Gone with the Wind

“It’s no use. I won’t eat it. You can just take it back to the kitchen.”

Mammy set the tray on the table and squared herself, hands on hips.

“Yas’m, you is! Ah ain’ figgerin’ on havin’ happen whut happen at dat las’ barbecue w’en Ah wuz too sick frum dem chittlins Ah et ter fetch you no tray befo’ you went. You is gwine eat eve’y bite of dis.”

“I am not! Now, come here and lace me tighter because we are late already. I heard the carriage come round to the front of the house.”

Mammy’s tone became wheedling.

“Now, Miss Scarlett, you be good an’ come eat jes’a lil. Miss Carreen an’ Miss Suellen done eat all dey’n.”

“They would,” said Scarlett contemptuously. “They haven’t any more spirit than a rabbit. But I won’t! I’m through with trays. I’m not forgetting the time I ate a whole tray and went to the Calverts’ and they had ice cream out of ice they’d brought all the way from Savannah, and I couldn’t eat but a spoonful. I’m going to have a good time today and eat as much as I please.”

At this defiant heresy, Mammy’s brow lowered with indignation. What a young miss could do and what she could not do were as different as black and white in Mammy’s mind; there was no middle ground of deportment between. Suellen and Carreen were clay in her powerful hands and harkened respectfully to her warning. But it had always been a struggle to teach Scarlett that most of her natural impulses were unladylike. Mammy’s victories over Scarlett were hard-won and represented guile unknown to the white mind.

“Ef you doan care ’bout how folks talks ’bout dis fainbly, Ah does,” she rumbled. “Ah ain’ gwine stand by an’ have eve’ybody at de pahty sayin’ how you ain’ fotched up right. Ah has tole you an’ tole you dat you kin allus tell a lady by dat she eat lak a bird. An’ Ah ain’ aimin’ ter have you go ter Mist’ Wilkes’ an’ eat lak a fe’el han’ an’ gobble lak a hawg.”

“Mother is a lady and she eats,” countered Scarlett.

“W’en you is mahied, you kin eat, too,” retorted Mammy. “W’en Miss Ellen yo’ age, she never et nuthin’ w’en she went out, an’ needer yo’ Aunt Pauline nor yo’ Aunt Eulalie. An’ dey all done mahied. Young misses whut eats heavy mos’ gener’ly doan never ketch husbands.”

“I don’t believe it. At that barbecue when you were sick and I didn’t eat beforehand, Ashley Wilkes told me he LIKED to see a girl with a healthy appetite.”

Mammy shook her head ominously.

“Whut gempmums says an’ whut dey thinks is two diffunt things. An’ Ah ain’ noticed Mist’ Ashley axing fer ter mahy you.”

Scarlett scowled, started to speak sharply and then caught herself. Mammy had her there and there was no argument. Seeing the obdurate look on Scarlett’s face, Mammy picked up the tray and, with the bland guile of her race, changed her tactics. As she started for the door, she sighed.

“Well’m, awright. Ah wuz tellin’ Cookie w’ile she wuz a-fixin’ dis tray. ‘You kin sho tell a lady by whut she DOAN eat,’ an’ Ah say ter Cookie. ‘Ah ain’ seed no w’ite lady who et less’n Miss Melly Hamilton did las’ time she wuz visitin’ Mist’ Ashley’-Ah means, visitin’ Miss India.”

Scarlett shot a look of sharp suspicion at her, but Mammy’s broad face carried only a look of innocence and of regret that Scarlett was not the lady Melanie Hamilton was.

“Put down that tray and come lace me tighter,” said Scarlett irritably. “And I’ll try to eat a little afterwards. If I ate now I couldn’t lace tight enough.”

Cloaking her triumph, Mammy set down the tray.

“Whut mah lamb gwine wear?”

“That,” answered Scarlett, pointing at the fluffy mass of green flowered muslin. Instantly Mammy was in arms.

“No, you ain’. It ain’ fittin’ fer mawnin’. You kain show yo’ buzzum befo’ three o’clock an’ dat dress ain’ got no neck an’ no sleeves. An’ you’ll git freckled sho as you born, an’ Ah ain’ figgerin’ on you gittin’ freckled affer all de buttermilk Ah been puttin’ on you all dis winter, bleachin’ dem freckles you got at Savannah settin’ on de beach. Ah sho gwine speak ter yo’ Ma ’bout you.”

“If you say one word to her before I’m dressed I won’t eat a bite,” said Scarlett coolly. “Mother won’t have time to send me back to change once I’m dressed.”

Mammy sighed resignedly, beholding herself outguessed. Between the two evils, it was better to have Scarlett wear an afternoon dress at a morning barbecue than to have her gobble like a hog.

“Hole onter sumpin’ an’ suck in yo’ breaf,” she commanded.

Scarlett obeyed, bracing herself and catching firm hold of one of the bedposts. Mammy pulled and jerked vigorously and, as the tiny circumference of whalebone-girdled waist grew smaller, a proud, fond look came into her eyes.

“Ain’ nobody got a wais’ lak mah lamb,” she said approvingly. “Eve’y time Ah pulls Miss Suellen littler dan twenty inches, she up an’ faint.”

“Pooh!” gasped Scarlctt, speaking with difficulty. “I never fainted in my life.”