At six in the morning, Rhett Butler's shirt was fresh and he was cleanshaven.
Taz could smell his pomade. "Taz, you broke poor Edgar's nose. He can't show his face in public.”
Pain jolted behind Tazewell's eyes. "Captain Puryear is a blackguard.”
"Edgar hasn't the guts to be a blackguard, Taz. Edgar just dirties what he touches." Rhett's big gentle fingers explored the boy's skull and he peered into his eyes. "Your noggin's fine, boy. In his line of work, Sergeant Johnson is a virtuoso.”
"Sir, Captain Puryear was taking liberties.”
"Edgar has unusual tastes. I'll take you back to the Jesuits. You can't learn to be a gentleman in jail.”
Taz was tired. He hurt and he smelled bad. Had his father ever been tired or sick or hurt or afraid? Were his clothes always immaculate? Did he always smell of pomade? Taz summoned up his boy's dignity. "Sir, in the orphan asylum we boys said that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west for the finest gentleman and for that gentleman's bastard alike.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A Legendary Rebel Commander
From childhood, Melanie Hamilton had known that she would marry Ashley Wilkes because "The Wilkeses always marry cousins.”
Every summer, Melanie and her brother, Charles, rode the train from Atlanta to Jonesboro, where John Wilkes's body servant, Mose, met them at the depot. Mose always had molasses candy in his pocket and always pretended that this time he'd forgotten it.
The Twelve Oaks Wilkeses were the Hamiltons' grandest relations and Charles and Melanie arrived in their stiffest, starchiest clothing. They'd been scrubbed to a fare-thee-well. Aunt Pittypat's injunctions ("If you let your napkin fall, don't pick it up.”
“Don't ask to ride Cousin India's pony.
Wait until India offers.") were unnecessary: the Hamilton orphans were overawed.
Charles enjoyed these visits; Melanie didn't. Atlanta was a city, and despite the Wilkeses' fine library and finer manners, Twelve Oaks was the country. All those impersonal trees amid which a child might so easily become lost, that dark muddy river in which that child might drown. And so many dreadful bugs! Honeybees and newsbees and bumblebees and yellow jackets and mud daubers and sweat bees and paper wasps and the nasty bugs that tangled themselves in Melanie's hair, and the whining bloodsuckers trapped inside her bed netting that kept her awake half the night.
Charles said that if you let them drink their fill, the spot wouldn't itch afterward.
It was horrible to watch Charles let some mosquito fill its pendulous bright red abdomen on his thin outstretched arm.
Charles started calling Twelve Oaks "the Kingdom of Bugs," swooping and buzzing at Melanie until she didn't know whether to giggle or cry.
Since Melanie would one day marry Ashley Wilkes, she wanted to love Twelve Oaks as Ashley loved it, but the prospect of becoming the next Mrs. Wilkes, managing that enormous house, servants, and household economy, daunted her. When Ashley's mother died, Ashley's sisters, India and Honey, worked awfully hard. One day, Ashley's wife would be expected to manage everything by herself.
Melanie and Ashley would take their place at Twelve Oaks as Ashley's parents had, and Twelve Oaks would sustain them until they made their final journey to the graveyard atop the hill behind the house.
The courting couple climbed the stone steps to that graveyard to sit beneath its canopy of aged chestnuts and elms. There they exchanged those solemn sentiments young people utter in such a place.
Melanie did love Twelve Oaks' gardens: the magnolias, azaleas, rhododendrons, and Bourbon roses. Her happiest memories were of sitting beside Ashley beneath the wisteria, whose thick vines were as old as the manor house itself.
The couple talked about books and beauty. They discussed Mr. Scott's Ivanhoe and Mr. Dickens's The Old Curiosity Shop.
Ashley and Melanie's courtship was so muted, others could be excused for not noticing it. They were spared those painful doubts, hesitations, half commitments, bold advances, and wounded retreats of those unfortunate lovers who do not marry cousins. One spring afternoon, Ashley asked Melanie to marry him and Melanie said yes. Ashley wore, Melanie later recalled, a rose in his buttonhole. Melanie was surprised by how thoroughly she enjoyed Ashley's kiss.
After a year of service with his Georgia regiment, Ashley had volunteered for Ravanel's brigade because, as Ashley wrote Melanie, "I thought it my duty.”
Melanie could not criticize her husband's decision, but his transfer to Ravanel's dangerous brigade gave her sleepless nights.
Not long after he joined Ravanel, Ashley regretted that decision.
"Charleston gentlemen aren't Georgia gentlemen. That the Low Country is the known universe and that Charleston is the center of the universe, they have no doubts. When I describe Twelve Oaks' gardens, the rare roses great-grandmother brought from Virginia's Tidewater — those same roses her great-grandmother brought from Surrey! — they tell me the roses beside the Jockey Club are the 'prettiest in the South,' though they can't name the variety!”
In a postscript, Ashley added, "Colonel Ravanel is an inspiring commander, but I'd never leave him alone with my sisters!”
In the hectic, thrilling days as the South went to war, Miss Melanie Hamilton had married Mr. Ashley Wilkes, and Miss Scarlett O'Hara had married Mr. Charles Hamilton. Neither couple had time to take a breath. At first when tradesmen called Melanie "Mrs. Wilkes," she didn't know whom they were talking to.
Six months later, Melanie was devastated when her brother, Charles, died. Melanie had been a toddler when she and Charles were put in Aunt Pittypat's care. Christened Sarah Jane Hamilton, the plump, childlike woman had been "Pittypat" as long as anyone could remember. Her household had been so happily disordered that "Pittypat's" was where all the neighborhood children came to play. Melanie couldn't remember her dead father and mother. She loved her brother, Charles, as only an orphan can love.
Melanie had been such a sickly child, she knew Atlanta's doctors by their unique tread on the stairs. Melanie had expected to die young, but Charles was supposed to live forever!
When Charles died, the Hamiltons' shared childhood died with him: Mose's molasses candy, the closet under Pittypat's stairs, which had been their secret hiding place, the silly childhood jokes, which could still fetch an adult's reminiscent smile. "The Kingdom of Bugs" died with Charles Hamilton.
In the first year of the war, with Ashley in the army and Charles in his grave, Melanie Wilkes was desperately alone.
Getting through each long, long day, smiling at those who needed her smile, commiserating with the kind souls who'd come to commiserate with her: Melanie's duty was her refuge.
Melanie diluted her own grief worrying about her brother's widow, Scarlett. Melanie entirely approved when Scarlett's mother sent the young widow to visit kinfolk in Charleston. At the station, Melanie told her sister-in- law what Melanie didn't believe herself: that grief for Charles would one day end.
When Scarlett's Charleston visit didn't improve the young widow's spirits, Melanie suggested Pittypat invite Scarlett and Baby Wade to live with them in Atlanta. Pittypat hemmed and hawed. Finally, she said, "I'm afraid Scarlett is not a quiet person, dear.”
Melanie said they had responsibilities to the woman Charles had chosen and to Charles's infant son, Wade Hampton Hamilton. Pittypat, as she always did, gave way.
Melanie's sister-in-law was as vibrant as Melanie was demure. Scarlett feared nothing; Melanie's courage had never been tested. Scarlett had had a dozen eager suitors, Melanie had only been courted, and very quietly, by her cousin. Perhaps Melanie hoped some of Scarlett's vitality would rub off on her. She very much wanted her sister-in-law to be her friend.