飘-第80章

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ce　and；　under　the　wagon　seat；　Prissy　was　curled　up　like　a　black　cat　with　the　small　baby　wedged　in　between　her　and　Wade。
　Then　she　remembered　everything。　She　popped　up　to　a　sitting　position　and　looked　hastily　all　around。　Thank　God；　no　Yankees　in　sight！　Their　hiding　place　had　not　been　discovered　in　the　night。　It　all　came　back　to　her　now；　the　nightmare　journey　after　Rhett’s　footsteps　died　away；　the　endless　night；　the　black　road　full　of　ruts　and　boulders　along　which　they　jolted；　the　deep　gullies　on　either　side　into　which　the　wagon　slipped；　the　fear…crazed　strength　with　which　she　and　Prissy　had　pushed　the　wheels　out　of　the　gullies。　She　recalled　with　a　shudder　how　often　she　had　driven　the　unwilling　horse　into　fields　and　woods　when　she　heard　soldiers　approaching；　not　knowing　if　they　were　friends　or　foes—recalled；　too；　her　anguish　lest　a　cough；　a　sneeze　or　Wade’s　hiccoughing　might　betray　them　to　the　marching　men。
　Oh；　that　dark　road　where　men　went　by　like　ghosts；　voices　stilled；　only　the　muffled　tramping　of　feet　on　soft　dirt；　the　faint　clicking　of　bridles　and　the　straining　creak　of　leather！　And；　oh；　that　dreadful　moment　when　the　sick　horse　balked　and　cavalry　and　light　cannon　rumbled　past　in　the　darkness；　past　where　they　sat　breathless；　so　close　she　could　almost　reach　out　and　touch　them；　so　close　she　could　smell　the　stale　sweat　on　the　soldiers’　bodies！
　When；　at　last；　they　had　neared　Rough　and　Ready；　a　few　camp　fires　were　gleaming　where　the　last　of　Steve　Lee’s　rear　guard　was　awaiting　orders　to　fall　back。　She　had　circled　through　a　plowed　field　for　a　mile　until　the　light　of　the　fires　died　out　behind　her。　And　then　she　had　lost　her　way　in　the　darkness　and　sobbed　when　she　could　not　find　the　little　wagon　path　she　knew　so　well。　Then　finally　having　found　it；　the　horse　sank　in　the　traces　and　refused　to　move；　refused　to　rise　even　when　she　and　Prissy　tugged　at　the　bridle。
　So　she　had　unharnessed　him　and　crawled；　sodden　with　fatigue；　into　the　back　of　the　wagon　and　stretched　her　aching　legs。　She　had　a　faint　memory　of　Melanie’s　voice　before　sleep　clamped　down　her　eyelids；　a　weak　voice　that　apologized　even　as　it　begged：　“Scarlett；　can　I　have　some　water；　please？”
　She　had　said：　“There　isn’t　any；”　and　gone　to　sleep　before　the　words　were　out　of　her　mouth。
　Now　it　was　morning　and　the　world　was　still　and　serene　and　green　and　gold　with　dappled　sunshine。　And　no　soldiers　in　sight　anywhere。　She　was　hungry　and　dry　with　thirst；　aching　and　cramped　and　filled　with　wonder　that　she；　Scarlett　O’Hara；　who　could　never　rest　well　except　between　linen　sheets　and　on　the　softest　of　feather　beds；　had　slept　like　a　field　hand　on　hard　planks。
　Blinking　in　the　sunlight；　her　eyes　fell　on　Melanie　and　she　gasped；　horrified。　Melanie　lay　so　still　and　white　Scarlett　thought　she　must　be　dead。　She　looked　dead。　She　looked　like　a　dead；　old　woman　with　her　ravaged　face　and　her　dark　hair　snarled　and　tangled　across　it。　Then　Scarlett　saw　with　relief　the　faint　rise　and　fall　of　her　shallow　breathing　and　knew　that　Melanie　had　survived　the　night。
　Scarlett　shaded　her　eyes　with　her　hand　and　looked　about　her。　They　had　evidently　spent　the　night　under　the　trees　in　someone’s　front　yard；　for　a　sand　and　gravel　driveway　stretched　out　before　her；　winding　away　under　an　avenue　of　cedars。
　“Why；　it’s　the　Mallory　place！”　she　thought；　her　heart　leaping　with　gladness　at　the　thought　of　friends　and　help。
　But　a　stillness　as　of　death　hung　over　the　plantation。　The　shrubs　and　grass　of　the　lawn　were　cut　to　pieces　where　hooves　and　wheels　and　feet　had　torn　frantically　back　and　forth　until　the　soil　was　churned　up。　She　looked　toward　the　house　and　instead　of　the　old　white　clapboard　place　she　knew　so　well；　she　saw　there　only　a　long　rectangle　of　blackened　granite　foundation　stones　and　two　tall　chimneys　rearing　smoke…stained　bricks　into　the　charred　leaves　of　still　trees。
