Gone with the Wind / Унесённые ветром. Маргарет Митчелл

neatly packed in a large cardboard box. It was ready to be carried to Twelve Oaks to be put on before the dancing began. If her plans were successful, she would not wear that dress tonight. Long before the ball began, she and Ashley would be on their way to Jonesboro to be married. The troublesome question was – what dress should she wear to the barbecue?

      What dress would best set off her charms and make her most irresistible to Ashley? Since eight o’clock she had been trying on dresses.

      There remained a colored cotton dress which Scarlett felt was not festive enough for the occasion. It was not suitable for a barbecue, for it had only tiny puff ed sleeves and the neck was low enough for a dancing dress. But there was nothing else to do but wear it. After all she was not ashamed of her neck and arms and bosom, even if it was not correct to show them in the morning.

      As she stood before the mirror, she thought that there was absolutely nothing about her figure to cause her shame. Her neck was short but rounded and her arms plump. Her breasts, pushed high by her stays, were very nice breasts. What a pity legs could not be shown, she thought. And as for her waist – there was no one in Fayetteville, Jonesboro or in three counties, who had so small a waist.

      The thought of her waist brought her back to practical matters. Mammy would have to lace her tighter. She pushed open the door and shouted for her impatiently.

      Mammy entered puffing. In her large black hands was a tray upon which food smoked. In the excitement of trying on dresses Scarlett had forgotten Mammy’s rule that, before going to any party, the O’Hara girls must be crammed so full of food at home they would be unable to eat any refreshments at the party.

      “It’s no use. I won’t eat it. You can just take it back to the kitchen. I’m going to have a good time today and eat as much as I please.”

      At this heresy, Mammy frowned with indignation.

      “Besides, at the last barbecue, Ashley Wilkes told me he liked to see a girl with a healthy appetite.”

      Mammy shook her head.

      “Whut gempmums says an’ whut dey thinks is two diffunt things. An’ Ah ain’ noticed Mist’ Ashley axing fer ter mahy you.”

      Scarlett started to speak sharply and then caught herself. Seeing the look on Scarlett’s face, Mammy picked up the tray and changed her tactics. As she started for the door, she sighed.

      “Well’m, awright. You kin sho tell a lady by whut she doan eat. Ah ain’ seed no w’ite lady who et less’n Miss Melly Hamilton did las’ time she wuz visitin’ Mist’ Ashley’ – Ah means, visitin’ Miss India.”

      Scarlett looked at her suspiciously, but Mammy’s broad face carried only a look of innocence and of regret that Scarlett was not the lady Melanie Hamilton was.

      “Put down that tray and come lace me tighter,” said Scarlett irritably. “And I’ll try to eat a little afterwards. If I ate now I couldn’t lace tight enough.”

      Happy with her triumph, Mammy set down the tray.

      “Whut mah lamb gwine wear?”

      “That,” answered Scarlett, pointing at the fluff y mass of green flowered muslin. Mammy sighed. Between the two evils[16], it was better to let Scarlett wear an afternoon dress at a morning barbecue than to let her gobble like a hog[17].

      Having the laced dress on, Scarlett obediently sat down before the tray, wondering if she would be able to get any food into her stomach and still have room to breathe.

      “I wish to Heaven I was married. I’m tired of being unnatural and never doing anything I want to do. I’m tired of acting like I don’t eat more than a bird, and walking when I want to run and saying I feel faint after a waltz, when I could dance for two days and never get tired. I’m tired of saying, ‘How wonderful you are!’ to fool men, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t know anything, so men can tell me things and feel important while they’re doing it.”

      The carriage was taking Scarlett and her sisters down the red road toward the Wilkes plantation. Gerald rode beside the carriage on his big hunter, warm with brandy and pleased with himself that he had dismissed Jonas Wilkerson that morning so speedily. He was happy, pleasantly excited over the prospect of spending the day shouting about the Yankees and the war, and proud of his three pretty daughters. He gave no thought to his conversation of the day before with Scarlett, for it had completely slipped his mind. He only thought that she was pretty and a great credit to him and that, today, her eyes were as green as the hills of Ireland.

      Scarlett, looking at him, knew that he would be very drunk by sundown. Coming home in the dark, he would try, as usual, to jump every fence between Twelve Oaks and Tara and, she hoped, would escape breaking his neck. He would ruin his new gray suit and tell Ellen how his horse fell off the bridge in the darkness – a lie which would fool no one.

      Scarlett felt so excited and happy this morning that she included the whole world, as well as Gerald, in her affection. She was pretty and she knew it; she would have Ashley for her own before the day was over; the sun was warm and tender and the glory of the Georgia spring was spread before her eyes.

      “I’ll remember how beautiful this day is till I die,” thought Scarlett. “Perhaps it will be my wedding day!”

      And she thought how she and Ashley might ride swiftly through this beauty of blossom and greenery this very afternoon, or tonight by moonlight, toward Jonesboro and a preacher. Of course, she would have to be remarried by a priest from Atlanta. She knew Ellen would be shocked at hearing that her daughter had eloped with another girl’s fiancé but would forgive her when she saw her happiness. And Gerald would scold and bawl but finally he would be pleased at a union between his family and the Wilkes.

      “But that’ll be something to worry about after I’m married,” she thought, waving the worry away from her.

      As they neared the intersecting road, the sound of hooves and carriage wheels became heard and feminine voices sounded from behind the trees. Gerald, riding ahead, pulled up his horse and signed to Toby to stop the carriage where the two roads met.

      “’Tis the Tarleton ladies,” he announced to his daughters, smiling, for excepting Ellen there was no lady in the County he liked more than the red-haired Mrs. Tarleton. “And ’tis herself at the reins. Ah, there’s a woman with fine hands for a horse!”

      He stood up in his stirrups and took off his hat, as the Tarleton carriage, filled with girls in bright dresses and parasols came into view, with Mrs. Tarleton on the box as Gerald had said. With her four daughters, their mammy and their ball dresses in long cardboard boxes, there was no room for the coachman. And, besides, Beatrice Tarleton never willingly permitted anyone, black or white, to hold reins. She had borne eight children, as red of hair and as full of life as she, and had raised them most successfully, because she gave them all the loving neglect and the stern discipline she gave the colts she bred.

      She loved horses and talked horses constantly. She understood them and handled them better than any man in the County.

      She waved her whip when she saw Gerald and stopped the horses. To a casual observer it would seem that years had passed since the Tarletons had seen the O’Haras, instead of only two days. But they were a sociable family and liked their neighbors, especially the O’Hara girls. That is, they liked Suellen and Carreen. No girl in the County really liked Scarlett.

      “That’s a fine bevy, Ma’m,” said Gerald gallantly. “But it’s far they’ll go to beat their mother.”

      Mrs. Tarleton rolled her red-brown eyes in appreciation, and the girls cried, “Ma, stop making eyes or we’ll tell Pa!” “I vow, Mr. O’Hara, she never gives us a chance when there’s a handsome man like you around!”

      Scarlett laughed with the rest at these jokes but, as always, the freedom with which the Tarletons treated their mother came as a shock. They acted as if she were one of themselves and not a day over sixteen. To Scarlett, the very idea of saying such things to her own mother was impossible. And yet – and yet – there was something

16

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