飘-第112章

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”　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　old　friend　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　written　them　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　with　rough…looking　strangers　at　the　reins　but　only　two　carriages。　One　was　a　closed　carriage；　the　other　open　and　occupied　by　a　well…dressed　woman　and　a　Yankee　officer。　Scarlett　drew　in　her　breath　sharply　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　to　remember　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　when　she　had　come　to　Atlanta　as　a　young　widow；　swathed　in　crêpe　and　wild　with　boredom。　She　recalled　how　crowded　this　space　had　been　with　wagons　and　carriages　and　ambulances　and　how　noisy　with　drivers　swearing　and　yelling　and　people　calling　greetings　to　friends。　She　sighed　for　the　light…hearted　excitement　of　the　war　days　and　sighed　again　at　the　thought　of　walking　all　the　way　to　Aunt　Pitty’s　house。　But　she　was　hopeful　that　once　on　Peachtree　Street；　she　might　meet　someone　she　knew　who　would　give　them　a　ride。
　As　she　stood　looking　about　her　a　saddle…colored　negro　of　middle　age　drove　the　dosed　carriage　toward　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　no　chaste　woman　ever　rode　in　a　hired　conveyance—especially　a　closed　carriage—without　the　escort　of　some　male　member　of　her　family。　Even　the　presence　of　a　negro　maid　would　not　satisfy　the　conventions。　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　good　combination。”
　“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　nightgown　and　tucked　the　neat　bandanna　bundle　that　contained　her　own　belongings　under　her　arm　and　shepherded　Scarlett　across　the　wet　expanse　of　cinders。　Scarlett　did　not　argue　the　matter；　much　as　she　preferred　to　ride；　for　she　wished　no　disagreement　with　Mammy。　Ever　since　yesterday　afternoon　when　Mammy　had　caught　her　with　the　velvet　curtains；　there　had　been　an　alert　suspicious　look　in　her　eyes　which　Scarlett　did　not　like。　It　was　going　to　be　difficult　to　escape　from　her　chaperonage　and　she　did　not　intend　to　rouse　Mammy’s　fighting　blood　before　it　was　absolutely　necessary。
　As　they　walked　along　the　narrow　sidewalk　toward　Peachtree；　Scarlett　was　dismayed　and　sorrowful；　for　Atlanta　looked　so　devastated　and　different　from　what　she　remembered。　They　passed　beside　what　had　been　the　Atlanta　Hotel　where　Rhett　and　Uncle　Henry　had　lived　and　of　that　elegant　hostelry　there　remained　only　a　shell；　a　part　of　the　blackened　walls。　The　warehouses　which　had　bordered　the　train　tracks　for　a　quarter　of　a　mile　and　held　tons　of　military　supplies　had　not　been　rebuilt　and　their　rectangular　foundations　looked　dreary　under　the　dark　sky。　Without　the　wall　of　buildings　on　either　side　and　with　the　car　shed　gone；　the　railroad　tracks　seemed　bare　and　exposed。　Somewhere　amid　these　ruins；　undistinguishable　from　the　others；　lay　what　remained　of　her　own　warehouse　on　the　property　Charles　had　left　her。　Uncle　Henry　had　paid　last　year’s　taxes　on　it　for　her。　She’d　have　to　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　out　with　shock。　Despite　all　Frank　had　told　her　about　the　town　burning　to　the　ground；　she　had　never　really　visualized　complete　destruction。　In　her　mind　the　town　she　loved　so　well　still　stood　full　of　close…packed　buildings　and　fine　houses。　But　this　Peachtree　Street　she　was　looking　upon　was　so　denuded　of　landmarks　it　was　as　unfamiliar　as　if　she　had　never　seen　it　before。　This　muddy　street　down　which　she　had　driven　a　thousand　times　during　the　war；　along　which　she　had　fled　with　ducked　head　and　fear…quickened　legs　when　shells　burst　over　her　during　the　siege；　this　street　she　had　last　seen　in　the　heat　and　hurry　and　anguish　of　the　day　of　the　retreat；　was　so　strange　looking　she　felt　like　crying。
