Alexandra Ripley - Scarlett

“How can you be so sure they’ll lose it?” Her eyes were narrowed, calculating. “The Yankee horses are thoroughbreds, and Sweet Sally is nothing but a swamp pony.”

Rhett’s mouth twisted. “Pride and loyalty don’t weigh much for you when there’s money involved, do they, Scarlett? Well, go ahead, my pet, lay your bet on Belmont’s filly to win. I gave you the money, you can do what you like with it.” He walked away from her, took his mother’s arm and gestured up at the stand. “I think you’ll have a good view from higher up, Mama. Come along, Rosemary.”

Scarlett started to run after him. “I didn’t mean—” she said, but his wide back was like a wall. She shrugged angrily, then looked from right to left. Where did she go to place a bet, anyhow?

“Can I help you, ma’am?” said a man nearby. 

“Why, yes, maybe you can.” He looked like a gentleman, and his accent sounded like Georgia. She smiled gratefully. “I’m not used to such complicated racing. Back home somebody would just yell, ‘I bet you five dollars I can beat you to the crossroads,’ and then everybody would holler back and start riding lickety-split.”

The man took off his hat and held it against his chest with both hands. He sure is looking at me peculiar, Scarlett thought uneasily. Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said earnestly, “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me, but I believe I know you. You’re Mrs. Hamilton, aren’t you? From Atlanta. You nursed me in the hospital there when I was wounded. My name’s Sam Forrest, from Moultrie, Georgia.”

The hospital! Scarlett’s nostrils flared, an involuntary reaction to the memory of the stench of blood and gangrene and filthy, liceridden bodies.

Forrest’s face was a picture of embarrassed discomfort. “I—I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hamilton,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have made any claim to knowing you. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Scarlett returned the hospital to the corner of her mind reserved for the past and closed the door on it. She put her hand on Sam Forrest’s arm and smiled at him. “Land, Mr. Forrest, you didn’t offend me at all. I was just thrown off by being called Mrs. Hamilton. I married again, you see, and I’ve been Mrs. Butler for years and years. My husband’s a Charlestonian, that’s why I’m here. And I must say hearing your good Georgia talk makes me mighty homesick. What brings you here?”

Horses, Forrest explained. After four years in the cavalry, there was nothing about horses that he didn’t know. When the War was over he’d saved the money he made as a laborer and started buying horses. “Now I’ve got a fine breeding and boarding business. I’ve brought the prize of the stable to race for the prize money. I tell you, Mrs. Hamil—sorry—Mrs. Butler, it was a happy day when the news got to me that the Charleston Race Course was open again. There’s nothing else like it any place in the South.”

Scarlett had to pretend to listen to more horse talk while he accompanied her to the booth set up for taking bets, then escorted her back to the stands. Scarlett said goodbye to him with a feeling of escape.

The stands were very nearly full, but she had no trouble finding her place. The green and white striped parasols were a beacon. Scarlett waved hers at Rhett, then began to climb the risers. Eleanor Butler returned her salute. Rosemary looked away.

Rhett seated Scarlett between Rosemary and his mother. She was barely settled when she felt Eleanor Butler stiffen. Middleton Courtney and his wife, Edith, were taking seats in the same row not far away. The Courtneys nodded and smiled a friendly greeting. The Butlers returned it. Then Middleton began to point out the starting gate and finish line to his wife. At the same time Scarlett said, “You’ll never guess who I met, Miss Eleanor, a soldier that was in Atlanta when I first went to live there!” She could feel Mrs. Butler relax.

An excited stir ran through the crowd. The horses were coming onto the track. Scarlett stared open-mouthed, eyes shining. Nothing had prepared her for the smooth grass oval and the bright checkerboards and stripes and harlequin diamonds of the racing silks. Gaudy and shining and festive, the riders paraded past the grandstand while the band played a rollicking oom-pah tune. Scarlett laughed aloud without knowing it. It was a child’s laughter, free and unconsidered, expressing pure joyful surprise. “Oh, look!” she said. “Oh, look!” She was so enraptured that she was unaware of Rhett’s eyes watching her, instead of the horses.

There was an interval for refreshments after the third race. A tent hung with green and white streamers sheltered long tables of food, and waiters circulated throughout the crowd bearing trays of champagne-filled glasses. Scarlett took one of Emma Anson’s glasses from one of Sally Brewton’s crested trays, pretending that she didn’t recognize Minnie Wentworth’s butler, who was serving. She’d learned Charleston’s ways of dealing with shortages and loss. Everyone shared their treasures and their servants, acting as if they belonged to the host or hostess of the event. “That’s just about the silliest thing I ever heard,” she’d said when Mrs. Butler first explained the charade. Lending and borrowing she could understand. But pretending that Emma Anson’s initials belonged on Minnie Wentworth’s napkins made no sense at all. Still, she went along with the deception, if that was the term for it. It was just one more of the peculiarities of Charleston.

“Scarlett.” She turned quickly to the speaker. It was Rosemary. “They’ll be sounding the bell any minute. Let’s go back before the rush starts.”

People were starting to return to the stands. Scarlett looked at them through the opera glasses she’d borrowed from Miss Eleanor. There were her aunts; thank heaven she hadn’t run into them in the refreshment tent. And Sally Brewton with her husband Miles. He looked almost as excited as she did. Good grief! Miss Julia Ashley was with them. Fancy her betting on the horses.

She moved the glasses from side to side. It was fun to be able to watch people when they didn’t know you were looking. Hah! There was old Josiah Anson dozing off. While Emma was talking to him, too. He’d get an earful if she found out he was asleep! Ugh! Ross! Too bad he had come back, but Miss Eleanor was pleased. Margaret looked nervous, but she always did. Oh, there’s Anne. My grief, she looks like the old woman in the shoe with all those children she’s got with her. They must be the orphans. Does she see me? She’s turning this way. No, she’s not looking high enough.