　She　drew　a　deep　shuddering　breath。　Would　she　find　Tara　like　this；　level　with　the　ground；　silent　as　the　dead？
　“I　mustn’t　think　about　that　now；”　she　told　herself　hurriedly。　“I　mustn’t　let　myself　think　about　it。　I’ll　get　scared　again　if　I　think　about　it。”　But；　in　spite　of　herself；　her　heart　quickened　and　each　beat　seemed　to　thunder：　“Home！　Hurry！　Home！　Hurry！”
　They　must　be　starting　on　toward　home　again。　But　first　they　must　find　some　food　and　water；　especially　water。　She　prodded　Prissy　awake。　Prissy　rolled　her　eyes　as　she　looked　about　her。
　“Fo’　Gawd；　Miss　Scarlett；　Ah　din’　spec　ter　wake　up　agin　‘cept　in　de　Promise　Lan’。”
　“You’re　a　long　way　from　there；”　said　Scarlett；　trying　to　smooth　back　her　untidy　hair。　Her　face　was　damp　and　her　body　was　already　wet　with　sweat。　She　felt　dirty　and　messy　and　sticky；　almost　as　if　she　smelled　bad。　Her　clothes　were　crushed　and　wrinkled　from　sleeping　in　them　and　she　had　never　felt　more　acutely　tired　and　sore　in　all　her　life。　Muscles　she　did　not　know　she　possessed　ached　from　her　unaccustomed　exertions　of　the　night　before　and　every　movement　brought　sharp　pain。
　She　looked　down　at　Melanie　and　saw　that　her　dark　eyes　were　opened。　They　were　sick　eyes；　fever　bright；　and　dark　baggy　circles　were　beneath　them。　She　opened　cracking　lips　and　whispered　appealingly：　“Water。”
　“Get　up；　Prissy；”　ordered　Scarlett。　“We’ll　go　to　the　well　and　get　some　water。”
　“But；　Miss　Scarlett！　Dey　mout　be　hants　up　dar。　Sposin’　somebody　daid　up　dar？”
　“I’ll　make　a　hant　out　of　you　if　you　don’t　get　out　of　this　wagon；”　said　Scarlett；　who　was　in　no　mood　for　argument；　as　she　climbed　lamely　down　to　the　ground。
　And　then　she　thought　of　the　horse。　Name　of　God！　Suppose　the　horse　had　died　in　the　night！　He　had　seemed　ready　to　die　when　she　unharnessed　him。　She　ran　around　the　wagon　and　saw　him　lying　on　his　side。　If　he　were　dead；　she　would　curse　God　and　die　too。　Somebody　in　the　Bible　had　done　just　that　thing。　Cursed　God　and　died。　She　knew　just　how　that　person　felt。　But　the　horse　was　alive—breathing　heavily；　sick　eyes　half　closed；　but　alive。　Well；　some　water　would　help　him　too。
　Prissy　climbed　reluctantly　from　the　wagon　with　many　groans　and　timorously　followed　Scarlett　up　the　avenue。　Behind　the　ruins　the　row　of　whitewashed　slave　quarters　stood　silent　and　deserted　under　the　overhanging　trees。　Between　the　quarters　and　the　smoked　stone　foundations；　they　found　the　well；　and　the　roof　of　it　still　stood　with　the　bucket　far　down　the　well。　Between　them；　they　wound　up　the　rope；　and　when　the　bucket　of　cool　sparkling　water　appeared　out　of　the　dark　depths；　Scarlett　tilted　it　to　her　lips　and　drank　with　loud　sucking　noises；　spilling　the　water　all　over　herself。
　She　drank　until　Prissy’s　petulant：　“Well；　Ah’s　thusty；　too；　Miss　Scarlett；”　made　her　recall　the　needs　of　the　others。
　“Untie　the　knot　and　take　the　bucket　to　the　wagon　and　give　them　some。　And　give　the　rest　to　the　horse。　Don’t　you　think　Miss　Melanie　ought　to　nurse　the　baby？　He’ll　starve。”
　“Law；　Miss　Scarlett；　Miss　Melly　ain’　got　no　milk—ain’　gwine　have　none。”
　“How　do　you　know？”
　“Ah’s　seed　too　many　lak　her。”
　“Don’t　go　putting　on　any　airs　with　me。　A　precious　little　you　knew　about　babies　yesterday。　Hurry　now。　I’m　going　to　try　to　find　something　to　eat。”
　Scarlett’s　search　was　futile　until　in　the　orchard　she　found　a　few　apples。　Soldiers　had　been　there　before　her　and　there　was　none　on　the　trees。　Those　she　found　on　the　ground　were　mostly　rotten。　She　filled　her　skirt　with　the　best　of　them　and　came　back　across　the　soft　earth；　collecting　small　pebbles　in　her　slippers。　Why　hadn’t　she　thought　of　putting　on　stouter　shoes　last　night？　Why　hadn’t　she　brought　her　sun　hat？　Why　hadn’t　she　brought　something　to　eat？　She’d　acted　like　a　fool。　But；　of　course；　she’d　thought　Rhett　would　take　care　of　them。
