted the universe\nand his place in it for what they were and, shrugging,\n54\n\n\nPART ONE\nturned to his music and books and his better world.\nWhy he should have captivated Scarlett when his\nmind was a stranger to hers she did not know. The\nvery mystery of him excited her curiosity like a door\nthat had neither lock nor key. The things about him\nwhich she could not understand only made her love\nhim more, and his odd, restrained courtship only\nserved to increase her determination to have him for\nher own. That he would propose some day she had\nnever doubted, for she was too young and too spoiled\never to have known defeat. And now, like a thunder-\nclap, had come this horrible news. Ashley to marry\nMelanie! It couldn’t be true!\nWhy, only last week, when they were riding home\nat twilight from Fairhill, he had said: “Scarlett, I have\nsomething so important to tell you that I hardly know\nhow to say it.”\nShe had cast down her eyes demurely, her heart\nbeating with wild pleasure, thinking the happy mo-\nment had come. Then he had said: “Not now! We’re\nnearly home and there isn’t time. Oh, Scarlett, what a\ncoward I am!” And putting spurs to his horse, he had\nraced her up the hill to Tara.\nScarlett, sitting on the stump, thought of those\nwords which had made her so happy, and suddenly\n55\n\n\nPART ONE\nthey took on another meaning, a hideous meaning.\nSuppose it was the news of his engagement he had\nintended to tell her!\nOh, if Pa would only come home! She could not en-\ndure the suspense another moment. She looked impa-\ntiently down the road again, and again she was disap-\npointed.\nThe sun was now below the horizon and the red\nglow at the rim of the world faded into pink. The sky\nabove turned slowly from azure to the delicate blue-\ngreen of a robin’s egg, and the unearthly stillness of\nrural twilight came stealthily down about her. Shad-\nowy dimness crept over the countryside. The red fur-\nrows and the gashed red road lost their magical blood\ncolor and became plain brown earth. Across the road,\nin the pasture, the horses, mules and cows stood qui-\netly with heads over the split-rail fence, waiting to be\ndriven to the stables and supper. They did not like the\ndark shade of the thickets hedging the pasture creek,\nand they twitched their ears at Scarlett as if apprecia-\ntive of human companionship.\nIn the strange half-light, the tall pines of the river\nswamp, so warmly green in the sunshine, were black\nagainst the pastel sky, an impenetrable row of black\ngiants hiding the slow yellow water at their feet. On\n56\n\n\nPART ONE\nthe hill across the river, the tall white chimneys of\nthe Wilkes’ home faded gradually into the darkness\nof the thick oaks surrounding them, and only far-\noff pin points of supper lamps showed that a house\nwas here. The warm damp balminess of spring en-\ncompassed her sweetly with the moist smells of new-\nplowed earth and all the fresh green things pushing\nup to the air.\nSunset and spring and new-fledged greenery were\nno miracle to Scarlett. Their beauty she accepted as\ncasually as the air she breathed and the water she\ndrank, for she had never consciously seen beauty in\nanything but women’s faces, horses, silk dresses and\nlike tangible things.\nYet the serene half-light over\nTara’s well-kept acres brought a measure of quiet to\nher disturbed mind.\nShe loved this land so much,\nwithout even knowing she loved it, loved it as she\nloved her mother’s face under the lamp at prayer\ntime.\nStill there was no sign of Gerald on the quiet wind-\ning road. If she had to wait much longer, Mammy\nwould certainly come in search of her and bully her\ninto the house.\nBut even as she strained her eyes\ndown the darkening road, she heard a pounding of\nhooves at the bottom of the pasture hill and saw the\n57\n\n\nPART ONE\nhorses and cows scatter in fright. Gerald O’Hara was\ncoming home across country and at top speed.\nHe came up the hill at a gallop on his thick-barreled,\nlong-legged hunter, appearing in the distance like a\nboy on a too large horse. His long white hair standing\nout behind him, he urged the horse forward with crop\nand loud cries.\nFilled with her own anxieties, she nevertheless\nwatched him with affectionate pride, for Gerald was\nan excellent horseman.\n“I wonder why he always wants to jump fences\nwhen he’s had a few drinks,” she thought. “And af-\nter that fall he had right here last year when he broke\nhis knee. You’d think he’d learn. Especially when he\npromised Mother on oath he’d never jump again.”\nScarlett had no awe of her father and felt him more\nher contemporary than her sisters, for jumping fences\nand keeping it a secret from his wife gave him a boy-\nish pride and guilty glee that matched her own plea-\nsure in outwitting Mammy. She rose from her seat to\nwatch him.\nThe big horse reached the fence, gathered himself\nand soared over as effortlessly as a bird, his rider\nyelling enthusiastically, his crop beating the air, his\nwhite curls jerking out behind him. Gerald did not\n58\n\n\nPART ONE\nsee his daughter in the shadow of the trees, and he\ndrew rein in the road, patting his horse’s neck with\napprobation.\n“There’s none in the County can touch you, nor in\nthe state,” he informed his mount, with pride, the\nbrogue of County Meath still heavy on his tongue in\nspite of thirty-nine years in America. Then he hastily\nset about smoothing his hair and settling his ruffled\nshirt and his cravat which had slipped awry behind\none ear. Scarlett knew these hurried preenings were\nbeing made with an eye toward meeting his wife with\nthe appearance of a gentleman who had ridden se-\ndately home from a call on a neighbor. She knew also\nthat he was presenting her with just the opportunity\nshe wanted for opening the conversation without re-\nvealing her true purpose.\nShe laughed aloud. As she had intended, Gerald\nwas startled by the sound; then he recognized her,\nand a look both sheepish and defiant came over his\nflorid face. He dismounted with difficulty, because\nhis knee was stiff, and, slipping the reins over his arm,\nstumped toward her.\n“Well, Missy,” he said, pinching her cheek, “so,\nyou’ve been spying on me and, like your sister\nSuellen last week, you’ll be telling your mother on\n59\n\n\nPART ONE\nme?”\nThere was indignation in his hoarse bass voice but\nalso a wheedling note, and Scarlett teasingly clicked\nher tongue against her teeth as she reached out to pull\nhis cravat into place. His breath in her face was strong\nwith Bourbon whisky mingled with a faint fragrance\nof mint.\nAccompanying him also were the smells\nof chewing tobacco, well-oiled leather and horses–a\ncombination of odors that she always associated with\nher father and instinctively liked in other men.\n“No, Pa, I’m no tattletale like Suellen,” she assured\nhim, standing off to view his rearranged attire with a\njudicious air.\nGerald was a small man, little more than five feet\ntall, but so heavy of barrel and thick of neck that his\nappearance, when seated, led strangers to think him\na larger man. His thickset torso was supported by\nshort sturdy legs, always incased in the finest leather\nboots procurable and always planted wide apart like\na swaggering small boy’s. Most small people who\ntake themselves seriously are a little ridiculous; but\nthe bantam cock is respected in the barnyard, and so it\nwas with Gerald. No one would ever have the temer-\nity to think of Gerald O’Hara as a ridiculous little fig-\nure.\n60\n\n\nPART ONE\nHe was sixty years old and his crisp curly hair was\nsilver-white, but his shrewd face was unlined and his\nhard little blue eyes were young with the unworried\nyouthfulness of one who has never taxed his brain\nwith problems more abstract than how many cards to\ndraw in a poker game. His was as Irish a face as could\nbe found in the length and breadth of the homeland\nhe had left so long ago–round, high colored, short\nnosed, wide mouthed and belligerent.\nBeneath his choleric exterior Gerald O’Hara had the\ntenderest of hearts. He could not bear to see a slave\npouting under a reprimand, no matter how well de-\nserved, or hear a kitten mewing or a child crying; but\nhe had a horror of having this weakness discovered.\nThat everyone who met him did discover his kindly\nheart within five minutes was unknown to him; and\nhis vanity would have suffered tremendously if he\nhad found it out, for he liked to think that when he\nbawled orders at the top of his voice everyone trem-\nbled and obeyed. It had never occurred to him that\nonly one voice was obeyed on the plantation–the soft\nvoice of his wife Ellen. It was a secret he would never\nlearn, for everyone from Ellen down to the stupidest\nfield hand was in a tacit and kindly conspiracy to\nkeep him believing that his word was law.