　Though　many　new　buildings　had　sprung　up　in　the　year　since　Sherman　marched　out　of　the　burning　town　and　the　Confederates　returned；　there　were　still　wide　vacant　lots　around　Five　Points　where　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　through　which　the　dull　daylight　shone；　glassless　windows　gaping；　chimneys　towering　lonesomely。　Here　and　there　her　eyes　gladly　picked　out　a　familiar　store　which　had　partly　survived　shell　and　fire　and　had　been　repaired；　the　fresh　red　of　new　brick　glaring　bright　against　the　smut　of　the　old　walls。　On　new　store　fronts　and　new　office　windows　she　saw　the　welcome　names　of　men　she　knew　but　more　often　the　names　were　unfamiliar；　especially　the　dozens　of　shingles　of　strange　doctors　and　lawyers　and　cotton　merchants。　Once　she　had　known　practically　everyone　in　Atlanta　and　the　sight　of　so　many　strange　names　depressed　her。　But　she　was　cheered　by　the　sight　of　new　buildings　going　up　all　along　the　street。
　There　were　dozens　of　them　and　several　were　three　stories　high！　Everywhere　building　was　going　on；　for　as　she　looked　down　the　street；　trying　to　adjust　her　mind　to　the　new　Atlanta；　she　heard　the　blithe　sound　of　hammers　and　saws；　noticed　scaffoldings　rising　and　saw　men　climbing　ladders　with　hods　of　bricks　on　their　shoulders。　She　looked　down　the　street　she　loved　so　well　and　her　eyes　misted　a　little。
　“They　burned　you；”　she　thought；　“and　they　laid　you　flat。　But　they　didn’t　lick　you。　They　couldn’t　lick　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　just　as　crowded　as　they　were　at　the　height　of　the　war　and　there　was　the　same　air　of　rush　and　bustle　about　the　resurrecting　town　which　had　made　her　blood　sing　when　she　came　here；　so　long　ago；　on　her　first　visit　to　Aunt　Pitty。　There　seemed　to　be　just　as　many　vehicles　wallowing　in　the　mud　holes　as　there　had　been　then；　except　that　there　were　no　Confederate　ambulances；　and　just　as　many　horses　and　mules　tethered　to　hitching　racks　in　front　of　the　wooden　awnings　of　the　stores。　Though　the　sidewalks　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？ve　curiosity　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；　but　she　forgot　them　in　the　renewed　shock　of　seeing　blue　uniforms。　The　town　was　full　of　Yankee　soldiers；　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　the　carpetbag　at　a　black　buck　who　loitered　tantalizingly　in　front　of　her　and　making　him　leap　aside。　“Ah　doan　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　Street　and　continued　up　Peachtree；　through　a　thinning　crowd。　When　they　reached　Wesley　Chapel　where　Scarlett　had　paused　to　catch　her　breath　that　day　in　1864　when　she　had　run　for　Dr。　Meade；　she　looked　at　it　and　laughed　aloud；　shortly　and　grimly。　Mammy’s　quick　old　eyes　sought　hers　with　suspicion　and　question　but　her　curiosity　went　unsatisfied。　Scarlett　was　recalling　with　contempt　the　terror　which　had　ridden　her　that　day。　She　had　been　crawling　with　fear；　rotten　with　fear；　terrified　by　the　Yankees；　terrified　by　the　approaching　birth　of　Beau。　Now　she　wondered　how　she　could　have　been　so　frightened；　frightened　like　a　child　at　a　loud　noise。　And　what　a　child　she　had　been　to　think　that　Yankees　and　fire　and　defeat　were　the　worst　things　that　could　happen　to　her！　What　trivialities　they　were　beside　Ellen’s　death　and　Gerald’s　vagueness；　beside　hunger　and　cold　and　back…breaking　work　and　the　living　nightmare　of　insecurity。　How　easy　she　would　find　it　now　to　be　brave　before　an　invading　army；　but　how　hard　to　face　the　danger　that　threatened　Tara！　No；　she　would　never　again　be　afraid　of　anything　except　poverty。
　Up　Peachtree　came　a　closed　carriage　and　Scarlett　went　to　the　curb　eagerly　to　see　if　she　knew　the　occupant；　for　Aunt　Pitty’s　house　was　still　several　blocks　away。　She　and　Mammy　leaned　forward　as　the　carriage　came　abreast　and　Scarlett；　with　a　smile　arranged；　almost　called　out　when　a　woman’s　head　appeared　for　a　moment　at　the　window—a　too　bright　red　head　beneath　a　fine　fur　hat。　Scarlett　took　a　step　back　as　mutual　recognition　leaped　into　both　faces。　It　was　Belle　Watling　and　Scarlett　had　a　glimpse　of　nostrils　distended　with　dislike　before　she　disappeared　again。　Strange　that　Belle’s　should　be　the　first　familiar　face　she　saw。
　“Who　dat？”　questioned　Mammy　suspiciously。　“She　knowed　you　but　she　din’　bow。　Ah　ain’　never　seed　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；　so　shut　up。”
　“Gawdlmighty！”　breathed　Mammy；　her　jaw　dropping　as　she　looked　after　the　carriage　with　passionate　curiosity。　She　had　not　seen　a　professional　bad　woman　since　she　left　Savannah　with　Ellen　more　than　twenty　years　before　and　she　wished　ardently　that　she　had　observed　Belle　mo