minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

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There would be solace in Fanny's presence, knowing that she and
Fanny both had lost husbands in the black days of martial law. It
would be grim fun to laugh with Mrs. Elsing, recalling the old
lady's face as she flogged her horse through Five Points the day
Atlanta fell, her loot from the commissary jouncing from her
carriage. It would be pleasant to match stories with Mrs.
Merriwether, now secure on the proceeds of her bakery, pleasant to
say: "Do you remember how bad things were right after the
surrender? Do you remember when we didn't know where our next pair
of shoes was coming from? And look at us now!"

Yes, it would be pleasant. Now she understood why when two ex-
Confederates met, they talked of the war with so much relish, with
pride, with nostalgia. Those had been days that tried their hearts
but they had come through them. They were veterans. She was a
veteran too, but she had no cronies with whom she could refight old
battles. Oh, to be with her own kind of people again, those people
who had been through the same things and knew how they hurt--and
yet how great a part of you they were!

But, somehow, these people had slipped away. She realized that it
was her own fault. She had never cared until now--now that Bonnie
was dead and she was lonely and afraid and she saw across her
shining dinner table a swarthy sodden stranger disintegrating under
her eyes.



CHAPTER LXI


Scarlett was in Marietta when Rhett's urgent telegram came. There
was a train leaving for Atlanta in ten minutes and she caught it,
carrying no baggage except her reticule and leaving Wade and Ella
at the hotel with Prissy.

Atlanta was only twenty miles away but the train crawled
interminably through the wet early autumn afternoon, stopping at
every bypath for passengers. Panic stricken at Rhett's message,
mad for speed, Scarlett almost screamed at every halt. Down the
road lumbered the train through forests faintly, tiredly gold, past
red hillsides still scarred with serpentine breastworks, past old
battery emplacements and weed-grown craters, down the road over
which Johnston's men had retreated so bitterly, fighting every step
of the way. Each station, each crossroad the conductor called was
the name of a battle, the site of a skirmish. Once they would have
stirred Scarlett to memories of terror but now she had no thought
for them.

Rhett's message had been:

"Mrs. Wilkes ill. Come home immediately."

Twilight had fallen when the train pulled into Atlanta and a light
misting rain obscured the town. The gas street lamps glowed dully,
blobs of yellow in the fog. Rhett was waiting for her at the depot
with the carriage. The very sight of his face frightened her more
than his telegram. She had never seen it so expressionless before.

"She isn't--" she cried.

"No. She's still alive." Rhett assisted her into the carriage.
"To Mrs. Wilkes' house and as fast as you can go," he ordered the
coachman.

"What's the matter with her? I didn't know she was ill. She
looked all right last week. Did she have an accident? Oh, Rhett,
it isn't really as serious as you--"

"She's dying," said Rhett and his voice had no more expression than
his face. "She wants to see you."

"Not Melly! Oh, not Melly! What's happened to her?"

"She's had a miscarriage."

"A--a-mis--but, Rhett, she--" Scarlett floundered. This
information on top of the horror of his announcement took her
breath away.

"You did not know she was going to have a baby?"

She could not even shake her head.

"Ah, well. I suppose not. I don't think she told anyone. She
wanted it to be a surprise. But I knew."

"You knew? But surely she didn't tell you!"

"She didn't have to tell me. I knew. She's been so--happy these
last two months I knew it couldn't mean anything else."

"But Rhett, the doctor said it would kill her to have another
baby!"

"It has killed her," said Rhett. And to the coachman: "For God's
sake, can't you drive faster?"

"But, Rhett, she can't be dying! I--I didn't and I--"

There would be solace in Fanny's presence, knowing that she and

Fanny both had lost husbands in the black days of martial law. It

would be grim fun to laugh with Mrs. Elsing, recalling the old

lady's face as she flogged her horse through Five Points the day

Atlanta fell, her loot from the commissary jouncing from her

carriage. It would be pleasant to match stories with Mrs.

Merriwether, now secure on the proceeds of her bakery, pleasant to

say: "Do you remember how bad things were right after the

surrender? Do you remember when we didn't know where our next pair

of shoes was coming from? And look at us now!"

Yes, it would be pleasant. Now she understood why when two ex-

Confederates met, they talked of the war with so much relish, with

pride, with nostalgia. Those had been days that tried their hearts

but they had come through them. They were veterans. She was a

veteran too, but she had no cronies with whom she could refight old

battles. Oh, to be with her own kind of people again, those people

who had been through the same things and knew how they hurt--and

yet how great a part of you they were!

But, somehow, these people had slipped away. She realized that it

was her own fault. She had never cared until now--now that Bonnie

was dead and she was lonely and afraid and she saw across her

shining dinner table a swarthy sodden stranger disintegrating under

her eyes.

CHAPTER LXI

Scarlett was in Marietta when Rhett's urgent telegram came. There

was a train leaving for Atlanta in ten minutes and she caught it,

carrying no baggage except her reticule and leaving Wade and Ella

at the hotel with Prissy.

Atlanta was only twenty miles away but the train crawled

interminably through the wet early autumn afternoon, stopping at

every bypath for passengers. Panic stricken at Rhett's message,

mad for speed, Scarlett almost screamed at every halt. Down the

road lumbered the train through forests faintly, tiredly gold, past

red hillsides still scarred with serpentine breastworks, past old

battery emplacements and weed-grown craters, down the road over

which Johnston's men had retreated so bitterly, fighting every step

of the way. Each station, each crossroad the conductor called was

the name of a battle, the site of a skirmish. Once they would have

stirred Scarlett to memories of terror but now she had no thought

for them.

Rhett's message had been:

"Mrs. Wilkes ill. Come home immediately."

Twilight had fallen when the train pulled into Atlanta and a light

misting rain obscured the town. The gas street lamps glowed dully,

blobs of yellow in the fog. Rhett was waiting for her at the depot

with the carriage. The very sight of his face frightened her more

than his telegram. She had never seen it so expressionless before.

"She isn't--" she cried.

"No. She's still alive." Rhett assisted her into the carriage.

"To Mrs. Wilkes' house and as fast as you can go," he ordered the

coachman.

"What's the matter with her? I didn't know she was ill. She

looked all right last week. Did she have an accident? Oh, Rhett,

it isn't really as serious as you--"

"She's dying," said Rhett and his voice had no more expression than

his face. "She wants to see you."

"Not Melly! Oh, not Melly! What's happened to her?"

"She's had a miscarriage."

"A--a-mis--but, Rhett, she--" Scarlett floundered. This

information on top of the horror of his announcement took her

breath away.

"You did not know she was going to have a baby?"

She could not even shake her head.

"Ah, well. I suppose not. I don't think she told anyone. She

wanted it to be a surprise. But I knew."

"You knew? But surely she didn't tell you!"

"She didn't have to tell me. I knew. She's been so--happy these

last two months I knew it couldn't mean anything else."

"But Rhett, the doctor said it would kill her to have another

baby!"

"It has killed her," said Rhett. And to the coachman: "For God's

sake, can't you drive faster?"

"But, Rhett, she can't be dying! I--I didn't and I--"