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.
战争结束之后第一个炎热的夏天，突然塔拉的隔离状态被打破了。从那以后好几个月里，一些衣衫褴褛，满脸胡须、走坏了脚又往往饿着肚子的人，源源不绝地翻过红土山起来到塔拉农场，在屋前阴凉的台阶上休息，既要吃的又要在那里过夜。他们都是些复员回家的联盟军士兵。火车把约翰斯顿的残余部队从北卡罗来纳运到亚特兰大，在那里下车后就只好长途跋涉步行回家了。这股人流过去以后，从弗吉尼亚军队中来的一批疲惫的老兵又来了，然后是从西部军复员的人，他们要赶回南边去，虽然他们的家可能已不存在，他们的亲人也早已逃散或死掉了。他们大都走路，只有极少数幸运的人骑着投降协议允许保留的瘦骨嶙峋的马和骡子。不过全是些又羸又乏的畜生，即使一个外行人也能断定走不到弗罗里达和南佐治亚了。
回家去啊！回家去啊！这是士兵心中唯一的想法。有些人沉默忧郁，也有些人比较快活，他们没把困难放在心上，觉得一切都已过去，现在支持他们活下去的只有还乡一事了。很少有人表示怨恨，他们把怨恨留给自己的女人和老人了。但被打败了，他们已英勇地战斗过，现在很想起安地待下来，在他们为之战斗的旗帜下种地过日子。
回家去啊！回家去啊！他们别的什么也不谈，不谈打仗也不谈受伤，不谈坐牢也不谈今后。往后，他们可能还要打仗，要把他们曾经怎样搞恶作剧，怎样抢东西怎样冲锋和饿肚子，怎样连夜行军和受伤住院等等，通通告诉自己的儿子和孙子可是现在不谈这些。他们有的缺胳膊短腿，有的瞎了一只眼，但更多的人带着枪伤，如果他们活到七十岁，这些枪伤，是每到阴雨天就要痛的，不过现在还不要紧。至于以后，那就是另一回事了。
年老和年轻的，健谈的和沉默的，富农和森林地带憔悴的穷白人，他们都有两种共同的东西，既虱子和痢疾。联盟军士兵对于受虱子折磨的尴尬局面已习惯了，他们已经毫不介意，甚至在妇女面前也泰然自若地搔起来痒来，至于痢疾----妇女们巧妙地称之为"血污"----那仿佛对谁也不饶过，从小兵到将军一视同仁。为时四年的半饥半饱状态，四年粗糙的、半生不熟和腐烂发酸的配给食品，对这些人起到了应有的作用，以致每个在亚特兰大停留的士兵要么刚在逐渐康复，要么还病得厉害。
“他联盟军部队里就没一个肚子是好的。"嬷嬷一面流着汗在炉子上煎黑莓根汤药，一面这样苛刻地评论。黑莓根是爱伦生前拿来治这种病的主要药方，嬷嬷当然学会了。"据俺看，打垮咱们部队的不是北方佬，倒是咱们自家的肚肠。先生们总不能一面拉肚子一面打仗嘛。"嬷嬷给他们所有的人，吃这个药方，也不问他们的肠胃情况究竟怎样；所有的人都乖乖地皱着眉头吃她给的这种黑汤，也许还记得在很远的地方曾经也有这样严厉的黑女人用无情的手喂他们吃过药呢。
嬷嬷在住宿方面的态度也一样坚决。凡是身上有虱子的士兵都不许进入塔拉农常她把他们赶到后面丛密的灌木林里。
给他们一盆和一块含强碱的肥皂，叫他们脱下军服，好好洗浴一番，还准备了被褥和床单让他们把赤裸的身子暂时覆盖住，这时她用一口大锅把他们的衣服煮起来，直到虱子彻底消灭为止。姑娘们热烈争论，说这样做使士兵们太丢脸了，嬷嬷说，要是将来姑娘们发现自己也有虱子，不是更丢脸吗？
