"Yas'm."
"Wipe your eyes and get a fresh pitcher of water and go on up. Sponge her off. Tell her I've gone for Dr. Meade."
"Is her time nigh, Miss Scarlett?"
"I don't know. I'm afraid it is but I don't know. You should know. Go on up."
Scarlett caught up her wide straw bonnet from the console table and jammed it on her
head. She looked in the mirror and automatically pushed up loose strands of hair but she did not see her own reflection. Cold little ripples of fear that started in the pit of her stomach were radiating outward until the fingers that touched her cheeks were cold, though the rest of her body streamed perspiration. She hurried out of the house and into the heat of the sun. It was blindingly, glaring hot and as she hurried down Peachtree Street her temples began to throb from the heat.
From far down the street she could hear the rise and fall and roar of many voices. By the time she caught sight of the Leyden house, she was beginning to pant, for her stays were tightly laced, but she did not slow her gait. The roar of noise grew louder.
From the Leyden house down to Five Points, the street seethed with activity, the activity of an anthill just destroyed. Negroes were running up and down the street, panic in their faces; and on porches, white children sat crying untended. The street was crowded with army wagons and ambulances filled with wounded and carriages piled high with valises and pieces of furniture.
Men on horseback dashed out of side streets pell-mell down Peachtree toward Hood's
headquarters. In front of the Bonnell house, old Amos stood holding the head of the carriage horse and he greeted Scarlett with rolling eyes.
"Ain't you gone yit, Miss Scarlett? We is goin' now. Ole Miss packin' her bag."
"Going? Where?"
"Gawd knows, Miss. Somewheres. De Yankees is comin'!"
She hurried on, not even saying good-by. The Yankees were coming! At Wesley Chapel,
she paused to catch her breath and wait for her hammering heart to subside. If she did not quiet herself she would certainly faint As she stood clutching a lamp post for support, she saw an officer on horseback come charging up the street from Five Points and, on an impulse, she ran out into the street and waved at him.
"Oh, stop! Please, stop!"
He reined in so suddenly the horse went back on its haunches, pawing the air. There were
harsh lines of fatigue and urgency in his face but his tattered gray hat was off with a sweep.
"Madam?"
"Tell me, is it true? Are the Yankees coming?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Do you know so?"
"Yes, Ma'm. I know so. A dispatch came in to headquarters half an hour ago from the
fighting at Jonesboro."
"At Jonesboro? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. There's no use telling pretty lies, Madam. The message was from General
Hardee and it said: 'I have lost the battle and am in full retreat.' "
"Oh, my God!"
The dark face of the tired man looked down without emotion. He gathered the reins again
and put on his hat.
"Oh, sir, please, just a minute. What shall we do?"
"Madam, I can't say. The army is evacuating Atlanta soon."
"Going off and leaving us to the Yankees?"
"I'm afraid so."
The spurred horse went off as though on springs and Scarlett was left standing in the
middle of the street with the red dust thick upon her ankles.
The Yankees were coming. The army was leaving. The Yankees were coming. What
should she do? Where should she run? No, she couldn't run. There was Melanie back there in the bed expecting that baby. Oh, why did women have babies? If it wasn't for Melanie she could take Wade and Prissy and hide in the woods where the Yankees could never find them. But she
couldn't take Melanie to the woods. No, not now. Oh, if she'd only had the baby sooner, yesterday even, perhaps they could get an ambulance and take her away and hide her somewhere. But
now--she must find Dr. Meade and make him come home with her. Perhaps he could hurry the
baby.
She gathered up her skirts and ran down the street, and the rhythm of her feet was "The Yankees are coming! The Yankees are coming!" Five Points was crowded with people who rushed here and there with unseeing eyes, jammed with wagons, ambulances, ox carts, carriages loaded with wounded. A roaring sound like the breaking of surf rose from the crowd.
Then a strangely incongruous sight struck her eyes. Throngs of women were coming up
from the direction of the railroad tracks carrying hams across their shoulders. Little children hurried by their sides, staggering under buckets of steaming molasses. Young boys dragged sacks of corn and potatoes. One old man struggled along with a small barrel of flour on a wheelbarrow.