It bore the inscription in Ashley’s hand:
“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 until she felt she could not bear the joy of it.
Clutching the letter to her, she raced up the porch steps and down the hall, past the parlor where all the inhabitants of Tara were getting in one another’s way as they worked over the unconscious Melanie, and into Ellen’s office.
She shut the door and locked it and 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 even months before he could travel from Illinois to Georgia, but hearts nevertheless beat wildly whenever a soldier turned into the avenue at Tara.
Each bearded scarecrow might be Ashley.
And if it were not Ashley, perhaps the soldier would have news of him or a letter from Aunt Pitty about him.
Black and white, they rushed to the front porch every time they heard footsteps.
The sight of a uniform 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 the house when he arrived. Scarlett least of all.
And she could not insist on the others attending to their duties when she so neglected hers.
But when the weeks crawled by and Ashley did not come or any news of him, Tara settled back into its old routine.
Longing hearts could only stand so much of longing.
An uneasy fear crept into Scarlett’s mind that something had happened to him along the way.
Rock Island was so far away and he might have been weak or sick when released from prison.
And he had no money and was tramping through a country where Confederates were hated.
If only she knew where he was, she would send money to him, send every penny she had and let the family go hungry, so he could come 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 was coming 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 wondered bitterly why Melanie could not have died in childbirth in Atlanta.
That would have made things perfect.
Then she could have married Ashley after a decent interval and made little Beau a good stepmother too.
When such thoughts came she did not pray hastily to God, telling Him she did not mean 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 of hospitality which had flowered in the era of plenty, the custom which would not permit any traveler, great or humble, to go on his journey without a night’s lodging, food for himself and his horse and the utmost courtesy the house could give.
She knew that era had passed forever, but the rest of the household did not, nor did the soldiers, and each soldier was welcomed as if he were a longawaited guest.
As the never-ending line went by, her heart hardened.
They were eating the food meant for the mouths of Tara, vegetables over whose long rows she had wearied her back, food she had driven endless miles to buy.
Food was so hard to get and the money in the Yankee’s wallet would not last forever.
Only a few greenbacks and the two gold pieces were left now.
Why should she feed this horde 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 was born, 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 eat more, you’ll be sick in bed and we’ll have to nurse you.
Let these men go hungry.
They can stand it.
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 had ever seen in those serene eyes.
“Oh, Scarlett, don’t scold me!
Let me do it.