“I was at the Yankee headquarters,” she answered before she thought. His sandy brows went up in astonishment.
“But Miss Scarlett! The soldiers— Why—”
“Mary, Mother of God, let me think of a real good lie,” she prayed hastily. It would never do for Frank to suspect she had seen Rhett. Frank thought Rhett the blackest of blackguards and unsafe for decent women to speak to.
“I went there—I went there to see if—if any of the officers would buy fancy work from me to send home to their wives. I embroider very nicely.”
He sank back against the seat aghast, indignation struggling with bewilderment.
“You went to the Yankees— But Miss Scarlett! You shouldn’t. Why—why ... Surely your father doesn’t know! Surely, Miss Pittypat—”
“Oh, I shall die if you tell Aunt Pittypat!” she cried in real anxiety and burst into tears. It was easy to cry, because she was so cold and miserable, but the effect was startling. Frank could not have been more embarrassed or helpless if she had suddenly begun disrobing. He clicked his tongue against his teeth several times, muttering “My! My!” and made futile gestures at her. A daring thought went through his mind that he should draw her head onto his shoulder and pat her but he had never done this to any woman and hardly knew how to go about it. Scarlett O’Hara, so high spirited and pretty, crying here in his buggy. Scarlett O’Hara, the proudest of the proud, trying to sell needlework to the Yankees. His heart burned.
She sobbed on, saying a few words now and then, and he gathered that all was not well at Tara. Mr. O’Hara was still “not himself at all,” and there wasn’t enough food to go around for so many. So she had to come to Atlanta to try to make a little money for herself and her boy. Frank clicked his tongue again and suddenly he found that her head was on his shoulder. He did not quite know how it got there. Surely he had not placed it there, but there her head was and there was Scarlett helplessly sobbing against his thin chest, an exciting and novel sensation for him. He patted her shoulder timidly, gingerly at first, and when she did not rebuff him he became bolder and patted her firmly. What a helpless, sweet, womanly little thing she was. And how brave and silly to try her hand at making money by her needle. But dealing with the Yankees—that was too much.
“I won’t tell Miss Pittypat, but you must promise me, Miss Scarlett, that you won’t do anything like this again. The idea of your father’s daughter—”
Her wet green eyes sought his helplessly.
“But, Mr. Kennedy, I must do something. I must take care of my poor little boy and there is no one to look after us now.”
“You are a brave little woman,” he pronounced, “but I won’t have you do this sort of thing. Your family would die of shame.”
“Then what will I do?” The swimming eyes looked up to him as if she knew he knew everything and was hanging on his words.
“Well, I don’t know right now. But I’ll think of something.”
“Oh, I know you will! You are so smart—Frank.”
She had never called him by his first name before and the sound came to him as a pleasant shock and surprise. The poor girl was probably so upset she didn’t even notice her slip. He felt very kindly toward her and very protecting. If there was anything he could do for Suellen O’Hara’s sister, he would certainly do it. He pulled out a red bandanna handkerchief and handed it to her and she wiped her eyes and began to smile tremulously.
“I’m such a silly little goose,” she said apologetically. “Please forgive me.”
“You aren’t a silly little goose. You’re a very brave little woman and you are trying to carry too heavy a load. I’m afraid Miss Pittypat isn’t going to be much help to you. I hear she lost most of her property and Mr. Henry Hamilton’s in bad shape himself. I only wish I had a home to offer you shelter in. But, Miss Scarlett, you just remember this, when Miss Suellen and I are married, there’ll always be a place for you under our roof and for Wade Hampton too.”
Now was the time! Surely the saints and angels watched over her to give her such a Heaven-sent opportunity. She managed to look very startled and embarrassed and opened her mouth as if to speak quickly and then shut it with a pop.
“Don’t ten me you didn’t know I was to be your brother-in-law this spring,” he said with nervous jocularity. And then, seeing her eyes fill up with tears, he questioned in alarm: “What’s the matter? Miss Sue’s not ill, is she?”
“Oh, no! No!”
“There is something wrong. You must tell me.”
“Oh, I can’t! I didn’t know! I thought surely she must have written you— Oh, how mean!”
“Miss Scarlett, what is it?”
“Oh, Frank, I didn’t mean to let it out but I thought, of course, you knew—that she had written you—”
“Written me what?” He was trembling.
“Oh, to do this to a fine man like you!”
“What’s she done?”
“She didn’t write you? Oh, I guess she was too ashamed to write you. She should be ashamed! Oh, to have such a mean sister!”
By this time, Frank could not even get questions to his lips. He sat staring at her, gray faced, the reins slack in his hands.
“She’s going to marry Tony Fontaine next month. Oh, I’m so sorry, Frank. So sorry to be the one to tell you. She just got tired of waiting and she was afraid she’d be an old maid.”
Mammy was standing on the front porch when Frank helped Scarlett out of the buggy. She had evidently been standing there for some time, for her head rag was damp and the old shawl clutched tightly about her showed rain spots. Her wrinkled black face was a study in anger and apprehension and her lip was pushed out farther than Scarlett could ever remember. She peered quickly at Frank and, when she saw who it was, her face changed— pleasure, bewilderment and something akin to guilt spreading over it. She waddled forward to Frank with pleased greetings and grinned and curtsied when he shook her hand.