a cold wind was blowing stiffly and the scudding clouds overhead were the deep gray ofslate when scarlett and mammy stepped from the train in atlanta the next afternoon. the depothad not been rebuilt since the burning of the city and they alighted amid cinders and mud a fewyards above the blackened ruins which marked the site. habit strong upon her, scarlett lookedabout for uncle peter and pitty’s carriage, for she had always been met by them when returningfrom tara to atlanta during the war years. then she caught herself with a sniff at her own absentmindedness.
naturally, peter wasn’t there for she had given aunt pitty no warning of her comingand, moreover, she remembered that one of the old lady’s letters had dealt tearfully with the deathof the old nag peter had “ ‘quired” in macon to bring her back to atlanta after the surrender.
she looked about the rutted and cut-up space around the depot for the equipage of some oldfriend or acquaintance who might drive them to aunt pitty’s house but she recognized no one,black or white. probably none of her old friends owned carriages now, if what pitty had writtenthem was true. times were so hard it was difficult to feed and lodge humans, much less animals.
most of pitty’s friends, like herself, were afoot these days.
there were a few wagons loading at the freight cars and several mud-splashed buggies withrough-looking strangers at the reins but only two carriages. one was a closed carriage, the otheropen and occupied by a well-dressed woman and a yankee officer. scarlett drew in her breathsharply at the sight of the uniform. although pitty had written that atlanta was garrisoned and the streets full of soldiers, the first sight of the bluecoat startled and frightened her. it was hard toremember that the war was over and that this man would not pursue her, rob her and insult her.
the comparative emptiness around the train took her mind back to that morning in 1862 whenshe had come to atlanta as a young widow, swathed in crêpe and wild with boredom. she recalledhow crowded this space had been with wagons and carriages and ambulances and how noisy withdrivers swearing and yelling and people calling greetings to friends. she sighed for the lightheartedexcitement of the war days and sighed again at the thought of walking all the way to auntpitty’s house. but she was hopeful that once on peachtree street, she might meet someone sheknew who would give them a ride.
as she stood looking about her a saddle-colored negro of middle age drove the dosed carriagetoward her and, leaning from the box, questioned: “cah’ige, lady? two bits fer any whar in‘lanta.”
mammy threw him an annihilating glance.
“a hired hack!” she rumbled. “nigger, does you know who we is?”
mammy was a country negro but she had not always been a country negro and she knew that nochaste woman ever rode in a hired conveyance—especially a closed carriage—without the escortof some male member of her family. even the presence of a negro maid would not satisfy theconventions. she gave scarlett a glare as she saw her look longingly at the hack.
“come ‘way frum dar, miss scarlett! a hired hack an’ a free issue nigger! well, dat’s a goodcombination.”
“ah ain’ no free issue nigger,” declared the driver with heat. “ah b’longs ter ole miss talbot an’
disyere her cah’ige an’ ah drives it ter mek money fer us.”
“whut miss talbot is dat?”
“miss suzannah talbot of milledgeville. us done move up hyah affer old marse wuz kilt.”
“does you know her, miss scarlett?”
“no,” said scarlett, regretfully. “i know so few milledgeville folks.”
“den us’ll walk,” said mammy sternly. “drive on, nigger.”
she picked up the carpetbag which held scarlett’s new velvet frock and bonnet and nightgownand tucked the neat bandanna bundle that contained her own belongings under her arm andshepherded scarlett across the wet expanse of cinders. scarlett did not argue the matter, much asshe preferred to ride, for she wished no disagreement with mammy. ever since yesterday afternoonwhen mammy had caught her with the velvet curtains, there had been an alert suspicious look inher eyes which scarlett did not like. it was going to be difficult to escape from her chaperonageand she did not intend to rouse mammy’s fighting blood before it was absolutely necessary.
as they walked along the sidewalk toward peachtree, scarlett was dismayed and sorrowful,foratlantalookedsodevast(narrow) ated and different from what she remembered. they passedbeside what had been the atlanta hotel where rhett and uncle henry had lived and of that eleganthostelry there remained only a shell, a part of the blackened walls. the warehouses which had bor dered the train tracks for a quarter of a mile and held tons of military supplies had not been rebuiltand their rectangular foundations looked dreary under the dark sky. without the wall of buildingson either side and with the car shed gone, the railroad tracks seemed bare and exposed. somewhereamid these ruins, undistinguishable from the others, lay what remained of her own warehouse onthe property charles had left her. uncle henry had paid last year’s taxes on it for her. she’d haveto repay that money some time. that was something else to worry about.
as they turned the corner into peachtree street and she looked toward five points, she cried outwith shock. despite all frank had told her about the town burning to the ground, she had neverreally visualized complete destruction. in her mind the town she loved so well still stood full ofclose-packed buildings and fine houses. but this peachtree street she was looking upon was sodenuded of landmarks it was as unfamiliar as if she had never seen it before. this muddy streetdown which she had driven a thousand times during the war, along which she had fled with duckedhead and fear-quickened legs when shells burst over her during the siege, this street she had lastseen in the heat and hurry and anguish of the day of the retreat, was so strange looking she felt likecrying.
though many new buildings had sprung up in the year since sherman marched out of theburning town and the confederates returned, there were still wide vacant lots around five pointswhere heaps of smudged broken bricks lay amid a jumble of rubbish, dead weeds and broom-sedge. there were the remains of a few buildings she remembered, roofless brick walls throughwhich the dull daylight shone, glassless windows gaping, chimneys towering lonesomely. here andthere her eyes gladly picked out a familiar store which had partly survived shell and fire and hadbeen repaired, the fresh red of new brick glaring bright against the smut of the old walls. on newstore fronts and new office windows she saw the welcome names of men she knew but more oftenthe names were unfamiliar, especially the dozens of shingles of strange doctors and lawyers andcotton merchants. once she had known practically everyone in atlanta and the sight of so manystrange names depressed her. but she was cheered by the sight of new buildings going up all alongthe street.
there were dozens of them and several were three stories high! everywhere building was goingon, for as she looked down the street, trying to adjust her mind to the new atlanta, she heard theblithe sound of hammers and saws, noticed scaffoldings rising and saw men climbing ladders withhods of bricks on their shoulders. she looked down the street she loved so well and her eyes misteda little.
“they burned you,” she thought, “and they laid you flat. but they didn’t lick you. they couldn’tlick you. you’ll grow back just as big and sassy as you used to be!”
as she walked along peachtree, followed by the waddling mammy, she found the sidewalks justas crowded as they were at the height of the war and there was the same air of rush and bustleabout the resurrecting town which had made her blood sing when she came here, so long ago, onher first visit to aunt pitty. there seemed to be just as many vehicles wallowing in the mud holesas there had been then, except that there were no confederate ambulances, and just as many horsesand mules tethered to hitching racks in front of the wooden awnings of the stores. though thesidewalks were jammed, the faces she saw were as unfamiliar as the signs overhead, new people,many rough-looking men and tawdrily dressed women. the streets were black with loafing negroes who leaned against walls or sat on the curbing watching vehicles go past with the na.vecuriosity of children at a circus parade.
