What a fool she had been to think she could go to Atlanta and have him for the asking, she with her scrawny neck and hungry cat eyes and raggedy dress! If she hadn't been able to pry a proposal from him at the height of her beauty, when she had her prettiest clothes, how could she expect to get one now when she was ugly and dressed tackily? If Miss Pitty's story was true, he must have more money than anyone in Atlanta and probably had his pick of all the pretty ladies, good and bad. Well, she thought grimly, I've got something that most pretty ladies haven't got-- and that's a mind that's made up. And if I had just' one nice dress --
There wasn't a nice dress in Tara or a dress which hadn't been turned twice and mended.
"That's that," she thought, disconsolately looking down at the floor. She saw Ellen's moss-green velvet carpet, now worn and scuffed and torn and spotted from the numberless men who had slept upon it, and the sight depressed her more, for it made her realize that Tara was just as ragged as she. The whole darkening room depressed her and, going to the window, she raised the sash, unlatched the shutters and let the last light of the wintry sunset into the room. She closed the window and leaned her head against the velvet curtains and looked
out across the bleak pasture toward the dark cedars of the burying ground.
The moss-green velvet curtains felt prickly and soft beneath her cheek and she rubbed her face against them gratefully, like a cat And then suddenly she looked at them.
A minute later, she was dragging a heavy marble-topped table across the floor. Its rusty castors screeching in protest. She rolled the table under the window, gathered up her skirts, climbed on it and tiptoed to reach the heavy curtain pole. It was almost out of her reach and she jerked at it so impatiently the nails came out of the wood, and the curtains, pole and all, fell to the floor with a clatter.
As if by magic, the door of the parlor opened and the wide black face of Mammy appeared, ardent curiosity and deepest suspicion evident in every wrinkle. She looked disapprovingly at Scarlett, poised on the table top, her skirts above her knees, ready to leap to the floor. There was a look of excitement and triumph on her face which brought sudden distrust to Mammy.
"Whut you up to wid Miss Ellen's po'teers?" she demanded.
"What are you up to listening outside doors?" asked Scarlett, leaping nimbly to the floor and gathering up a length of the heavy dusty velvet.
"Dat ain' needer hyah no dar," countered Mammy, girding herself for combat "You ain' got no bizness wid Miss Ellen's po'teers, juckin' de poles plum outer de wood, an' drappin' dem on de flo' in de dust. Miss Ellen set gret sto' by dem po'teers an' Ah ain' 'tendin' ter have you muss dem up dat way."
Scarlett turned green eyes on Mammy, eyes which were feverishly gay, eyes which looked like the bad little girl of the good old days Mammy sighed about.
"Scoot up to the attic and get my box of dress patterns, Mammy," she cried, giving her a slight shove. "I'm going to have a new dress."
Mammy was torn between indignation at the very idea of her two hundred pounds scooting anywhere, much less to the attic, and the dawning of a horrid suspicion. Quickly she snatched the curtain lengths from Scarlett, holding them against her monumental, sagging breasts as if they were holy relics.
"Not outer Miss Ellen's po'teers is you gwine have a new dress, ef dat's whut you figgerin' on. Not wile Ah got breaf in mah body."
For a moment the expression Mammy was won't to describe to herself as "bullheaded" flitted over her young mistress' face and then it passed into a smile, so difficult for Mammy to resist. But it did not fool the old woman. She knew Miss Scarlett was employing that smile merely to get around her and in this matter she was determined not to be gotten around.
"Mammy, don't be mean. I'm going to Atlanta to borrow some money and I've got to have a new dress."
"You doan need no new dress. Ain' no other ladies got new dresses. Dey weahs dey ole ones an' dey weahs dem proudfully. Ain' no reason why Miss Ellen's chile kain weah rags ef she wants ter, an' eve'ybody respec' her lak she wo' silk."
The bullheaded expression began to creep back. Lordy, 'twus right funny how de older Miss Scarlett git de mo' she look lak Mist' Gerald and de less lak Miss Ellen!
"Now, Mammy, you know Aunt Pitty wrote us that Miss Fanny Elsing is getting married this Saturday, and of course I'll go to the wedding. And I'll need a new dress to wear."
"De dress you got on'll be jes' as nice as Miss Fanny's weddin' dress. Miss Pitty done wrote dat de Elsings mighty po'."
"But I've got to have a new dress! Mammy, you don't know how we need money. The taxes -- "
"Yas'm, Ah knows all 'bout de taxes but --"
"You do?"
"Well'm, Gawd give me ears, din' he, an' ter hear wid? Specially w'en Mist' Will doan never tek trouble ter close de do'."
Was there nothing Mammy did not overhear? Scarlett wondered how that ponderous body which shook the floors could move with such savage stealth when its owner wished to eavesdrop.
"Well, if you heard all that, I suppose you heard Jonas Wilkerson and that Emmie --"
"Yas'm," said Mammy with smoldering eyes.
"Well, don't be a mule, Mammy. Don't you see I've got to go to Atlanta and get money for the taxes? I've got to get some money. I've got to do it!" She hammered one small fist into the other. "Name of God, Mammy, they'll turn us all out into the road and then where'll we go? Are you going to argue with me about a little matter of Mother's curtains when that trash Emmie Slattery who killed Mother is fixing to move into this house and sleep in the bed Mother slept in?"
Mammy shifted from one foot to another like a restive elephant. She had a dim feeling that she was being got around.
"No'm, Ah ain' wantin' ter see trash in Miss Ellen's house or us all in de road but --" She fixed Scarlett with a suddenly accusing eye: "Who is you fixin' ter git money frum dat you needs a new dress?"