“Cathy, how grand!”
“When?”
“Tomorrow,” said Cathleen quietly and there was something in her voice which took the eager smiles from their faces.
“I came to tell you that I’m going to be married tomorrow, in Jonesboro—and I’m not inviting you all to come.”
They digested this in silence, looking up at her, puzzled.
Then Melanie spoke.
“Is it someone we know, dear?”
“Yes,” said Cathleen, shortly.
“It’s Mr. Hilton.”
“Mr. Hilton?”
“Yes, Mr. Hilton, our overseer.”
Scarlett could not even find voice to say
“Oh!” but Cathleen, peering down suddenly at Melanie, said in a low savage voice:
“If you cry, Melly, I can’t stand it.
I shall die!”
Melanie said nothing but patted the foot in its awkward home-made shoe which hung from the stirrup.
Her head was low. “And don’t pat me!
I can’t stand that either.”
Melanie dropped her hand but still did not look up.
“Well, I must go.
I only came to tell you.”
The white brittle mask was back again and she picked up the reins.
“How is Cade?” asked Scarlett, utterly at a loss but fumbling for some words to break the awkward silence.
“He is dying,” said Cathleen shortly.
There seemed to be no feeling in her voice.
“And he is going to die in some comfort and peace if I can manage it, without worry about who will take care of me when he’s gone.
You see, my stepmother and the children are going North for good, tomorrow.
Well, I must be going.”
Melanie looked up and met Cathleen’s hard eyes.
There were bright tears on Melanie’s lashes and understanding in her eyes, and before them, Cathleen’s lips curved into the crooked smile of a brave child who tries not to cry.
It was all very bewildering to Scarlett who was still trying to grasp the idea that Cathleen Calvert was going to marry an overseer—Cathleen, daughter of a rich planter, Cathleen who, next to Scarlett, had had more beaux than any girl in the County.
Cathleen bent down and Melanie tiptoed.
They kissed.
Then Cathleen flapped the bridle reins sharply and the old mule moved off.
Melanie looked after her, the tears streaming down her face.
Scarlett stared, still dazed.
“Melly, is she crazy?
You know she can’t be in love with him.”
“In love?
Oh, Scarlett, don’t even suggest such a horrid thing!
Oh, poor Cathleen!
Poor Cade!”
“Fiddle-dee-dee!” cried Scarlett, beginning to be irritated.
It was annoying that Melanie always seemed to grasp more of situations than she herself did.
Cathleen’s plight seemed to her more startling than catastrophic.
Of course it was no pleasant thought, marrying Yankee white trash, but after all a girl couldn’t live alone on a plantation; she had to have a husband to help her run it.
“Melly, it’s like I said the other day.
There isn’t anybody for girls to marry and they’ve got to marry someone.”
“Oh, they don’t have to marry!
There’s nothing shameful in being a spinster.