He was courteous always, but remote. No one could ever tell what he was thinking about. He was proficient in hunting, gambling, dancing and politics, and was the best rider of all; but these pleasant activities were not the end and aim of life to him. And he stood alone in his interest in books and music and his fondness for writing poetry.
Oh, why was he so handsomely blond, so maddeningly boring with his talk about Europe and books and music and poetry and things that interested her not at all – and yet so desirable? Night after night, she comforted herself with the thought that the next time he saw her he certainly would propose. But the next time came and went, and the result was nothing.
For Ashley used his leisure for thinking. He moved in an inner world that was more beautiful than Georgia and came back to reality with reluctance.
But the things about him which she could not understand only made her love him more. And now, like a thunderclap, had come this horrible news. Ashley to marry Melanie! It couldn’t be true!
Why, only last week, when they were riding home from Fairhill, he had said: “Scarlett, I have something so important to tell you that I hardly know how to say it.”
She had cast down her eyes, her heart beating with wild pleasure, thinking the happy moment had come. Then he had said: “Not now! We’re nearly home and there isn’t time. Oh, Scarlett, what a coward I am!”
Scarlett, sitting on the stump, thought of those words which had made her so happy, and suddenly they took on a hideous meaning. Suppose it was the news of his engagement he had intended to tell her!
Oh, if Pa would only come home!
The sun was now below the horizon and the sky above turned slowly from azure to the blue-green. Sunset and spring and new greenery were no miracle to Scarlett. Their beauty she accepted as casually as the air she breathed and the water she drank, for she had never seen beauty in anything but women’s faces, horses, silk dresses and other things. Yet she loved this land so much, without even knowing, loved it as she loved her mother’s face under the lamp at prayer time.
Still there was no sign of Gerald on the quiet winding road. But finally, she heard a pounding of hooves at the bottom of the pasture hill and saw the horses and cows scatter in fright. Gerald O’Hara was coming home across country and at top speed.
She watched him with pride, for Gerald was an excellent horseman.
“I wonder why he always wants to jump fences when he’s had a few drinks,” she thought. “And after that fall here last year when he broke his knee and promised Mother on oath he’d never jump again.”
He dismounted with difficulty, because his knee was stiff. “Well, Missy,” he said, pinching her cheek, “so, you’ve been spying on me and, like your sister Suellen last week, you’ll be telling your mother on me?”
His breath in her face was strong with Bourbon whisky. Accompanying him also were the smells of chewing tobacco, leather and horses – a combination of odors that she always associated with her father and instinctively liked in other men.
“No, Pa, I’m no tattletale like Suellen,” she assured him.
Gerald was a small man, little more than five feet tall. His thickset torso was supported by short sturdy legs. Most small people who take themselves seriously are a little ridiculous but no one would ever think of Gerald O’Hara as a ridiculous little figure.
He was sixty years old and his curly hair was silver-white, but his shrewd face was unlined and his little blue eyes were young. He had a typical Irish face of the homeland he had left so long ago – round, high colored, short nosed, wide mouthed and belligerent.
But inside, Gerald O’Hara had the tenderest of hearts. He could not bear to see a slave feeling hurt when told off, or hear a kitten mewing or a child crying; but he had a horror of having this weakness discovered. It had never occurred to him that only one voice was obeyed on the plantation – the soft voice of his wife Ellen. It was a secret he would never learn, for everyone was in a conspiracy to keep him believing that his word was law.
Scarlett was his oldest child and more like her father than her sisters Carreen and Suellen. She looked at her father in the fading light, and she found it comforting to be in his presence.
“You look very presentable now.” She slipped her arm through his and said: “I was waiting for you. I didn’t know you would be so late. I just wondered if you had bought Dilcey.”
“Bought her and her little wench, Prissy, and the price has ruined me. John Wilkes was giving them away, but I made him take three thousand for the two of them.”
“In the name of Heaven, Pa, three thousand! And you didn’t need to buy Prissy! She’s a sly, stupid creature. And the only reason you bought her was because Dilcey asked you to buy her.”
“Well, what if I did? Was there any use buying Dilcey if she was going to mope about the child? Well, come on, Puss, let’s go in to supper.”
But Scarlett was wondering how to bring up the subject of Ashley without showing her motive. This was difficult. “How are they all over at Twelve Oaks? Did they say anything about the barbecue tomorrow?”
“Now that I think of it they did. Miss – what’s-her- name – the sweet little thing who was here last year, you know, Ashley’s cousin – oh, yes, Miss Melanie Hamilton, that’s the name – she and her brother Charles have already come from Atlanta and —”
Scarlett’s heart sank at the news. She had hoped against hope that something would keep Melanie Hamilton in Atlanta.
“Was Ashley there, too?”
“He was.” Gerald let go of his daughter’s arm and turned looking into her face. “And if that’s why you came out here to wait for me, why didn’t you say so without beating around the bush[10]?”
Scarlett could think of nothing to say, and she felt her face growing red.
“He was there and he asked most kindly after you, as did his sisters, and said they hoped nothing would keep you from the barbecue tomorrow. And now, daughter, what’s all this about you and Ashley?”
“There is nothing,” she said shortly. “Let’s go in, Pa.”
“But now I’m going to stand till I’m understanding you. Has he been flirting with you? Has he asked to marry you?”
“No,” she said shortly.
“Nor will he,” said Gerald. “Hold your tongue, Miss! I had it from John Wilkes this afternoon in the strictest confidence that Ashley’s to marry Miss Melanie. It’s to be announced tomorrow.”
Scarlett’s hand fell from his arm. So it was true! She felt a sharp pain in her heart.
“Is it a spectacle you’ve been making of yourself – of all of us? Have you been running after a man who’s not in love with you, when you could have any of the bucks in the County?”
“I haven’t been running after him. It – it just surprised me.”
“It’s lying you are!” said Gerald, and then, peering at her face, he added kindly: “I’m sorry, daughter. But after all, you are nothing but a child and there’s lots of other beaux.”
“Mother was only fifteen when she married you, and I’m sixteen,” said Scarlett.
“Your mother was different,” said Gerald. “She was never flighty like you. Now come, daughter, cheer up, and I’ll take you to Charleston[11] next week to visit your aunt and you’ll be forgetting about Ashley in a week. Besides, if you had any sense you’d have married Stuart or Brent Tarleton long ago. Then the plantations will run together and Jim Tarleton and I will build you a fine house and —”
“Will you