\n61\n\n\nPART ONE\nScarlett was impressed less than anyone else by his\ntempers and his roarings. She was his oldest child\nand, now that Gerald knew there would be no more\nsons to follow the three who lay in the family burying\nground, he had drifted into a habit of treating her in a\nman-to-man manner which she found most pleasant.\nShe was more like her father than her younger sisters,\nfor Carreen, who had been born Caroline Irene, was\ndelicate and dreamy, and Suellen, christened Susan\nElinor, prided herself on her elegance and ladylike de-\nportment.\nMoreover, Scarlett and her father were bound to-\ngether by a mutual suppression agreement. If Gerald\ncaught her climbing a fence instead of walking half\na mile to a gate, or sitting too late on the front steps\nwith a beau, he castigated her personally and with ve-\nhemence, but he did not mention the fact to Ellen or to\nMammy. And when Scarlett discovered him jumping\nfences after his solemn promise to his wife, or learned\nthe exact amount of his losses at poker, as she always\ndid from County gossip, she refrained from mention-\ning the fact at the supper table in the artfully artless\nmanner Suellen had. Scarlett and her father each as-\nsured the other solemnly that to bring such matters\nto the ears of Ellen would only hurt her, and nothing\nwould induce them to wound her gentleness.\n62\n\n\nPART ONE\nScarlett looked at her father in the fading light, and,\nwithout knowing why, she found it comforting to be\nin his presence. There was something vital and earthy\nand coarse about him that appealed to her. Being the\nleast analytic of people, she did not realize that this\nwas because she possessed in some degree these same\nqualities, despite sixteen years of effort on the part of\nEllen and Mammy to obliterate them.\n“You look very presentable now,” she said, “and I\ndon’t think anyone will suspect you’ve been up to\nyour tricks unless you brag about them. But it does\nseem to me that after you broke your knee last year,\njumping that same fence–”\n“Well, may I be damned if I’ll have me own daugh-\nter telling me what I shall jump and not jump,” he\nshouted, giving her cheek another pinch.\n“It’s me\nown neck, so it is. And besides, Missy, what are you\ndoing out here without your shawl?”\nSeeing that he was employing familiar maneuvers\nto extricate himself from unpleasant conversation, she\nslipped her arm through his and said: “I was waiting\nfor you. I didn’t know you would be so late. I just\nwondered if you had bought Dilcey.”\n“Bought her I did, and the price has ruined me.\nBought her and her little wench, Prissy. John Wilkes\n63\n\n\nPART ONE\nwas for almost giving them away, but never will I\nhave it said that Gerald O’Hara used friendship in a\ntrade. I made him take three thousand for the two of\nthem.”\n“In the name of Heaven, Pa, three thousand! And\nyou didn’t need to buy Prissy!”\n“Has the time come when me own daughters sit\nin judgment on me?”\nshouted Gerald rhetorically.\n“Prissy is a likely little wench and so–”\n“I know her. She’s a sly, stupid creature,” Scarlett\nrejoined calmly, unimpressed by his uproar. “And the\nonly reason you bought her was because Dilcey asked\nyou to buy her.”\nGerald looked crestfallen and embarrassed, as al-\nways when caught in a kind deed, and Scarlett\nlaughed outright at his transparency.\n“Well, what if I did? Was there any use buying Dil-\ncey if she was going to mope about the child? Well,\nnever again will I let a darky on this place marry off\nit. It’s too expensive. Well, come on, Puss, let’s go in\nto supper.”\nThe shadows were falling thicker now, the last\ngreenish tinge had left the sky and a slight chill was\ndisplacing the balminess of spring. But Scarlett loi-\ntered, wondering how to bring up the subject of Ash-\n64\n\n\nPART ONE\nley without permitting Gerald to suspect her motive.\nThis was difficult, for Scarlett had not a subtle bone in\nher body; and Gerald was so much like her he never\nfailed to penetrate her weak subterfuges, even as she\npenetrated his. And he was seldom tactful in doing\nit.\n“How are they all over at Twelve Oaks?”\n“About as usual. Cade Calvert was there and, after I\nsettled about Dilcey, we all set on the gallery and had\nseveral toddies. Cade has just come from Atlanta, and\nit’s all upset they are there and talking war and–”\nScarlett sighed. If Gerald once got on the subject of\nwar and secession, it would be hours before he relin-\nquished it. She broke in with another line.\n“Did they say anything about the barbecue tomor-\nrow?”\n“Now that I think of it they did. Miss–what’s-her-\nname–the sweet little thing who was here last year,\nyou know, Ashley’s cousin–oh, yes, Miss Melanie\nHamilton,\nthat’s the name–she and her brother\nCharles have already come from Atlanta and–”\n“Oh, so she did come?”\n“She did, and a sweet quiet thing she is, with never\na word to say for herself, like a woman should be.\nCome now, daughter, don’t lag. Your mother will be\n65\n\n\nPART ONE\nhunting for us.”\nScarlett’s heart sank at the news. She had hoped\nagainst hope that something would keep Melanie\nHamilton in Atlanta where she belonged, and the\nknowledge that even her father approved of her sweet\nquiet nature, so different from her own, forced her\ninto the open.\n“Was Ashley there, too?”\n“He was.” Gerald let go of his daughter’s arm and\nturned, peering sharply into her face. “And if that’s\nwhy you came out here to wait for me, why didn’t\nyou say so without beating around the bush?”\nScarlett could think of nothing to say, and she felt\nher face growing red with annoyance.\n“Well, speak up.”\nStill she said nothing, wishing that it was permis-\nsible to shake one’s father and tell him to hush his\nmouth.\n“He was there and he asked most kindly after you,\nas did his sisters, and said they hoped nothing would\nkeep you from the barbecue tomorrow. I’ll warrant\nnothing will,” he said shrewdly. “And now, daughter,\nwhat’s all this about you and Ashley?”\n“There is nothing,” she said shortly, tugging at his\n66\n\n\nPART ONE\narm. “Let’s go in, Pa.”\n“So now ‘tis you wanting to go in,” he observed.\n“But here I’m going to stand till I’m understanding\nyou. Now that I think of it, ‘tis strange you’ve been\nrecently. Has he been trifling with you? Has he asked\nto marry you?”\n“No,” she said shortly.\n“Nor will he,” said Gerald.\nFury flamed in her, but Gerald waved her quiet with\na hand.\n“Hold your tongue, Miss! I had it from John Wilkes\nthis afternoon in the strictest confidence that Ashley’s\nto marry Miss Melanie. It’s to be announced tomor-\nrow.”\nScarlett’s hand fell from his arm. So it was true!\nA pain slashed at her heart as savagely as a wild\nanimal’s fangs. Through it all, she felt her father’s\neyes on her, a little pitying, a little annoyed at being\nfaced with a problem for which he knew no answer.\nHe loved Scarlett, but it made him uncomfortable to\nhave her forcing her childish problems on him for a\nsolution. Ellen knew all the answers. Scarlett should\nhave taken her troubles to her.\n“Is it a spectacle you’ve been making of yourself–\n67\n\n\nPART ONE\nof all of us?” he bawled, his voice rising as always\nin moments of excitement. “Have you been running\nafter a man who’s not in love with you, when you\ncould have any of the bucks in the County?”\nAnger and hurt pride drove out some of the pain.\n“I haven’t been running after him.\nIt–it just sur-\nprised me.”\n“It’s lying you are!” said Gerald, and then, peering\nat her stricken face, he added in a burst of kindliness:\n“I’m sorry, daughter. But after all, you are nothing but\na child and there’s lots of other beaux.”\n“Mother was only fifteen when she married you,\nand I’m sixteen,” said Scarlett, her voice muffled.\n“Your mother was different,” said Gerald. “She was\nnever flighty like you. Now come, daughter, cheer\nup, and I’ll take you to Charleston next week to visit\nyour Aunt Eulalie and, what with all the hullabaloo\nthey are having over there about Fort Sumter, you’ll\nbe forgetting about Ashley in a week.”\n“He thinks I’m a child,” thought Scarlett, grief and\nanger choking utterance, “and he’s only got to dangle\na new toy and I’ll forget my bumps.”\n“Now, don’t be jerking your chin at me,” warned\nGerald. “If you had any sense you’d have married\nStuart or Brent Tarleton long ago.\nThink it over,\n68\n\n\nPART ONE\ndaughter. Marry one of the twins and then the plan-\ntations will run together and Jim Tarleton and I will\nbuild you a fine house, right where they join, in that\nbig pine grove and–”\n“Will you stop treating me like a child!” cried Scar-\nlett. “I don’t want to go to Charleston or have a house\nor marry the twins. I only want–” She caught herself\nbut not in time.