IN THAT warm summer after peace came, Tara suddenly lost its isolation. And for monthsthereafter a stream of scarecrows, bearded, ragged, footsore and always hungry, toiled up the redhill to Tara and came to rest on the shady front steps, wanting food and a night’s lodging. Theywere Confederate soldiers walking home. The railroad had carried the remains of Johnston’s armyfrom North Carolina to Atlanta and dumped them there, and from Atlanta they began theirpilgrimages afoot. When the wave of Johnston’s men had passed, the weary veterans from theArmy of Virginia arrived and then men from the Western troops, beating their way south towardhomes which might not exist and families which might be scattered or dead. Most of them werewalking, a few fortunate ones rode bony horses and mules which the terms of the surrender hadpermitted them to keep, gaunt animals which even an untrained eye could tell would never reachfar-away Florida and south Georgia.
Going home! Going home! That was the only thought in the soldiers’ minds. Some were sad andsilent, others gay and contemptuous of hardships, but the thought that it was all over and they were going home was the one thing that sustained them. Few of them were bitter. They left bitterness totheir women and their old people. They had fought a good fight, had been licked and were willingto settle down peaceably to plowing beneath the flag they had fought.
Going home! Going home! They could talk of nothing else, neither battles nor wounds, norimprisonment nor the future. Later, they would refight battles and tell children and grandchildrenof pranks and forays and charges, of hunger, forced marches and wounds, but not now. Some ofthem lacked an arm or a leg or an eye, many had scars which would ache in rainy weather if theylived for seventy years but these seemed small matters now. Later it would be different.
Old and young, talkative and taciturn, rich planter and sallow Cracker, they all had two things incommon, lice and dysentery. The Confederate soldier was so accustomed to his verminous state hedid not give it a thought and scratched unconcernedly even in the presence of ladies. As fordysentery—the “bloody flux” as the ladies delicately called it—it seemed to have spared no onefrom private to general. Four years of half-starvation, four years of rations which were coarse orgreen or half-putrefied, had done its work with them, and every soldier who stopped at Tara waseither just recovering or was actively suffering from it.
Dey ain’ a soun’ set of bowels in de whole Confedrut ahmy,” observed Mammy darkly as shesweated over the fire, brewing a bitter concoction of blackberry roots which had been Ellen’ssovereign remedy for such afflictions. “It’s mah notion dat ‘twarn’t de Yankees whut beat ourgempmum. Twuz dey own innards. Kain no gempmum fight wid his bowels tuhnin’ ter water.
One and all, Mammy dosed them, never waiting to ask foolish questions about the state of theirorgans and, one and all, they drank her doses meekly and with wry faces, remembering, perhaps,other stern black faces in far-off places and other inexorable black hands holding medicine spoons.
In the matter of “comp’ny” Mammy was equally adamant. No lice-ridden soldier should comeinto Tara. She marched them behind a clump of thick bushes, relieved them of their uniforms, gavethem a basin of water and strong lye soap to wash with and provided them with quilts and blanketsto cover their nakedness, while she boiled their clothing in her huge wash pot. It was useless forthe girls to argue hotly that such conduct humiliated the soldiers. Mammy replied that the girlswould be a sight more humiliated if they found lice upon themselves.
When the soldiers began arriving almost daily, Mammy protested against their being allowed touse the bedrooms. Always she feared lest some louse had escaped her. Rather than argue thematter, Scarlett turned the parlor with its deep velvet rug into a dormitory. Mammy cried outequally loudly at the sacrilege of soldiers being permitted to sleep on Miss Ellen’s rug but Scarlettwas firm. They had to sleep somewhere. And, in the months after the surrender, the deep soft napbegan to show signs of wear and finally the heavy warp and woof showed through in spots whereheels had worn it and spurs dug carelessly.
Of each soldier, they asked eagerly of Ashley. Suellen, bridling, always asked news of Mr.
Kennedy. But none of the soldiers had ever heard of them nor were they inclined to talk about themissing. It was enough that they themselves were alive, and they did not care to think of thethousands in unmarked graves who would never come home.