等到每天都有士兵到达的时候，嬷嬷就提出抗议，反对让他们使用卧室。她总是害怕有个虱子逃过了他的惩处。思嘉知道跟她争论也无济于事，便把那间铺了厚天鹅绒地毯的客厅改宿舍。嬷嬷认为让这些大兵睡在爱伦亲手编织的地毯上简直是一种亵渎行为，便大嚷大叫起来，可是思嘉仍很坚决。他们总得有个地方睡嘛。而且，几个月来，地毯上的绒毛已开始出现磨损的迹象，尤其是鞋跟践踏和靴刺不小心划着的地方，连那下面的线纹也快露出来了。
她们急切地向每个士兵打听艾希礼的消息。苏伦也克制着经常探询肯尼迪先生的情况。可是这些士兵谁也没听说过他们，同时也不想谈失踪的事。只要他们自己还活着就够了，谁还高兴去管成千上万没有标明姓氏的坟。
每次打听没有结果的时候，全家人都支持媚兰不要灰心丧气。当然，艾希礼没有死在狱中。如果他真的死了，北方佬监狱里的牧师会写信的。当然他快要回来了，不过他所在的监狱离这里远着呢。可不，坐火车也得几天呢，艾希礼如果也像这些人是步行的话……那他干吗没写信呢？唔，亲爱的，你知道现今的邮路是个什么情况----即使在那些已经恢复了的地方也很不可靠；丢三落四的。不过也许----也许他在回家的路上死了呢。要是那样，媚兰，也一定会有北方佬女人写信告诉我们嘛！……北方佬女人，呸！……媚兰，北方佬女人也有好的呀。唔，是的，是有的！上帝不可能让整个一个民族没有几位好的妇女在里面呢！思嘉，你记得在萨拉托加那一次，我们不是就遇见了一个很好的北方佬女人吗？----思嘉跟媚兰谈谈那个女人吧！"“好吗，去你的吧！"思嘉答道：“她问我们家养了几只猎狗用来追赶黑人呢！我同意媚兰的看法。无论男的女的，我从没见过一个好的北方佬，不过你别哭，媚兰，艾希礼会回来的。因为要走很远的路，而且可能----可能他没有弄到靴子呢。"想到艾希礼在光脚走路，于是思嘉也快哭了。让别的士兵穿着破衣烂衫，用麻布袋和破毡条裹着脚，一瘸一拐去走路吧，但艾希礼可不行：他应当骑一匹风驰电掣般的快马，穿着整洁的戎装，登着雪亮的靴子，帽子上插着羽毛，威风凛凛地赶回家来。要是设想艾希礼也已经沦落到像这些士兵一样的境遇，那是她把自己大大地贬低了。
六月间的一个下午，所有塔拉农场的人都聚在后面走廊上，急切地看着波克将头一个半熟的西瓜打开，这时忽然他们听见屋前车道上马蹄踏着碎石的声音，百里茜没精打采地动身朝前门走去，其余的人留在后面热烈争论，如果门外的来客又是一个士兵的话，究竟要不要把西瓜藏起来，或者留到晚餐时再吃。
媚兰和卡琳在小声嘀咕，说士兵也应当分给一份，可思嘉在苏伦和嬷嬷的支持下示意波克快去把西瓜藏起来。
“姑娘们！别傻了，实际上还不够我们自己吃呢，要是外面还有两三个饿急了的士兵，我们大家连尝一口的希望也没有了，"思嘉说。
波克紧抱着那小西瓜站在那里，不知究竟怎么办好，这时恰巧听见百里茜在大声喊叫。
“思嘉小姐！媚兰小姐！快出来呀！我的上帝！"“那是谁呢？"思嘉惊叫道，一面从台阶上跳起来奔过堂直往外跑，媚兰紧跟着她，别的人也随即一哄而出。
她想一定是艾希礼。唔，也许----
