minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 75
she passed through the door.

Through blurred eyes she saw India and Pitty follow the doctor into
the room, holding their skirts close to their sides to keep them
from rustling. The door closed behind them and the house was
still. Ashley was nowhere to be seen. Scarlett leaned her head
against the wall, like a naughty child in a corner, and rubbed her
aching throat.

Behind that door, Melanie was going and, with her, the strength
upon which she had relied unknowingly for so many years. Why, oh,
why, had she not realized before this how much she loved and needed
Melanie? But who would have thought of small plain Melanie as a
tower of strength? Melanie who was shy to tears before strangers,
timid about raising her voice in an opinion of her own, fearful of
the disapproval of old ladies, Melanie who lacked the courage to
say Boo to a goose? And yet--

Scarlett's mind went back through the years to the still, hot noon
at Tara when gray smoke curled above a blue-clad body and Melanie
stood at the top of the stairs with Charles' saber in her hand.
Scarlett remembered that she had thought at the time: "How silly!
Melly couldn't even heft that sword!" But now she knew that had
the necessity arisen, Melanie would have charged down those stairs
and killed the Yankee--or been killed herself.

Yes, Melanie had been there that day with a sword in her small
hand, ready to do battle for her. And now, as Scarlett looked
sadly back, she realized that Melanie had always been there beside
her with a sword in her hand, unobtrusive as her own shadow, loving
her, fighting for her with blind passionate loyalty, fighting
Yankees, fire, hunger, poverty, public opinion and even her beloved
blood kin.

Scarlett felt her courage and self-confidence ooze from her as she
realized that the sword which had flashed between her and the world
was sheathed forever.

"Melly is the only woman friend I ever had," she thought forlornly,
"the only woman except Mother who really loved me. She's like
Mother, too. Everyone who knew her has clung to her skirts."

Suddenly it was as if Ellen were lying behind that closed door,
leaving the world for a second time. Suddenly she was standing at
Tara again with the world about her ears, desolate with the
knowledge that she could not face life without the terrible
strength of the weak, the gentle, the tender hearted.



She stood in the hall, irresolute, frightened, and the glaring
light of the fire in the sitting room threw tall dim shadows on the
walls about her. The house was utterly still and the stillness
soaked into her like a fine chill rain. Ashley! Where was Ashley?

She went toward the sitting room seeking him like a cold animal
seeking the fire but he was not there. She must find him. She had
discovered Melanie's strength and her dependence on it only to lose
it in the moment of discovery but there was still Ashley left.
There was Ashley who was strong and wise and comforting. In Ashley
and his love lay strength upon which to lay her weakness, courage
to bolster her fear, ease for her sorrow.

He must be in his room, she thought, and tiptoeing down the hall,
she knocked softly. There was no answer, so she pushed the door
open. Ashley was standing in front of the dresser, looking at a
pair of Melanie's mended gloves. First he picked up one and looked
at it, as though he had never seen it before. Then he laid it down
gently, as though it were made of glass, and picked up the other
one.

She said: "Ashley!" in a trembling voice and he turned slowly and
looked at her. The drowsy aloofness had gone from his gray eyes
and they were wide and unmasked. In them she saw fear that matched
her own fear, helplessness weaker than her own, bewilderment more
profound than she would ever know. The feeling of dread which had
possessed her in the hall deepened as she saw his face. She went
toward him.

"I'm frightened," she said. "Oh, Ashley, hold me. I'm so
frightened!"

He made no move to her but stared, gripping the glove tightly in
both hands. She put a hand on his arm and whispered: "What is
it?"

His eyes searched her intently, hunting, hunting desperately for
something he did not find. Finally he spoke and his voice was not
his own.

"I was wanting you," he said. "I was going to run and find you--
run like a child wanting comfort--and I find a child, more
frightened, running to me."

"Not you--you can't be frightened," she cried. "Nothing has ever
frightened you. But I-- You've always been so strong--"

"If I've ever been strong, it was because she was behind me," he
said, his voice breaking, and he looked down at the glove and
smoothed the fingers. "And--and--all the strength I ever had is

she passed through the door.