“free issue country niggers,” snorted mammy. “ain’ never seed a proper cah’ige in dere lives.
an’ impident lookin’, too.”
they were impudent looking, scarlett agreed, for they stared at her in an insolent manner, butshe forgot them in the renewed shock of seeing blue uniforms. the town was full of yankeesoldiers, on horses, afoot, in army wagons, loafing on the street, reeling out of barrooms.
i’ll never get used to them, she thought, clenching her fists. never! and over her shoulder:
“hurry, mammy, let’s get out of this crowd.”
“soon’s ah kick dis black trash outer mah way,” answered mammy loudly, swinging thecarpetbag at a black buck who loitered tantalizingly in front of her and making him leap aside. “ahdoan lak disyere town, miss scarlett. it’s too full of yankees an’ cheap free issue.”
“it’s nicer where it isn’t so crowded. when we get across five points, it won’t be so bad.”
they picked their way across the slippery stepping stones that bridged the mud of decatur streetand continued up peachtree, through a thinning crowd. when they reached wesley chapel wherescarlett had paused to catch her breath that day in 1864 when she had run for dr. meade, shelooked at it and laughed aloud, shortly and grimly. mammy’s quick old eyes sought hers with suspicionand question but her curiosity went unsatisfied. scarlett was recalling with contempt theterror which had ridden her that day. she had been crawling with fear, rotten with fear, terrified bythe yankees, terrified by the approaching birth of beau. now she wondered how she could havebeen so frightened, frightened like a child at a loud noise. and what a child she had been to thinkthat yankees and fire and defeat were the worst things that could happen to her! what trivialitiesthey were beside ellen’s death and gerald’s vagueness, beside hunger and cold and back-breakingwork and the living nightmare of insecurity. how easy she would find it now to be brave before aninvading army, but how hard to face the danger that threatened tara! no, she would never again beafraid of anything except poverty.
up peachtree came a closed carriage and scarlett went to the curb eagerly to see if she knew theoccupant, for aunt pitty’s house was still several blocks away. she and mammy leaned forward asthe carriage came abreast and scarlett, with a smile arranged, almost called out when a woman’shead appeared for a moment at the window—a too bright red head beneath a fine fur hat. scarletttook a step back as mutual recognition leaped into both faces. it was belle watling and scarlett hada glimpse of nostrils distended with dislike before she disappeared again. strange that belle’sshould be the first familiar face she saw.
“who dat?” questioned mammy suspiciously. “she knowed you but she din’ bow. ah ain’ neverseed ha’r dat color in mah life. not even in de tarleton fambly. it look—well, it look dyed ter me!”
“it is,” said scarlett shortly, walking faster.
“does you know a dyed-ha’rd woman? ah ast you who she is.”
“she’s the town bad woman,” said scarlett briefly, “and i give you my word i don’t know her, soshut up.”
“gawdlmighty!” breathed mammy, her jaw dropping as she looked after the carriage withpassionate curiosity. she had not seen a professional bad woman since she left savannah withellen more than twenty years before and she wished ardently that she had observed belle moreclosely.
“she sho dressed up fine an’ got a fine cah’ige an’ coachman,” she muttered. “ah doan knowwhut de lawd thinkin’ ‘bout lettin’ de bad women flurrish lak dat w’en us good folks is hongry an’
mos’ barefoot.”
“the lord stopped thinking about us years ago,” said scarlett savagely. “and don’t go tellingme mother is turning in her grave to hear me say it, either.”
she wanted to feel superior and virtuous about belle but she could not. if her plans went well,she might be on the same footing with belle and supported by the same man. while she did notregret her decision one whit, the matter in its true light discomfited her. “i won’t think of it now,”
she told herself and hurried her steps.
they passed the lot where the meade house had stood and there remained of it only a forlornpair of stone steps and a walk, leading up to nothing. where the whitings’ home had been was bareground. even the foundation stones and the brick chimneys were gone and there were wagontracks where they had been carted away. the brick house of the elsings still stood, with a new roofand a new second floor. the bonnell home, awkwardly patched and roofed with rude boardsinstead of shingles, managed to look livable for all its battered appearance. but in neither housewas there a face at the window or a figure on the porch, and scarlett was glad. she did not want totalk to anyone now.
then the new slate roof of aunt pitty’s house came in view with its red-brick walls, andscarlett’s heart throbbed. how good of the lord not to level it beyond repair! coming out of thefront yard was uncle peter, a market basket on his arm, and when he saw scarlett and mammytrudging along, a wide, incredulous smile split his black face.
i could kiss the old black fool, i’m so glad to see him, thought scarlett, joyfully and she called:
“run get auntie’s swoon bottle, peter! it’s really me!”
that night the inevitable hominy and dried peas were on aunt pitty’s supper table and, asscarlett ate them, she made a vow that these two dishes would never appear on her table when shehad money again. and, no matter what price she had to pay, she was going to have money again,more than just enough to pay the taxes on tara. somehow, some day she was going to have plentyof money if she had to commit murder to get it.
in the yellow lamplight of the dining room, she asked pitty about her finances, hoping againsthope that charles’ family might be able to lend her the money she needed. the questions werenone too subtle but pitty, in her pleasure at having a member of the family to talk to, did not evennotice the bald way the questions were put. she plunged with tears into the details of hermisfortunes. she just didn’t know where her farms and town property and money had gone buteverything had slipped away. at least, that was what brother henry told her. he hadn’t been ableto pay the taxes on her estate. everything except the house she was living in was gone and pitty did not stop to think that the house had never been hers but was the joint property of melanie andscarlett. brother henry could just barely pay taxes on this house. he gave her a little somethingevery month to live on and, though it was very humiliating to take money from him, she had to doit.
“brother henry says he doesn’t know how he’ll make ends meet with the load he’s carrying andthe taxes so high but, of course, he’s probably lying and has loads of money and just won’t give memuch.”
scarlett knew uncle henry wasn’t lying. the few letters she had had from him in connectionwith charles’ property showed that. the old lawyer was battling valiantly to save the house and theone piece of downtown property where the warehouse had been, so wade and scarlett would havesomething left from the wreckage. scarlett knew he was carrying these taxes for her at a greatsacrifice.
“of course, he hasn’t any money,” thought scarlett grimly. “well, check him and aunt pitty offmy list. there’s nobody left but rhett. i’ll have to do it. i must do it. but i mustn’t think about itnow. ... i must get her to talking about rhett so i can casually suggest to her to invite him to calltomorrow.”
she smiled and squeezed the plump palms of aunt pitty between her own.
