Scarlett (10 page)

Scarlett took his arm and walked meekly beside him. But inside, she was seething. She might have known that she’d get no help from Uncle Henry.

She had to find out for herself if what Uncle Henry said was true, if there was a financial panic, most of all, if her money was safe.

P
anic,” Henry Hamilton called it. The financial crisis that had begun on Wall Street in New York was spreading throughout America. Scarlett was terrified that she’d lose the money she had earned and hoarded. When she left the old lawyer’s office, she went immediately to her bank. She was shaking internally when she reached the bank manager’s office.

“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Butler,” he said, but Scarlett could see that he didn’t at all. He resented her questioning the security of the bank, and in particular the security of the bank under his management. The longer he talked, and the more reassuring he sounded, the less Scarlett believed him.

Then, inadvertently, he set all her fears at rest. “Why, we’ll not only be paying our usual dividend to stockholders,” he said, “it’s actually going to be a bit higher than usual.” He looked at her from the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t get that information until this morning myself,” he said angrily. “I’d certainly like to know how your husband reached his decision to add to his stock holdings a month ago.”

Scarlett felt that she might float right out of her chair with relief. If Rhett was buying bank shares, this must be the safest bank in America. He always made money when the rest of the world was falling to pieces. She didn’t know how he’d found out about the bank’s position, and she didn’t care. It was enough for her that Rhett had confidence in it.

“He has this darling little crystal ball,” she said with a giddy laugh that infuriated the manager. She felt a little drunk.

But not too light-headed to remember to convert all the cash in her lock box to gold. She could still see the elegantly engraved, worthless Confederate bonds her father had depended on. She had no faith at all in paper.

As she left the bank, she paused on the steps to enjoy the warm autumn sun and the thronged busyness of the streets in the business district. Look at all those folks rushing around—they’re in a hurry because there’s money to be made, not because they’re afraid of anything. Uncle Henry’s crazy as an old coot. There’s no panic at all.

Her next stop was her store.
KENNEDY’S EMPORIUM
said the big gilt-lettered sign across the front of the building. It was her inheritance from her brief marriage to Frank Kennedy. That and Ella. Her pleasure in the store more than offset her disappointment in the child. The window was sparkling clean, with a satisfyingly crowded display of merchandise. Everything from shiny new axes down to shiny new dressmaker pins. She’d have to get those lengths of calico out of there, though. They’d be sun-streaked in no time at all, and then she’d have to reduce the price. Scarlett burst through the door, ready to take the hide off Willie Kershaw, the head clerk.

But in the end, there was little reason to find fault. The calico on display had arrived water-damaged in shipment and was already marked down. The mill that made it had agreed to knock two-thirds off the cost because of the damage. Kershaw had placed the orders for new stock, too, without being told, and the square heavy iron safe in the back room held neatly banded and precisely tallied stacks of bagged coins and greenbacks, the daily receipts. “I paid the underclerks, Mrs. Butler,” Kershaw said nervously. “I hope that’s all right. The notation is on the Saturday tallies. The boys said they couldn’t manage without their week’s packets. I didn’t take mine out, not knowing how you wanted me to do, but I’d be mighty grateful if you could see your way clear to—”

“Of course, Willie,” said Scarlett graciously, “as soon as I match the money to the account books.” Kershaw had done a lot better than she expected, but that didn’t mean she’d allow him to take her for a fool. When the cash balanced to the penny, she counted out his twelve dollars and seventy-five cents pay for the three weeks. She’d add an extra dollar when she paid him tomorrow for this week, she decided. He deserved a bonus for managing so well when she was away.

Also, she was planning to add to his duties. “Willie,” she told him privately, “I want you to open a credit account.”

Kershaw’s protuberant eyes bulged. There had never been credit extended in the store after Scarlett took over its management. He listened carefully to her instructions. When she made him swear he wouldn’t tell a living soul about it, he placed his hand over his heart and swore. He’d better stick to his oath, too, he thought, or Mrs. Butler would find out somehow. He was convinced Scarlett had eyes in the back of her head and could read people’s minds.