\nGerald’s voice was strangely quiet and he spoke\nslowly as if drawing his words from a store of thought\nseldom used.\n“It’s only Ashley you’re wanting, and you’ll not be\nhaving him. And if he wanted to marry you, ‘twould\nbe with misgivings that I’d say Yes, for all the fine\nfriendship that’s between me and John Wilkes.” And,\nseeing her startled look, he continued: “I want my girl\nto be happy and you wouldn’t be happy with him.”\n“Oh, I would! I would!”\n“That you would not, daughter.\nOnly when like\nmarries like can there be any happiness.”\nScarlett had a sudden treacherous desire to cry out,\n“But you’ve been happy, and you and Mother aren’t\nalike,” but she repressed it, fearing that he would box\nher ears for her impertinence.\n“Our people and the Wilkes are different,” he went\n69\n\n\nPART ONE\non slowly, fumbling for words. “The Wilkes are dif-\nferent from any of our neighbors–different from any\nfamily I ever knew. They are queer folk, and it’s best\nthat they marry their cousins and keep their queer-\nness to themselves.”\n“Why, Pa, Ashley is not–”\n“Hold your whist, Puss! I said nothing against the\nlad, for I like him. And when I say queer, it’s not crazy\nI’m meaning. He’s not queer like the Calverts who’d\ngamble everything they have on a horse, or the Tar-\nletons who turn out a drunkard or two in every litter,\nor the Fontaines who are hot-headed little brutes and\nafter murdering a man for a fancied slight. That kind\nof queerness is easy to understand, for sure, and but\nfor the grace of God Gerald O’Hara would be having\nall those faults! And I don’t mean that Ashley would\nrun off with another woman, if you were his wife, or\nbeat you. You’d be happier if he did, for at least you’d\nbe understanding that. But he’s queer in other ways,\nand there’s no understanding him at all. I like him,\nbut it’s neither heads nor tails I can make of most he\nsays. Now, Puss, tell me true, do you understand his\nfolderol about books and poetry and music and oil\npaintings and such foolishness?”\n“Oh, Pa,” cried Scarlett impatiently, “if I married\n70\n\n\nPART ONE\nhim, I’d change all that!”\n“Oh, you would, would you now?”\nsaid Gerald\ntestily, shooting a sharp look at her. “Then it’s lit-\ntle enough you are knowing of any man living, let\nalone Ashley. No wife has ever changed a husband\none whit, and don’t you be forgetting that. And as\nfor changing a Wilkes–God’s nightgown, daughter!\nThe whole family is that way, and they’ve always\nbeen that way. And probably always will. I tell you\nthey’re born queer.\nLook at the way they go tear-\ning up to New York and Boston to hear operas and\nsee oil paintings. And ordering French and German\nbooks by the crate from the Yankees! And there they\nsit reading and dreaming the dear God knows what,\nwhen they’d be better spending their time hunting\nand playing poker as proper men should.”\n“There’s nobody in the County sits a horse better\nthan Ashley,” said Scarlett, furious at the slur of ef-\nfeminacy flung on Ashley, “nobody except maybe his\nfather. And as for poker, didn’t Ashley take two hun-\ndred dollars away from you just last week in Jones-\nboro?”\n“The Calvert boys have been blabbing again,” Ger-\nald said resignedly, “else you’d not be knowing the\namount. Ashley can ride with the best and play poker\n71\n\n\nPART ONE\nwith the best–that’s me, Puss! And I’m not denying\nthat when he sets out to drink he can put even the\nTarletons under the table. He can do all those things,\nbut his heart’s not in it. That’s why I say he’s queer.”\nScarlett was silent and her heart sank. She could\nthink of no defense for this last, for she knew Gerald\nwas right. Ashley’s heart was in none of the pleas-\nant things he did so well. He was never more than\npolitely interested in any of the things that vitally in-\nterested every one else.\nRightly interpreting her silence, Gerald patted her\narm and said triumphantly: “There now, Scarlett! You\nadmit ‘tis true. What would you be doing with a hus-\nband like Ashley? ‘Tis moonstruck they all are, all\nthe Wilkes.” And then, in a wheedling tone: “When I\nwas mentioning the Tarletons the while ago, I wasn’t\npushing them.\nThey’re fine lads, but if it’s Cade\nCalvert you’re setting your cap after, why, ‘tis the\nsame with me. The Calverts are good folk, all of them,\nfor all the old man marrying a Yankee. And when I’m\ngone–Whist, darlin’, listen to me! I’ll leave Tara to you\nand Cade–”\n“I wouldn’t have Cade on a silver tray,” cried Scar-\nlett in fury. “And I wish you’d quit pushing him at\nme! I don’t want Tara or any old plantation. Planta-\n72\n\n\nPART ONE\ntions don’t amount to anything when–”\nShe was going to say “when you haven’t the man\nyou want,” but Gerald, incensed by the cavalier way\nin which she treated his proffered gift, the thing\nwhich, next to Ellen, he loved best in the whole world\nuttered a roar.\n“Do you stand there, Scarlett O’Hara, and tell me\nthat Tara–that land–doesn’t amount to anything?”\nScarlett nodded obstinately. Her heart was too sore\nto care whether or not she put her father in a temper.\n“Land is the only thing in the world that amounts to\nanything,” he shouted, his thick, short arms making\nwide gestures of indignation, “for ‘tis the only thing\nin this world that lasts, and don’t you be forgetting it!\n‘Tis the only thing worth working for, worth fighting\nfor–worth dying for.”\n“Oh, Pa,” she said disgustedly, “you talk like an\nIrishman!”\n“Have I ever been ashamed of it? No, ‘tis proud I\nam. And don’t be forgetting that you are half Irish,\nMiss! And to anyone with a drop of Irish blood in\nthem the land they live on is like their mother. ‘Tis\nashamed of you I am this minute. I offer you the most\nbeautiful land in the world–saving County Meath in\nthe Old Country–and what do you do? You sniff!”\n73\n\n\nPART ONE\nGerald had begun to work himself up into a pleasur-\nable shouting rage when something in Scarlett’s woe-\nbegone face stopped him.\n“But there, you’re young. ‘Twill come to you, this\nlove of land. There’s no getting away from it, if you’re\nIrish.\nYou’re just a child and bothered about your\nbeaux. When you’re older, you’ll be seeing how ‘tis. .\n. . Now, do you be making up your mind about Cade\nor the twins or one of Evan Munroe’s young bucks,\nand see how fine I turn you out!”\n“Oh, Pa!”\nBy this time, Gerald was thoroughly tired of the\nconversation and thoroughly annoyed that the prob-\nlem should be upon his shoulders. He felt aggrieved,\nmoreover, that Scarlett should still look desolate after\nbeing offered the best of the County boys and Tara,\ntoo. Gerald liked his gifts to be received with clap-\nping of hands and kisses.\n“Now, none of your pouts, Miss. It doesn’t matter\nwho you marry, as long as he thinks like you and is\na gentleman and a Southerner and prideful.\nFor a\nwoman, love comes after marriage.”\n“Oh, Pa, that’s such an Old Country notion!”\n“And a good notion it is! All this American busi-\nness of running around marrying for love, like ser-\n74\n\n\nPART ONE\nvants, like Yankees! The best marriages are when the\nparents choose for the girl. For how can a silly piece\nlike yourself tell a good man from a scoundrel? Now,\nlook at the Wilkes. What’s kept them prideful and\nstrong all these generations? Why, marrying the likes\nof themselves, marrying the cousins their family al-\nways expects them to marry.”\n“Oh,” cried Scarlett, fresh pain striking her as Ger-\nald’s words brought home the terrible inevitability of\nthe truth.\nGerald looked at her bowed head and shuffled his\nfeet uneasily.\n“It’s not crying you are?” he questioned, fumbling\nclumsily at her chin, trying to turn her face upward,\nhis own face furrowed with pity.\n“No,” she cried vehemently, jerking away.\n“It’s lying you are, and I’m proud of it. I’m glad\nthere’s pride in you, Puss. And I want to see pride in\nyou tomorrow at the barbecue. I’ll not be having the\nCounty gossiping and laughing at you for mooning\nyour heart out about a man who never gave you a\nthought beyond friendship.”\n“He did give me a thought,” thought Scarlett, sor-\nrowfully in her heart. “Oh, a lot of thoughts! I know\nhe did.\nI could tell.\nIf I’d just had a little longer,\n75\n\n\nPART ONE\nI know I could have made him say– Oh, if it only\nwasn’t that the Wilkes always feel that they have to\nmarry their cousins!”\nGerald took her arm and passed it through his.\n“We’ll be going in to supper now, and all this is be-\ntween us. I’ll not be worrying your mother with this–\nnor do you do it either. Blow your nose, daughter.”