It’s more than paper—just like this poem said: ‘The pledge of a nation that’s passed away!'”
“Oh, Melly, don’t be sentimental!
Paper is paper and we’ve got little enough of it and I’m tired of hearing Mammy grumble about the cracks in the attic.
I hope when Wade grows up I’ll have plenty of greenbacks to give him instead of Confederate trash.”
Will, who had been enticing little Beau across the blanket with the bill during this argument, looked up and, shading his eyes, glanced down the driveway.
“More company,” he said, squinting in the sun. “Another soldier.”
Scarlett followed his gaze and saw a familiar sight, a bearded man coming slowly up the avenue under the cedars, a man clad in a ragged mixture of blue and gray uniforms, head bowed tiredly, feet dragging slowly.
“I thought we were about through with soldiers,” she said.
“I hope this one isn’t very hungry.”
“He’ll be hungry,” said Will briefly.
Melanie rose.
“I’d better tell Dilcey to set an extra plate,” she said, “and warn Mammy not to get the poor thing’s clothes off his back too abruptly and—”
She stopped so suddenly that Scarlett turned to look at her.
Melanie’s thin hand was at her throat, clutching it as if it was torn with pain, and Scarlett could see the veins beneath the white skin throbbing swiftly.
Her face went whiter and her brown eyes dilated enormously.
She’s going to faint, thought Scarlett, leaping to her feet and catching her arm.
But, in an instant, Melanie threw off her hand and was down the steps.
Down the graveled path she flew, skimming lightly as a bird, her faded skirts streaming behind her, her arms outstretched. Then, Scarlett knew the truth, with the impact of a blow.
She reeled back against an upright of the porch as the man lifted a face covered with a dirty blond beard and stopped still, looking toward the house as if he was too weary to take another step.
Her heart leaped and stopped and then began racing, as Melly with incoherent cries threw herself into the dirty soldier’s arms and his head bent down toward hers.
With rapture, Scarlett took two running steps forward but was checked when Will’s hand closed upon her skirt.
“Don’t spoil it,” he said quietly.
“Turn me loose, you fool!
Turn me loose!
It’s Ashley!”
He did not relax his grip.
“After all, he’s HER husband, ain’t he?” Will asked calmly and, looking down at him in a confusion of joy and impotent fury, Scarlett saw in the quiet depths of his eyes understanding and pity.