he foot of their bed and outlined the work she expected them to do when they recovered； they looked at her as if she were a hobgoblin。 It was beyond their comprehension that they no longer had a hundred slaves to do the work。 It was beyond their comprehension that an O’Hara lady should do manual labor。
“But； Sister；” said Carreen； her sweet childish face blank with consternation。 “I couldn’t split kindling！ It would ruin my hands！”
“Look at mine；” answered Scarlett with a frightening smile as she pushed blistered and calloused palms toward her。
“I think you are hateful to talk to Baby and me like this！” cried Suellen。 “I think you are lying and trying to frighten us。 If Mother were only here； she wouldn’t let you talk to us like this！ Split kindling； indeed！”
Suellen looked with weak loathing at her older sister； feeling sure Scarlett said these things just to be mean。 Suellen had nearly died and she had lost her mother and she was lonely and scared and she wanted to be petted and made much of。 Instead； Scarlett looked over the foot of the bed each day； appraising their improvement with a hateful new gleam in her slanting green eyes and talked about making beds； preparing food； carrying water buckets and splitting kindling。 And she looked as if she took a pleasure in saying such awful things。
Scarlett did take pleasure in it。 She bullied the negroes and harrowed the feelings of her sisters not only because she was too worried and strained and tired to do otherwise but because it helped her to forget her own bitterness that everything her mother had told her about life was wrong。
Nothing her mother had taught her was of any value whatsoever now and Scarlett’s heart was sore and puzzled。 It did not occur to her that Ellen could not have foreseen the collapse of the civilization in which she raised her daughters； could not have anticipated the disappearings of the places in society for which she trained them so well。 It did not occur to her that Ellen had looked down a vista of placid future years； all like the uneventful years of her own life； when she had taught her to be gentle and gracious； honorable and kind； modest and truthful。 Life treated women well when they had learned those lessons； said Ellen。
Scarlett thought in despair： “Nothing； no； nothing； she taught me is of any help to me！ What good will kindness do me now？ What value is gentleness？ Better that I’d learned to plow or chop cotton like a darky。 Oh； Mother； you were wrong！”
She did not stop to think that Ellen’s ordered world was gone and a brutal world had taken its place； a world wherein every standard； every value had changed。 She only saw； or thought she saw； that her mother had been wrong； and she changed swiftly to meet this new world for which she was not prepared。
Only her feeling for Tara had not changed。 She never came wearily home across the fields and saw the sprawling white house that her heart did not swell with love and the joy of homecoming。 She never looked out of her window at green pastures and red fields and tall tangled swamp forest that a sense of beauty did not fill her。 Her love for this land with its softly rolling hills of bright…red soil； this beautiful red earth that was blood colored； garnet； brick dust； vermilion； which so miraculously grew green bushes starred with white puffs； was one part of Scarlett which did not change when all else was changing。 Nowhere else in the world was there land like this。
When she looked at Tara she could understand； in part； why wars were fought。 Rhett was wrong when he said men fought wars for money。 No； they fought for swelling acres； softly furrowed by the plow； for pastures green with stubby cropped grass； for lazy yellow rivers and white houses that were cool amid magnolias。 These were the only things worth fighting for； the red earth which was theirs and would be their sons’； the red earth which would bear cotton for their sons and their sons’ sons。
The trampled acres of Tara were all that was left to her； now that Mother and Ashley were gone； now that Gerald was senile from shock； and money and darkies and security and position had vanished overnight。 As from another world she remembered a conversation with her father about the land and wondered how she could have been so young； so ignorant； as not to understand what he meant when he said that the land was the one thing in the world worth fighting for。
“For ‘tis the only thing in the world that lasts … and to anyone with a drop of Irish blood in them the land they live on is like their mother。 … ‘Tis the only thing worth working for； fighting for； dying for。”
Yes； Tara was worth fighting for； and she accepted simply and without question the fight。 No one was going to get Tara away from her。 No one was going to set her and her people adrift on the charity of relatives。 She would hold Tara； if she had to break the back of every person on it。
CHAPTER XXVI
