Scarlett seated herself next to Anne Hampton. She liked being extra nice to the shy young girl because Anne was so much like Melanie. It made Scarlett feel that in some way she was making up for all the unkind thoughts she had had about Melly all the years that Melly was so resolutely loyal to her. Also, Anne was so openly admiring that her company was always a pleasure. Her soft voice was almost animated when she complimented Scarlett on her hair. “It must be wonderful to have such dark, rich-looking color,” she said. “It’s like the deepest black silk. Or like a painting I saw once of a beautiful, sleek black panther.” Anne’s face shone with innocent worship, then blushed for her impertinence in making such a personal remark.

Scarlett patted her hand kindly. Anne couldn’t help it if she was like a soft, timid, brown field mouse. Later, when the decorations were done and the tall rooms smelled sweetly resinous from pine branches, Anne excused herself to go usher in the children for carol singing. How Melly would have loved this, thought Scarlett. There was a lump in her throat when she looked at Anne, her arms encircling two nervous little girls while they sang a duet. Melly was so crazy fond of children. For an instant Scarlett felt guilty that she hadn’t sent more Christmas presents to Wade and Ella, but then the duet was over and it was time to join in the singing, and she had to concentrate on remembering all the verses of “The First Noël.”

“What fun that was!” she exclaimed after they left the Home. “I do love Christmastime.”

“I do, too,” said Eleanor. “It’s a good breathing spell before the Season. Though this year won’t be as peaceful as usual. The poor Yankee soldiers will be down on our necks, more than likely. Their colonel can’t just let it slide that we all broke curfew with such a bang.” She giggled like a girl. “What fun that was!”

“Honestly, Mama!” said Rosemary. “How can you call those blue-coated wretches ‘poor’ Yankees?”

“Because they’d much rather be home with their own families for the holidays than here badgering us. I think they’re embarrassed.”

Rhett chuckled. “You and your cronies have something up your lace-edged sleeves, I’ll bet.”

“Only if we’re driven to it.” Mrs. Butler giggled again. “We figure today’s calm was only because their colonel is such a Biblethumper he won’t order any action on the Sabbath. Tomorrow will tell the tale. In the old days they used to harass us by going through our baskets to search for contraband when we left the Market. If they try it again, they’ll be dipping their hands into some interesting things underneath the turnip greens and rice.”

“Innards?” guessed Rosemary.

“Broken eggs?” Scarlett offered.

“Itching powder,” suggested Rhett.

Miss Eleanor giggled for the third time.

“And a few more things, besides,” she said complacently. “We developed a number of interesting tactics back then. This crop of soldiers wasn’t around; it will all be new to them. I’ll bet a lot of these men never even heard of poison sumac. I dislike being so uncharitable at Christmas, but they’ve got to learn that we quit being afraid of them a long time ago.

“I do wish Ross could be here,” she added abruptly, all laughter gone. “When do you suppose it will be safe for your brother to come back home, Rhett?”

“It depends on how quickly you and your friends get the Yankees whipped into shape, Mama. Certainly in time for the Saint Cecilia.”

“That’s all right, then. It doesn’t matter if he misses all the rest as long as he’s home for the Ball.” Scarlett could hear the capital B in Miss Eleanor’s voice.


Scarlett was certain that the hours would drag by until the twenty-sixth and the beginning of the Season. But to her surprise the time passed so quickly that she could hardly keep up. The most entertaining part of it all was the battle with the Yankees. The colonel did, indeed, order retaliation for the curfew humiliation. And on Monday the Market rang with laughter as Charleston’s ladies packed their baskets with the weapons of their choice.

The following day the soldiers were careful to keep their gloves on. Plunging a hand into some loathsome-feeling substance or suddenly being afflicted with fiery itching and swelling were not experiences they were willing to repeat.

“The fools should have known we’d expect them to do just what they did,” Scarlett said to Sally Brewton at a whist party that afternoon. Sally agreed, with a happy reminiscent laugh.

“I had a loose-lidded box of lamp black in my shopping,” she said. “What was yours?”

“Cayenne pepper. I was scared to death I’d start sneezing and give the whole trick away . . . speaking of tricks, I believe that’s mine.” New rationing regulations had been posted the day before, and the ladies of Charleston were now gambling for coffee, not money. With the black market effectively out of business for the time being, this was the highest-stakes card game Scarlett had ever been in. She loved it.