The family tried to bolster Melanie’s courage after each of these disappointments. Of course, Ashley hadn’t died in prison. Some Yankee chaplain would have written if this were true. Ofcourse, he was coming home but his prison was so far away. Why, goodness, it took days riding ona train to make the trip and if Ashley was walking, like these men ... Why hadn’t he written? Well,darling, you know what the mails are now—so uncertain and slipshod even where mail routes arere-established. But suppose—suppose he had died on the way home. Now, Melanie, some Yankeewoman would have surely written us about it! ... Yankee women! Bah! ... Melly, there are somenice Yankee women. Oh, yes, there are! God couldn’t make a whole nation without having somenice women in it! Scarlett, you remember we did meet a nice Yankee woman at Saratoga that time—Scarlett, tell Melly about her
Nice, my foot!” replied Scarlett. “She asked me how many bloodhounds we kept to chase ourdarkies with! I agree with Melly. I never saw a nice Yankee, male or female. But don’t cry, Melly
Ashley’ll come home. It’s a long walk and maybe—maybe he hasn’t got any boots.
Then at the thought of Ashley barefooted, Scarlett could have cried. Let other soldiers limp by inrags with their feet tied up in sacks and strips of carpet, but not Ashley. He should come home on aprancing horse, dressed in fine clothes and shining boots, a plume in his hat. It was the finaldegradation for her to think of Ashley reduced to the state of these other soldiers.
One afternoon in June when everyone at Tara assembled on the back porch eagerly watchingPorkcutthefirsthalf-ripewatermelonofthese(was) ason, they heard hooves on the gravel ofthe front drive. Prissy started languidly toward the front door, while those left behind argued hotlyas to whether they should hide the melon or keep it for supper, should the caller at the door proveto be a soldier.
Melly and Carreen whispered that the soldier guest should have a share and Scarlett, backed bySuellen and Mammy, hissed to Pork to hide it quickly.
Don’t be a goose, girls! There’s not enough for us as it is and if there are two or three famishedsoldiers out there, none of us will even get a taste,” said Scarlett.
While Pork stood with the little melon clutched to him, uncertain as to the final decision, theyheard Prissy cry out.
Gawdlmighty! Miss Scarlett! Miss Melly! Come quick
Who is it?” cried Scarlett, leaping up from the steps and racing through the hall with Melly ather shoulder and the others streaming after her.
Ashley! she thought Oh, perhaps—“It’s Uncle Peter! Miss Pittypat’s Uncle Peter
They all ran out to the front porch and saw the tall grizzled old despot of Aunt Pitty’s houseclimbing down from a rat-tailed nag on which a section of quilting had been strapped. On his wideblack face, accustomed dignity strove with delight at seeing old friends, with the result that hisbrow was furrowed in a frown but his mouth was hanging open like a happy toothless old hound’s.
Everyone ran down the steps to greet him, black and white shaking his hand and askingquestions, but Melly’s voice rose above them all.
Auntie isn’t sick, is she
No’m. She’s po’ly, thank God,” answered Peter, fastening a severe look first on Melly and thenon Scarlett, so that they suddenly felt guilty but could think of no reason why. “She’s po’ly but sheis plum outdone wid you young Misses, an’ ef it come right down to it, Ah is too
Why, Uncle Peter! What on earth
Y’all nee’n try ter ‘scuse you’seffs. Ain’ Miss Pitty writ you an’ writ you ter come home? Ain
Ah seed her write an’ seed her a-cryin’ w’en y’all writ her back dat you got too much ter do ondisyere ole farm ter come home
But, Uncle Peter
Huccome you leave Miss Pitty by herseff lak dis w’en she so scary lak? You know well’s Ah doMiss Pitty ain’ never live by herseff an’ she been shakin’ in her lil shoes ever since she come backfrum Macom. She say fer me ter tell y’all plain as Ah knows how dat she jes’ kain unnerstan’ y’alldesertin’ her in her hour of need.
Now, hesh!” said Mammy tartly, for it sat ill upon her to hear Tara referred to as an “ole farm.
Trust an ignorant city-bred darky not to know the difference between a farm and a plantation.
Ain’ us got no hours of need? Ain’ us needin’ Miss Scarlett an’ Miss Melly right hyah an’ needin
dem bad? Huccome Miss Pitty doan ast her brudder fer ‘sistance, does she need any
Uncle Peter gave her a withering look.