Scarlett went home for dinner when she left the store. After she washed her face and hands, she started on the pile of newspapers. The account of Melanie’s funeral was just what she should have expected—a minimum number of words, giving Melanie’s name, birthplace, and date of death. A lady’s name could be in the news three times only: at her birth, her marriage, and her death. And there must never be any details. Scarlett had written out the notice herself, and she’d added what she thought was a suitably dignified line about how tragic it was for Melanie to have died so young and how much she would be missed by her grieving family and all her friends in Atlanta. India must have taken it out, Scarlett thought irritably. If only Ashley’s household was in anybody’s hands except India’s, life would be a lot easier.

The very next issue of the newspaper made Scarlett’s palms wet with fear-sweat. The next, and the next, and the next—she turned through the pages rapidly, with mounting alarm. “Leave it on the table,” she said when the maid announced dinner. The chicken breast was stuck in congealed gravy by the time she got to the table, but it didn’t matter. She was too upset to eat. Uncle Henry had been right. There was a panic, and rightly so. The world of business was in desperate turmoil, even collapse. The stock market in New York had been closed for ten days after the day the reporters were calling “Black Friday,” when stock prices plunged downward because everyone was selling and no one was buying. In major American cities banks were closing because their customers wanted their money, and their money was gone—invested by the banks in “safe” stocks that had become nearly worthless. Factories in industrial areas were closing at the rate of almost one every day, leaving thousands of workers without work and without money.

Uncle Henry said it couldn’t happen in Atlanta, Scarlett told herself again and again. But she had to restrain her impulse to go to the bank and bring home her lock box of gold. If Rhett hadn’t bought bank shares, she would have done it.

She thought about the errand she’d planned for the afternoon, wished fervently that the idea had never crossed her mind, decided that it had to be done. Even though the country was in a panic. Even more so, in fact.

Maybe she should have a tiny glass of brandy to settle her churning stomach. The decanter was right there on the sideboard. It would keep her nerves from jumping half out of her skin, too… No—it could be smelt on her breath, even if she ate parsley or mint leaves afterwards. She took a deep breath and got up from the table. “Run out to the carriage house and tell Elias I’m going out,” she told the maid who came in response to the bell.

There was no answer to her ring at Aunt Pittypat’s front door. Scarlett was sure she saw one of the lace curtains twitch at a parlor window. She twisted the bell again. There was the sound of the bell in the hall beyond the door, and a muffled sound of movement. Scarlett rang again. All was silence when the ringing faded. She waited for a count of twenty. A horse and buggy passed along the street behind her.

If anybody saw me standing here locked out, I’d never be able to look them in the face without perishing of shame, she thought. She could feel her cheeks flaming. Uncle Henry was right the whole way. She wasn’t being received. All her life she had heard of people who were so scandalous that no decent person would open the door to them, but in her wildest imagination she’d never thought it could happen to her. She was Scarlett O’Hara, daughter of Ellen Robillard, of the Savannah Robillards. This couldn’t be happening to her.

I’m here to do good, too, she thought with hurt bewilderment. Her eyes felt hot, a warning of tears. Then, as so often happened, she was swept by a tide of anger and outrage. Damn it all, half this house belonged to her! How dare anybody lock the door against her?

She banged on the door with her fist and rattled the doorknob, but the door was securely bolted. “I know you’re in there, India Wilkes,” Scarlett shouted through the keyhole. There! I hope she had her ear to it and goes deaf.

“I came to talk to you, India, and I’m not leaving until I do. I’m going to sit on the porch steps until you open that door or until Ashley comes home with his key, take your pick.”

Scarlett turned and gathered up the train of her skirts. She heard the rattle of bolts behind her as she took a step, then the squeak of the hinges.

“For the love of heaven, come in,” India whispered hoarsely. “You’ll make us the talk of the neighborhood.”

