“Us ain'had nuthin'ter do wid Mist'Henry fer y'ars,an'us is too ole ter start now.”He turned back to the girls,who were trying to suppress their smiles.“You young Misses ought ter tek shame,leavin'po'Miss Pitty 'lone,wid half her frens daid an'de other half in Macom,an’'Lanta full of Yankee sojers an'trashy free issue niggers.”
The two girls had borne the castigation with straight faces as long as they could,but the thought of Aunt Pitty sending Peter to scold them and bring them back bodily to Atlanta was too much for their control.They burst into laughter and hung on each other's shoulders for support.Naturally,Pork and Dilcey and Mammy gave vent to loud guffaws at hearing the detractor of their beloved Tara set at naught.Suellen and Carreen giggled and even Gerald's face wore a vague smile.Everyone laughed except Peter,who shifted from one large splayed foot to the other in mounting indignation.
“Whut's wrong wid you,nigger?”inquired Mammy with a grin.“Is you gittin'too ole ter perteck yo'own Missus?”
Peter was outraged.
“Too ole!Me too ole?No,Ma'm!Ah kin perteck Miss Pitty lak Ah allus done.Ain'Ah perteck her down ter Macom when us refugeed?Ain'Ah perteck her w'en de Yankees come ter Macom an'she so sceered she faintin'all de time?An'ain'Ah 'quire disyere nag ter bring her back ter 'Lanta an'perteck her an'her pa's silver all de way?”Peter drew himself to his full height as he vindicated himself.“Ah ain'talkin'about perteckin'.Ah's talkin''bout how it look.”
“How who look?”
“Ah'm talkin''bout how it look ter folks,seein'Miss Pitty livin''lone.Folks talks scan'lous 'bout maiden ladies dat lives by deyseff,”continued Peter,and it was obvious to his listeners that Pittypat,in his mind,was still a plump and charming miss of sixteen who must be sheltered against evil tongues.“An'Ah ain'figgerin'on havin'folks criticize her.No,Ma'm....An'Ah ain'figgerin'on her takin'in no bo'ders,jes'for comp'ny needer.Ah done tole her dat.‘Not w'ile you got yo'flesh an'blood dat belongs wid you,'Ah says.An'now her flesh an'blood denyin'her.Miss Pitty ain'nuthin'but a chile an'—”
At this,Scarlett and Melly whooped louder and sank down to the steps.Finally Melly wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.
“Poor Uncle Peter!I'm sorry I laughed.Really and truly.There!Do forgive me.Miss Scarlett and I just can't come home now.Maybe I'll come in September after the cotton is picked.Did Auntie send you all the way down here just to bring us back on that bag of bones?”
At this question,Peter's jaw suddenly dropped and guilt and consternation swept over his wrinkled black face.His protruding underlip retreated to normal as swiftly as a turtle withdraws its head beneath its shell.
“Miss Melly,Ah is gittin'ole,Ah spec','cause Ah clean fergit fer de moment whut she sent me fer,an'it's important too.Ah got a letter fer you.Miss Pitty wouldn't trust de mails or nobody but me ter bring it an'—”
“A letter?For me?Who from?”
“Well'm,it's—Miss Pitty,she says ter me,‘You,Peter,you brek it gen'ly ter Miss Melly,'an'Ah say—”
Melly rose from the steps,her hand at her heart.
“Ashley!Ashley!He's dead!”
“No'm!No'm!”cried Peter,his voice rising to a shrill bawl,as he fumbled in the breast pocket of his ragged coat.“He's 'live!Disyere a letter frum him.He comin'home.He—Gawdlmighty!Ketch her,Mammy!Lemme—”
“Doan you tech her,you ole fool!”thundered Mammy,struggling to keep Melanie's sagging body from falling to the ground.“You pious black ape!Brek it gen'ly!You,Poke,tek her feet.Miss Carreen,steady her haid.Lessus lay her on de sofa in de parlor.”
There was a tumult of sound as everyone but Scarlett swarmed about the fainting Melanie,everyone crying out in alarm,scurrying into the house for water and pillows,and in a moment Scarlett and Uncle Peter were left standing alone on the walk.She stood rooted,unable to move from the position to which she had leaped when she heard his words,staring at the old man who stood feebly waving a letter.His old black face was as pitiful as a child's under its mother's disapproval,his dignity collapsed.
For a moment she could not speak or move,and though her mind shouted:“He isn't dead;he's coming home!”the knowledge brought neither joy nor excitement,only a stunned immobility.Uncle Peter's voice came as from a far distance,plaintive,placating.
“Mist'Willie Burr frum Macom whut is kin ter us,he brung it ter Miss Pitty.Mist'Willie he in de same jail house wid Mist'Ashley.Mist'Willie he got a hawse an'he got hyah soon.But Mist'Ashley he a-walkin'an'—”
Scarlett snatched the letter from his hand.It was addressed to Melly in Miss Pitty's writing but that did not make her hesitate a moment.She ripped it open and Miss Pitty's inclosed note fell to the ground.Within the envelope there was a piece of folded paper,grimy from the dirty pocket in which it had been carried,creased and ragged about the edges.It bore the inion 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.”