My stars, she’s positively glowing. Has Edward Cooper proposed at last? Must be; she’s looking up at him as if he could walk on water. She’s practically melting.

Scarlett moved the glasses upward to see if Edward was being as obvious as Anne . . . a pair of shoes, trousers, jacket—

Her heart leapt into her throat. It was Rhett. He must be talking to Edward. Her gaze lingered for a moment. Rhett looked so elegant. She shifted the glasses, and Eleanor Butler came into view. Scarlett froze, not even breathing. It couldn’t be. She scanned the area near Rhett and his mother. Nobody was there yet. Slowly she moved the glasses back to look at Anne again, then again at Rhett, then back to Anne. There was no doubt about it. Scarlett felt sick. Then searingly angry.

That miserable little sneak! She’s been praising me to the skies all this time to my face, and she’s wildly in love with my husband behind my back. I could strangle her to death with my bare hands!

Her hands were sweating, she almost lost hold of the glasses when she swung them back to Rhett. Was he looking at Anne? . . . No, he was laughing with Miss Eleanor . . . they were chatting with the Wentworths . . . greeting the Hugers . . . the Halseys . . . the Savages . . . old Mr. Pinckney . . . Scarlett kept Rhett in view until her eyes blurred.

He hadn’t looked in Anne’s direction even once. She was staring at him like she could eat him with a spoon, and he didn’t even notice it. There’s nothing to fret about. It’s just a silly girl with a crush on a grown-up man.

Why shouldn’t Anne have a crush on him? Why shouldn’t every woman in Charleston? He’s so handsome and so strong and so . . .

She looked at him with yearning naked on her face, the glasses in her lap. Rhett was bent down to adjust Miss Eleanor’s shawl across her shoulders. The sun was low in the sky and a cold fitful wind had begun to blow. He placed his hand under her elbow and they began to climb the steps to their seats, the very picture of a dutiful son with his mother. Scarlett waited eagerly for them to arrive.

The partial roof over the grandstand cast an angled shadow over the seats. Rhett changed places with his mother so that she could be warmed by what sunlight there was, and Scarlett had him beside her at last. She forgot Anne at once.

When the horses came out on the track for the fourth race, the spectators stood up, first two, then several groups of people, then everyone, in a tidal wave of anticipation. Scarlett was almost dancing with excitement.

“Having a good time?” Rhett was smiling.

“Wonderful! Which horse is Miles Brewton’s, Rhett?”

“I suspect Miles rubbed his down with shoe-polish. It’s number five, the very glossy black. The dark horse, you might say. Number six is Guggenheim’s; Belmont managed post position; his pace-setter is number four.”

Scarlett wanted to ask what “pace-setter” and “post position” meant, but there was no time, they were about to start.

Number five’s rider anticipated the starter’s pistol shot, and there were loud groans from the stands. “What happened?” Scarlett asked.

“False start, they’ll have to line up again,” Rhett explained. He tilted his head in gesture. “Look at Sally.”

Scarlett looked. Sally Brewton’s face was more monkey-like than ever, contorted with rage, and she was shaking her fist in the air. Rhett laughed affectionately. “I might just jump the fence and keep going if I were the jockey,” he said. “Sally’s ready to use his skin for a hearth rug.”

“I don’t blame her one bit,” Scarlett declared, “and I don’t think it’s one bit funny either, Rhett Butler.”

He laughed again. “May I dare assume that you put your money on Sweet Sally after all?”

“Of course I did. Sally Brewton’s a dear friend of mine—and besides, if I lost, it was your money, not mine.”

Rhett looked at Scarlett in surprise. She was smiling impishly at him.

“Well done, madam,” he murmured.

The pistol shot sounded, and the race had begun. Scarlett didn’t know that she was shouting, jumping up and down, pounding on Rhett’s arm. She was even deaf to the shouts of the people all around them. When Sweet Sally won by a half-length she let out a yell of victory. “We won! We won! Isn’t it marvelous? We won!”

Rhett rubbed his biceps. “I think I’m crippled for life, but I agree. It’s marvelous, truly a marvel. The swamp rat over the best bloodstock in America.”

Scarlett frowned at him. “Rhett! Do you mean to tell me you’re surprised? After what you said this afternoon? You sounded so confident.”

He smiled. “I despise pessimism. And I wanted everyone to have a good time.”

“But didn’t you bet on Sweet Sally, too? Don’t tell me you bet on the Yankees!”

“I didn’t bet at all.” His jaw was hard with resolve. “When the gardens at the Landing are cleared and planted, I’m going to begin bringing the stables back to life. I’ve already retrieved some of the cups that Butler horses won when our colors were known all over the world. I’ll place my first bet when I have a horse of my own to bet on.” He turned to his mother. “What will you buy with your winnings, Mama?”

“That’s for me to know and you not to find out,” she replied, with a jaunty toss of her head.

Scarlett, Rhett, and Rosemary laughed together.

Scarlett received small spiritual benefit from Mass the next day. Her whole focus was on her own spirits, and they were very low. She’d hardly laid eyes on Rhett at the big party given by the Jockey Club after the races.

Walking back after Mass, she tried to make an excuse that would get her out of eating with her aunts, but Pauline wouldn’t hear of it. “We have something very important to discuss with you,” she’d said. Her tone was portentous. Scarlett braced herself for a lecture about dancing too much with Middleton Courtney.

As it turned out, his name wasn’t mentioned at all. Eulalie was mournful and Pauline censorious about something else altogether.