“是彼得大叔呢！皮蒂帕特小姐家的彼得大叔！"他们一起向前面走廊上奔去，看见皮蒂姑妈家那那个头发花白的高个子老暴君，正在从一匹尾巴细长的老马背上爬下来，老马背上还捆着一块皮褥当马鞍呢。他那张宽宽的黑脸上，即有习惯的庄严也有看见老朋友的欢乐，两相争斗，结果就使得他额头皱成了几道深沟，而他的嘴却像没牙的老猎狗似的咧开了。
人人都跑下台阶欢迎他，不管黑人白人都争着跟他握手，提出问题，但是媚兰的声音比谁都响。
“姑妈没生病吧，是吗？”
“没有，太太。只是有点不舒坦，感谢上帝！"彼得回答说，先是严厉地看一眼媚兰，接着看看思嘉，这样她们便忽然感到内疚，可是也不明白是什么原因。“她不怎么舒坦，但她对你们两位年轻小姐很生气，而且认真说起来，俺也有气。““怎么，彼得大叔！究竟是什么----"“你们都休想为你们自己辩护。皮蒂小姐不是给你们写过信，叫你们回去吗？俺不是看见她边写边哭，可你们总是回信说这个老种植园事情太忙，回不去吗？"“彼得大叔，不过----"“你们怎能把皮蒂小姐一个人丢开不管，让她担惊受怕呢？你们和俺一样很清楚，她从没一个人生活过，从梅肯回来后就一直挪着两只小脚走来走去。她叫俺来老实告诉你们，她真不明白你们怎么在她最困难的时候把她给抛弃了。"“好，别说了！"嬷嬷尖刻地说，在旁边听人家把塔拉叫做"老种植园"，她便再也按捺不住了。毫无疑问的，一个生长在城里的黑人弄不清农场和种植园的区别。"难道俺没有困难的时候了？俺这里就不需要思嘉小姐和媚兰小姐而且需要得厉害？皮蒂小姐要是真的需要，怎么没去请求她哥哥帮助呢？”彼得大叔狠狠地瞪了她一眼。
“我们已经多年不跟享利先生打交道了，何况我们现在已老得走不动了。"他回过头来看着几位姑娘。她们正强忍着笑呢。"你们年轻小姐们应当感到羞耻，把可怜的皮蒂小姐单独丢在那里。她的朋友半数都死了，另一半住在梅肯，加上亚特兰大到处都是北方佬大兵和新放出来的下流黑人。"两位姑娘硬着头皮尽量忍受着彼得大叔的谴责，可是一想到皮蒂姑妈会打发彼得来责备她们，并要把她们带回亚特兰大去，便觉得有点太过份，实在克制不住了。她们不由得前俯后仰地大笑起来，彼此靠着肩膀才没有倒下去。自然，波克、迪尔茜和嬷嬷听见这位对她们亲爱的塔拉妄加诽谤的人受到了藐视，也乐得大声哄笑了一阵。苏伦和卡琳也格格地笑着，连杰拉尔德的脸上也露笑容了。人人都在笑，只有彼得除外，他感到万分难堪，两只笨大的八字脚交替挪动着，不知怎样摆好。
“黑老头儿，你怎么了？"嬷嬷咧着嘴问。"难道你老得连自己的女主人也保护不好了？“彼得深感受了侮辱。
“老了！我老了？不，太太！我还能跟往常一样保护皮蒂小姐呢。我逃难时不是一路护送她到梅肯了吗？北方佬打到梅肯时，她吓得整天晕过去，不是我保护着她吗？不是我弄到了这匹老马把她带回亚特兰大，并且一路保护着她和她爸的银器吗？"彼得挺着身子站得笔直，理直气壮地为自己辩护，"我不要谈什么保护。我谈的是态度如何。"“谁的态度呢？”“我谈的是有些人采取的态度，眼见皮蒂小姐独个儿住在那里。对于那些独个儿生活的未婚姑娘人们尽说坏话呢，"彼得继续说，他的话你听起来很明显，皮蒂帕特在他心目中还是个十六岁的丰满迷人的小姐呢，因此她得有人保护不受别人的议论。"我是决不让人家议论她的。不，太太……我已经跟她说过了，我也决不让他请人住进来给自己作伴。我已经跟她说过了。'现在你还有自己的亲骨肉，她们适合来陪伴你呢'，我说。可如今她的亲骨肉拒绝她了。皮蒂小姐只不过是个孩子罢了，而且----"思嘉和媚兰听到这里，笑得更响了，由于支持不住，便一起坐到了台阶上。最后媚兰才把欢乐的眼泪拭掉，开口说话。