“darling auntie,” she said, “don’t let’s talk about distressing things like money any more. let’sforget about them and talk of pleasanter things. you must tell me all the news about our oldfriends. how is mrs. merriwether, and maybelle? i heard that maybelle’s little creole came homesafely. how are the elsings and dr. and mrs. meade?”
pittypat brightened at the change of subject and her baby face stopped quivering with tears. shegave detailed reports about old neighbors, what they were doing and wearing and eating andthinking. she told with accents of horror how, before rené picard came home from the war, mrs.
merriwether and maybelle had made ends meet by baking pies and selling them to the yankeesoldiers. imagine that! sometimes there were two dozen yankees standing in the back yard of themerriwether home, waiting for the baking to be finished. now that rené was home, he drove anold wagon to the yankee camp every day and sold cakes and pies and beaten biscuits to the soldiers.
mrs. merriwether said that when she made a little more money she was going to open a bakeshop downtown. pitty did not wish to criticize but after all— as for herself, said pitty, she wouldrather starve than have such commerce with yankees. she made a point of giving a disdainful lookto every soldier she met, and crossed to the other side of the street in as insulting a manner aspossible, though, she said, this was quite inconvenient in wet weather. scarlett gathered that nosacrifice, even though it be muddy shoes, was too great to show loyalty to the confederacy, in sofar as miss pittypat was concerned.
mrs. meade and the doctor had lost their home when the yankees fired the town and they hadneither the money nor the heart to rebuild, now that phil and darcy were dead. mrs. meade saidshe never wanted a home again, for what was a home without children and grandchildren in it?
they were very lonely and had gone to live with the elsings who had rebuilt the damaged part oftheir home. mr. and mrs. whiting had a room there, too, and mrs. bonnell was talking of movingin, if she was fortunate enough to rent her house to a yankee officer and his family.
“but how do they all squeeze in?” cried scarlett “there’s mrs. elsing and fanny and hugh—”
“mrs. elsing and fanny sleep in the parlor and hugh in the attic,” explained pitty, who knew thedomestic arrangements of all her friends. “my dear, i do hate to tell you this but—mrs. elsing callsthem ‘paying guests’ but, pitty dropped her voice, “they are really nothing at all except boarders.
mrs. elsing is running a boarding “house! isn’t that dreadful?”
“i think it’s wonderful,” said scarlett shortly. “i only wish we’d had ‘paying guests’ at tara forthe last year instead of free boarders. maybe we wouldn’t be so poor now.”
“scarlett, how can you say such things? your poor mother must be turning in her grave at thevery thought of charging money for the hospitality of tara! of course, mrs. elsing was simplyforced to it because, while she took in fine sewing and fanny painted china and hugh made a littlemoney peddling firewood, they couldn’t make ends meet. imagine darling hugh forced to peddlewood! and he all set to be a fine lawyer! i could just cry at the things our boys are reduced to!”
scarlett thought of the rows of cotton beneath the glaring coppery sky at tara and how her backhad ached she bent over them. she remembered the feel of plow handles between herinexperienced, (as) blistered palms and she felt that hugh elsing was deserving of no special sympathy.
what an innocent old fool pitty was and, despite the ruin all around her, how sheltered!
“if he doesn’t like peddling, why doesn’t he practice law? or isn’t there any law practice left inatlanta?”
“oh dear, yes! there’s plenty of law practice. practically everybody is suing everybody elsethese days. with everything burned down and boundary lines wiped out, no one knows just wheretheir land begins or ends. but you can’t get any pay for suing because nobody has any money. sohugh sticks to his peddling. ... oh, i almost forgot! did i write you? fanny elsing is gettingmarried tomorrow night and, of course, you must attend. mrs. elsing will be only too pleased tohave you when she knows you’re in town. i do hope you have some other frock besides that one.
not that it isn’t a very sweet frock, darling, but—well, it does look a bit worn. oh, you have apretty frock? i’m so glad because it’s going to be the first real wedding we’ve had in atlanta sincebefore the town fell. cake and wine and dancing afterward, though i don’t know how the elsingscan afford it, they are so poor.”
“who is fanny marrying? i thought after dallas mclure was killed at gettysburg—”
“darling, you mustn’t criticize fanny. everybody isn’t as loyal to the dead as you are to poorcharlie. let me see. what is his name? i can never remember names—tom somebody. i knew hismother well, went to la-grange female institute together. she a tomlinson from lagrange and her(we) mother was—letmesee.... perkins?parkins? parkinson!th(was) at’s it. from sparta.
a very good family but just the same—well, i know i shouldn’t say it but i don’t see how fannycan bring herself to marry him!”
“does he drink or—”
“dear, no! his character is perfect but, you see, he was wounded low down, by a bursting shelland it did something to his legs—makes them—makes them, well, i hate to use the word but itmakes him spraddle. it gives him a very vulgar appearance when he walks—well, it doesn’t lookvery pretty. i don’t see why she’s marrying him.”
“girls have to marry someone.”
“indeed, they do not,” said pitty, ruffling. “i never had to.”
“now, darling, i didn’t mean you! everybody knows how popular you were and still are! why,old judge carlton used to throw sheep’s eyes at you till i—”
“oh, scarlett, hush! that old fool!” giggled pitty, good humor restored. “but, after all, fannywas so popular she could have made a better match and i don’t believe she loves this tom what’shis-name. i don’t believe she’s ever gotten over dallas mclure getting killed, but she’s not likeyou, darling. you’ve remained so faithful to dear charlie, though you could have married dozensof times. melly and i have often said how loyal you were to his memory when everyone else saidyou were just a heartless coquette.”
scarlett passed over this tactless confidence and skillfully led pitty from one friend to anotherbut all the while she was in a fever of impatience to bring the conversation around to rhett. itwould never do for her to ask outright about him, so soon after arriving. it might start the oldlady’s mind to working on channels better left untouched. there would be time enough for pitty’ssuspicions to be aroused if rhett refused to marry her.
aunt pitty prattled on happily, pleased as a child at having an audience. things in atlanta werein a dreadful pass, she said, due to the vile doings of the republicans. there was no end to theirgoings on and the worst thing was the way they were putting ideas in the poor darkies’ heads.
“my dear, they want to let the darkies vote! did you ever hear of anything more silly? though—i don’t know—now that i think about it, uncle peter has much more sense than any republican iever saw and much better manners but, of course, uncle peter is far too well bred to want to vote.
but the very notion has upset the darkies till they’re right addled. and some of them are soinsolent. your life isn’t safe on the streets after dark and even in the broad daylight they pushladies off the sidewalks into the mud. and if any gentleman dares to protest, they arrest him and—my dear, did i tell you that captain butler was in jail?”
“rhett butler?”
even with this startling news, scarlett was grateful that aunt pitty had saved her the necessity ofbringing his name into the conversation herself.
“yes, indeed!” excitement colored pitty’s cheeks pink and she sat upright. “he’s in jail this veryminute for killing a negro and they may hang him! imagine captain butler hanging!”
for a moment, the breath went out of scarlett’s lungs in a sickening gasp and she could onlystare at the fat old lady who was so obviously pleased at the effect of her statement.