\nScarlett blew her nose on her torn handkerchief,\nand they started up the dark drive arm in arm, the\nhorse following slowly. Near the house, Scarlett was\nat the point of speaking again when she saw her\nmother in the dim shadows of the porch. She had on\nher bonnet, shawl and mittens, and behind her was\nMammy, her face like a thundercloud, holding in her\nhand the black leather bag in which Ellen O’Hara al-\nways carried the bandages and medicines she used\nin doctoring the slaves.\nMammy’s lips were large\nand pendulous and, when indignant, she could push\nout her lower one to twice its normal length. It was\npushed out now, and Scarlett knew that Mammy was\nseething over something of which she did not ap-\nprove.\n“Mr. O’Hara,” called Ellen as she saw the two com-\ning up the driveway–Ellen belonged to a generation\nthat was formal even after seventeen years of wedlock\n76\n\n\nPART ONE\nand the bearing of six children– “Mr. O’Hara, there is\nillness at the Slattery house. Emmie’s baby has been\nborn and is dying and must be baptized. I am going\nthere with Mammy to see what I can do.”\nHer voice was raised questioningly, as though she\nhung on Gerald’s assent to her plan, a mere formality\nbut one dear to the heart of Gerald.\n“In the name of God!”\nblustered Gerald.\n“Why\nshould those white trash take you away just at your\nsupper hour and just when I’m wanting to tell you\nabout the war talk that’s going on in Atlanta! Go, Mrs.\nO’Hara. You’d not rest easy on your pillow the night\nif there was trouble abroad and you not there to help.”\n“She doan never git no res’ on her piller fer hoppin’\nup at night time nursin’ niggers an po’ w’ite trash dat\ncould ten’ to deyseff,” grumbled Mammy in a mono-\ntone as she went down the stairs toward the carriage\nwhich was waiting in the side drive.\n“Take my place at the table, dear,” said Ellen, patting\nScarlett’s cheek softly with a mittened hand.\nIn spite of her choked-back tears, Scarlett thrilled\nto the never- failing magic of her mother’s touch, to\nthe faint fragrance of lemon verbena sachet that came\nfrom her rustling silk dress.\nTo Scarlett, there was\nsomething breath-taking about Ellen O’Hara, a mir-\n77\n\n\nPART ONE\nacle that lived in the house with her and awed her\nand charmed and soothed her.\nGerald helped his wife into the carriage and gave\norders to the coachman to drive carefully.\nToby,\nwho had handled Gerald’s horses for twenty years,\npushed out his lips in mute indignation at being told\nhow to conduct his own business. Driving off, with\nMammy beside him, each was a perfect picture of\npouting African disapproval.\n“If I didn’t do so much for those trashy Slatterys that\nthey’d have to pay money for elsewhere,” fumed Ger-\nald, “they’d be willing to sell me their miserable few\nacres of swamp bottom, and the County would be\nwell rid of them.” Then, brightening, in anticipation\nof one of his practical jokes: “Come daughter, let’s go\ntell Pork that instead of buying Dilcey, I’ve sold him\nto John Wilkes.”\nHe tossed the reins of his horse to a small pick-\naninny standing near and started up the steps. He\nhad already forgotten Scarlett’s heartbreak and his\nmind was only on plaguing his valet. Scarlett slowly\nclimbed the steps after him, her feet leaden.\nShe\nthought that, after all, a mating between herself and\nAshley could be no queerer than that of her father\nand Ellen Robillard O’Hara.\nAs always, she won-\n78\n\n\nPART ONE\ndered how her loud, insensitive father had managed\nto marry a woman like her mother, for never were two\npeople further apart in birth, breeding and habits of\nmind.\n79\n\n\nELLEN O’HARA WAS thirty-two years old, and, accord-\ning to the standards of her day, she was a middle-\naged woman, one who had borne six children and\nburied three. She was a tall woman, standing a head\nhigher than her fiery little husband, but she moved\nwith such quiet grace in her swaying hoops that the\nheight attracted no attention to itself. Her neck, ris-\ning from the black taffeta sheath of her basque, was\ncreamy-skinned, rounded and slender, and it seemed\nalways tilted slightly backward by the weight of her\nluxuriant hair in its net at the back of her head. From\nher French mother, whose parents had fled Haiti in\nthe Revolution of 1791, had come her slanting dark\neyes, shadowed by inky lashes, and her black hair;\nand from her father, a soldier of Napoleon, she had\nher long straight nose and her square-cut jaw that was\nsoftened by the gentle curving of her cheeks. But only\nfrom life could Ellen’s face have acquired its look of\npride that had no haughtiness, its graciousness, its\nmelancholy and its utter lack of humor.\nShe would have been a strikingly beautiful woman\nhad there been any glow in her eyes, any responsive\nwarmth in her smile or any spontaneity in her voice\nthat fell with gentle melody on the ears of her fam-\n\n\nPART ONE\nily and her servants. She spoke in the soft slurring\nvoice of the coastal Georgian, liquid of vowels, kind\nto consonants and with the barest trace of French ac-\ncent. It was a voice never raised in command to a ser-\nvant or reproof to a child but a voice that was obeyed\ninstantly at Tara, where her husband’s blustering and\nroaring were quietly disregarded.\nAs far back as Scarlett could remember, her mother\nhad always been the same, her voice soft and sweet\nwhether in praising or in reproving, her manner effi-\ncient and unruffled despite the daily emergencies of\nGerald’s turbulent household, her spirit always calm\nand her back unbowed, even in the deaths of her three\nbaby sons. Scarlett had never seen her mother’s back\ntouch the back of any chair on which she sat. Nor had\nshe ever seen her sit down without a bit of needle-\nwork in her hands, except at mealtime, while attend-\ning the sick or while working at the bookkeeping of\nthe plantation. It was delicate embroidery if company\nwere present, but at other times her hands were oc-\ncupied with Gerald’s ruffled shirts, the girls’ dresses\nor garments for the slaves. Scarlett could not imag-\nine her mother’s hands without her gold thimble or\nher rustling figure unaccompanied by the small negro\ngirl whose sole function in life was to remove bast-\ning threads and carry the rosewood sewing box from\n81\n\n\nPART ONE\nroom to room, as Ellen moved about the house super-\nintending the cooking, the cleaning and the wholesale\nclothes-making for the plantation.\nShe had never seen her mother stirred from her aus-\ntere placidity, nor her personal appointments any-\nthing but perfect, no matter what the hour of day or\nnight. When Ellen was dressing for a ball or for guests\nor even to go to Jonesboro for Court Day, it frequently\nrequired two hours, two maids and Mammy to turn\nher out to her own satisfaction; but her swift toilets in\ntimes of emergency were amazing.\nScarlett, whose room lay across the hall from her\nmother’s, knew from babyhood the soft sound of\nscurrying bare black feet on the hardwood floor in the\nhours of dawn, the urgent tappings on her mother’s\ndoor, and the muffled, frightened negro voices that\nwhispered of sickness and birth and death in the long\nrow of whitewashed cabins in the quarters.\nAs a\nchild, she often had crept to the door and, peeping\nthrough the tiniest crack, had seen Ellen emerge from\nthe dark room, where Gerald’s snores were rhythmic\nand untroubled, into the flickering light of an upheld\ncandle, her medicine case under her arm, her hair\nsmoothed neatly place, and no button on her basque\nunlooped.\n82\n\n\nPART ONE\nIt had always been so soothing to Scarlett to hear\nher mother whisper, firmly but compassionately, as\nshe tiptoed down the hall: “Hush, not so loudly. You\nwill wake Mr. O’Hara. They are not sick enough to\ndie.”\nYes, it was good to creep back into bed and know\nthat Ellen was abroad in the night and everything was\nright.\nIn the mornings, after all-night sessions at births\nand deaths, when old Dr. Fontaine and young Dr.\nFontaine were both out on calls and could not be\nfound to help her, Ellen presided at the breakfast ta-\nble as usual, her dark eyes circled with weariness but\nher voice and manner revealing none of the strain.\nThere was a steely quality under her stately gentle-\nness that awed the whole household, Gerald as well\nas the girls, though he would have died rather than\nadmit it.