“Yes,”she said dully,“he's lost his mind.He acts dazed and sometimes he can't seem to remember that Mother is dead.Oh,Old Miss,it's more than I can stand to see him sit by the hour,waiting for her and so patiently too,and he used to have no more patience than a child.But it's worse when he does remember that she's gone.Every now and then,after he's sat still with his ear cocked listening for her,he jumps up suddenly and stumps out of the house and down to the burying ground.And then he comes dragging back with the tears all over his face and he says over and over till I could scream:‘Katie Scarlett,Mrs.O'Hara is dead.Your mother is dead,’and it's just like I was hearing it again for the first time.And sometimes,late at night,I hear him calling her and I get out of bed and go to him and tell him she's down at the quarters with a sick darky.And he fusses because she's always tiring herself out nursing people.And it's so hard to get him back to bed.He's like a child.Oh,I wish Dr.Fontaine was here!I know he could do something for Pa!And Melanie needs a doctor too.She isn't getting over her baby like she should—”
“Melly—a baby?And she's with you?”
“Yes.”
“What's Melly doing with you?Why isn't she in Macon with her aunt and her kinfolks?I never thought you liked her any too well,Miss,for all she was Charles'sister.Now,tell me all about it.”
“It's a long story,Old Miss.Don't you want to go back in the house and sit down?”
“I can stand,”said Grandma shortly.“And if you told your story in front of the others,they'd be bawling and making you feel sorry for yourself.Now,let's have it.”
Scarlett began haltingly with the siege and Melanie's condition,but as her story progressed beneath the sharp old eyes which never faltered in their gaze,she found words,words of power and horror.It all came back to her,the sickeningly hot day of the baby's birth,the agony of fear,the fight and Rhett's desertion.She spoke of the wild darkness of the night,the blazing camp fires which might be friends or foes,the gaunt chimneys which met her gaze in the morning sun,the dead men and horses along the road,the hunger,the desolation,the fear that Tara had been burned.
“I thought if I could just get home to Mother,she could manage everything and I could lay down the weary load.On the way home I thought the worst had already happened to me,but when I knew she was dead I knew what the worst really was.”
She dropped her eyes to the ground and waited for Grandma to speak.The silence was so prolonged she wondered if Grandma could have failed to comprehend her desperate plight.Finally the old voice spoke and her tones were kind,kinder than Scarlett had ever heard her use in addressing anyone.
“Child,it's a very bad thing for a woman to face the worst that can happen to her,because after she's faced the worst she can't ever really fear anything again.And it's very bad for a woman not to be afraid of something.You think I don't understand what you've told me—what You've been through?Well,I understand very well.When I was about your age I was in the Creek uprising,right after the Fort Mims massacre—yes,”she said in a far-away voice,“just about your age for that was fifty-odd years ago.And I managed to get into the bushes and hide and I lay there and saw our house burn and I saw the Indians scalp my brothers and sisters.And I could only lie there and pray that the light of the flames wouldn't show up my hiding place.And they dragged Mother out and killed her about twenty feet from where I was lying.And scalped her too.And every so often one Indian would go back to her and sink his tommyhawk into her skull again.I—I was my mother's pet and I lay there and saw it all.And in the morning I set out for the nearest settlement and it was thirty miles away.It took me three days to get there,through the swamps and the Indians,and afterward they thought I'd lose my mind....That's where I met Dr.Fontaine.He looked after me....Ah,well,that's been fifty years ago,as I said,and since that time I've never been afraid of anything or anybody because I'd known the worst that could happen to me.And that lack of fear has gotten me into a lot of trouble and cost me a lot of happiness.God intended women to be timid frightened creatures and there's something unnatural about a woman who isn't afraid....Scarlett,always save something to fear—even as you save something to love....”
Her voice trailed off and she stood silent with eyes looking back over half a century to the day when she had been afraid.Scarlett moved impatiently.She had thought Grandma was going to understand and perhaps show her some way to solve her problems.But like all old people,she'd gotten to talking about things that happened before anyone was born,things no one was interested in.Scarlett wished she had not confided in her.
“Well,go home,child,or they'll be worrying about you,”she said suddenly.“Send Pork with the wagon this afternoon....And don't think you can lay down the load,ever.Because you can't.I know.”
Indian summer lingered into November that year and the warm days were bright days for those at Tara.The worst was over.They had a horse now and they could ride instead of walk.They had fried eggs for breakfast and fried ham for supper to vary the monotony of the yams,peanuts and dried apples,and on one festal occasion they even had roast chicken.The old sow had finally been captured and she and her brood rooted and grunted happily under the house where they were penned.Sometimes they squealed so loudly no one in the house could talk but it was a pleasant sound.It meant fresh pork for the white folks and chitterlings for the negroes when cold weather and hog-killing time should arrive,and it meant food for the winter for all.
