So Scarlett，unenthusiastic，went off with her child，first to visit her O'Hara and Robillard relatives in Savannah and then to Ellen's sisters，Pauline and Eulalie，in Charleston.But she was back at Tara a month before Ellen expected her，with no explanation of her return.They had been kind in Savannah，but James and Andrew and their wives were old and content to sit quietly and talk of a past in which Scarlett had no interest.It was the same with the Robillards，and Charleston was terrible，Scarlett thought.
Aunt Pauline and her husband，a little old man，with a formal，brittle courtesy and the absent air of one living in an older age，lived on a plantation on the river，far more isolated than Tara.Their nearest neighbor was twenty miles away by dark roads through still jungles of cypress swamp and oak.The live oaks with their waving curtains of gray moss gave Scarlett the creeps and always brought to her mind Gerald's stories of Irish ghosts roaming in shimmering gray mists.There was nothing to do but knit all day and at night listen to Uncle Carey read aloud from the improving works of Mr.Bulwer-Lytton.
Eulalie，hidden behind a high-walled garden in a great house on the Battery in Charleston，was no more entertaining.Scarlett，accustomed to wide vistas of rolling red hills，felt that she was in prison.There was more social life here than at Aunt Pauline's，but Scarlett did not like the people who called，with their airs and their traditions and their emphasis on family.She knew very well they all thought she was a child of a mésalliance and wondered how a Robillard ever married a newly come Irishman.
Scarlett felt that Aunt Eulalie apologized for her behind her back.This aroused her temper，for she cared no more about family than her father.She was proud of Gerald and what he had accomplished unaided except by his shrewd Irish brain.
And the Charlestonians took so much upon themselves about Fort Sumter！Good Heavens，didn't they realize that if they hadn't been silly enough to fire the shot that started the war some other fools would have done it？Accustomed to the brisk voices of upland Georgia，the drawling flat voices of the low country seemed affected to her.She thought if she ever again heard voices that said “paams”for “palms”and “hoose”for “house”and “woon't”for “won't”and “Maa and Paa”for “Ma and Pa，”she would scream.It irritated her so much that during one formal call she aped Gerald's brogue to her aunt's distress.Then she went back to Tara.Better to be tormented with memories of Ashley than Charleston accents.
Ellen，busy night and day，doubling the productiveness of Tara to aid the Confederacy，was terrified when her eldest daughter came home from Charleston thin，white and sharp tongued.She had known heartbreak herself，and night after night she lay beside the snoring Gerald，trying to think of some way to lessen Scarlett's distress.Charles'aunt，Miss Pittypat Hamilton，had written her several times，urging her to permit Scarlett to come to Atlanta for a long visit，and now for the first time Ellen considered it seriously.
She and Melanie were alone in a big house “and without male protection，”wrote Miss Pittypat，“now that dear Charlie has gone.
Of course，there is my brother Henry but he does not make his home with us.But perhaps Scarlett has told you of Henry.Delicacy forbids my putting more concerning him on paper.Melly and I would feel so much easier and safer if Scarlett were with us.
Three lonely women are better than two.And perhaps dear Scarlett could find some ease for her sorrow，as Melly is doing，by nursing our brave boys in the hospitals here—and，of course，Melly and I are longing to see the dear baby”
So Scarlett's trunk was packed again with her mourning clothes and off she went to Atlanta with Wade Hampton and his nurse Prissy，a headful of admonitions as to her conduct from Ellen and Mammy and a hundred dollars in Confederate bills from Gerald.She did not especially want to go to Atlanta.She thought Aunt Pitty the silliest of old ladies and the very idea of living under the same roof with Ashley's wife was abhorrent.But the County with its memories was impossible now，and any change was welcome.
Chapter 8
As the train carried Scarlett northward that May morning in 1862，she thought that Atlanta couldn't possibly be so boring as Charleston and Savannah had been and，in spite of her distaste for Miss Pittypat and Melanie，she looked forward with some curiosity toward seeing how the town had fared since her last visit，in the winter before the war began.
Atlanta had always interested her more than any other town because when she was a child Gerald had told her that she and Atlanta were exactly the same age.She discovered when she grew older that Gerald had stretched the truth somewhat，as was his habit when a little stretching would improve a story；but Atlanta was only nine years older than she was，and that still left the place amazingly young by comparison with any other town she had ever heard of.
Savannah and Charleston had the dignity of their years，one being well along in its second century and the other entering its third，and in her young eyes they had always seemed like aged grandmothers fanning themselves placidly in the sun.But Atlanta was of her own generation，crude with the crudities of youth and as headstrong and impetuous as herself.
The story Gerald had told her was based on the fact that she and Atlanta were christened in the same year.In the nine years before Scarlett was born，the town had been called，first，Terminus and then Marthasville，and not until the year of Scarlett's birth had it become Atlanta.