\nSometimes when Scarlett tiptoed at night to kiss her\ntall mother’s cheek, she looked up at the mouth with\nits too short, too tender upper lip, a mouth too eas-\nily hurt by the world, and wondered if it had ever\ncurved in silly girlish giggling or whispered secrets\nthrough long nights to intimate girl friends. But no,\nthat wasn’t possible. Mother had always been just as\n83\n\n\nPART ONE\nshe was, a pillar of strength, a fount of wisdom, the\none person who knew the answers to everything.\nBut Scarlett was wrong, for, years before, Ellen Ro-\nbillard of Savannah had giggled as inexplicably as\nany fifteen-year-old in that charming coastal city and\nwhispered the long nights through with friends, ex-\nchanging confidences, telling all secrets but one. That\nwas the year when Gerald O’Hara, twenty-eight years\nolder than she, came into her life–the year, too, when\nyouth and her black-eyed cousin, Philippe Robillard,\nwent out of it. For when Philippe, with his snapping\neyes and his wild ways, left Savannah forever, he took\nwith him the glow that was in Ellen’s heart and left\nfor the bandy-legged little Irishman who married her\nonly a gentle shell.\nBut that was enough for Gerald, overwhelmed at\nhis unbelievable luck in actually marrying her. And\nif anything was gone from her, he never missed it.\nShrewd man that he was, he knew that it was no less\nthan a miracle that he, an Irishman with nothing of\nfamily and wealth to recommend him, should win the\ndaughter of one of the wealthiest and proudest fami-\nlies on the Coast. For Gerald was a self-made man.\nGerald had come to America from Ireland when he\nwas twenty-one. He had come hastily, as many a bet-\n84\n\n\nPART ONE\nter and worse Irishman before and since, with the\nclothes he had on his back, two shillings above his\npassage money and a price on his head that he felt\nwas larger than his misdeed warranted. There was no\nOrangeman this side of hell worth a hundred pounds\nto the British government or to the devil himself; but\nif the government felt so strongly about the death\nof an English absentee landlord’s rent agent, it was\ntime for Gerald O’Hara to be leaving and leaving sud-\ndenly. True, he had called the rent agent “a bastard of\nan Orangeman,” but that, according to Gerald’s way\nof looking at it, did not give the man any right to in-\nsult him by whistling the opening bars of “The Boyne\nWater.”\nThe Battle of the Boyne had been fought more than\na hundred years before, but, to the O’Haras and their\nneighbors, it might have been yesterday when their\nhopes and their dreams, as well as their lands and\nwealth, went off in the same cloud of dust that en-\nveloped a frightened and fleeing Stuart prince, leav-\ning William of Orange and his hated troops with their\norange cockades to cut down the Irish adherents of\nthe Stuarts.\nFor this and other reasons, Gerald’s family was not\ninclined to view the fatal outcome of this quarrel as\n85\n\n\nPART ONE\nanything very serious, except for the fact that it was\ncharged with serious consequences.\nFor years, the\nO’Haras had been in bad odor with the English con-\nstabulary on account of suspected activities against\nthe government, and Gerald was not the first O’Hara\nto take his foot in his hand and quit Ireland between\ndawn and morning. His two oldest brothers, James\nand Andrew, he hardly remembered, save as close-\nlipped youths who came and went at odd hours of\nthe night on mysterious errands or disappeared for\nweeks at a time, to their mother’s gnawing anxi-\nety. They had come to America years before, after\nthe discovery of a small arsenal of rifles buried un-\nder the O’Hara pigsty.\nNow they were successful\nmerchants in Savannah, “though the dear God alone\nknows where that may be,” as their mother always\ninterpolated when mentioning the two oldest of her\nmale brood, and it was to them that young Gerald\nwas sent.\nHe left home with his mother’s hasty kiss on his\ncheek and her fervent Catholic blessing in his ears,\nand his father’s parting admonition, “Remember who\nye are and don’t be taking nothing off no man.” His\nfive tall brothers gave him good-by with admiring but\nslightly patronizing smiles, for Gerald was the baby\nand the little one of a brawny family.\n86\n\n\nPART ONE\nHis five brothers and their father stood six feet and\nover and broad in proportion, but little Gerald, at\ntwenty-one, knew that five feet four and a half inches\nwas as much as the Lord in His wisdom was going to\nallow him. It was like Gerald that he never wasted re-\ngrets on his lack of height and never found it an obsta-\ncle to his acquisition of anything he wanted. Rather, it\nwas Gerald’s compact smallness that made him what\nhe was, for he had learned early that little people\nmust be hardy to survive among large ones. And Ger-\nald was hardy.\nHis tall brothers were a grim, quiet lot, in whom the\nfamily tradition of past glories, lost forever, rankled in\nunspoken hate and crackled out in bitter humor. Had\nGerald been brawny, he would have gone the way\nof the other O’Haras and moved quietly and darkly\namong the rebels against the government. But Gerald\nwas “loud-mouthed and bullheaded,” as his mother\nfondly phrased it, hair trigger of temper, quick with\nhis fists and possessed of a chip on his shoulder so\nlarge as to be almost visible to the naked eye.\nHe\nswaggered among the tall O’Haras like a strutting\nbantam in a barnyard of giant Cochin roosters, and\nthey loved him, baited him affectionately to hear him\nroar and hammered on him with their large fists no\nmore than was necessary to keep a baby brother in\n87\n\n\nPART ONE\nhis proper place.\nIf the educational equipment which Gerald brought\nto America was scant, he did not even know it. Nor\nwould he have cared if he had been told. His mother\nhad taught him to read and to write a clear hand. He\nwas adept at ciphering. And there his book knowl-\nedge stopped. The only Latin he knew was the re-\nsponses of the Mass and the only history the mani-\nfold wrongs of Ireland. He knew no poetry save that\nof Moore and no music except the songs of Ireland\nthat had come down through the years. While he en-\ntertained the liveliest respect for those who had more\nbook learning than he, he never felt his own lack.\nAnd what need had he of these things in a new coun-\ntry where the most ignorant of bogtrotters had made\ngreat fortunes? in this country which asked only that\na man be strong and unafraid of work?\nNor did James and Andrew, who took him into their\nstore in Savannah, regret his lack of education. His\nclear hand, his accurate figures and his shrewd ability\nin bargaining won their respect, where a knowledge\nof literature and a fine appreciation of music, had\nyoung Gerald possessed them, would have moved\nthem to snorts of contempt.\nAmerica, in the early\nyears of the century, had been kind to the Irish. James\n88\n\n\nPART ONE\nand Andrew, who had begun by hauling goods in\ncovered wagons from Savannah to Georgia’s inland\ntowns, had prospered into a store of their own, and\nGerald prospered with them.\nHe liked the South, and he soon became, in his own\nopinion, a Southerner.\nThere was much about the\nSouth–and Southerners–that he would never compre-\nhend: but, with the wholeheartedness that was his na-\nture, he adopted its ideas and customs, as he under-\nstood them, for his own–poker and horse racing, red-\nhot politics and the code duello, States’ Rights and\ndamnation to all Yankees, slavery and King Cotton,\ncontempt for white trash and exaggerated courtesy to\nwomen. He even learned to chew tobacco. There was\nno need for him to acquire a good head for whisky, he\nhad been born with one.\nBut Gerald remained Gerald. His habits of living\nand his ideas changed, but his manners he would not\nchange, even had he been able to change them. He\nadmired the drawling elegance of the wealthy rice\nand cotton planters, who rode into Savannah from\ntheir moss-hung kingdoms, mounted on thorough-\nbred horses and followed by the carriages of their\nequally elegant ladies and the wagons of their slaves.\nBut Gerald could never attain elegance. Their lazy,\n89\n\n\nPART ONE\nblurred voices fell pleasantly on his ears, but his own\nbrisk brogue clung to his tongue. He liked the ca-\nsual grace with which they conducted affairs of im-\nportance, risking a fortune, a plantation or a slave on\nthe turn of a card and writing off their losses with\ncareless good humor and no more ado than when\nthey scattered pennies to pickaninnies. But Gerald\nhad known poverty, and he could never learn to lose\nmoney with good humor or good grace. They were\na pleasant race, these coastal Georgians, with their\nsoft-voiced, quick rages and their charming incon-\nsistencies, and Gerald liked them. But there was a\nbrisk and restless vitality about the young Irishman,\nfresh from a country where winds blew wet and chill,\nwhere misty swamps held no fevers, that set him\napart from these indolent gentlefolk of semi-tropical\nweather and malarial marshes.