“我对不起笑了你了，可怜的彼得大叔啊！千真万确的。
你看！请饶恕我吧。思嘉小姐和我目前还回不去。也许九月间收过棉花以后我能走成。姑妈打发你一路跑来，难道就是要让这把瘦骨把我们带回去呀？"被她这样一问，彼得下巴立即耷拉下来，那张皱巴巴的黑脸上也露出又抱歉又狼狈的神情，他突出的下嘴唇即刻缩回去，就像乌龟把头缩进壳底下似的。
“我说过我已经老了，媚兰小姐，我一时间干脆忘了她打发我干什么来了，可那是很重要的呢。我给你带了封信来。皮蒂小姐不信任邮局或任何别的人，专门叫我来送，而且----“"一封信？给我？谁的？"“唔，那是----皮蒂小姐，她对我说，'彼得，你，轻轻地告诉媚兰小姐，'我说----"媚兰一只手放在胸口从台阶上站起身来。
“艾希礼！艾希礼！他死了！”
“没有，太太！没有，太太！"彼得叫嚷着，他的声音提高到了嘶喊的地步，一面在破上衣胸前的口袋里摸索。"这就是他寄来的信。他活着呢，他快要回来了。他----我的上帝！
搀住她，嬷嬷！让我----”
“你这老笨蛋！不许你碰她！"嬷嬷怒气冲冲地吼着，一面挣扎着扶住媚兰瘫软的身子不让她倒下。"你这个假正经的黑猴子！还说轻轻地告诉她呢！你抱住她的脚，波克。卡琳，托住她的头。咱们把她抬到客厅里的沙发上去。"除思嘉以外，所有的人都围着晕倒的媚兰手忙脚乱，七嘴八舌地大声嚷嚷，有的跑去打水，有的跑去拿枕头，一时间思嘉和彼得大叔两人给留在人行道上没人管了。思嘉站在原来的地方，像生了根似的，她是听到彼得谈起艾希礼时一下跳过来的，可现在也给吓得不能动弹了。只瞪大眼睛望着彼得手里那封颤动的信发呆。彼得像个受了母亲责骂的孩子似的，那张又老又黑的面孔显得十分可怜。他那庄严的神气已经彻底垮了。
她一时说不出话来，也挪不动脚，尽管思嘉在心里喊叫：“他没有死！他快回来了！”这消息给她带来的既不是喜悦也不是激动，而是一种目蹬口呆的麻木状态。彼得大叔这时说话了，他的声音犹如自一个遥远的地方起来，既带有哀愁又给人以安慰。
“我们的一个亲戚威利·伯尔先生给皮蒂小姐带了这封信来。威利先生跟艾希礼先生呆在同一个牢房里，威利先生弄到一骑马，所以他很快就回来了。可艾希礼先生是走路，所以----"思嘉从他手里把信抢过来，信封上写的收信人是媚兰，是皮蒂小姐的手笔，不过对此她毫不犹疑，便把它拆开了，里面一个由皮蒂小姐封入了字条随即掉落在地上。信封里装着一张折叠的信笺，因为被带信人揣在肮脏的口袋里弄得灰糊糊的而且有点破了。艾希礼开头是这样写的：“佐治亚亚特兰大萨拉·简·汉密尔顿小姐转，或琼斯博罗'十二橡树'村，乔治·艾希礼·威尔克斯太太收。"她颤抖地手把信笺打开，默默地读道：“亲爱的，我就要回到你身边来了----"眼泪开始潸然下流，她没法再读下去。她只觉得心在发胀，顿时高兴得无法克制自己了。于是她抓住那封信贴在胸口，迅速跳上台阶，跑进穿堂，经过那间闹哄哄的客厅，径直来到爱伦的办事房。此时塔拉农场所有的人都还拥挤在客厅里为打救不省人事的媚兰忙碌着呢。可思嘉不管这些。她把门关好，锁上，猛地倒在那张下塌的旧沙发里，哭着，笑着，吻着那封信。
