l be the only lady who even says thanks to me。 I’ll bet they won’t even look me in the eye when they see me on the street。 But I don’t care。 I wouldn’t of minded if all their husbands got hung； But I did mind about Mr。 Wilkes。 You see I ain’t forgot how nice you was to me durin’ the war； about the money for the hospital。 There ain’t never been a lady in this town nice to me like you was and I don’t forget a kindness。 And I thought about you bein’ left a widder with a little boy if Mr。 Wilkes got hung and—he’s a nice little boy； your boy is； Miz Wilkes。 I got a boy myself and so I—”
“Oh； you have？ Does he live—er—”
“Oh； no’m！ He ain’t here in Atlanta。 He ain’t never been here。 He’s off at school。 I ain’t seen him since he was little。 I—well； anyway； when Captain Butler wanted me to lie for those men I wanted to know who the men was and when I heard Mr。 Wilkes was one I never hesitated。 I said to my girls； I said； ‘I’ll whale the livin’ daylights out of you all if you don’t make a special point of sayin’ you was with Mr。 Wilkes all evenin’。”
“Oh！” said Melanie； still more embarrassed by Belle’s offhand reference to her “girls。” “Oh； that was—er—kind of you and—of them； too。”
“No more’n you deserve；” said Belle warmly。 “But I wouldn’t of did it for just anybody。 If it had been that Miz Kennedy’s husband by hisself； I wouldn’t of lifted a finger； no matter what Captain Butler said。”
“Why？”
“Well； Miz Wilkes； people in my business knows a heap of things。 It’d surprise and shock a heap of fine ladies if they had any notion how much we knows about them。 And she ain’t no good； Miz Wilkes。 She kilt her husband and that nice Wellburn boy； same as if she shot them。 She caused it all； prancin’ about Atlanta by herself； enticin’ niggers and trash。 Why； not one of my girls—”
“You must not say unkind things about my sister…in…law。” Melanie stiffened coldly。
Belle put an eager placating hand on Melanie’s arm and then hastily withdrew it。
“Don’t freeze me； please； Miz Wilkes。 I couldn’t stand it after you been so kind and sweet to me。 I forgot how you liked her and I’m sorry for what I said。 I’m sorry about poor Mr。 Kennedy bein’ dead too。 He was a nice man。 I used to buy some of the stuff for my house from him and he always treated me pleasant。 But Miz Kennedy—well； she just ain’t in the same class with you； Miz Wilkes。 She’s a mighty cold woman and I can’t help it if I think so。 。。。 When are they goin’ to bury Mr。 Kennedy？”
“Tomorrow morning。 And you are wrong about Mrs。 Kennedy。 Why； this very minute she’s prostrated with grief。”
“Maybe so；” said Belle with evident disbelief。 “Well； I got to be goin’。 I’m afraid somebody might recognize this carriage if I stayed here longer and that wouldn’t do you no good。 And； Miz Wilkes； if you ever see me on the street； you—you don’t have to speak to me。 I’ll understand。”
“I shall be proud to speak to you。 Proud to be under obligation to you。 I hope—I hope we meet again。”
“No；” said Belle。 “That wouldn’t be fittin’。 Good night。”
CHAPTER XLVII
SCARLETT SAT in her bedroom； picking at the supper tray Mammy had brought her； listening to the wind hurling itself out of the night。 The house was frighteningly still； quieter even than when Frank had lain in the parlor just a few hours before。 Then there had been tiptoeing feet and hushed voices； muffled knocks on the door； neighbors rustling in to whisper sympathy and occasional sobs from Frank’s sister who had come up from Jonesboro for the funeral。
But now the house was cloaked in silence。 Although her door was open she could hear no sounds from below stairs。 Wade and the baby had been at Melanie’s since Frank’s body was brought home and she missed the sound of the boy’s feet and Ella’s gurgling。 There was a truce in the kitchen and no sound of quarreling from Peter； Mammy and Cookie floated up to her。 Even Aunt Pitty； downstairs in the library； was not rocking her creaking chair in deference to Scarlett’s sorrow。
No one intruded upon her； believing that she wished to be left alone with her grief； but to be left alone was the last thing Scarlett desired。 Had it only been grief that companioned her； she could have borne it as she had borne other griefs。 But； added to her stunned sense of loss at Frank’s death； were fear and remorse and the torment of a suddenly awakened conscience。 For the first time in her life she was regretting things she had done； regretting them with a sweeping superstitious fear that made her cast sidelong glances at the bed upon which she had lain with Frank。
She had killed Frank。 She had killed him just as surely as if it had been her finger that pulled the trigger。 He had begged her not to go about alone but she had not listened to him。 And now he was dead because of her obstinacy。 God would punish her for that。 But there lay upon her conscience another matter that was heavier and more frightening even than causing his death—a matter which had never troubled her until she looked upon his coffined face。 There had been something helpless and pathetic in that still face which had accused her。 God would punish her for marrying him when he really loved Suellen。 She would have to cower at the seat of judgment and answer for that lie she told him coming back from the Yankee camp in his buggy。