\nFrom them he learned what he found useful, and the\nrest he dismissed. He found poker the most useful\nof all Southern customs, poker and a steady head for\nwhisky; and it was his natural aptitude for cards and\namber liquor that brought to Gerald two of his three\nmost prized possessions, his valet and his plantation.\nThe other was his wife, and he could only attribute\nher to the mysterious kindness of God.\n90\n\n\nPART ONE\nThe valet, Pork by name, shining black, dignified\nand trained in all the arts of sartorial elegance, was\nthe result of an all-night poker game with a planter\nfrom St.\nSimons Island, whose courage in a bluff\nequaled Gerald’s but whose head for New Orleans\nrum did not. Though Pork’s former owner later of-\nfered to buy him back at twice his value, Gerald ob-\nstinately refused, for the possession of his first slave,\nand that slave the “best damn valet on the Coast,”\nwas the first step upward toward his heart’s desire,\nGerald wanted to be a slave owner and a landed gen-\ntleman.\nHis mind was made up that he was not going to\nspend all of his days, like James and Andrew, in bar-\ngaining, or all his nights, by candlelight, over long\ncolumns of figures.\nHe felt keenly, as his brothers\ndid not, the social stigma attached to those “in trade.”\nGerald wanted to be a planter. With the deep hunger\nof an Irishman who has been a tenant on the lands his\npeople once had owned and hunted, he wanted to see\nhis own acres stretching green before his eyes. With\na ruthless singleness of purpose, he desired his own\nhouse, his own plantation, his own horse, his own\nslaves. And here in this new country, safe from the\ntwin perils of the land he had left–taxation that ate up\ncrops and barns and the ever-present threat of sud-\n91\n\n\nPART ONE\nden confiscation–he intended to have them. But hav-\ning that ambition and bringing it to realization were\ntwo different matters, he discovered as time went by.\nCoastal Georgia was too firmly held by an entrenched\naristocracy for him ever to hope to win the place he\nintended to have.\nThen the hand of Fate and a hand of poker com-\nbined to give him the plantation which he afterwards\ncalled Tara, and at the same time moved him out of\nthe Coast into the upland country of north Georgia.\nIt was in a saloon in Savannah, on a hot night in\nspring, when the chance conversation of a stranger\nsitting near by made Gerald prick up his ears. The\nstranger, a native of Savannah, had just returned af-\nter twelve years in the inland country. He had been\none of the winners in the land lottery conducted by\nthe State to divide up the vast area in middle Geor-\ngia, ceded by the Indians the year before Gerald came\nto America. He had gone up there and established a\nplantation; but, now the house had burned down, he\nwas tired of the “accursed place” and would be most\nhappy to get it off his hands.\nGerald, his mind never free of the thought of own-\ning a plantation of his own, arranged an introduc-\ntion, and his interest grew as the stranger told how\n92\n\n\nPART ONE\nthe northern section of the state was filling up with\nnewcomers from the Carolinas and Virginia. Gerald\nhad lived in Savannah long enough to acquire a view-\npoint of the Coast–that all of the rest of the state was\nbackwoods, with an Indian lurking in every thicket.\nIn transacting business for O’Hara Brothers, he had\nvisited Augusta, a hundred miles up the Savannah\nRiver, and he had traveled inland far enough to visit\nthe old towns westward from that city. He knew that\nsection to be as well settled as the Coast, but from the\nstranger’s description, his plantation was more than\ntwo hundred and fifty miles inland from Savannah\nto the north and west, and not many miles south of\nthe Chattahoochee River.\nGerald knew that north-\nward beyond that stream the land was still held by the\nCherokees, so it was with amazement that he heard\nthe stranger jeer at suggestions of trouble with the In-\ndians and narrate how thriving towns were growing\nup and plantations prospering in the new country.\nAn hour later when the conversation began to lag,\nGerald, with a guile that belied the wide innocence of\nhis bright blue eyes, proposed a game. As the night\nwore on and the drinks went round, there came a time\nwhen all the others in the game laid down their hands\nand Gerald and the stranger were battling alone. The\nstranger shoved in all his chips and followed with\n93\n\n\nPART ONE\nthe deed to his plantation. Gerald shoved in all his\nchips and laid on top of them his wallet.\nIf the\nmoney it contained happened to belong to the firm\nof O’Hara Brothers, Gerald’s conscience was not suf-\nficiently troubled to confess it before Mass the follow-\ning morning. He knew what he wanted, and when\nGerald wanted something he gained it by taking the\nmost direct route. Moreover, such was his faith in his\ndestiny and four dueces that he never for a moment\nwondered just how the money would be paid back\nshould a higher hand be laid down across the table.\n“It’s no bargain you’re getting and I am glad not\nto have to pay more taxes on the place,” sighed the\npossessor of an “ace full,” as he called for pen and\nink. “The big house burned a year ago and the fields\nare growing up in brush and seedling pine. But it’s\nyours.”\n“Never mix cards and whisky unless you were\nweaned on Irish poteen,” Gerald told Pork gravely\nthe same evening, as Pork assisted him to bed. And\nthe valet, who had begun to attempt a brogue out of\nadmiration for his new master, made requisite answer\nin a combination of Geechee and County Meath that\nwould have puzzled anyone except those two alone.\nThe muddy Flint River, running silently between\n94\n\n\nPART ONE\nwalls of pine and water oak covered with tangled\nvines, wrapped about Gerald’s new land like a curv-\ning arm and embraced it on two sides. To Gerald,\nstanding on the small knoll where the house had\nbeen, this tall barrier of green was as visible and\npleasing an evidence of ownership as though it were\na fence that he himself had built to mark his own.\nHe stood on the blackened foundation stones of the\nburned building, looked down the long avenue of\ntrees leading toward the road and swore lustily, with\na joy too deep for thankful prayer. These twin lines\nof somber trees were his, his the abandoned lawn,\nwaist high in weeds under white-starred young mag-\nnolia trees. The uncultivated fields, studded with tiny\npines and underbrush, that stretched their rolling red-\nclay surface away into the distance on four sides be-\nlonged to Gerald O’Hara–were all his because he had\nan unbefuddled Irish head and the courage to stake\neverything on a hand of cards.\nGerald closed his eyes and, in the stillness of the un-\nworked acres, he felt that he had come home. Here\nunder his feet would rise a house of whitewashed\nbrick.\nAcross the road would be new rail fences,\ninclosing fat cattle and blooded horses, and the red\nearth that rolled down the hillside to the rich river\nbottom land would gleam white as eiderdown in the\n95\n\n\nPART ONE\nsun–cotton, acres and acres of cotton! The fortunes of\nthe O’Haras would rise again.\nWith his own small stake, what he could borrow\nfrom his unenthusiastic brothers and a neat sum from\nmortgaging the land, Gerald bought his first field\nhands and came to Tara to live in bachelor solitude\nin the four-room overseer’s house, till such a time as\nthe white walls of Tara should rise.\nHe cleared the fields and planted cotton and bor-\nrowed more money from James and Andrew to buy\nmore slaves. The O’Haras were a clannish tribe, cling-\ning to one another in prosperity as well as in adver-\nsity, not for any overweening family affection but be-\ncause they had learned through grim years that to\nsurvive a family must present an unbroken front to\nthe world. They lent Gerald the money and, in the\nyears that followed, the money came back to them\nwith interest. Gradually the plantation widened out,\nas Gerald bought more acres lying near him, and in\ntime the white house became a reality instead of a\ndream.\nIt was built by slave labor, a clumsy sprawling\nbuilding that crowned the rise of ground overlook-\ning the green incline of pasture land running down\nto the river; and it pleased Gerald greatly, for, even\n96\n\n\nPART ONE\nwhen new, it wore a look of mellowed years. The old\noaks, which had seen Indians pass under their limbs,\nhugged the house closely with their great trunks and\ntowered their branches over the roof in dense shade.