“亲爱的，我就要回到你身边了，"她悄悄地念着。
人们凭常识也知道，除非艾希礼长了翅膀，否则他要从伊利诺斯回到佐治亚就得走好几个星期，甚至几个月，不过大家还是天天盼望，只要军人在塔拉的林荫道上出现，心就禁不住急跳起来。仿佛每一个破衣衫的人都可能是艾希礼，即使不是艾希礼，那个士兵也许知道一点艾希礼的消息，或者带来了皮蒂姑妈写的一封有关他的信。不分黑人白人，每一次听到脚步声他们就向前面走廊上奔去。只要看到一个穿军服的人影，每个在柴堆旁、在牧场上和在棉花地里劳动的人，就有理由飞跑过去了。收到那封信以后的一个月里，农田里的活儿已几乎陷于停顿状态。因为谁都不愿意当艾希礼到家时自己不在屋里。思嘉是最不愿意碰上这种情况的人，既然自己如此安心工作。她也就没法坚持要别人认真劳动了。
但是一个一个星期过去，艾希礼还是没有回来，也没有什么消息，于是塔拉农场又恢复了原先的秩序。渴望的心情也只能到这种地步。不过思嘉心里产生了一种恐惧感，那就是担心艾希礼在路上出了什么事。罗克艾兰离这里那么远，可能他获释出狱时身体就十分虚弱或者有病呢。而且他身边无钱，所走过的区域又都是憎恨联盟军的地方。要是她知道他如今在哪里，她倒愿意寄钱给他，把她手头所有的钱都寄去，哪怕让全家的人都饿肚子也罢，只要他能够坐火车赶回来就行了。
“亲爱的，我就要回到你身边来了。”
在她刚看到这句话便引起第一阵喜悦中，它好像只意味着他就要回到她身边来了。可现在比较理智而冷静地想起来，才发现他原来是要回到媚兰身边来呢。媚兰最近总是在屋子里到处走动，高兴地唱个不停。有时思嘉恨恨地想起，为什么媚兰在亚特兰大生孩子时竟没有死呀？要是死了，事情就全然不同了！那样她就可以在一个适当的时期以后嫁给艾希礼，将小博也作为一个很好的前娘儿子抚养起来。每当想到这些，她也并不急于向上帝祈祷，告诉他她不是这个意思，她对上帝已不再害怕了。
士兵还陆陆续续地来，有时一个两个，有时十几二十个，一般都饿肚子。思嘉绝望地觉得这比经受一次蝗灾还要可怕。
这时她又诅咒起那种好客的习惯来。那是富裕时代盛行起来的，它规定对任何一个旅客，不分贵贱都得留下住一晚，以尽可能体面的方式连人带马好好地款待一番。她知道那个时代已经永远过去了，可是家里其余的人却不这样想，那些士兵也不这样想，所以每个士兵照样受欢迎，仿佛是盼望已久的客人似的。
士兵没完没了地经过，她的心肠便渐渐硬了。他们吃的是塔拉农场养家糊口的粮食，思嘉辛辛苦苦种下的蔬菜，以及她从远处买来的食品。这些东西得来如此不易，而且那个北方佬皮夹里的钱也不是用不完的。现在只剩下少数的联邦钞票和那两个金币了。她干吗要养活这群饿痨鬼呢？战争已经结束。他们再也没有保卫她的安全的作用了。因此，她命令波克，凡是家里来士兵，伙食必须尽量节俭一些。这个命令一生效，她便发现媚兰说服波克在她的盘子里只盛上少量的食品，剩下的大部分口粮全给了士兵，自从生了孩子以来，媚兰身体还一直很虚弱呢。