Us ain’ had nuthin’ ter do wid Mist’ Henry fer y’ars, an’ us is too ole ter start now.” He turnedback to the girls, who were trying to suppress their smiles. “You young Misses ought ter tekshame, leavin’ po’ Miss Pitty lone, wid half her frens daid an’ de other half in Macom, an’ ‘Lantafull of Yankee sojers an’ trashy free issue niggers.
The two girls had borne the castigation with straight faces as long as they could, but the thoughtof Aunt Pitty sending Peter to scold them and bring them back bodily to Atlanta was too much fortheir control. They burst into laughter and hung on each other’s shoulders for support. Naturally,Pork and Dilcey and Mammy gave vent to loud guffaws at hearing the detractor of their belovedTara set at naught. Suellen and Carreen giggled and even Gerald’s face wore a vague smile.
Everyone laughed except Peter, who shifted from one large splayed foot to the other in mountingindignation.
Whut’s wrong wid you, nigger?” inquired Mammy with a grin. “Is you gittin’ too ole terperteck yo’ own Missus?” Peter was outraged.
Too ole! Me too ole? No, Ma’m! Ah kin perteck Miss Pitty lak Ah allus done. Ain’ Ah perteckher down ter Macom when us refugeed? Ain’Ah perteck her w’en de Yankees come ter Macom an
she so sceered she faintin’ all de time? An’ ain’ Ah ‘quire disyere nag ter bring her back ter ‘Lantaan’ perteck her an’ her pa’s silver all de way?” Peter drew himself to his full height as he vindicatedhimself. “Ah ain’ talkin’ about perteckin’. Ah’s talkin’ ‘bout how it look.
How who look
Ah’m talkin’ ‘bout how it look ter folks, seein’ Miss Pitty livin’ lone. Folks talks scanlous ‘boutmaiden ladies dat lives by deyseff,” continued Peter, and it was obvious to his listeners thatPittypat, in his mind, was still a plump and charming miss of sixteen who must be sheltered against evil tongues. “An’ Ah ain’ figgerin’ on havin’ folks criticize her. No, Ma’m. … An’ Ah ain
figgerin’ on her takin’ in no bo’ders, jes’ fer comp’ny needer. Ah done tole her dat. ‘Not w’ile yougot yo’ flesh an’ blood dat belongs wid you,’ Ah says. An’ now her flesh an’ blood denyin’ her.
Miss Pitty ain’ nuthin’ but a chile an
At this, Scarlett and Melly whooped louder and sank down to the steps. Finally Melly wipedtears of mirth from her eyes.
Poor Uncle Peter! I’m sorry I laughed. Really and truly. There! Do forgive me. Miss Scarlettand I just can’t come home now. Maybe I’ll come in September after the cotton is picked. DidAuntie send you all the way down here just to bring us back on that bag of bones
At this question, Peter’s jaw suddenly dropped and guilt and consternation swept over hiswrinkled black face. His protruding underlip retreated to normal as swiftly as a turtle withdraws itshead beneath its shell.
Miss Melly, Ah is gittin’ ole, Ah spec’, ‘cause Ah clean fergit fer de moment whut she sent mefer, an’ it’s important too. Ah got a letter fer you. Miss Pitty wouldn’ trust de mails or nobody butme ter bring it an
A letter? For me? Who from
Well’m, it’s—Miss Pitty, she says ter me, “You, Peter, you brek it gen’ly ter Miss Melly,’ an
Ah say
Melly rose from the steps, her hand at her heart.
Ashley! Ashley! He’s dead
No’m! No’m!” cried Peter, his voice rising to a shrill bawl, as he fumbled in the breast pocketof his ragged coat. “He’s live! Disyere a letter frum him. He comin’ home. He— Gawdlmighty
Ketch her, Mammy! Lemme
Doan you tech her, you ole fool!” thundered Mammy, struggling to keep Melanie’s saggingbody from falling to the ground. “You pious black ape! Brek it gen’ly! You, Poke, tek her feet.
Miss Carreen, steady her haid. Lessus lay her on de sofa in de parlor.