\nThe lawn, reclaimed from weeds, grew thick with\nclover and Bermuda grass, and Gerald saw to it that\nit was well kept. From the avenue of cedars to the\nrow of white cabins in the slave quarters, there was\nan air of solidness, of stability and permanence about\nTara, and whenever Gerald galloped around the bend\nin the road and saw his own roof rising through green\nbranches, his heart swelled with pride as though each\nsight of it were the first sight.\nHe had done it all, little, hard-headed, blustering\nGerald.\nGerald was on excellent terms with all his neighbors\nin the County, except the MacIntoshes whose land ad-\njoined his on the left and the Slatterys whose meager\nthree acres stretched on his right along the swamp\nbottoms between the river and John Wilkes’ planta-\ntion.\nThe MacIntoshes were Scotch-Irish and Orangemen\nand, had they possessed all the saintly qualities of the\nCatholic calendar, this ancestry would have damned\nthem forever in Gerald’s eyes. True, they had lived in\n97\n\n\nPART ONE\nGeorgia for seventy years and, before that, had spent\na generation in the Carolinas; but the first of the fam-\nily who set foot on American shores had come from\nUlster, and that was enough for Gerald.\nThey were a close-mouthed and stiff-necked family,\nwho kept strictly to themselves and intermarried with\ntheir Carolina relatives, and Gerald was not alone in\ndisliking them, for the County people were neigh-\nborly and sociable and none too tolerant of anyone\nlacking in those same qualities. Rumors of Abolition-\nist sympathies did not enhance the popularity of the\nMacIntoshes.\nOld Angus had never manumitted a\nsingle slave and had committed the unpardonable so-\ncial breach of selling some of his negroes to passing\nslave traders en route to the cane fields of Louisiana,\nbut the rumors persisted.\n“He’s an Abolitionist, no doubt,” observed Gerald\nto John Wilkes. “But, in an Orangeman, when a prin-\nciple comes up against Scotch tightness, the principle\nfares ill.”\nThe Slatterys were another affair. Being poor white,\nthey were not even accorded the grudging respect\nthat Angus MacIntosh’s dour independence wrung\nfrom neighboring families. Old Slattery, who clung\npersistently to his few acres, in spite of repeated\n98\n\n\nPART ONE\noffers from Gerald and John Wilkes, was shiftless\nand whining. His wife was a snarly-haired woman,\nsickly and washed-out of appearance, the mother of a\nbrood of sullen and rabbity-looking children– a brood\nwhich was increased regularly every year. Tom Slat-\ntery owned no slaves, and he and his two oldest\nboys spasmodically worked their few acres of cot-\nton, while the wife and younger children tended what\nwas supposed to be a vegetable garden. But, some-\nhow, the cotton always failed, and the garden, due\nto Mrs. Slattery’s constant childbearing, seldom fur-\nnished enough to feed her flock.\nThe sight of Tom Slattery dawdling on his neigh-\nbors’ porches, begging cotton seed for planting or a\nside of bacon to “tide him over,” was a familiar one.\nSlattery hated his neighbors with what little energy\nhe possessed, sensing their contempt beneath their\ncourtesy, and especially did he hate “rich folks’ up-\npity niggers.” The house negroes of the County con-\nsidered themselves superior to white trash, and their\nunconcealed scorn stung him, while their more se-\ncure position in life stirred his envy. By contrast with\nhis own miserable existence, they were well-fed, well-\nclothed and looked after in sickness and old age. They\nwere proud of the good names of their owners and,\nfor the most part, proud to belong to people who were\n99\n\n\nPART ONE\nquality, while he was despised by all.\nTom Slattery could have sold his farm for three\ntimes its value to any of the planters in the County.\nThey would have considered it money well spent to\nrid the community of an eyesore, but he was well sat-\nisfied to remain and to subsist miserably on the pro-\nceeds of a bale of cotton a year and the charity of his\nneighbors.\nWith all the rest of the County, Gerald was on\nterms of amity and some intimacy. The Wilkeses, the\nCalverts, the Tarletons, the Fontaines, all smiled when\nthe small figure on the big white horse galloped up\ntheir driveways, smiled and signaled for tall glasses\nin which a pony of Bourbon had been poured over a\nteaspoon of sugar and a sprig of crushed mint. Ger-\nald was likable, and the neighbors learned in time\nwhat the children, negroes and dogs discovered at\nfirst sight, that a kind heart, a ready and sympathetic\near and an open pocketbook lurked just behind his\nbawling voice and his truculent manner.\nHis arrival was always amid a bedlam of hounds\nbarking and small black children shouting as they\nraced to meet him, quarreling for the privilege of\nholding his horse and squirming and grinning under\nhis good-natured insults. The white children clam-\n100\n\n\nPART ONE\nored to sit on his knee and be trotted, while he de-\nnounced to their elders the infamy of Yankee politi-\ncians; the daughters of his friends took him into their\nconfidence about their love affairs, and the youths\nof the neighborhood, fearful of confessing debts of\nhonor upon the carpets of their fathers, found him a\nfriend in need.\n“So, you’ve been owning this for a month, you\nyoung rascal!” he would shout. “And, in God’s name,\nwhy haven’t you been asking me for the money be-\nfore this?”\nHis rough manner of speech was too well known to\ngive offense, and it only made the young men grin\nsheepishly and reply: “Well, sir, I hated to trouble\nyou, and my father–”\n“Your father’s a good man, and no denying it, but\nstrict, and so take this and let’s be hearing no more of\nit.”\nThe planters’ ladies were the last to capitulate. But,\nwhen Mrs. Wilkes, “a great lady and with a rare gift\nfor silence,” as Gerald characterized her, told her hus-\nband one evening, after Gerald’s horse had pounded\ndown the driveway. “He has a rough tongue, but he\nis a gentleman,” Gerald had definitely arrived.\nHe did not know that he had taken nearly ten years\n101\n\n\nPART ONE\nto arrive, for it never occurred to him that his neigh-\nbors had eyed him askance at first. In his own mind,\nthere had never been any doubt that he belonged,\nfrom the moment he first set foot on Tara.\nWhen Gerald was forty-three, so thickset of body\nand florid of face that he looked like a hunting squire\nout of a sporting print, it came to him that Tara, dear\nthough it was, and the County folk, with their open\nhearts and open houses, were not enough. He wanted\na wife.\nTara cried out for a mistress. The fat cook, a yard\nnegro elevated by necessity to the kitchen, never had\nthe meals on time, and the chambermaid, formerly a\nfield hand, let dust accumulate on the furniture and\nnever seemed to have clean linen on hand, so that the\narrival of guests was always the occasion of much stir-\nring and to-do. Pork, the only trained house negro on\nthe place, had general supervision over the other ser-\nvants, but even he had grown slack and careless after\nseveral years of exposure to Gerald’s happy-go-lucky\nmode of living. As valet, he kept Gerald’s bedroom\nin order, and, as butler, he served the meals with dig-\nnity and style, but otherwise he pretty well let matters\nfollow their own course.\nWith unerring African instinct, the negroes had all\n102\n\n\nPART ONE\ndiscovered that Gerald had a loud bark and no bite\nat all, and they took shameless advantage of him.\nThe air was always thick with threats of selling slaves\nsouth and of direful whippings, but there never had\nbeen a slave sold from Tara and only one whipping,\nand that administered for not grooming down Ger-\nald’s pet horse after a long day’s hunting.\nGerald’s sharp blue eyes noticed how efficiently his\nneighbors’ houses were run and with what ease the\nsmooth-haired wives in rustling skirts managed their\nservants.\nHe had no knowledge of the dawn-till-\nmidnight activities of these women, chained to super-\nvision of cooking, nursing, sewing and laundering.\nHe only saw the outward results, and those results\nimpressed him.\nThe urgent need of a wife became clear to him one\nmorning when he was dressing to ride to town for\nCourt Day.\nPork brought forth his favorite ruffled\nshirt, so inexpertly mended by the chambermaid as\nto be unwearable by anyone except his valet.\n“Mist’ Gerald,” said Pork, gratefully rolling up the\nshirt as Gerald fumed, “whut you needs is a wife, and\na wife whut has got plen’y of house niggers.”