"Hello!" she shouted, summoning all her strength. "Hello!"
Prissy clawed at her in a frenzy of fright and Scarlett, turning, saw that her eyes were
rolling in her head.
"Doan holler, Miss Scarlett! Please, doan holler agin!" she whispered, her voice shaking.
"Dey ain' no tellin' whut mout answer!"
"Dear God!" thought Scarlett, a shiver running through her. "Dear God! She's right Anything might come out of there!"
She flapped the reins and urged the horse forward. The sight of the Macintosh house had
pricked the last bubble of hope remaining to her. It was burned, in rums, deserted, as were all the plantations she had passed that day. Tara lay only half a mite away, on the same road, right in the path of the army. Tara was leveled, too! She would find only the blackened bricks, starlight shining through the roofless walls, Ellen and Gerald gone, the girls gone, Mammy gone, the negroes gone, God knows where, and this hideous stillness over everything.
Why had she come on this fool's errand, against all common sense, dragging Melanie and
her child? Better that they had died in Atlanta than, tortured by this day of burning sun and jolting wagon, to die in the silent ruins of Tara.
But Ashley had left Melanie in her care. Take care of her." Oh, that beautiful,
heartbreaking day when he had kissed her good-by before he went away forever! "You'll take care of her, won't you? Promise!" And she had promised. Why had she ever bound herself with such a promise, doubly binding now that Ashley was gone? Even in her exhaustion she hated Melanie, hated the tiny mewing voice of her child which, fainter and fainter, pierced the stillness.
But she had promised and now they belonged to her, even as Wade and Prissy belonged to her, and she must struggle and fight for them as long as she had strength or breath. She could have left them in Atlanta, dumped Melanie into the hospital and deserted her. But had she done that, she could never face Ashley, either on this earth or in the hereafter and tell him she had left his wife and child to die among strangers.
Oh, Ashley! Where was he tonight while she toiled down this haunted road with his wife
and baby? Was he alive and did he think of her as he lay behind the bars at Rock Island? Or was he dead of smallpox months ago, rotting in some long ditch with hundreds of other Confederates?
Scarlett's taut nerves almost cracked as a sudden noise sounded in the underbrush near
them. Prissy screamed loudly, throwing herself to the floor of the wagon, the baby beneath her.
Melanie stirred feebly, her hands seeking the baby, and Wade covered his eyes and cowered, too frightened to cry. Then the bushes beside them crashed apart under heavy hooves and a low moaning bawl assaulted their ears.
"It's only a cow," said Scarlett, her voice rough with fright. "Don't be a fool, Prissy.
You've mashed the baby and frightened Miss Melly and Wade."
"It's a ghos'," moaned Prissy, writhing face down on the wagon boards.
Turning deliberately, Scarlett raised the tree limb she had been using as a whip and
brought it down across Prissy's back. She was too exhausted and weak from fright to tolerate weakness in anyone else.
"Sit up, you fool," she said, "before I wear this out on you."
Yelping, Prissy raised her head and peering over the side of the wagon saw it was, indeed, a cow, a red and white animal which stood looking at them appealingly with large frightened eyes. Opening its mouth, it lowed again as if in pain.
"Is it hurt? That doesn't sound like an ordinary moo."
"Soun' ter me lak her bag full an' she need milkin' bad," said Prissy, regaining some measure of control. "Spec it one of Mist' Macintosh's dat de niggers drive in de woods an' de Yankees din' git."
"Well take it with us," Scarlett decided swiftly. "Then we can have some milk for the baby."
"How all we gwine tek a cow wid us, Miss Scarlett? We kain tek no cow wid us. Cow ain'
no good no how effen she ain' been milked lately. Dey bags swells up and busts. Dat's why she hollerin'."
"Since you know so much about it, take off your petticoat and tear it up and tie her to the back of the wagon."
"Miss Scarlett, you knows Ah ain' had no petticoat fer a month an' did Ah have one, Ah wouldn' put it on her fer nuthin'. Ah nebber had no truck wid cows. Ah's sceered of cows."
Scarlett laid down the reins and pulled up her skirt. The lace-trimmed petticoat beneath
was the last garment she possessed that was pretty--and whole. She untied the waist tape and slipped it down over her feet, crushing the soft linen folds between her hands. Rhett had brought her that linen and lace from Nassau on the last boat he slipped through the blockade and she had worked a week to make the garment. Resolutely she took it by the hem and jerked, put it in her mouth and gnawed, until finally the material gave with a rip and tore the length. She gnawed furiously, tore with both hands and the petticoat lay in strips in her hands. She knotted the ends with fingers that bled from blisters and shook from fatigue.