There was a tumult of sound as everyone but Scarlett swarmed about the fainting Melanie,everyone crying out in alarm, scurrying into the house for water and pillows, and in a momentScarlett and Uncle Peter were left standing alone on the walk. She stood rooted, unable to movefrom the position to which she had leaped when she heard his words, staring at the old man whostood feebly waving a letter. His old black face was as pitiful as a child’s under its mother’sdisapproval, his dignity collapsed.
For a moment she could not speak or move, and though her mind shouted: “He isn’t dead! He’scoming home!” the knowledge brought neither joy nor excitement, only a stunned immobility.
Uncle Peter’s voice came as from a far distance, plaintive, placating.
Mist’ Willie Burr frum Macom whut is kin ter us, he brung it ter Miss Pitty. Mist’ Willie he inde same jail house wid Mist’ Ashley. Mist’ Willie he got a hawse an’ he got hyah soon. But Mist
Ashley he a-walkin’ an
Scarlett snatched the letter from his hand. It was addressed to Melly in Miss Pitty’s writing butthat did not make her hesitate a moment. She ripped it open and Miss Pitty’s enclosed note fell tothe ground. Within the envelope there was a piece of folded paper, grimy from the dirty pocket inwhich it had been carried, creased and ragged about the edges. It bore the inscription in Ashley’shand: “Mrs. George Ashley Wilkes, Care Miss Sarah Jane Hamilton, Atlanta, or Twelve Oaks,Jonesboro, Ga.
With fingers that shook, she opened it and read
Beloved, I am coming home to you
Tears began to stream down her face so that she could not read and her heart swelled up untilshe felt she could not bear the joy of it. Clutching the letter to her, she raced up the porch steps anddown the hall, past the parlor where an the inhabitants of Tara were getting in one another’s way asthey worked over the unconscious Melanie, and into Ellen’s office. She shut the door and locked itand flung herself down on the sagging old sofa crying, laughing, kissing the letter.
Beloved,” she whispered, “I am coming home to you.
Common sense told them that unless Ashley developed wings, it would be weeks or evenmonths before he could travel from Illinois to Georgia, but hearts nevertheless beat wildlywhenever a soldier turned into the avenue at Tara. Each bearded scarecrow might be Ashley. And ifit were not Ashley, perhaps the soldier would have news of him or a letter from Aunt Pitty abouthim. Black and white, they rushed to the front porch every time they heard footsteps. The sight of auniform was enough to bring everyone flying from the woodpile, the pasture and the cotton patch.
For a month after the letter came, work was almost at a standstill. No one wanted to be out of thehouse when he arrived. Scarlett least of all. And she could not insist on the others attending to theirduties when she so neglected hers.
But when the weeks crawled by and Ashley did not come or any news of him, Tara settled backinto its old routine. Longing hearts could only stand so much of longing. An uneasy fear crept intoScarlett’s mind that something had happened to him along the way. Rock Island was so far awayand he might have been weak or sick when released from prison. And he had no money and wastramping through a country where Confederates were hated. If only she knew where he was, shewould send money to him, send every penny she had and let the family go hungry, so he couldcome home swiftly on the train.
Beloved, I am coming home to you.
In the first rush of joy when her eyes met those words, they had meant only that Ashley wascoming home to her. Now, in the light of cooler reason, it was Melanie to whom he was returning,Melanie who went about the house these days singing with joy. Occasionally, Scarlett wonderedbitterly why Melanie could not have died in childbirth in Atlanta. That would have made thingsperfect. Then she could have married Ashley after a decent interval and made little Beau a goodstepmother too. When such thoughts came she did not pray hastily to God, telling Him she did notmean it. God did not frighten her any more.
Soldiers came singly and in pairs and dozens and they were always hungry. Scarlett thought despairingly that a plague of locusts would be more welcome. She cursed again the old custom ofhospitality which had flowered in the era of plenty, the custom which would not permit anytraveler, great or humble, to go on his journey without a night’s lodging, food for himself and hishorse and the utmost courtesy the house could give. She knew that era had passed forever, but therest of the household did not, nor did the soldiers, and each soldier was welcomed as if he were along-awaited guest.