“they haven’t proved it yet but somebody killed this darky who had insulted a white woman.
and the yankees are very upset because so many uppity darkies have been killed recently. theycan’t prove it on captain butler but they want to make an example of someone, so dr. meade says.
the doctor says that if they do hang him it will be the first good honest job the yankees ever did,but then, i don’t know. ... and to think that captain butler was here just a week ago and broughtme the loveliest quail you ever saw for a present and he was asking about you and saying he fearedhe had offended you during the siege and you would never forgive him.”
“how long will he be in jail?”
“nobody knows. perhaps till they hang him, but maybe they won’t be able to prove the killingon him, after all. however, it doesn’t seem to bother the yankees whether folks are guilty or not, solong as they can hang somebody. they are so upset”—pitty dropped her voice mysteriously—“about the ku klux klan. do you have the klan down in the county? my dear, i’m sure youmust and ashley just doesn’t tell you girls anything about it klansmen aren’t supposed to tell.
they ride around at night dressed up like ghosts and call on carpetbaggers who steal money andnegroes who are uppity. sometimes they just scare them and warn them to leave atlanta, but whenthey don’t behave they whip them and,” pitty whispered, “sometimes they kill them and leavethem where they’ll be easily found with the ku klux card on them. ... and the yankees are veryangry about it and want to make an example of someone. ... but hugh elsing told me he didn’tthink they’d hang captain butler because the yankees think he does know where the money is andjust won’t tell. they are trying to make him tell.”
“the money?”
“didn’t you know? didn’t i write you? my dear, you have been buried at tara, haven’t you? thetown simply buzzed when captain butler came back here with a fine horse and carriage and hispockets full of money, when all the rest of us didn’t know where our next meal was coming from.
it simply made everybody furious that an old speculator who always said nasty things about theconfederacy should have so much money when we were all so poor. everybody was bursting toknow how he managed to save his money but no one had the courage to ask him—except me andhe just laughed and said: ‘in no honest way, you may be sure.’ you know how hard it is to getanything sensible out of him.”
“but of course, he made his money out of the blockade—”
“of course, he did, honey, some of it. but that’s not a drop in the bucket to what that man hasreally got. everybody, including the yankees, believes he’s got millions of dollars in goldbelonging to the confederate government hid out somewhere.”
“millions—in gold?”
“well, honey, where did all our confederate gold go to? somebody got it and captain butlermust be one of the somebodies. the yankees thought president davis had it when he leftrichmond but when they captured the poor man he had hardly a cent. there just wasn’t any moneyin the treasury when the war was over and everybody thinks some of the blockade runners got itand are keeping quiet about it.”
“millions—in gold! but how—”
“didn’t captain butler take thousands of bales of cotton to england and nassau to sell for theconfederate government?” asked pitty triumphantly. “not only his own cotton but governmentcotton too? and you know what cotton brought in england during the war! any price you wantedto ask! he was a free agent acting for the government and he was supposed to sell the cotton andbuy guns with the money and run the guns in for us. well, when the blockade got too tight, hecouldn’t bring in the guns and he couldn’t have spent one one-hundredth of the cotton money onthem anyway, so there were simply millions of dollars in english banks put there by captain butler and other blockaders, waiting till the blockade loosened. and you can’t tell me they banked thatmoney in the name of the confederacy. they put it in their own names and it’s still there. ...
everybody has been talking about it ever since the surrender and criticizing the blockadersseverely, and when the yankees arrested captain butler for killing this darky they must have heardthe rumor, because they’ve been at him to tell them where the money is. you see, all of ourconfederate funds belong to the yankees now—at least, the yankees think so. but captain butlersays he doesn’t know anything. ... dr. meade says they ought to hang him anyhow, only hanging istoo good for a thief and a profiteer— dear, you look so oddly! do you feel faint? have i upset youtalking like this? i knew he was once a beau of yours but i thought you’d fallen out long ago.
personally, i never approved of him, for he’s such a scamp—”
“he’s no friend of mine,” said scarlett with an effort. “i had a quarrel with him during the siege,after you went to macon. where—where is he?”
“in the firehouse over near the public square!”
“in the firehouse?”
aunt pitty crowed with laughter.
“yes, he’s in the firehouse. the yankees use it for a military jail now. the yankees are campedin huts all round the city hall in the square and the firehouse is just down the street, so that’s wherecaptain butler is. and scarlett, i heard the funniest thing yesterday about captain butler. i forgetwho told me. you know how well groomed he always was—really a dandy—and they’ve beenkeeping him in the firehouse and not letting him bathe and every day he’s been insisting that hewanted a bath and finally they led him out of his cell onto the square and there was a long, horsetrough where the whole regiment had bathed in the same water! and they told him he could bathethere and he said no, that he preferred his own brand of southern dirt to yankee dirt and—”
scarlett heard the cheerful babbling voice going on and on but she did not hear the words. in hermind there were only two ideas, rhett had more money than she had even hoped and he was injail. the fact that he was in jail and possibly might be hanged changed the face of matterssomewhat, in fact made them look a little brighter. she had very little feeling about rhett beinghanged. her need of money was too pressing, too desperate, for her to bother about his ultimatefate. besides, she half shared dr. meade’s opinion that hanging was too good for him. any manwho’d leave a woman stranded between two armies in the middle of the night, just to go off andfight for a cause already lost, deserved hanging. ... if she could somehow manage to marry himwhile he was in jail, all those millions would be hers and hers alone should he be executed. and ifmarriage was not possible, perhaps she could get a loan from him by promising to marry him whenhe was released or by promising—oh, promising anything! and if they hanged him, her day ofsettlement would never come.
for a moment her imagination flamed at the thought of being made a widow by the kindlyintervention of the yankee government. millions in gold! she could repair tara and hire hands andplant miles and miles of cotton. and she could have pretty clothes and all she wanted to eat and socould suellen and carreen. and wade could have nourishing food to fill out his thin cheeks andwarm clothes and a governess and afterward go to the university ... and not grow up barefootedand ignorant like a cracker. and a good doctor could look after pa and as for ashley—what couldn’t she do for ashley!
aunt pittypat’s monologue broke off suddenly as she said inquiringly: “yes, mammy?” andscarlett, coming back from dreams, saw mammy standing in the doorway, her hands under herapron and in her eyes an alert piercing look. she wondered how long mammy had been standingthere and how much she had heard and observed. probably everything, to judge by the gleam inher old eyes.
“miss scarlett look lak she tared. ah spec she better go ter bed.”
“i am tired,” said scarlett, rising and meeting mammy’s eyes with a childlike, helpless look,“and i’m afraid i’m catching a cold too. aunt pitty, would you mind if i stayed in bed tomorrowand didn’t go calling with you? i can go calling any time and i’m so anxious to go to fanny’swedding tomorrow night. and if my cold gets worse i won’t be able to go. and a day in bed wouldbe such a lovely treat for me.”
mammy’s look changed to faint worry as she felt scarlett’s hands and looked into her face. shecertainly didn’t look well. the excitement of her thoughts had abruptly ebbed, leaving her whiteand shaking.
“yo’ han’s lak ice, honey. you come ter bed an’ ah’ll brew you some sassfrass tea an’ git you ahot brick ter mek you sweat.”