Useless for her to argue now that the end justified the means； that she was driven into trapping him； that the fate of too many people hung on her for her to consider either his or Suellen’s rights and happiness。 The truth stood out boldly and she cowered away from it。 She had married him coldly and used him coldly。 And she had made him unhappy during the last six months when she could have made him very happy。 God would punish her for not being nicer to him—punish her for all her bullyings and proddings and storms of temper and cutting remarks； for alienating his friends and shaming him by operating the mills and building the saloon and leasing convicts。
She had made him very unhappy and she knew it； but he had borne it all like a gentleman。 The only thing she had ever done that gave him any real happiness was to present him with Ella。 And she knew if she could have kept from having Ella； Ella would never have been born。
She shivered； frightened； wishing Frank were alive； so she could be nice to him； so very nice to him to make up for it all。 Oh； if only God did not seem so furious and vengeful！ Oh； if only the minutes did not go by so slowly and the house were not so still！ If only she were not so alone！
If only Melanie were with her； Melanie could calm her fears。 But Melanie was at home； nursing Ashley。 For a moment Scarlett thought of summoning Pittypat to stand between her and her conscience but she hesitated。 Pitty would probably make matters worse； for she honestly mourned Frank。 He had been more her contemporary than Scarlett’s and she had been devoted to him。 He had filled to perfection Pitty’s need for “a man in the house；” for he brought her little presents and harmless gossip； jokes and stories； read the paper to her at night and explained topics of the day to her while she mended his socks。 She had fussed over him and planned special dishes for him and coddled him during his innumerable colds。 Now she missed him acutely and repeated over and over as she dabbed at her red swollen eyes： “If only he hadn’t gone out with the Klan！”
If there were only someone who could comfort her； quiet her fears； explain to her just what were these confused fears which made her heart sink with such cold sickness！ If only Ashley—but she shrank from the thought。 She had almost killed Ashley； just as she had killed Frank。 And if Ashley ever knew the real truth about how she lied to Frank to get him； knew how mean she had been to Frank； he could never love her any more。 Ashley was so honorable； so truthful； so kind and he saw so straightly； so clearly。 If he knew the whole truth； he would understand。 Oh； yes； he would understand only too well！ But he would never love her any more。 So he must never know the truth because he must keep on loving her。 How could she live if that secret source of her strength； his love； were taken from her？ But what a relief it would be to put her head on his shoulder and cry and unburden her guilty heart！
The still house with the sense of death heavy upon it pressed about her loneliness until she felt she could not bear it unaided any longer。 She arose cautiously； pushed her door half…closed and then dug about in the bottom bureau drawer beneath her underwear。 She produced Aunt Pitty’s “swoon bottle” of brandy which she had hidden there and held it up to the lamp。 It was nearly half…empty。 Surely she hadn’t drunk that much since last night！ She poured a generous amount into her water glass and gulped it down。 She would have to put the bottle back in the cellaret before morning； filled to the top with water。 Mammy had hunted for it； just before the funeral when the pallbearers wanted a drink； and already the air in the kitchen was electric with suspicion between Mammy； Cookie and Peter。
The brandy burned with fiery pleasantness。 There was nothing like it when you needed it。 In fact； brandy was good almost any time； so much better than insipid wine。 Why on earth should it be proper for a woman to drink wine and not spirits？ Mrs。 Merriwether and Mrs。 Meade had sniffed her breath most obviously at the funeral and she had seen the triumphant look they had exchanged。 The old cats！
She poured another drink。 It wouldn’t matter if she did get a little tipsy tonight for she was going to bed soon and she could gargle cologne before Mammy came up to unlace her。 She wished she could get as completely and thoughtlessly drunk as Gerald used to get on Court Day。 Then perhaps she could forget Frank’s sunken face accusing her of ruining his life and then killing him。
She wondered if everyone in town thought she had killed him。 Certainly the people at the funeral had been cold to her。 The only people who had put any warmth into their expressions of sympathy were the wives of the Yankee officers with whom she did business。 Well； she didn’t care what the town said about