She did not want sympathy.
She was afraid she would cry if anyone even mentioned his name to her.
And she wouldn't cry.
She knew if she once began it would be like the time she cried into the horse's mane, that dreadful night when Atlanta fell and Rhett had left her on the dark road outside the town, terrible tears that tore her heart and could not be stopped.
No, she wouldn't cry!
She felt the lump in her throat rising again, as it had done so often since the news came, but crying wouldn't do any good.
It would only confuse and weaken her.
Why, oh, why hadn't Will or Melanie or the girls written her that Gerald was ailing?
She would have taken the first train to Tara to care for him, brought a doctor from Atlanta if necessary.
The fools-- all of them!
Couldn't they manage anything without her?
She couldn't be in two places at once and the good Lord knew she was doing her best for them all in Atlanta.
She twisted about on the keg, becoming nervous and fidgety as Will still did not come.
Where was he?
Then she heard the scrunching of cinders on the railroad tracks behind her and, twisting her body, she saw Alex Fontaine crossing the tracks toward a wagon, a sack of oats on his shoulder.
"Good Lord!
Isn't that you, Scarlett?" he cried, dropping the sack and running to take her hand, pleasure written all over his bitter, swarthy little face.
"I'm so glad to see you.
I saw Will over at the blacksmith's shop, getting the horse shod.
The train was late and he thought he'd have time.
Shall I run fetch him?"
"Yes, please, Alex," she said, smiling in spite of her sorrow.
It was good to see a County face again.
"Oh--er--Scarlett," he began awkwardly, still holding her hand, "I'm mighty sorry about your father."
"Thank you," she replied, wishing he had not said it.
His words brought up Gerald's florid face and bellowing voice so clearly.
"If it's any comfort to you, Scarlett, we're mighty proud of him around here," Alex continued, dropping her hand.
"He--well, we figure he died like a soldier and in a soldier's cause."
Now what did he mean by that, she thought confusedly.
A soldier?
Had someone shot him?
Had he gotten into a fight with the Scallawags as Tony had?
But she mustn't hear more.
She would cry if she talked about him and she mustn't cry, not until she was safely in the wagon with Will and out in the country where no stranger could see her.
Will wouldn't matter.
He was just like a brother.
"Alex, I don't want to talk about it," she said shortly.
"I don't blame you one bit, Scarlett," said Alex while the dark blood of anger flooded his face.
"If it was my sister, I'd--well, Scarlett, I've never yet said a harsh word about any woman, but personally I think somebody ought to take a rawhide whip to Suellen."
What foolishness was he talking about now, she wondered.
What had Suellen to do with it all?
"Everybody around here feels the same way about her, I'm sorry to say.
Will's the only one who takes up for her--and, of course, Miss Melanie, but she's a saint and won't see bad in anyone and--"
"I said I didn't want to talk about it," she said coldly but Alex did not seem rebuffed.
He looked as though he understood her rudeness and that was annoying.
She didn't want to hear bad tidings about her own family from an outsider, didn't want him to know of her ignorance of what had happened.
Why hadn't Will sent her the full details?
She wished Alex wouldn't look at her so hard.
She felt that he realized her condition and it embarrassed her.
But what Alex was thinking as he peered at her in the twilight was that her face had changed so completely he wondered how he had ever recognized her.