“how thoughtless i’ve been,” cried the plump old lady, hopping from her chair and pattingscarlett’s arm. “just chattering on and not thinking of you. honey, you shall stay in bed alltomorrow and rest up and we can gossip together— oh, dear, no! i can’t be with you. i’ve promisedto sit with mrs. bonnell tomorrow. she is down with la grippe and so is her cook. mammy,i’m so glad you are here. you must go over with me in the morning and help me.”
mammy hurried scarlett up the dark stairs, muttering fussy remarks about cold hands and thinshoes and scarlett looked meek and was well content. if she could only lull mammy’s suspicionsfurther and get her out of the house in the morning, all would be well. then she could go to theyankee jail and see rhett. as she climbed the stairs, the faint rumbling of thunder began and,standing on the well-remembered landing, she thought how like the siege cannon it sounded. sheshivered. forever, thunder would mean cannon and war to her.
第二天一早，思嘉和嬷嬷迎着寒风凛冽和彤云疾卷的阴沉天气在亚特兰大下了火车。火车站在全城大火中毁了，还没有重建起来，她们是在那堆高出废墟好几码的灰烬和烂泥中跳下来的，它们告诉人们，这里就是火车站了。思嘉习惯性的环顾一下周围，寻找彼得大叔和皮蒂姑妈的马车，因为在战争年月每次她从塔拉回到亚特兰大时都是他们来接的。
随即她忽然醒悟起来，对自己的下意识举动一笑置之。当然了，彼得没有来，因为她并没有把自己要到这里来的事预先通告皮蒂姑妈，而且她想起老太太在有一封信里悲伤地说过，投降后彼得在梅里要求领回来的那匹老马已经死了。她环顾车站周围车辙纵横和被分割得零零碎碎的空地，想找到一位老朋友和旧相识的马车，好恳求人家把她们带到皮蒂姑妈的住处去，可是无论黑人白人她一个也不认识。如果皮蒂写信告诉他们的情况属实，也许她的熟人中谁都没有马车了。时世这么艰苦，人有吃有住就很不容易了，那顾得上牲畜。皮蒂的大多数朋友，像她自己一样，现在都是双脚步行了。
有很少几辆货车在运化车厢旁装货，还有几辆溅满了泥污的四轮单座马，车上坐着粗壮的车夫，但载人的车只有两辆，其中一辆是轿车，另一辆是逢车，里面坐着一个穿着华丽的妇人和一个军官。思嘉一见那身制服便狠狠地吸了一口气。尽管皮蒂姑妈在信中说过亚特兰大驻扎一军队，街上到处是大兵，思嘉猛一见到这些穿蓝军服的人还是觉得惊异和害怕。这很难使人感到战争已经结束，也难相信这些人不会追逐她，抢劫她，侮辱她。
车站周围空荡荡的景象使她想起1862年的一个早晨，那时她作为年轻寡妇身穿丧服、满怀厌倦地来到了亚特兰大。她记得这个地方当时多么拥挤，到处是货车、客车和运送伤员的车辆，车夫们的漫骂声和叹息声，人们迎接朋友的招呼声汇成一片喧闹，她不禁为战时那种心情轻松愉快的景象而感叹，接着又叹息又如今不得不步行到皮蒂姑妈家去。但他仍然满怀希望，觉得只要到了桃树街，她就会遇到熟人让她们搭车。
正当她站在那里环顾观望时，一个棕色皮肤的中年黑人赶着一辆轿车向她驶来，并从车里探出身来问：“要车吗，太太？两块钱，到亚特兰大城里啥地方都行。“嬷嬷恶狠狠地瞪了他一眼。
“是辆野鸡车！"她嘀古着，"黑鬼，你把我们当成什么人了？"嬷嬷是个乡下黑人，但她又并不经常住乡下；她清楚没有哪个体面妇女会坐野鸡车，尤其是轿车的，除非家里有男人在身边护送。即使有个黑人侍女跟在身边，从习俗上讲也还是不够的。嬷嬷看见思嘉仍在恋恋不舍地打量那辆出租马车，便恶狠狠地瞪了她一眼。
“我们走吧，思嘉小姐！一辆野鸡车和一个刚刚冒出来的黑鬼！不错，真是个好搭档！““我可不是刚冒出来的自由黑人。"车夫生气地辩解道。
“我是老塔尔拍特小姐家的。这是她家的马车，我赶出来给家里挣点钱花。”“哪个老塔尔伯特小姐？"“米尔格维尔的苏珊娜·塔尔伯特小姐呀。我们是老马尔斯被打死以后搬到这里来的。"“你认识她吗，思嘉小姐？”
“不认识，"思嘉遗憾地说。"我认识的米尔格维尔人很少。"“那好，我们走，“嬷嬷断然地说。"你赶你的车吧，黑鬼。"她提起里面装着思嘉的新天鹅绒长袍、帽子和睡衣的帆衣布袋，把包着自己衣物的干净包袱夹在腋下，然后领着思嘉走过到处是煤渣和灰烬的湿地。思嘉尽管想坐车，但没和她理论，因为她不想与嬷嬷发生争执。自头一天午她摘窗帘被嬷嬷抓住，嬷嬷眼里始流露出一副警惕的疑惑神情，这是思嘉很厌烦的。看来难以逃脱她的陪伴，而且只要不是必须要求，她也并不想激起嬷嬷的好斗脾气。
