Gone with the Wind

“Shucks, girls! No! How can they when I’m there?” Uncle Henry grinned at their frightened faces and then, becoming serious again: “It’s going to be a hard fight, girls. We’ve got to win it. You know, of course, that the Yankees have got all the railroads except the one to Macon, but that isn’t all they’ve got. Maybe you girls didn’t know it, but they’ve got every road, too, every wagon lane and bridle path, except the McDonough road. Atlanta’s in a bag and the strings of the bag are at Jonesboro. And if the Yankees can take the railroad there, they can pull up the strings and have us, just like a possum in a poke. So, we don’t aim to let them get that railroad… I may be gone a while, girls. I just came in to tell you all good-by and to make sure Scarlett was still with you, Melly.”

“Of course, she’s with me,” said Melanie fondly. “Don’t you worry about us, Uncle Henry, and do take care of yourself.”

Uncle Henry wiped his wet feet on the rag rug and groaned as he drew on his tattered shoes.

“I got to be going,” he said. “I’ve got five miles to walk. Scarlett, you fix me up some kind of lunch to take. Anything you’ve got.”

After he had kissed Melanie good-by, he went down to the kitchen where Scarlett was wrapping a corn pone and some apples in a napkin.

“Uncle Henry-is it-is it really so serious?”

“Serious? God’lmighty, yes! Don’t be a goose. We’re in the last ditch.”

“Do you think they’ll get to Tara?”

“Why-” began Uncle Henry, irritated at the feminine mind which thought only of personal things when broad issues were involved. Then, seeing her frightened, woebegone face, he softened.

“Of course they won’t. Tara’s five miles from the railroad and it’s the railroad the Yankees want. You’ve got no more sense than a June bug, Missy.” He broke off abruptly. “I didn’t walk all this way here tonight just to tell you all good-by. I came to bring Melly some bad news, but when I got up to it I just couldn’t tell her. So I’m going to leave it to you to do.”

“Ashley isn’t-you haven’t heard anything-that he’s-dead?”

“Now, how would I be hearing about Ashley when I’ve been standing in rifle pits up to the seat of my pants in mud?” the old gentleman asked testily. “No. It’s about his father. John Wilkes is dead.”

Scarlett sat down suddenly, the half-wrapped lunch in her hand.

“I came to tell Melly-but I couldn’t. You must do it. And give her these.”

He hauled from his pockets a heavy gold watch with dangling seals, a small miniature of the long dead Mrs. Wilkes and a pair of massive cuff buttons. At the sight of the watch which she had seen in John Wilkes’ hands a thousand times, the full realization came over Scarlett that Ashley’s father was really dead. And she was too stunned to cry or to speak. Uncle Henry fidgeted, coughed and did not look at her, lest he catch sight of a tear that would upset him.

“He was a brave man, Scarlett. Tell Melly that. Tell her to write it to his girls. And a good soldier for all his years. A shell got him. Came right down on him and his horse. Tore the horse’s- I shot the horse myself, poor creature. A fine little mare she was. You’d better write Mrs. Tarleton about that, too. She set a store on that mare. Wrap up my lunch, child. I must be going. There, dear, don’t take it so hard. What better way can an old man die than doing a young man’s work?”

“Oh, he shouldn’t have died! He shouldn’t have ever gone to the war. He should have lived and seen his grandchild grow up and died peacefully in bed. Oh, why did he go? He didn’t believe in secession and he hated the war and-”

“Plenty of us think that way, but what of it?” Uncle Henry blew his nose grumpily. “Do you think I enjoy letting Yankee riflemen use me for a target at my age? But there’s no other choice for a gentleman these days. Kiss me good-by, child, and don’t worry about me. I’ll come through this war safely.”

Scarlett kissed him and heard him go down the steps into the dark, heard the latch click on the front gate. She stood for a minute looking at the keepsakes in her hand. And then she went up the stairs to tell Melanie.

At the end of July came the unwelcome news, predicted by Uncle Henry, that the Yankees had swung around again toward Jonesboro. They had cut the railroad four miles below the town, but they had been beaten off by the Confederate cavalry; and the engineering corps, sweating in the broiling sun, had repaired the line.

Scarlett was frantic with anxiety. For three days she waited, fear growing in her heart. Then a reassuring letter came from Gerald. The enemy had not reached Tara. They had heard the sound of the fight but they had seen no Yankees.