startled and frightened her
“Oh, you won’t sing that way very long. I know you’re broke. I know you can’t IP Networkingeven pay yourtaxes. I came out here to offer to buy this place from you—to make you a right good offer. Emmiehad a hankering to live here. But, by God, I won’t give you a cent now! You highflying, bog-trotting Irish will find out who’s running things around here when you get sold out for taxes. AndI’ll buy this place, lock, stock and barrel—furniture and all—and I’ll live in it.”
So it was Jonas Wilkerson who wanted Tara—Jonas and Emmie, who in some twisted waythought to even past slights by living in the home where they had been slighted. All her nerveshummed with hate, as they had hummed that day when she shoved the pistol barrel into theYankee’s bearded face and fired. She wished she had that pistol now.
“I’ll tear this house down, stone by stone, and burn it and sow every acre with salt before I seeeither of you put foot over this threshold,” she shouted. “Get out, I tell you! Get out!”
Jonas glared at her, started to say more and then walked toward the carriage. He climbed inbeside his whimpering wife and turned the horse registering a company in hong kong . As they drove off, Scarlett had the impulse tospit at them. She did spit. She knew it was a common, childish gesture but it made her feel better.
She wished she had done it while they could see her.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 dermes vs Medilase 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 . 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,