As the never-ending line went by, her heart hardened. They were eating the food meant for themouths of Tara, vegetables over whose long rows she had wearied her back, food she had drivenendless miles to buy. Food was so hard to get and the money in the Yankee’s wallet would not lastforever. Only a few greenbacks and the two gold pieces were left now. Why should she feed thishorde of hungry men? The war was over. They would never again stand between her and danger.
So, she gave orders to Pork that when soldiers were in the house, the table should be set sparely.
This order prevailed until she noticed that Melanie, who had never been strong since Beau wasborn, was inducing Pork to put only dabs of food on her plate and giving her share to the soldiers.
You’ll have to stop it, Melanie,” she scolded. “You’re half sick yourself and if you don’t eatmore, you’ll be sick in bed and we’ll have to nurse you. Let these men go hungry. They can standit. They’ve stood it for four years and it won’t hurt them to stand it a little while longer.
Melanie turned to her and on her face was the first expression of naked emotion Scarlett hadever seen in those serene eyes.
Oh, Scarlett, don’t scold me! Let me do it. You don’t know how it helps me. Every time I givesome poor man my share I think that maybe, somewhere on the road up north, some woman isgiving my Ashley a share of her dinner and it’s helping him to get home to me
My Ashley.
Beloved, I am coming home to you.
Scarlett turned away, wordless. After that, Melanie noticed there was more food on the tablewhen guests were present, even though Scarlett might grudge them every mouthful.
When the soldiers were too ill to go on, and there were many such, Scarlett put them to bed withnone too good grace. Each sick man meant another mouth to feed. Someone had to nurse him andthat meant one less worker at the business of fence building, hoeing, weeding and plowing. Oneboy, on whose face a blond fuzz had just begun to sprout, was dumped on the front porch by amounted soldier bound for Fayetteville. He had found him unconscious by the roadside and hadbrought him, across his saddle, to Tara, the nearest house. The girls thought he must be one of thelittle cadets who had been called out of military school when Sherman approached Milledgevillebut they never knew, for he died without regaining consciousness and a search of his pocketsyielded no information.
A nice-looking boy, obviously a gentleman, and somewhere to the south, some woman waswatching the roads, wondering where he was and when he was coming home, just as she andMelanie, with a wild hope in their hearts, watched every bearded figure that came up their walk.
They buried the cadet in the family burying ground, next to the three little O’Hara boys, andMelanie cried sharply as Pork filled in the grave, wondering in her heart if strangers were doing this same thing to the tall body of Ashley.
Will Benteen was another soldier, like the nameless boy, who arrived unconscious across thesaddle of a comrade. Will was acutely ill with pneumonia and when the girls put him to bed, theyfeared he would soon join the boy in the burying ground.
He had the sallow malarial face of the south Georgia Cracker, pale pinkish hair and washed-outblue eyes which even in delirium were patient and mild. One of his legs was gone at the knee andto the stump was fitted a roughly whittled wooden peg. He was obviously a Cracker, just as theboy they had buried so short a while ago was obviously a planter’s son. Just how the girls knewthis they could not say. Certainly Will was no dirtier, no more hairy, no more lice infested thanmany fine gentlemen who came to Tara. Certainly the language he used in his delirium was no lessgrammatical than that of the Tarleton twins. But they knew instinctively, as they knewthoroughbred horses from scrubs, that he was not of their class. But this knowledge did not keepthem from laboring to save him.
Emaciated from a year in a Yankee prison, exhausted by his long tramp on his ill-fitting woodenpeg, he had little strength to combat pneumonia and for days he lay in the bed moaning, trying toget up, fighting battles over again. Never once did he call for mother, wife, sister or sweetheart andthis omission worried Carreen.
A man ought to have some folks,” she said. “And he sounds like he didn’t have a soul in theworld.
For all his lankiness he was tough, and good nursing pulled him through. The day came whenhis pale blue eyes, perfectly cognizant of his surroundings, fell upon Carreen sitting beside him,telling her rosary beads, the morning sun shining through her fair hair.
Then you warn’t a dream, after all,” he said, in his flat toneless voice. “I hope I ain’t troubledyou too much, Ma’m.
His convalescence was a long one and he lay quietly looking out of the window at the magnoliasand causing very little trouble to anyone. Carreen liked him because of his placid andunembarrassed silences. She would sit beside him through the long hot afternoons, fanning himand saying nothing.