SCARLETT HAD BEEN AT TARA two weeks since her return from Atlanta when the largest blister on her foot began to fester； swelling until it was impossible for her to put on her shoe or do more than hobble about on her heel。 Desperation plucked at her when she looked at the angry sore on her toe。 Suppose it should gangrene like the soldiers’ wounds and she should die； far away from a doctor？ Bitter as life was now； she had no desire to leave it。 And who would look after Tara if she should die？
She had hoped when she first came home that Gerald’s old spirit would revive and he would take command； but in these two weeks that hope had vanished。 She knew now that； whether she liked it or not； she had the plantation and all its people on her two inexperienced hands； for Gerald still sat quietly； like a man in a dream； so frighteningly absent from Tara； so gentle。 To her pleas for advice he gave as his only answer： “Do what you think best； Daughter。” Or worse still； “Consult with your mother； Puss。”
He never would be any different and now Scarlett realized the truth and accepted it without emotion—that until he died Gerald would always be waiting for Ellen； always listening for her。 He was in some dim borderline country where time was standing still and Ellen was always in the next room。 The mainspring of his existence was taken away when she died and with it had gone his bounding assurance； his impudence and his restless vitality。 Ellen was the audience before which the blustering drama of Gerald O’Hara had been played。 Now the curtain had been rung down forever； the footlights dimmed and the audience suddenly vanished； while the stunned old actor remained on his empty stage； waiting for his cues。
That morning the house was still； for everyone except Scarlett； Wade and the three sick girls was in the swamp hunting the sow。 Even Gerald had aroused a little and stumped off across the furrowed fields； one hand on Pork’s arm and a coil of rope in the other。 Suellen and Careen had cried themselves to sleep； as they did at least twice a day when they thought of Ellen； tears of grief and weakness oozing down their sunken cheeks。 Melanie； who had been propped up on pillows for the first time that day； lay covered with a mended sheet between two babies； the downy flaxen head of one cuddled in her arm； the kinky black head of Dilcey’s child held as gently in the other。 Wade sat at the bottom of the bed； listening to a fairy story。
To Scarlett； the stillness at Tara was unbearable； for it reminded her too sharply of the deathlike stillness of the desolate country through which she had passed that long day on her way home from Atlanta。 The cow and the calf had made no sound for hours。 There were no birds twittering outside her window and even the noisy family of mockers who had lived among the harshly rustling leaves of the magnolia for generations had no song that day。 She had drawn a low chair close to the open window of her bedroom； looking out on the front drive； the lawn and the empty green pasture across the road； and she sat with her skirts well above her knees and her chin resting on her arms on the window sill。 There was a bucket of well water on the floor beside her and every now and then she lowered her blistered foot into it； screwing up her face at the stinging sensation。
Fretting； she dug her chin into her arm。 Just when she needed her strength most； this toe had to fester。 Those fools would never catch the sow。 It had taken them a week to capture the pigs； one by one； and now after two weeks the sow was still at liberty。 Scarlett knew that if she were just there in the swamp with them； she could tuck up her dress to her knees and take the rope and lasso the sow before you could say Jack Robinson。
But even after the sow was caught—if she were caught？ What then； after she and her litter were eaten？ Life would go on and so would appetites。 Winter was coming and there would be no food； not even the poor remnants of the vegetables from the neighbors’ gardens。 They must have dried peas and sorghum and meal and rice and—and—oh； so many things。 Corn and cotton seed for next spring’s planting； and new clothes too。 Where was it all to come from and how would she pay for it？
She had privately gone through Gerald’s pockets and his cash box and all she could find was stacks of Confederate bonds and three thousand dollars in Confederate bills。 That was about enough to buy one square meal for them all； she thought ironically； now that Confederate money was worth almost less than nothing at all。 But if she did have money and could find food； how would she haul it home to Tara？ Why had God let the old horse die？ Even that sorry animal Rhett had stolen would make all the difference in the world to them。 Oh； those fine sleek mules which used to kick up their heels in the pasture across the road； and the handsome carriage horses； her little mare； the girls’ ponies and Gerald’s big stallion racing about and tearing up the turf— Oh； for one of them； even the balkiest mule！
But； no matter—when her foot healed she would walk to Jonesboro。 It would be the longest walk she had ever taken in her life； but walk it she would。 Even if the Yankees had burned the town completely； she would certainly find someone in the neighborhood