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The Market was the perfect place for
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The Market was the perfect place for Scarlett to begin the life of a
Charleston lady
The Market was an outward, visible distillation of Charleston's
essenceFrom the city's earliest days it had been the place where
Charlestonians bought their foodThe lady of the house-or, in rare
cases, the man-selected and paid for it, a maid or coachman received
it
and placed it in a basket hung over the armBefore the War the food
was sold by slaves who had transported it from their masters'
plantationsMany of the vendors were in the places they had been
before, only now they were free, and the baskets were carried by
servants who were paid for their service; like the vendors, many of
them were the same people, carrying the same baskets they had
before
What was important to Charleston was that the old ways hadn't
changed
Tradition was the bedrock of society, the birthright of Charleston's
people, the priceless inheritance that no carpetbagger or soldier could
stealIt was made manifest in the MarketOutsiders could shop
there; it was public property
But they found it frustratingSomehow they could never quite catch
the eye of the woman who was selling vegetables, the man selling
crabs
Black citizens were as proudly Charlestonian as white ones
When the foreigner left, the whole Market rang with laughterThe
Market was for Charleston's people onlyScarlett hunched her
shoulders to lift her collar higher on her neckA cold finger of wind
got inside it despite her efforts, and she shivered violently
Her eyes felt full of cinders, and she was sure her boots must be lined
with leadHow many miles could there be in five city blocks?
She couldn't see a thingThe street lamps were only a bright circle
of mist within mist in the ghostly gray pre-dawn halflight
How can Miss Eleanor be so cursed cheery? Chattering away as if it
wasn't freezing cold and black as pitchThere was some light
ahead-way aheadScarlett stumbled towards itShe wished the
miserable wind would die downWhat was that? In the wind |