Carreen had very little to say these days as she moved, delicate and wraithlike, about the taskswhich were within her strength. She prayed a good deal, for when Scarlett came into her roomwithout knocking, she always found her on her knees by her bed. The sight never failed to annoyher, for Scarlett felt that the time for prayer had passed. If God had seen fit to punish them so, thenGod could very well do without prayers. Religion had always been a bargaining process withScarlett. She promised God good behavior in exchange for favors. God had broken the bargaintime and again, to her way of thinking, and she felt that she owed Him nothing at all now. Andwhenever she found Carreen on her knees when she should have been taking an afternoon nap ordoing the mending, she felt that Carreen was shirking her share of the burdens.
She said as much to Will Benteen one afternoon when he was able to sit up in a chair and wasstartled when he said in his flat voice: “Let her be, Miss Scarlett. It comforts her.
Comforts her
Yes, she’s prayin’ for your ma and him.
Who is ‘him
His faded blue eyes looked at her from under sandy lashes without surprise. Nothing seemed tosurprise or excite him. Perhaps he had seen too much of the unexpected ever to be startled again.
That Scarlett did not know what was in her sister’s heart did not seem odd to him. He took it asnaturally as he did the fact that Carreen had found comfort in talking to him, a stranger.
Her beau, that boy Brent something-or-other who was killed at Gettysburg.
Her beau?” said Scarlett shortly. “Her beau, nothing! He and his brother were my beaux.
Yes, so she told me. Looks like most of the County was your beaux. But, all the same, he washer beau after you turned him down, because when he come home on his last furlough they gotengaged. She said he was the only boy she’d ever cared about and so it kind of comforts her topray for him.
Well, fiddle-dee-dee!” said Scarlett, a very small dart of jealousy entering her.
She looked curiously at this lanky man with his bony stooped shoulders, his pinkish hair andcalm unwavering eyes. So he knew things about her own family which she had not troubled todiscover. So that was why Carreen mooned about, praying all the time. Well, she’d get over it. Lotsof girls got over dead sweethearts, yes, dead husbands, too. She’d certainly gotten over Charles.
And she knew one girl in Atlanta who had been widowed three times by the war and was still ableto take notice of men. She said as much to Will but he shook his head.
Not Miss Carreen,” he said with finality.
Will was pleasant to talk to because he had so little to say and yet was so understanding alistener. She told him about her problems of weeding and hoeing and planting, of fattening thehogs and breeding the cow, and he gave good advice for he had owned a small farm in southGeorgia and two negroes. He knew his slaves were free now and the farm gone to weeds andseedling pines. His sister, his only relative, had moved to Texas with her husband years ago and hewas alone in the world. Yet, none of these things seemed to bother him any more than the leg hehad left in Virginia.
Yes, Will was a comfort to Scarlett after hard days when the negroes muttered and Suellennagged and cried and Gerald asked too frequently where Ellen was. She could tell Will anything.
She even told him of killing the Yankee and glowed with pride when he commented briefly: “Goodwork
Eventually all the family found their way to Will’s room to air their troubles—even Mammy,who had at first been distant with him because he was not quality and had owned only two slaves.
When he was able to totter about the house, he turned his hands to weaving baskets of split oakand mending the furniture ruined by the Yankees. He was clever at whittling and Wade wasconstantly by his side, for he whittled out toys for him, the only toys the little boy had. With Willin the house, everyone felt safe in leaving Wade and the two babies while they went about theirtasks, for he could care for them as deftly as Mammy and only Melly surpassed him at soothing thescreaming black and white babies.
You’ve been mighty good to me, Miss Scarlett,” he said, “and me a stranger and nothin’ to youall. I’ve caused you a heap of trouble and worry and if it’s all the same to you, I’m goin’ to stayhere and help you all with the work till I’ve paid you back some for your trouble. I can’t ever payit all, ‘cause there ain’t no payment a man can give for his life.
So he stayed and, gradually, unobtrusively, a large part of the burden of Tara shifted fromScarlett’s shoulders to the bony shoulders of Will Benteen.