Scarlett surveyed India coolly over her shoulder. “Maybe you should come out and sit on the steps with me, India. A blind tramp might stumble by and marry you in exchange for room and board.”

As soon as it was said, she wished she’d bit her tongue instead. She hadn’t come to fight with India. But Ashley’s sister had always been like a burr under a saddle to her, and her humiliation at the locked door rankled.

India pushed the door to close. Scarlett spun and raced to stop it closing. “I apologize,” she said through clenched teeth. Her angry gaze locked with India’s. Finally India stepped back.

How Rhett would love this! Scarlett thought all of a sudden. In the good days of their marriage she had always told him about her triumphs in business and in the small social world of Atlanta. It made him laugh long and loud and call her his “neverending source of delight.” Maybe he’d laugh again when she told him how India was puffing like a dragon that had to back down.

“What do you want?” India’s voice was icy, although she was trembling with rage.

“It’s mighty gracious of you to invite me to sit and take a cup of tea,” Scarlett said in her best airy manner. “But I’ve just barely finished dinner.” In fact she was hungry now. The zest for battle had pushed panic away. She hoped her stomach wouldn’t make a noise, it felt as empty as a dry well.

India stationed herself against the door to the parlor. “Aunt Pitty is resting,” she said.

Having the vapors is more like it, Scarlett said to herself, but this time she held her tongue. She wasn’t mad at Pittypat. Besides, she’d better get on with what she’d come for. She wanted to be gone before Ashley came home.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of it, India, but Melly asked me on her deathbed to promise that I’d watch out for Beau and Ashley.”

India’s body jerked as if she’d been shot.

“Don’t say a word,” Scarlett warned her, “because there’s nothing you can say that means anything next to Melly’s practically last words.”

“You’ll ruin Ashley’s name just like you’ve ruined your own. I won’t have you hanging around here after him, bringing disgrace down on all of us.”

“The last thing on God’s green earth I want to do, India Wilkes, is spend one more minute in this house than I have to. I came to tell you that I’ve made arrangements at my store for you to get anything you need.”

“The Wilkeses don’t take charity, Scarlett.”

“You simpleton, I’m not talking charity, I’m talking my promise to Melanie. You don’t have any idea how quick a boy Beau’s age goes through breeches and outgrows shoes. Or how much they cost. Do you want Ashley to be burdened with little worries like that when he’s broken-hearted about bigger things? Or do you want Beau to be a laughingstock at school?

“I know just how much income Aunt Pitty gets. I used to live here, remember? It’s just enough to keep Uncle Peter and the carriage, put a little food on the table, and pay for her smelling salts. There’s a little thing called ‘the Panic,’ too. Half the businesses in the country are folding. Ashley’s likely going to have less money coming in than ever.

“If I can swallow my pride and beat on the front door like a crazy woman, you can swallow yours and take what I’m giving. It’s not your place to turn it down, because if it was only you, I’d let you starve without blinking an eye. I’m talking about Beau. And Ashley. And Melly, because I promised her what she asked.

“ ‘Take care of Ashley, but don’t let him know it,’ she said. I can’t not let him know it if you won’t help, India.”

“How do I know that’s what Melanie said?”

“Because I say so, and my word’s as good as gold. No matter what you may think of me, India, you’ll never find anybody to say that I ever backed down on a promise or broke my word.”

India hesitated, and Scarlett knew she was winning. “You don’t have to go to the store yourself,” she said. “You can send a list by somebody else.”

India took a deep breath. “Only for Beau’s school clothes,” she said grudgingly.

Scarlett kept herself from smiling. Once India saw how pleasant it was to get things for free, she’d do a lot more shopping than that. Scarlett was sure of it.

“I’ll say good day, then, India. Mr. Kershaw, the head clerk, is the only one knows about this, and he won’t run off at the mouth to anybody. Put his name on the outside of your list, and he’ll take care of everything.”