Gone with the Wind

She pulled a back page out of the ledger and began copying the list of debtors who had made no payments in several months. She’d take the matter up with Frank just as soon as she reached home. She’d make him realize that these people had to pay their bills even if they were old friends, even if it did embarrass him to press them for money. That would probably upset Frank, for he was timid and fond of the approbation of his friends. He was so thin skinned he’d rather lose the money than be businesslike about collecting it.

And he’d probably tell her that no one had any money with which to pay him. Well, perhaps that was true. Poverty was certainly no news to her. But nearly everybody had saved some silver or jewelry or was hanging on to a little real estate. Frank could take them in lieu of cash.

She could imagine how Frank would moan when she broached such an idea to him. Take the jewelry and property of his friends! Well, she shrugged, he can moan all he likes. I’m going to tell him that he may be willing to stay poor for friendship’s sake but I’m not. Frank will never get anywhere if he doesn’t get up some gumption. And he’s got to get somewhere! He’s got to make money, even if I’ve got to wear the pants in the family to make him do.

She was writing busily, her face screwed up with the effort, her tongue clamped between her teeth, when the front door opened and a great draft of cold wind swept the store. A tall man came into the dingy room walking with a light Indian-like tread, and looking up she saw Rhett Butler.

He was resplendent in new clothes and a greatcoat with a dashing cape thrown back from his heavy shoulders. His tall hat was off in a deep bow when her eyes met his and his hand went to the bosom of a spotless pleated shirt. His white teeth gleamed startlingly against his brown face and his bold eyes raked her.

“My dear Mrs. Kennedy,” he said, walking toward her. “My very dear Mrs. Kennedy!” and he broke into a loud merry laugh.

At first she was as startled as if a ghost had invaded the store and then, hastily removing her foot from beneath her, she stiffened her spine and gave him a cold stare.

“What are you doing here?”

“I called on Miss Pittypat and learned of your marriage and so I hastened here to congratulate you.”

The memory of her humiliation at his hands made her go crimson with shame.

“I don’t see how you have the gall to face me!” she cried.

“On the contrary! How have you the gall to face me?”

“Oh, you are the most-”

“Shall we let the bugles sing truce?” he smiled down at her, a wide flashing smile that had impudence in it but no shame for his own actions or condemnation for hers. In spite of herself, she had to smile too, but it was a wry, uncomfortable smile.

“What a pity they didn’t hang you!”

“Others share your feeling, I fear. Come, Scarlett, relax. You look like you’d swallowed a ramrod and it isn’t becoming. Surely, you’ve had time to recover from my-er-my little joke.”

“Joke? Ha! I’ll never get over it!”

“Oh, yes, you will. You are just putting on this indignant front because you think it’s proper and respectable. May I sit down?”

“No.”

He sank into a chair beside her and grinned.

“I hear you couldn’t even wait two weeks for me,” he said and gave a mock sigh. “How fickle is woman!”

When she did not reply he continued.

“Tell me, Scarlett, just between friends-between very old and very intimate friends-wouldn’t it have been wiser to wait until I got out of jail? Or are the charms of wedlock with old Frank Kennedy more alluring than illicit relations with me?”

As always when his mockery aroused wrath within her, wrath fought with laughter at his impudence.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“And would you mind satisfying my curiosity on one point which has bothered me for some time? Did you have no womanly repugnance, no delicate shrinking from marrying not just one man but two for whom you had no love or even affection? Or have I been misinformed about the delicacy of our Southern womanhood?”

“Rhett!”

“I have my answer. I always felt that women had a hardness and endurance unknown to men, despite the pretty idea taught me in childhood that women are frail, tender, sensitive creatures. But after all, according to the Continental code of etiquette, it’s very bad form for husband and wife to love each other. Very bad taste, indeed. I always felt that the Europeans had the right idea in that matter. Marry for convenience and love for pleasure. A sensible system, don’t you think? You are closer to the old country than I thought.”

How pleasant it would be to shout at him: “I did not marry for convenience!” But unfortunately, Rhett had her there and any protest of injured innocence would only bring more barbed remarks from him.

“How you do run on,” she said coolly. Anxious to change the subject, she asked: “How did you ever get out of jail?”