她们沿着狭窄的人行道向桃树街走去，思嘉一路上都感到惊恐和悲伤，因为亚特兰大已经变得如此荒凉，跟她记忆中的情景大不一样了。她们走过从前瑞德和享利大叔叔住过的亚特兰大饭店所在地，如今那高雅的建筑只剩下一个空架和部分焦黑的断垣残壁了。那些毗连铁路长达四分之一英里、存放着大量军需品的库房还没重建起来，它们那些长方形屋基在灰暗的天空下看来分外凄凉。由于两旁都没有了建筑物的墙壁，同时车库已经消失，因此火车道上的铁轨便显得赤裸裸地毫无遮掩了。这些废墟中有一个与别处没有什么区别的地方，还保留着查尔斯留给她的产业上的仓库遗址。享利叔叔已经替她付过去年的租金。过些时她得偿还这笔钱。这又是一件叫她烦恼的事。
她们拐了个弯走进桃树街时，她向五点镇望去，不禁大声惊叫起来，尽管佛兰克告诉过她城镇已被大火夷为平地，她也从没想到这样彻底的毁灭。在她心目中，她所热爱的那个城镇仍然处处是密集的建筑物和漂亮的房子。可是她现在看到的这条桃树街连一个旧的标志也没有了，它显得如此陌生，仿佛她从没见过似的。这条泥泞的大街，战时她曾驾车走过千百次的大街，围城时她低着头冒着在空中开花的炮弹慌慌张张奔跑过的大街，她在撤离那天紧张匆忙而痛苦的时刻最后告别的大街，如今竟是这样陌生，以致她伤心得要哭了。
尽管自从谢尔曼在大火中撤出这座城镇和联盟军回来那一年起，这里已陆续重建了许多新房子，可是五点镇周围依然有大片大片的空地，荒榛枯草中是一堆堆烧焦的断砖碎瓦，其中又有几幢房子的遗址是她能勉强辩认出来的，房子只剩下几截砖墙在暗淡的阳光里兀立着，没有玻璃的窗户张开大口，摇摇欲坠的烟囱显得分外孤单。她也偶尔高兴地看见一两家熟悉的店铺，那是在炮火中幸存下来并修复了的，其中那些耀眼的新红砖与灰色的旧墙形成强烈的对照。她从那些新店铺门面和新办公楼的窗口看到令人兴奋的旧相识的牌号，但更多的名字是不的熟悉的，尤其那成百上千的陌行医生、律师和棉花商的牌号。以前她在亚特兰大几乎认识每个人，而现在眼前出现了这么多陌生的名字，这使她感到丧气。当然，眼看着街道两旁新建筑物迎面而来，她也不能不为之振奋。这些建筑物也是成百千的，有些还是三层楼房呢！到处都处在兴建新房子。她在大街上朝前望去，想要让自己的观念适应这新的亚特兰大，这时她耳边是一片欢快的锯子声和锒头声，眼前是一个又一个高耸的脚手架，人们扛着砖头在梯子上攀登。她朝前望去，望着这条自己那么喜爱的大街，眼睛不觉有点湿润了。
她心想：“他们把你烧成灰烬了，他们把你夷为了平地，可是他们并没有把你打垮。他们打不垮你。你重获新生，变得像你过去那样雄伟，那样壮丽！"她顺着桃树街往前走。后面跟着蹒跚的嬷嬷。一路发现人行道上仍像战争紧张时期那么拥挤，这复苏的城镇周围仍然是那种仓皇喧扰的气氛，许久以前，她头一次拜访皮蒂姑妈来到这里时，这城镇曾使她极为兴奋，仿佛浑身血液都要歌唱似的，如今也像当时一样有那么多的车辆（只不过没有运送伤员的军车）在泥泞中挣扎，有那么多马匹和骡子拴在店铺木棚前面的拴马桩上。人行道上拥挤不堪，她所看到的面孔像头顶上的招牌一样，都是陌生的，都是些新人，许许多多容貌粗鲁的男人和穿着俗丽的女人。街上到处是游手好闲的黑人，有的斜靠着墙壁，有的坐在路边石上，像小孩天真地看马戏团游行的一样，好奇地观看着过往的车辆。大街上一片乌黑。
“尽是些刚放出来的自由黑鬼！"嬷嬷打鼻子里哼了一声。
“他们一辈子都没有个体面样儿。还有那一脸的粗鲁相。"他们就是一副粗鲁相，思嘉也这样想，因为他们总是无礼地盯着她，不过她一看到那些穿蓝军服的大兵，便吓得把这些黑人忘记了。城里到处是北方佬士兵，有的骑着马，有的步行，有的坐在军车里，在街上闲档，从酒吧间出出进进。
我永远也看不惯这些家伙，她握紧双拳，心里想。永远也不会！一面回过头去对嬷嬷说：“快说，嬷嬷，赶快离开这群家伙。"“等我踢开这些挡路的黑鬼再说，"嬷嬷大声回答道，一面用提包猛撞那个在她前面故意慢悠悠地磨蹭的黑人，使他不得不闪到一边去了。"我不喜欢这个城镇，思嘉小姐。这里北方佬和刚放出来的黑鬼太多了。"“那些不怎么拥挤的地方会好一些。只要我们过了五点镇，就不会这样了。"她们择路越过那些放置在迪凯特街泥泞里的溜滑的垫脚石，然后继续顺桃树街往前走。这里行人比较稀疏了。她们到了韦斯利礼拜堂，这是1864年思嘉去找米德大夫那天停下来歇口气的地方，现在她注视着它，不由得鄙夷地冷冷一笑。
嬷嬷的机警眼光带着猜疑和询问的神色搜索她，但她的好奇心没有获得满足。原来思嘉是在回想那天自己的恐惧心情，觉得太可笑了。那时她被北方佬吓坏了，被媚兰既将分娩的紧张状况吓坏了，简直是在心惊胆战地爬行埃现在想起来，她真不明白有什么必要那样害怕，就像孩子听到一声巨声那样害怕呢？而且那时她觉得，北方佬和大火，以及战争失败的结局，将是她可能碰到的最坏的事情。可它们同爱伦的死和杰拉尔德的精神恍惚比起来，同饥饿，同累断脊梁的劳动和面临不安全的活生生的梦魇比起来，是多么无关紧要的事啊！
如今叫她在侵略军面前英勇无畏，那是很容易做到的，可是要面对塔拉被侵吞的危险却显得非常困难了。不，除了挨饿，她什么也不怕！
一辆轿式马车在桃树街迎面驶来，思嘉急切地站到路边石上瞧是否认识车上的人，因为皮蒂姑妈的住处离这里还有好几条街呢。马车路过身边，她和嬷嬷都凑近去细看，这时思嘉正准备露出一个微笑，可是当轿车窗口探出一个女人的头----一个戴着高贵的毛皮帽的红得耀眼的头时，她几乎失声喊叫起来。原来双方都认出来了，脸上都露出惊异的神情，思嘉更不由得后退了一步。这是贝夭·沃特琳！在她再次缩回头去之前，思嘉还瞧见她那两只因表示憎恶而张大的鼻孔。
真奇怪，她首先看到的那张熟悉面孔竟然是贝尔的！
“是谁呀？"嬷嬷猜疑地问。"她认识你却不向你鞠躬。我可一辈子也没见过这样颜色的头发。就连在塔尔顿家也没见过。可好像—-嗯，我看是染过的！"“是染过，"思嘉不屑地回答了一声，加快了脚步。
“你认识一个染了发的女人？我问你，她究竟是谁？"“她是一个坏女人，"思嘉简捷地回答说。"我向你保证，我并不认识她，你别问了。"“天哪，"嬷嬷轻轻叹了一口气，用满怀好奇的眼光望着那辆驶去的马车，呆呆地连下颚都快掉下来了。自从二十年前她同爱伦离开萨凡纳以来，还从没见过妓女，因此她很遗憾刚才没有仔细看个清楚。