“媚兰，你不能再这样了，"思嘉责骂她。"你自己还有病在身，如果不多吃一点，你就会躺倒了，那时我们还得服侍你，让这些人挨饿去吧。他们经受得起，他们已经熬了四年，再多熬一会也无妨的。"媚兰回头看着她，脸上流露出她头一次从这双宁静的眼睛里看到的公然表示激动的神情。
“啊，请不要责怪我！思嘉，让我这样做吧。你不知道这使我多么高兴。每次我给一个挨饿的人吃一部分我的食品，我就想也许在路上什么地方有个女人把她的午餐给了我的艾希礼一点，帮助他早日回家来。"“我的艾希礼。"“亲爱的，我就要回到你身边来了。"思嘉一声不响地走开了。媚兰注意到从那以后家里有客人时餐桌上的食品丰富了些。即使思嘉每吃一口都要抱怨。
有时那些士兵病得走不动了，而且这是常有的事，思嘉便让他们躺在床上，但不怎么照顾。因为每留下一个病人就是添一张要你给饭吃的嘴。还得有人去护理他，这就意味着少一个劳动力来打篱笆、锄地、拔草和犁田。有个脸上刚刚开始长出浅色茸毛的小伙子，被一个到费耶特维尔去的骑兵卸在前面走廊上，骑兵发现他昏迷不醒，躺在大路边，便把他横塔在马鞍上带到最近的一户人家塔拉农常姑娘们认为他肯定是谢尔曼逼近米列奇维尔时从军事学校征调出来的一个学生。可是结果谁也没弄清楚，因为他没有恢复知觉便死了，而且从他的口袋里也找不出什么线索来。
那小伙子长相很好，显然是个上等人家的子弟，而且是南部什么地方的人，那儿一定有位妇女在守望着各条大路，琢磨着他究竟在哪里。何时会回家来，就像思嘉和媚兰怀着急不可耐的心情注视着每一个来到她们屋前的有胡子的人那样。她们把这个小伙子埋葬在她们家墓地里，紧靠着奥哈拉的三个孩子。当波克往墓穴填土时，媚兰不住放声恸哭，心想不知有没有什么陌生人也在给艾希礼的长长的身躯同样处理呢。
还有一个士兵叫威尔·本廷，也像那个无名无姓的小伙子，是在昏迷中由一个同伙放在马鞍上带来的。威尔得了肺炎，病情严重，姑娘们把他抬到床上时，担心他很快就会进墓地跟那个小伙子作伴。
他有一张南佐治亚山地穷白人痢疾患者的蜡黄脸，淡红色的头发，一双没精打彩的蓝眼睛，即使在昏迷中也显得坚忍而温和。他有一条腿被平膝截掉了，马马虎虎地装上了一段木头。他显然是个山地穷白人，就像她们刚埋葬的那个小伙子显然是个农场主的儿子一样。至于为什么姑娘们会知道这个，那就很难说了。可以肯定的是威尔跟许多到塔拉来的上等人比较起来，他决不比他们更脏，或者身上有更多的毛和虱子。可以肯定的是，他在胡言乱语时用的语言决不比塔尔顿家那对孪生兄弟的语言更蹩脚。不过她们也很清楚，就像她们分得出纯种马和劣等马一样，他决不是她们这个阶级的人。然而，这并不妨碍她们尽力挽救他。
在经受了北方佬监狱一年的折磨，拐着那条安装得很糟的木制假腿步行了那么远之后，他已经十分疲惫，几乎没有一点力气来跟痢疾作斗争了。因此他躺在床上呻吟好几天，挣扎着要爬起来，再一次进行战斗。他始终没有叫过母亲、妻子、姐妹或情人一声，这一点是很
