Gerald himself never quite knew how it all came about. He only knew that a miracle had happened.And, for once in his life, he was utterly humble when Ellen, very white but very calm, put a light hand on his arm and said:“I will marry you, Mr.O'Hara.”
The thunderstruck Robillards knew the answer in part, but only Ellen and her mammy ever knew the whole story of the night when the girl sobbed till the dawn like a broken-hearted child and rose up in the morning a woman with her mind made up.
With foreboding, Mammy had brought her young mistress a small package, addressed in a strange hand from New Orleans, a package containing a miniature of Ellen, which she flung to the floor with a cry, four letters in her own handwriting to Philippe Robillard, and a brief letter from a New Orleans priest, announcing the death of her cousin in a barroom brawl.
“They drove him away, Father and Pauline and Eulalie. They drove him away.I hate them.I hate them all.I never want to see them again.I want to get away.I will go away where I'll never see them again, or this town, or anyone who reminds me of him.”
And when the night was nearly spent, Mammy, who had cried herself out over her mistress's dark head, protested,“But honey, you kain do dat!”
“I will do it. He is a kind man.I will do it or go into the convent at Charleston.”
It was the threat of the convent that finally won the assent of bewildered and heartstricken Pierre Robillard. He was staunchly Presbyterian, even though his family were Catholic, and the thought of his daughter becoming a nun was even worse than that of her marrying Gerald O'Hara.After all, the man had nothing against him but a lack of family.
So, Ellen, no longer Robillard, turned her back on Savannah, never to seeit again, and with a middle-aged husband, Mammy, and twenty“house niggers”journeyed toward Tara.
The next year, their first child was born and they named her Katie Scarlett, after Gerald's mother. Gerald was disappointed, for he had wanted a son, but he nevertheless was pleased enough over his small blackhaired daughter to serve rum to every slave at Tara and to get roaringly, happily drunk himself.
If Ellen had ever regretted her sudden decision to marry him, no one ever knew it, certainly not Gerald, who almost burst with pride whenever he looked at her. She had put Savannah and its memories behind her when she left that gently mannered city by the sea, and, from the moment of her arrival in the County, north Georgia was her home.
When she departed from her father's house forever, she had left a home whose lines were as beautiful and flowing as a woman's body, as a ship in full sail;a pale pink stucco house built in the French colonial style, set high from the ground in a dainty manner, approached by swirling stairs, banistered with wrought iron as delicate as lace;a dim, rich house, gracious but aloof.
She had left not only that graceful dwelling but also the entire civilization that was behind the building of it, and she found herself in a world that was as strange and different as if she had crossed a continent.
Here in north Georgia was a rugged section held by a hardy people. High upon the plateau at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, she saw rolling red hills wherever she looked, with huge outcroppings of the underlying granite and gaunt pines towering somberly everywhere.It all seemed wild and untamed to her coast-bred eyes accustomed to the quiet jungle beauty of the sea islands draped in their gray moss and tangled green, the white stretches of beach hot beneath a semitropic sun, the long fiat vistas of sandy land studded with palmetto and palm.
This was a section that knew the chill of winter, as well as the heat of summer, and there was a vigor and energy in the people that was strange to her. They were a kindly people, courteous, generous, filled with abounding good nature, but sturdy, virile, easy to anger.The people of the Coast which she had left might pride themselves on taking all of their affairs, even their duels and their feuds, with a careless air but these north Georgia people had a streak ofviolence in them.On the Coast, life had mellowed—here it was young and lusty and new.
All the people Ellen had known in Savannah might have been cast from the same mold, so similar were their viewpoints and traditions, but here was a variety of people. North Georgia's settlers were coming in from many different places, from other parts of Georgia, from the Carolinas and Virginia, from Europe and the North.Some of them, like Gerald, were new people seeking their fortunes.Some, like Ellen, were members of old families who had found life intolerable in their former homes and sought haven in a distant land.Many had moved for no reason at all, except that the restless blood of pioneering fathers still quickened in their veins.
These people, drawn from many different places and with many different backgrounds, gave the whole life of the County an informality that was new to Ellen, an informality to Which she never quite accustomed herself. She instinctively knew how Coast people would act in any circumstance.There was never any telling what north Georgians would do.
And, quickening all of the affairs of the section, was the high tide of prosperity then rolling over the South. All of the world was crying out for cotton, and the new land of the County, unworn and fertile, produced it abundantly.Cotton was the heartbeat of the section, the planting and the picking were the diastole and systole of the red earth.Wealth came out of the curving furrows, and arrogance came too—arrogance built on green busheS and the acres of fleecy white.If cotton could make them rich in one generation, how much richer they would be in the next!