“她穿得这么华丽，还有这么漂亮的一辆马车和一个车夫，"她喃喃地自言自语。"我不懂上帝安的什么心，让那些坏女人这样享福，而我们好人倒要饿肚子，打赤脚。"“很久以来上帝就不管我们了，"思嘉粗鲁地说。"可是你也不用对我说，母亲听我这种话会在坟墓里翻来覆去睡不着。"她理应觉得自己在社会地位和德行上高于贝尔，但是做不到。如果她的计划能顺利进行，她就会处于贝尔同样的地位并受到同一个男人的资助了。她尽管对自己的决定一点也不后悔，但这件事实质上还是使她感到难堪的。"我现在不去想它，"她心里对自己说，同时加快了脚步。
她们经过以前米德大夫住宅所在的那个地段，可是住宅只剩下两个石级和一条走道，上面什么都没有了。至于原来惠廷家所在的地方，如今已完全夷为平地，连那些屋基石和砖ae？的烟囱也不见了，只有运走它们留下的车轮痕迹还依稀可辩。埃尔辛家的砖房仍兀立在那里，而且新盖了二楼层和一个新的屋顶，邦内尔家修补得很难看，上面用粗木板当瓦ae？盖了个屋顶，看来是在设法掩饰那副破烂相，想尽量显得适合于居祝然而，这些房子的窗口没有一张面孔露出来，门廊里也看不见一个人，这倘使思嘉感到高兴些。她现在不想跟任何人谈话。
皮蒂姑妈家的新石板屋顶和红色砖墙，终于在前面出现了，这时思嘉的心也怦怦地跳起来。上帝多么仁慈啊，竟没有让这所房子损毁得不可收拾！彼得大叔正从前院走出来，胳膊上縜e着一只采购的篮子，他瞧见思嘉和嬷嬷一跟艰难地走过来，黝黑的脸庞上漾开了一丝爽朗又不敢轻信似的微笑。
思嘉暗暗想道，"我要狠狠地吻这个老迈的黑傻瓜，我多么高兴看到他呀！”她随即快活地喊道：“彼得，快去把姑妈的眩晕药瓶子拿来，真的是我呀！"当天晚上，皮蒂姑妈家的晚餐上摆着不少了的玉米粥和干碗豆。思嘉一面吃一面暗暗发誓，一旦她又有了钱，便决不让这两样东西出现在她的餐桌上。而且，无论付出什么样的代价，她也要再捞些钱，比交纳塔拉的税金还要多的钱。总之，有一天她会捞到许多钱，即使杀人也在的所不惜。
在饭厅的暗淡灯光下，思嘉问皮蒂的经济状况怎样，她希望事情会出乎她的意料，查尔斯家能够借给她所需要的那笔钱。这个问题本来一点儿也不微妙，皮蒂正高兴有机会同一位亲戚谈话，对于提问题的这种方式并没有注意，她马上伤心地谈起自己所有的苦难来了。她连自己的农尝城里的财产和钱到哪里去了也不知道，只发现一切都失去了。至少享利兄弟是这样对她说的。他已经付不出她的地产税了。除了她现在住的这栋房子外，一切都已化为乌有，何况皮蒂还没有想到这所房子并不属她一人所有，而是与媚兰和思嘉的共同财产。享利兄弟仅仅能够交纳这所房子税金。他每月给一点点生活费。尽管要他的钱十分寒碜的。她也只好这样做了。
“享利兄弟说，他肩上的负担那么重，租税又那么高，他真不知怎样维持下去。不过，当然喽，他也许是在撒谎，而手头还有一大笔钱，只是不想多给我一点罢了。"思嘉知道享利叔叔说的不是谎话。这从他写给她的几封谈查尔斯财产的信中可以看出，这位老律师在顽强奋斗要保住房子和城里原先仓库所在的那平地产，好让韦德和思嘉在破产之后还剩有一点东西，思嘉知道他正在冒很大的牺牲替她维持这些税金。
“当然，他没有什么钱了，"思嘉冷静地想。"好吧，把他和皮蒂姑妈从名单是划掉。现在除了瑞德，没有别的人了。我只好这么办。我必须这么办。不过，我现在用不着想它。………我得让她自己谈起瑞德，然后我再乘机提出叫她邀请他明天到这里来。"她满面笑容地紧紧握住皮蒂姑妈那双胖乎乎的手。
“好姑妈，"她说，"我们别再谈那些关于金钱什么的烦恼事了。让我们把这些事抛到脑后，谈些愉快的话题吧。你得告诉我每一桩关于老朋友们的新闻呀。梅里韦瑟太太怎么样了？还有梅贝尔呢？我听说梅贝尔的小克留尔安全返家了。可是埃尔辛家和米德大夫夫妇呢？“皮蒂帕特一转换话题就开颜了，她那张娃娃脸已不再在泪痕下伤心地抽搐。她一桩桩地报道老邻居的近况，他们在干什么、吃什么、穿什么、想什么。她用惊异的声调告诉思嘉，在雷内·卡德从战场上回来之前，梅里韦瑟太太和梅贝尔怎样靠做馅饼卖给北方佬大兵来维持自己的生活，想想那光景吧！有时候几十个北方佬站在梅里韦瑟家的后院里，等着母女俩把馅饼烤出来。现在雷内回来了，他每天赶着一辆旧货车到北方佬军营去卖蛋糕、馅和小面包。梅里韦瑟太太说，等到她再多赚点钱，她就要在城里开个面包铺。皮蒂并不想批评这种事，不过毕竟----至少她自己，皮蒂说，她是宁愿挨饿也不会跟北方佬做这种买卖的。她特别注意每次碰到大兵都要给他蔑神的脸色，并且走到街道的另一边去，以此来表示最大的蔑视，尽管这样做在雨天是很不方便的。思嘉看出，对于皮蒂特小姐来说，只要能表示对联盟政府的忠诚，无论什么样的牺牲，就算是两天弄脏一双鞋，都不是过分的。
米德大夫夫妇的房屋是在北方佬放火烧城时毁掉的，后来费尔和达西相继牺牲，他们便既无钱也无心思来重建了。米德太太说她再也不想建立家庭，因为没有儿孙住在一起还算个什么家呢。他们感到十分孤独，只得去和埃尔辛一家住在一起，后者总算把自己房子的损坏地方修复了。惠廷夫妇也在那里占有一个房间，如果邦内尔太太能幸运地把自己的房子租给一个北方佬军官和他一家去住，那么她也有意要搬进去。
“可是，他们这么多人怎么挤得下呀？"思嘉大声问。"有埃尔辛太太，有范妮，还有休----"埃尔辛太太和范妮住在厅里，休住在阁楼上，"皮蒂解释说，她是了解所有朋友们的家务安排的。"亲爱的，我本不想告诉你这些事，可是----埃尔辛太太称他们为'房客'，可是，"皮蒂压低声音，"他们真是地地道道的寄宿者埃埃尔辛太太就是在开旅店嘛！你说可怕不可怕？"“我想这是了不起的。"思嘉冷冷地说，"我倒宁愿去年在塔拉有这样一批房客，而不是免费寄宿。要是这样，我们现在也不会这样穷了。"“思嘉，你怎么能说出这种话来？你母亲在坟墓里连想起要向在塔拉接待的亲友们收费，也会感到不安的！当然，埃尔辛太太这样做也纯粹是迫不得已的，因为单靠她揽点缝纫活，范妮画瓷器，休叫卖柴火，是维持不了生活的。想想看吧，小小的休竟卖起柴火来了！而他原来是一心要当个出色的律师的。眼看着我们的孩子竟落到这个地步，我真想哭呢。"思嘉想起塔拉像铜钱般闪耀的天空下那一行行的棉花和她弓着身子侍弄它们时那种腰酸背痛的感觉。她想起自己用一双毫无经验的、满是血泡的手扶着犁把时的滋味。她觉得休·埃尔辛也并不是特别值得同情的。皮蒂是个多么天真的老傻瓜呀，而且，尽管是一片废墟，她还过得真不错呢！