　Rhett！　She　spat　on　the　ground；　for　the　very　name　tasted　bad。　How　she　hated　him！　How　contemptible　he　had　been！　And　she　had　stood　there　in　the　road　and　let　him　kiss　her—and　almost　liked　it。　She　had　been　crazy　last　night。　How　despicable　he　was！
　When　she　came　back；　she　divided　up　the　apples　and　threw　the　rest　into　the　back　of　the　wagon。　The　horse　was　on　his　feet　now　but　the　water　did　not　seem　to　have　refreshed　him　much。　He　looked　far　worse　in　the　daylight　than　he　had　the　night　before。　His　hip　bones　stood　out　like　an　old　cow’s；　his　ribs　showed　like　a　washboard　and　his　back　was　a　mass　of　sores。　She　shrank　from　touching　him　as　she　harnessed　him。　When　she　slipped　the　bit　into　his　mouth；　she　saw　that　he　was　practically　toothless。　As　old　as　the　hills！　While　Rhett　was　stealing　a　horse；　why　couldn’t　he　have　stolen　a　good　one？
　She　mounted　the　seat　and　brought　down　the　hickory　limb　on　his　back。　He　wheezed　and　started；　but　he　walked　so　slowly　as　she　turned　him　into　the　road　she　knew　she　could　walk　faster　herself　with　no　effort　whatever。　Oh；　if　only　she　didn’t　have　Melanie　and　Wade　and　the　baby　and　Prissy　to　bother　with！　How　swiftly　she　could　walk　home！　Why；　she　would　run　home；　run　every　step　of　the　way　that　would　bring　her　closer　to　Tara　and　to　Mother。
　They　couldn’t　be　more　than　fifteen　miles　from　home；　but　at　the　rate　this　old　nag　traveled　it　would　take　all　day；　for　she　would　have　to　stop　frequently　to　rest　him。　All　day！　She　looked　down　the　glaring　red　road；　cut　in　deep　ruts　where　cannon　wheels　and　ambulances　had　gone　over　it。　It　would　be　hours　before　she　knew　if　Tara　still　stood　and　if　Ellen　were　there。　It　would　be　hours　before　she　finished　her　journey　under　the　broiling　September　sun。
　She　looked　back　at　Melanie　who　lay　with　sick　eyes　closed　against　the　sun　and　jerked　loose　the　strings　of　her　bonnet　and　tossed　it　to　Prissy。
　“Put　that　over　her　face。　It’ll　keep　the　sun　out　of　her　eyes。”　Then　as　the　heat　beat　down　upon　her　unprotected　head；　she　thought：　“I’ll　be　as　freckled　as　a　guinea　egg　before　this　day　is　over。”
　She　had　never　in　her　life　been　out　in　the　sunshine　without　a　hat　or　veils；　never　handled　reins　without　gloves　to　protect　the　white　skin　of　her　dimpled　hands。　Yet　here　she　was　exposed　to　the　sun　in　a　broken…down　wagon　with　a　broken…down　horse；　dirty；　sweaty；　hungry；　helpless　to　do　anything　but　plod　along　at　a　snail’s　pace　through　a　deserted　land。　What　a　few　short　weeks　it　had　been　since　she　was　safe　and　secure！　What　a　little　while　since　she　and　everyone　else　had　thought　that　Atlanta　could　never　fall；　that　Georgia　could　never　be　invaded。　But　the　small　cloud　which　appeared　in　the　northwest　four　months　ago　had　blown　up　into　a　mighty　storm　and　men　into　a　screaming　tornado；　sweeping　away　her　world；　whirling　her　out　of　her　sheltered　life；　and　dropping　her　down　in　the　midst　of　this　still；　haunted　desolation。
　Was　Tara　still　standing？　Or　was　Tara　also　gone　with　the　wind　which　had　swept　through　Georgia？
　She　laid　the　whip　on　the　tired　horse’s　back　and　tried　to　urge　him　on　while　the　waggling　wheels　rocked　them　drunkenly　from　side　to　side。
　？
　There　was　death　in　the　air。　In　the　rays　of　the　late　afternoon　sun；　every　well…remembered　field　and　forest　grove　was　green　and　still；　with　an　unearthly　quiet　that　struck　terror　to　Scarlett’s　heart。　Every　empty；　shell…pitted　house　they　had　passed　that　day；　every　gaunt　chimney　standing　sentinel　over　smoke…blackened　ruins；　had　frightened　her　more。　They　had　not　seen　a　living　human　being　or　animal　since　the　night　before。　Dead　men　and　dead　horses；　yes；　and　dead　mules；　lying　by　the　road；　s