Scarlett stood for a moment, ankle deep in mud as the guns lurched by.“Oh, no!”she thought.“It can't be. He's too old.And he doesn't like war any more than Ashley did!”She retreated back a few paces toward the curb and scanned each face that passed.Then, as the last cannon and limber chest came groaning and splashing up, she saw him, slender, erect, his long silver hair upon his neck, riding easily upon a little strawberry mare that picked her way as daintily through the mud holes as a lady in a satin dress.Why—that mare was Nellie!Mrs.Tarleton's Nellie!Beatrice Tarleton's treasured darling!
When he saw her standing in the mud, Mr. Wilkes drew rein with a smile of pleasure and, dismounting, came toward her.
“I had hoped to see you, Scarlett. I was charged with so many messages from your people.But there was no time.We just got in this morning and they are rushing us out immediately, as you see.”
“Oh, Mr. Wilkes,”she cried desperately, holding his hand.“Don't go!Why must you go?”
“Ah, so you think I'm too old!”He smiled, and it was Ashley's smile in an older face.“Perhaps I am too old to march but not to ride and to shoot. And Mrs.Tarleton so kindly lent me Nellie, so I am well mounted.I hope nothing happens to Nellie, for if something should happen to her, I could never go home and face Mrs.Tarleton.Nellie was the last horse she had left.”He was laughing now, turning away her fears.“Your mother and father and the girls are well and they sent you their love.Your father nearly came up with us today!”
“Oh, not Pa!”cried Scarlett in terror.“Not Pa!He isn't going to the war, ishe?”
“No, but he was. Of course, he can't walk far with his stiff knee, but he was all for riding away with us.Your mother agreed, providing he was able to jump the pasture fence, for, she said, there would be a lot of rough riding to be done in the army.Your father thought that easy, but—would you believe it?When his horse came to the fence, he stopped dead and over his head went your father!It's a wonder it didn't break his neck!You know how obstinate he is.He got right up and tried it again.Well, Scarlett, he came off three times before Mrs.O'Hara and Pork assisted him to bed.He was in a taking about it, swearing that your mother had‘spoken a wee word in the beast's ear.’He just isn;t up to active service, Scarlett.You need have no shame about it.After all, someone must stay home and raise crops for the army.”
Scarlett had no shame at all, only an active feeling of relief.
“I've sent India and Honey to Macon to stay with the Burrs and Mr. O'Hara is looking after Twelve Oaks as well as Tara……I must go, my dear.Let me kiss your pretty face.”
Scarlett turned up her lips and there was a choking in her throat. She was so fond of Mr.Wilkes.Once, long ago, she had hoped to be his daughter-in-law.
“And you must deliver this kiss to Pittypat and this to Melanie,”he said, kissing her lightly two more times.“And how is Melanie?”
“She is well.”
“Ah!”His eyes looked at her but through her, past her as Ashley's had done, remote gray eyes looking on another world.“I should have liked to see my first grandchild. Good-by, my dear.”
He swung onto Nellie and cantered off, his hat in his hand, his silver hair bare to the rain. Scarlett had rejoined Maybelle and Mrs.Meade before the import of his last words broke upon her.Then in superstitious terror she crossed herself and tried to say a prayer.He had spoken of death, just as Ashley had done, and now Ashley—No one should ever speak of death!It was tempting Providence to mention death.As the three women started silently back to the hospital in the rain, Scarlett was praying:“Not him, too, God.Not him and Ashley, too!”
The retreat from Dalton to Kennesaw Mountain had taken from early May to mid-June and as the hot rainy days of June passed and Sherman failed to dislodge the Confederates from the steep slippery slopes, hope again raised its head. Everyone grew more cheerful and spoke more kindly of General Johnston.As wet June days passed into a wetter July and the Confederates, fighting desperately around the entrenched heights, still held Sherman at bay, a wild gaiety took hold of Atlanta.Hope went to their heads like champagne.Hurrah!Hurrah!We're holding them!An epidemic of parties and dances broke out.Whenever groups of men from the fighting were in town for the night, dinners were given for them and afterwards there was dancing and the girls, outnumbering the men ten to one, made much of them and fought to dance with them.
Atlanta was crowded with visitors, refugees, families of wounded men in the hospitals, wives and mothers of soldiers fighting at the mountain who wished to be near them in case of wounds. In addition, bevies of belles from the country districts, where all remaining men were under sixteen or over sixty, descended upon the town.Aunt Pitty disapproved highly of these last, for she felt they had come to Atlanta for no reason at all except to catch husbands, and the shamelessness of it made her wonder what the world was coming to.Scarlett disapproved, too.She did not care for the eager competition furnished by the sixteen-year-olds whose fresh cheeks and bright smiles made one forget their twice-turned frocks and patched shoes.Her own clothes were prettier and newer than most, thanks to the material Rhett Butler had brought her on the last boat he ran in, but, after all, she was nineteen and getting along and men had a way of chasing silly young things.
A widow with a child was at a disadvantage with these pretty minxes, she thought. But in these exciting days her widowhood and her motherhood weighed less heavily upon her than ever before.Between hospital duties in the day time and parties at night, she hardly ever saw Wade.Sometimes she actually forgot, for long stretches, that she had a child.