“要是他不高兴卖柴火，干吗不当律师呢？难道在亚特兰大就不需要律师了吗？““啊，亲爱的，不是这样！律师的事还多着呢。这些日子，实际上每个人都在控告别人。由于什么都烧光了，界线也消失了，谁也说不清自己的地界在哪里。因为大家都没有钱了。
所以你要打官司也打不起。因此休只好一心一意卖自己的柴火。……啊，我差点忘了！我写信告诉了你了吗？范妮·埃尔辛明天晚上要结婚了。当然，你应该参加婚礼。埃尔辛太太只要知道你到了城里，一定很欢迎你去。我真希望你除了这身穿着还另外有件衣服。并不是说这一件不好看，亲爱的，可是----嗯，它显得有点旧了。啊，你有件漂亮的长袍？我真高兴，这将是亚特兰大沦陷以来头一次举行的真正的婚礼呢。
婚礼上将有蛋糕，有酒，然后是舞会，尽管我不明白埃尔辛家怎么花得起，因为他们本来是够穷的。"“范妮嫁给谁呀？我想达拉斯·麦克卢尔在葛底堡牺牲之后----"_“乖乖，你不应该批评范妮。不是每个人都像你对查尔斯那样忠于死者呀。让我想想，他叫什么名字来着？我总是记不住名字----也许叫汤姆什么的。我和他母亲很熟，曾经一起上过拉格兰奇女子学院。她姓托姆林森，是拉格兰奇人，而她母亲是----让我想想。……姓珀金斯，珀金斯？珀金森！对了。斯巴达人。门第很好，可还是一样----嗯，我知道本来不该说的，可不明白范妮怎么愿意去嫁给他的！"“他喝酒？还是----"“不，亲爱的。他的个性完美无缺，不过你瞧，他下身受了伤，被一颗开花弹打的，打坏了两腿----把它们----把它们，唉，我很讨厌用那个字眼，总之他只能叉开两腿走路了。
因此他行走起来非常难看----嗯，可真不体面呢。我不明白她为什么要嫁给他。"“姑娘们总得嫁人嘛！"“说真的，那倒不一定。"皮蒂皱皱眉头，表示异议。“我就从没想过。““你看，亲爱的，我不是说你呀！谁都知道你多么惹人爱慕，而且至今还是这样。要不，老法官卡尔顿还常常向你飞媚眼呢，以致我----"“唔，思嘉，别说了！那个老傻瓜！"皮蒂格格地笑着，情绪又好起来。"不过，无论怎么说，范妮是那样可爱，她本该嫁一个更好的人，而且我就不信她真的爱上这个汤什姆什么的。我不信她忘了达拉斯·麦克卢尔。不过她跟你不一样，亲爱的，你对心爱的查理至今忠贞不渝，要是你想再嫁，可能又嫁过多次了。媚兰和我时常谈起你为查理守节多么坚贞，虽然别人在背地里议论你，说你简直是个没心肝的风流女子。"思嘉对于这种不高明的恭维漠然置之，只一心要诱导皮蒂从一个朋友谈到另一个朋友，而且始终迫不及待地将谈话绕到瑞德身上。她决不会直截了当问起他的，何况自己刚到这里。而且那样做可能会引起老太太琢磨一些最好不去触动的想法。要是瑞德拒绝娶她，不愁没有机会惹起皮蒂对她的猜疑呢！
皮蒂姑妈很高兴喋喋不休地说下去，就像一个孩子好不容易获得了自己的听众似的。她说在亚特兰大，因为共和党人做了许多缺德事，目前的局面是可怕的。况且这一趋势没有尽头，其中最糟糕的是他们向穷黑人头脑里灌输思想的那种方式。
“亲爱的，他们要让黑人投票选举呢！你说世界上还有比这更荒谬的事吗？尽管----我不明白----反正我这样想，彼得大叔比任何一个共和党人都更加清醒，也更有礼貌，不过，当然喽，像彼得大叔这样有教养的人是不会参加选举的。可是，光这种想法本身就把黑人搞得简直昏昏然了。何况他们中间有些人是那么粗野无礼。天黑以后你在大街上走路是有生命危险的，甚至大白天他们也会把姑娘们推掇到路边的泥洼里去。而且，如果有位绅士胆敢表示抗议，他们就逮捕他，以致----亲爱的，我告诉过你没有？巴特船长已经进监狱了。"”瑞德·巴特勒？“即使是这么个消息，思嘉也要感激不尽，因为皮蒂使她无需亲自提到巴特勒的名字就谈起他来了。
“是的，千真万确！"皮蒂已兴奋得两颊发红，腰也挺得笔直了。"他就是因为杀了一个黑人立即被抓起来的。说不定要判处绞刑呢！想想吧，巴特勒船长要被判处绞刑！"思嘉顿时像个泄了气的皮球，喘不过起来了，只是呆呆地盯着这位胖老太太，老太太却因自己讲的事产生了效果而洋洋自得。
“他们还没有找到充分的证据，不过的确有人杀了这个侮辱白人妇女的黑鬼。北方佬感到十分恼火，因为最近有那么多气势汹汹的黑人被杀了。他们在巴特勒船长身上找不到任何证据，可是正如米德大夫说的，他们总得搞出一个样板。大夫认为如果他们真把他绞死，也是北方佬的第一桩大好事，不过那样一来，我就想不通。……想想看，巴特勒船长上星期还到过里，给我带来了一只怪可爱的鹌鹑当礼物呢。他还问起你，说他担心围城期间得罪过你，你大概永远也不会原谅他的。"“他得在监狱里呆多久？"“谁知道呢。也许一直要关到执行绞刑那天吧。不过，也可能他们最终落实不了他的杀人证据。当然喽，对于北方佬来说，只要能抓住一个人判绞刑就行了。至于究竟谁有罪谁没罪，那是用不着操心的。他们愤怒极了"----皮蒂神秘地压低声音----"至于那个三k党，在你们乡下也有吧？亲爱的，我相信一定有的，只不过艾希礼不会把这种事告诉你们姑娘家罢了。三k党人是不许谈这个的，他们在晚上装扮得像魔鬼似的，骑着马四处转悠，寻找偷钱的提包党人和盛气凌人的黑鬼。有时三k党只吓唬吓唬他们。警告他们快离开亚特兰大，可是如果他们不服从就动手用鞭子抽，并且，"皮蒂悄悄地说，"有时把他们杀掉，扔到很容易发现的地方，上面还着三k党的名片呢。……所以北方佬非常气恼，想来个杀一儆百。……不过休·埃尔辛告诉我，他认为他们不至于绞死巴特勒船长，因为北方佬觉得他知道那笔钱的下落，只是不说罢了。