It was September and time to pick the cotton. Will Benteen sat on the front steps at Scarlett’sfeet in the pleasant sunshine of the. early autumn afternoon and his flat voice went on and onlanguidly about the exorbitant costs of ginning the cotton at the new gin near Fayetteville. However,he had learned that day in Fayetteville that he could cut this expense a fourth by lending thehorse and wagon for two weeks to the gin owner. He had delayed closing the bargain until hediscussed it with Scarlett.
She looked at the lank figure leaning against the porch column, chewing a straw. Undoubtedly,as Mammy frequently declared, Will was something the Lord had provided and Scarlett oftenwondered how Tara could have lived through the last few months without him. He never had muchto say, never displayed any energy, never seemed to take much interest in anything that went onabout him, but he knew everything about everybody at Tara. And he did things. He did themsilently, patiently and competently. Though he had only one leg, he could work faster than Pork.
And he could get work out of Pork, which was, to Scarlett, a marvelous thing. When the cow hadthe colic and the horse fell ill with mysterious ailment which threatened to remove him permanently fromthem,Willsatupnight(a) s with them and saved them. That he was a shrewd traderbrought him Scarlett’s respect, for he could ride out in the mornings with a bushel or two of apples,sweet potatoes and other vegetables and return with seeds, lengths of cloth, flour and other necessitieswhich she knew she could never have acquired, good trader though she was.
He had gradually slipped into the status of a member of the family and slept on a cot in the littledressing room off Gerald’s room. He said nothing of leaving Tara, and Scarlett was careful not toquestion him, fearful that he might leave them. Sometimes, she thought that if he were anybodyand had any gumption he would go home, even if he no longer had a home. But even with thisthought, she would pray fervently that he would remain indefinitely. It was so convenient to have aman about the house.
She thought, too, that if Carreen had the sense of a mouse she would see that Will cared for her.
Scarlett would have been eternally grateful to Will, had he asked her for Carreen’s hand. Of course,before the war, Will would certainly not have been an eligible suitor. He was not of the planterclass at all, though he was not poor white. He was just plain Cracker, a small farmer, half-educated,prone to grammatical and ignorant of of the finer the O’Haras were accustomedtoingentlemen.I(errors) nfact,Scarlettwondered(some) ifhecouldbecalleda(manners) gentleman at all anddecided that he couldn’t. Melanie hotly defended him, saying that anyone who had Will’s kindheart and thoughtfulness of others was of gentle birth. Scarlett knew that Ellen would have faintedat the thought of a daughter of hers marrying such a man, but now Scarlett had been by necessityforced too far away from Ellen’s teachings to let that worry her. Men were scarce, girls had to marry someone and Tara had to have a man. But Carreen, deeper and deeper immersed in herprayer book and every day losing more of her touch with the world of realities, treated Will asgently as a brother and took him as much for granted as she did Pork.
If Carreen had any sense of gratitude to me for what I’ve done for her, she’d marry him and notlet him get away from here,” Scarlett thought indignantly. “But no, she must spend her timemooning about a silly boy who probably never gave her a serious thought.
So Will remained at Tara, for what reason she did not know and she found his businesslike man-to-man attitude with her both pleasant and helpful. He was gravely deferential to the vague Geraldbut it was to Scarlett that he turned as the real head of the house.
She gave her approval to the plan of hiring out the horse even though it meant the family wouldbe without any means of transportation temporarily. Suellen would be especially grieved at this.
Her greatest joy lay in going to Jonesboro or Fayetteville with Will when he drove over onbusiness. Adorned in the assembled best of the family, she called on old friends, heard all thegossip of the County and felt herself again Miss O’Hara of Tara. Suellen never missed theopportunity to leave the plantation and give herself airs among people who did not know sheweeded the garden and made beds.
Miss Fine Airs will just have to do without gadding for two weeks, thought Scarlett, and we’llhave to put up with her nagging and her bawling.
Melanie joined them on the veranda, the baby in her arms, and spreading an old blanket on thefloor, set little Beau down to crawl. Since Ashley’s letter Melanie had divided her time betweenglowing, singing happiness and anxious longing. But happy or depressed, she was too thin, toowhite. She did her share of the work uncomplainingly but she was always ailing. Old Dr. Fontainediagnosed her trouble as female complaint and concurred with Dr. Meade in saying she shouldnever have had Beau. And he said frankly that another baby would kill her.