\nGerald upbraided Pork for his impertinence, but he\nknew that he was right. He wanted a wife and he\n103\n\n\nPART ONE\nwanted children and, if he did not acquire them soon,\nit would be too late. But he was not going to marry\njust anyone, as Mr. Calvert had done, taking to wife\nthe Yankee governess of his motherless children. His\nwife must be a lady and a lady of blood, with as many\nairs and graces as Mrs. Wilkes and the ability to man-\nage Tara as well as Mrs. Wilkes ordered her own do-\nmain.\nBut there were two difficulties in the way of mar-\nriage into the County families.\nThe first was the\nscarcity of girls of marriageable age.\nThe second,\nand more serious one, was that Gerald was a “new\nman,” despite his nearly ten years’ residence, and a\nforeigner. No one knew anything about his family.\nWhile the society of up-country Georgia was not so\nimpregnable as that of the Coast aristocrats, no family\nwanted a daughter to wed a man about whose grand-\nfather nothing was known.\nGerald knew that despite the genuine liking of\nthe County men with whom he hunted, drank and\ntalked politics there was hardly one whose daugh-\nter he could marry. And he did not intend to have\nit gossiped about over supper tables that this, that or\nthe other father had regretfully refused to let Gerald\nO’Hara pay court to his daughter. This knowledge\n104\n\n\nPART ONE\ndid not make Gerald feel inferior to his neighbors.\nNothing could ever make Gerald feel that he was in-\nferior in any way to anyone. It was merely a quaint\ncustom of the County that daughters only married\ninto families who had lived in the South much longer\nthan twenty-two years, had owned land and slaves\nand been addicted only to the fashionable vices dur-\ning that time.\n“Pack up. We’re going to Savannah,” he told Pork.\n“And if I hear you say ‘Whist!’ or ‘Faith!’ but once, it’s\nselling you I’ll be doing, for they are words I seldom\nsay meself.”\nJames and Andrew might have some advice to offer\non this subject of marriage, and there might be daugh-\nters among their old friends who would both meet his\nrequirements and find him acceptable as a husband.\nJames and Andrew listened to his story patiently but\nthey gave him little encouragement. They had no Sa-\nvannah relatives to whom they might look for assis-\ntance, for they had been married when they came to\nAmerica. And the daughters of their old friends had\nlong since married and were raising small children of\ntheir own.\n“You’re not a rich man and you haven’t a great fam-\nily,” said James.\n105\n\n\nPART ONE\n“I’ve made me money and I can make a great family.\nAnd I won’t be marrying just anyone.”\n“You fly high,” observed Andrew, dryly.\nBut they did their best for Gerald. James and An-\ndrew were old men and they stood well in Savannah.\nThey had many friends, and for a month they carried\nGerald from home to home, to suppers, dances and\npicnics.\n“There’s only one who takes me eye,” Gerald said\nfinally. “And she not even born when I landed here.”\n“And who is it takes your eye?”\n“Miss Ellen Robillard,” said Gerald, trying to speak\ncasually, for the slightly tilting dark eyes of Ellen Ro-\nbillard had taken more than his eye. Despite a mysti-\nfying listlessness of manner, so strange in a girl of fif-\nteen, she charmed him. Moreover, there was a haunt-\ning look of despair about her that went to his heart\nand made him more gentle with her than he had ever\nbeen with any person in all the world.\n“And you old enough to be her father!”\n“And me in me prime!” cried Gerald stung.\nJames spoke gently.\n“Jerry, there’s no girl in Savannah you’d have less\nchance of marrying. Her father is a Robillard, and\n106\n\n\nPART ONE\nthose French are proud as Lucifer. And her mother–\nGod rest her soul–was a very great lady.”\n“I care not,” said Gerald heatedly.\n“Besides, her\nmother is dead, and old man Robillard likes me.”\n“As a man, yes, but as a son-in-law, no.”\n“The girl wouldn’t have you anyway,” interposed\nAndrew. “She’s been in love with that wild buck of\na cousin of hers, Philippe Robillard, for a year now,\ndespite her family being at her morning and night to\ngive him up.”\n“He’s been gone to Louisiana this month now,” said\nGerald.\n“And how do you know?”\n“I know,” answered Gerald, who did not care to dis-\nclose that Pork had supplied this valuable bit of infor-\nmation, or that Philippe had departed for the West at\nthe express desire of his family. “And I do not think\nshe’s been so much in love with him that she won’t\nforget him. Fifteen is too young to know much about\nlove.”\n“They’d rather have that breakneck cousin for her\nthan you.”\nSo, James and Andrew were as startled as anyone\nwhen the news came out that the daughter of Pierre\n107\n\n\nPART ONE\nRobillard was to marry the little Irishman from up the\ncountry. Savannah buzzed behind its doors and spec-\nulated about Philippe Robillard, who had gone West,\nbut the gossiping brought no answer. Why the loveli-\nest of the Robillard daughters should marry a loud-\nvoiced, red-faced little man who came hardly up to\nher ears remained a mystery to all.\nGerald himself never quite knew how it all came\nabout. He only knew that a miracle had happened.\nAnd, for once in his life, he was utterly humble when\nEllen, very white but very calm, put a light hand on\nhis arm and said: “I will marry you, Mr. O’Hara.”\nThe thunderstruck Robillards knew the answer in\npart, but only Ellen and her mammy ever knew the\nwhole story of the night when the girl sobbed till the\ndawn like a broken-hearted child and rose up in the\nmorning a woman with her mind made up.\nWith foreboding, Mammy had brought her young\nmistress a small package, addressed in a strange hand\nfrom New Orleans, a package containing a miniature\nof Ellen, which she flung to the floor with a cry, four\nletters in her own handwriting to Philippe Robillard,\nand a brief letter from a New Orleans priest, announc-\ning the death of her cousin in a barroom brawl.\n“They drove him away, Father and Pauline and Eu-\n108\n\n\nPART ONE\nlalie. They drove him away. I hate them. I hate them\nall. I never want to see them again. I want to get away.\nI will go away where I’ll never see them again, or this\ntown, or anyone who reminds me of–of– him.”\nAnd when the night was nearly spent, Mammy, who\nhad cried herself out over her mistress’ dark head,\nprotested, “But, honey, you kain do dat!”\n“I will do it. He is a kind man. I will do it or go into\nthe convent at Charleston.”\nIt was the threat of the convent that finally won the\nassent of bewildered and heartstricken Pierre Robil-\nlard. He was staunchly Presbyterian, even though his\nfamily were Catholic, and the thought of his daughter\nbecoming a nun was even worse than that of her mar-\nrying Gerald O’Hara. After all, the man had nothing\nagainst him but a lack of family.\nSo, Ellen, no longer Robillard, turned her back on\nSavannah, never to see it again, and with a middle-\naged husband, Mammy, and twenty “house niggers”\njourneyed toward Tara.\nThe next year, their first child was born and they\nnamed her Katie Scarlett, after Gerald’s mother. Ger-\nald was disappointed, for he had wanted a son, but\nhe nevertheless was pleased enough over his small\nblack-haired daughter to serve rum to every slave at\n109\n\n\nPART ONE\nTara and to get roaringly, happily drunk himself.\nIf Ellen had ever regretted her sudden decision to\nmarry him, no one ever knew it, certainly not Ger-\nald, who almost burst with pride whenever he looked\nat her. She had put Savannah and its memories be-\nhind her when she left that gently mannered city by\nthe sea, and, from the moment of her arrival in the\nCounty, north Georgia was her home.\nWhen she departed from her father’s house forever,\nshe had left a home whose lines were as beautiful and\nflowing as a woman’s body, as a ship in full sail; a pale\npink stucco house built in the French colonial style,\nset high from the ground in a dainty manner, ap-\nproached by swirling stairs, banistered with wrought\niron as delicate as lace; a dim, rich house, gracious but\naloof.\nShe had left not only that graceful dwelling but also\nthe entire civilization that was behind the building\nof it, and she found herself in a world that was as\nstrange and different as if she had crossed a continent.\nHere in north Georgia was a rugged section held\nby a hardy people.\nHigh up on the plateau at the\nfoot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, she saw rolling red\nhills wherever she looked, with huge outcroppings\nof the underlying granite and gaunt pines towering\n110","difficulty":"hard","domain":"Single-Document QA","length":"short","question":"Why does Ellen marry Mr. O’Hara?","sub_domain":"Literary"}

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