She loved tormenting the Yankees, too. There were still patrols on Charleston’s streets but their noses had been tweaked and would be tweaked again and again until they admitted defeat. With her as one of the tweakers.

“Deal,” she said, “I feel lucky.” Only a few more days and she would be at a ball, dancing with Rhett. He was keeping away from her now, managing things so that they were never alone together, but on the dance floor they would be together—and touching—and alone, no matter how many other couples were on the floor.


Scarlett held the white camellias Rhett had sent her to the cluster of curls at the nape of her neck and twisted her head to see herself in the looking glass. “It looks like a gloh of fat on a bunch of sausages,” she said with disgust. “Pansy, you’ll have to do my hair different. Pile it on top.” She could pin the flowers in between the waves, that wouldn’t be too bad. Oh, why did Rhett have to be so mean, telling her that his precious old plantation flowers were the only jewels she could wear? It was bad enough that her ball gown was so dowdy. But with nothing to dress up the plainness except a bunch of flowers—she might as well wear a flour sack with a hole cut for her head. She’d counted on her pearls and her diamond earbobs.

“You don’t have to brush a hole in my scalp,” she grumbled at Pansy.

“Yes’m.” Pansy continued to brush the long dark mass of hair with vigorous strokes, eradicating the curls that had taken so long to arrange.

Scarlett looked at her reflection with growing satisfaction. Yes, that was much better. Her neck was really too pretty to cover. It was much better to wear her hair up. And her earbobs would show up better. She was going to wear them, no matter what Rhett had told her. She had to be dazzling, she had to win the admiration of every man at the ball, and the hearts of at least a few. That would make Rhett sit up and take notice.

She fastened the diamonds into her earlobes. There! She tilted her head from side to side, pleased with the effect.

“Do you like this, Miss Scarlett?” Pansy gestured toward her handiwork.

“No. Do it fuller above the ears.” Thank goodness Rosemary had turned down her offer to lend Pansy this evening. Though why Rosemary hadn’t jumped at the chance was a mystery; she needed all the help she could get. She’d probably bundle her hair into the same lumpy old-maid bun she always wore. Scarlett smiled. Entering the ballroom with Rhett’s sister would only call attention to how much prettier she was.

“That’s fine, Pansy,” she said, good humor restored. Her hair shone like a raven’s wing. The white flowers would actually be very becoming. “Hand me some hairpins.”

A half hour later, Scarlett was ready. She took one final look in the tall pier glass. The deep blue watered silk of her gown shimmered in the lamp light and made her powdered bare shoulders and bosom look as pale as alabaster. Her diamonds sparkled brilliantly, as did her green eyes. Black velvet ribbon in loops bordered the gown’s train and a wide black velvet bow lined with paler blue silk sat atop the gown’s bustle, emphasizing her tiny waist. Her slippers were made of blue velvet with black laces, and narrow black velvet ribbon was tied around her throat and each wrist. White camellias tied with black velvet bows were pinned to her shoulders and filled a silver-lace bouquet holder. She had never looked lovelier, and she recognized it. Excitement made her cheeks rosy with natural color.


Scarlett’s first ball in Charleston was full of surprises. Almost nothing was the way she expected it to be. First she was told that she’d have to wear her boots, not her dancing slippers. They were going to walk to the Ball. She would have ordered a hackney if she’d known that, she couldn’t believe that Rhett hadn’t done it. It didn’t help that Pansy was supposed to carry her slippers in a Charleston contraption called a “slipper bag” because she didn’t have a slipper bag, and it took Miss Eleanor’s maid fifteen minutes to find a basket to use instead. Why hadn’t anyone told her she needed one of the miserable things? “We didn’t think of it,” Rosemary said. “Everybody has slipper bags.”

Everybody in Charleston maybe, thought Scarlett, but not in Atlanta. People don’t walk to balls there, they ride. Her happy anticipation of her first Charleston ball began to change to uneasy apprehension. What else was going to be different?

Everything, she discovered. Charleston had developed formalities and rituals in the long years of its history that were unknown in the vigorous semi-frontier world of North Georgia. When the fall of the Confederacy cut off the lavish wealth that had allowed the formality to develop, the rituals survived, the only thing that remained of the past, cherished and unchangeable for that reason.