He halted, and his arms dropped to his sides. He moaned softly, and then his whole body crumpled in Scarlett’s supporting arms. Just when her grasp was breaking from the weight of him, Dr. Meade and India caught Ashley’s limp arms to lift him erect.

“You can go now, Scarlett,” said Dr. Meade. “There’s no more damage left for you to do.”

“But, I—” She looked at the faces around her, the eyes avid for more sensation. Then she turned and walked away through the rain. The crowd drew back as if a brush of her skirts might soil them.

They must not know that she cared, she wouldn’t let them see that they could hurt her. Scarlett raised her chin defiantly, letting the rain pour down over her face and neck. Her back was straight, her shoulders square until she reached the gates of the cemetery and was out of sight. Then she grabbed one of the iron pilings. She felt dizzy from exhaustion, unsteady on her feet.

Her coachman Elias ran to her, opening his umbrella to above her bent head. Scarlett walked to her carriage, ignoring the hand held out to help her. Inside the plush-upholstered box, she sank into a corner and pulled up the woolen lap robe. She was chilled to the bone, horrified by what she had done. How could she have shamed Ashley like that in front of everybody, when only a few nights ago she had promised Melanie that she would take care of him, protect him as Melly had always done? But what else could she have done? Let him throw himself into the grave? She had to stop him.

The carriage jolted from side to side, its high wheels sinking into the deep ruts of clay mud. Scarlett nearly fell to the floor. Her elbow hit the window frame, and a sharp pain ran up and down her arm.

It was only physical pain, she could stand that. It was the other pain—the postponed, delayed, denied shadowy pain—that she couldn’t bear. Not yet, not here, not when she was all alone. She had to get to Tara, she had to. Mammy was there. Mammy would put her brown arms around her, Mammy would hold her close, cradle her head on the breast where she’d sobbed out all her childhood hurts. She could cry in Mammy’s arms, cry herself empty of pain; she could rest her head on Mammy’s breast, rest her wounded heart on Mammy’s love. Mammy would hold her and love her, would share her pain and help her bear it.

“Hurry, Elias,” said Scarlett, “hurry.”


“Help me out of these wet things, Pansy,” Scarlett ordered her maid. “Hurry.” Her face was ghostly pale, it made her green eyes look darker, brighter, more frightening. The young black girl was clumsy with nervousness. “Hurry, I said. If you make me miss my train, I’ll take a strap to you.”

She couldn’t do it, Pansy knew she couldn’t do it. The slavery days were over, Miss Scarlett didn’t own her, she could quit any time she wanted to. But the desperate, feverish glint in Scarlett’s green eyes made Pansy doubt her own knowledge. Scarlett looked capable of anything.

“Pack the black wool merino, it’s going to be colder,” said Scarlett. She stared at the open wardrobe. Black wool, black silk, black cotton, black twill, black velvet. She could go on mourning for the rest of her days. Mourning for Bonnie still, and now mourning for Melanie. I should find something darker than black, something more mournful to wear to mourn for myself.

I won’t think about that, not now. I’ll go mad if I do. I’ll think about it when I get to Tara. I can bear it there.

“Put on your things, Pansy. Elias is waiting. And don’t you dare forget the crape armband. This is a house of mourning.”


The streets that met at Five Points were a quagmire. Wagons and buggies and carriages were sunk in mud. Their drivers cursed the rain, the streets, their horses, the other drivers in their way. There was shouting and the sound of whips cracking, and the noise of people. There were always crowds of people at Five Points, people hurrying, arguing, complaining, laughing. Five Points was turbulent with life, with push, with energy. Five Points was the Atlanta Scarlett loved.

But not today. Today Five Points was in her way, Atlanta was holding her back. I’ve got to make that train, I’ll die if I miss it, I’ve got to get to Mammy and Tara or I’ll break down. “Elias,” she yelled, “I don’t care if you whip the horses to death, I don’t care if you run over every single person on the street. You get to the depot.” Her horses were the strongest, her coachman the most skillful, her carriage the best that money could buy. Nothing better get in her way, nothing.

She made the train with time to spare.


There was a loud burst of steam. Scarlett held her breath, listening for the first clunking revolution of the wheels that meant the train was moving. There it was. Then another. And another. And the rattling, shaking of the car. She was on her way at last.