Through blurred eyes she saw India and Pitty follow the doctor into

the room, holding their skirts close to their sides to keep them

from rustling. The door closed behind them and the house was

still. Ashley was nowhere to be seen. Scarlett leaned her head

against the wall, like a naughty child in a corner, and rubbed her

aching throat.

Behind that door, Melanie was going and, with her, the strength

upon which she had relied unknowingly for so many years. Why, oh,

why, had she not realized before this how much she loved and needed

Melanie? But who would have thought of small plain Melanie as a

tower of strength? Melanie who was shy to tears before strangers,

timid about raising her voice in an opinion of her own, fearful of

the disapproval of old ladies, Melanie who lacked the courage to

say Boo to a goose? And yet--

Scarlett's mind went back through the years to the still, hot noon

at Tara when gray smoke curled above a blue-clad body and Melanie

stood at the top of the stairs with Charles' saber in her hand.

Scarlett remembered that she had thought at the time: "How silly!

Melly couldn't even heft that sword!" But now she knew that had

the necessity arisen, Melanie would have charged down those stairs

and killed the Yankee--or been killed herself.

Yes, Melanie had been there that day with a sword in her small

hand, ready to do battle for her. And now, as Scarlett looked

sadly back, she realized that Melanie had always been there beside

her with a sword in her hand, unobtrusive as her own shadow, loving

her, fighting for her with blind passionate loyalty, fighting

Yankees, fire, hunger, poverty, public opinion and even her beloved

blood kin.

Scarlett felt her courage and self-confidence ooze from her as she

realized that the sword which had flashed between her and the world

was sheathed forever.

"Melly is the only woman friend I ever had," she thought forlornly,

"the only woman except Mother who really loved me. She's like

Mother, too. Everyone who knew her has clung to her skirts."

Suddenly it was as if Ellen were lying behind that closed door,

leaving the world for a second time. Suddenly she was standing at

Tara again with the world about her ears, desolate with the

knowledge that she could not face life without the terrible

strength of the weak, the gentle, the tender hearted.

She stood in the hall, irresolute, frightened, and the glaring

light of the fire in the sitting room threw tall dim shadows on the

walls about her. The house was utterly still and the stillness

soaked into her like a fine chill rain. Ashley! Where was Ashley?

She went toward the sitting room seeking him like a cold animal

seeking the fire but he was not there. She must find him. She had

discovered Melanie's strength and her dependence on it only to lose

it in the moment of discovery but there was still Ashley left.

There was Ashley who was strong and wise and comforting. In Ashley

and his love lay strength upon which to lay her weakness, courage

to bolster her fear, ease for her sorrow.

He must be in his room, she thought, and tiptoeing down the hall,

she knocked softly. There was no answer, so she pushed the door

open. Ashley was standing in front of the dresser, looking at a

pair of Melanie's mended gloves. First he picked up one and looked

at it, as though he had never seen it before. Then he laid it down

gently, as though it were made of glass, and picked up the other

one.

She said: "Ashley!" in a trembling voice and he turned slowly and

looked at her. The drowsy aloofness had gone from his gray eyes

and they were wide and unmasked. In them she saw fear that matched

her own fear, helplessness weaker than her own, bewilderment more

profound than she would ever know. The feeling of dread which had

possessed her in the hall deepened as she saw his face. She went

toward him.

"I'm frightened," she said. "Oh, Ashley, hold me. I'm so

frightened!"

He made no move to her but stared, gripping the glove tightly in

both hands. She put a hand on his arm and whispered: "What is

it?"

His eyes searched her intently, hunting, hunting desperately for

something he did not find. Finally he spoke and his voice was not

his own.

"I was wanting you," he said. "I was going to run and find you--

run like a child wanting comfort--and I find a child, more

frightened, running to me."

"Not you--you can't be frightened," she cried. "Nothing has ever

frightened you. But I-- You've always been so strong--"

"If I've ever been strong, it was because she was behind me," he

said, his voice breaking, and he looked down at the glove and

smoothed the fingers. "And--and--all the strength I ever had is