When I was over to Fayetteville today,” said Will, “I found somethin’ right cute that I thoughtwould interest you ladies and I brought it home.” He fumbled in his back pants pocket and broughtout the wallet of calico, stiffened with bark, which Carreen had made him. From it, he drew aConfederate bill.
If you think Confederate money is cute, Will, I certainly don’t,” said Scarlett shortly, for thevery sight of Confederate money made her mad. “We’ve got three thousand dollars of it in Pa’strunk this minute, and Mammy’s after me to let her paste it over the holes in the attic walls so thedraft won’t get her. And I think I’ll do it. Then it’ll be good for something.
Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay,’ ” said Melanie with a sad smile. “Don’t do that,Scarlett. Keep it for Wade. He’ll be proud of it some day.
Well, I don’t know nothin’ about imperious Caesar,” said Will, patiently, “but what I’ve got isin line with what you’ve just said about Wade, Miss Melly. It’s a poem, pasted on the back of thisbill. I know Miss Scarlett ain’t much on poems but I thought this might interest her.
He turned the bill over. On its back was pasted a strip of coarse brown wrapping paper, inscribedin pale homemade ink. Will cleared his throat and read slowly and with difficulty.
The name is ‘Lines on the Back of a Confederate Note,’ ” he said.
RepresentingnothingonGod’searthnowAndnaughtinthewatersbelowit—Asthepledgeofnationthat’spassedawayKeepit,dearfriend,andshow it.
Show ittothosewho willllendanearTo thetalethistriflewillltelllOfLiberty,bornofpatriots’dream,Ofastorm-cradlednationthatfelll.
Oh, how beautiful! How touching!” cried Melanie. “Scarlett, you mustn’t give the money toMammy to paste in the attic. It’s more than paper—just like this poem said: ‘The pledge of anation that’s passed away
Oh, Melly, don’t be sentimental! Paper is paper and we’ve got little enough of it and I’m tiredof hearing Mammy grumble about the cracks in the attic. I hope when Wade grows up I’ll haveplenty of greenbacks to give him instead of Confederate trash.
Will, who had been enticing little Beau across the blanket with the bill during this argument,looked up and, shading his eyes, glanced down the driveway.
More company,” he said, squinting in the sun. “Another soldier.
Scarlett followed his gaze and saw a familiar sight, a bearded man coming slowly up the avenueunder the cedars, a man clad in a ragged mixture of blue and gray uniforms, head bowed tiredly,feet dragging slowly.
I thought we were about through with soldiers,” she said. “I hope this one isn’t very hungry.
He’ll be hungry,” said Will briefly.
Melanie rose.
I’d better tell Dilcey to set an extra plate,” she said, “and warn Mammy not to get the poorthing’s clothes off his back too abruptly and
She stopped so suddenly that Scarlett turned to look at her. Melanie’s thin hand was at herthroat, clutching it as if it was torn with pain, and Scarlett could see the veins beneath the whiteskin throbbing swiftly. Her face went whiter and her brown eyes dilated enormously.
She’s going to faint, thought Scarlett, leaping to her feet and catching her arm.
But, in an instant, Melanie threw off her hand and was down the steps. Down the graveled pathshe flew, skimming lightly as a bird, her faded skirts streaming behind her, her arms outstretched.
Then, Scarlett knew the truth, with the impact of a blow. She reeled back against an upright of theporch as the man lifted a face covered with a dirty blond beard and stopped still, looking towardthe house as if he was too weary to take another step. Her heart leaped and stopped and then beganracing, as Melly with incoherent cries threw herself into the dirty soldier’s arms and his head bent down toward hers. With rapture, Scarlett took two running steps forward but was checked whenWill’s hand closed upon her skirt.
Don’t spoil it,” he said quietly.
Turn me loose, you fool! Turn me loose! It’s Ashley
He did not relax his grip.
After all, he’s her husband, ain’t he?” Will asked calmly and, looking down at him in aconfusion of joy and impotent fury, Scarlett saw in the quiet depths of his eyes understanding andpity.