Everything was going to be all right. She was going home to Tara. She pictured it, sunny and bright, the white house gleaming, glistening green leaves of cape jasmine bushes studded with perfect, waxen white blossoms.

Heavy dark rain sluiced down the window beside her when the train left the station, but no matter. At Tara there’d be a fire in the living room, crackling from pine cones thrown onto the logs, and the curtains would be drawn, shutting out the rain and the darkness and the world. She’d lay her head on Mammy’s soft broad bosom and tell her all the horrible things that had happened. Then she’d be able to think, to work everything out . . .

Hissing steam and squealing wheels jerked Scarlett’s head upright.

Was this Jonesboro already? She must have dozed off, and no wonder, as tired as she was. She hadn’t been able to sleep for two nights, even with the brandy to calm her nerves. No, the station was Rough and Ready. Still an hour to Jonesboro. At least the rain had stopped; there was even a patch of blue sky up ahead. Maybe the sun was shining at Tara. She imagined the entrance rive, the dark cedars that bordered it, then the wide green lawn and the beloved house on top of the low hill.

Scarlett sighed heavily. Her sister Suellen was the lady of the house at Tara now. Ha! Cry-baby of the house was more like it. All Suellen ever did was whine, it was all she’d ever done, ever since they were children. And she had her own children now, whiny little girls just like she used to be.

Scarlett’s children were at Tara, too. Wade and Ella. She’d sent them with Prissy, their nursemaid, when she got the news that Melanie was dying. Probably she should have had them with her at Melanie’s funeral. That gave all the old cats in Atlanta one more thing to gossip about, what an unnatural mother she was. Let them talk all they liked. She couldn’t have gotten through those terrible days and nights after Melly’s death if she’d had Wade and Ella to cope with too.

She wouldn’t think about them, that’s all. She was going home, to Tara and to Mammy, and she simply wouldn’t let herself think about things that would upset her. Lord knows, I’ve got more than enough to upset me without dragging them in, too. And I’m so tired . . . Her head drooped and her eyes closed.

“Jonesboro, ma’am,” said the conductor. Scarlett blinked, sat straight.

“Thank you.”

She looked around the car for Pansy and her valises. I’ll skin that girl alive if she’s wandered off to another car. Oh, if only a lady didn’t have to have a companion every single time she put her foot outside her own house. I’d do so much better by myself. There she is. “Pansy. Get those valises off the rack. We’re here.”

Only five miles to Tara now. Soon I’ll be home. Home!

Will Benteen, Suellen’s husband, was waiting on the platform. It was a shock to see Will; the first few seconds were always a shock. Scarlett genuinely loved and respected Will. If she could have had a brother, like she’d always wanted, she’d wish he could be just like Will. Except for the wooden pegleg, and of course not a Cracker. It was just there was no mistaking Will for a gentleman; he was unmistakably lower class. She forgot it when she was away from him, and she forgot it after she was with him for a minute, because he was such a good, kind man. Even Mammy thought a lot of Will, and Mammy was the hardest judge in the world when it came to who was a lady or a gentleman.

“Will!” He walked toward her, in his special swinging gait. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely.

“Oh, Will, I’m so glad to see you that I’m practically crying for joy.”

Will accepted her embrace without emotion. “I’m glad to see you, too, Scarlett. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long. It’s shameful. Almost a year.”

“More like two.”

Scarlett was dumbfounded. Had it been that long? No wonder her life had come to such a sorry state. Tara had always given her new life, new strength when she needed it. How could she have gone so long without it?

Will gestured to Pansy and walked toward the wagon outside the station. “We’d better get moving if we’re going to beat the dark,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind riding rough, Scarlett. As long as I was coming to town, I figured I might as well get some supplies.” The wagon was piled high with sacks and parcels.

“I don’t mind at all,” said Scarlett truthfully. She was going home, and anything that would take her there was fine. “Climb up on those feed sacks, Pansy.”

She was as silent as Will on the long drive to Tara, drinking in the remembered quiet of the countryside, refreshing herself with it. The air was new-washed, and the afternoon sun was warm on her shoulders. She’d been right to come home. Tara would give her the sanctuary she needed, and with Mammy she’d be able to find a way to repair her ruined world. She leaned forward as they turned onto the familiar drive, smiling in anticipation.