AFTER SENDING UP Melanie’s breakfast tray, Scarlett dispatched Prissy for Mrs. Meade and sat down with Wade to eat her own breakfast. But for once she had no appetite. Between her nervous apprehension over the thought that Melanie’s time was approaching and her unconscious straining to hear the sound of the cannon, she could hardly eat. Her heart acted very queerly, beating regularly for several minutes and then thumping so loudly and swiftly it almost made her sick at her stomach. The heavy hominy stuck in her throat like glue and never before had the mixture of parched corn and ground-up yams that passed for coffee been so repulsive. Without sugar or cream it was bitter as gall, for the sorghum used for “long sweetening” did little to improve the taste. After one swallow she pushed her cup away. If for no other reason she hated the Yankees because they kept her from having real coffee with sugar and thick cream in it.
Wade was quieter than usual and did not set up his every morning complaint against the hominy that he so disliked. He ate silently the spoonfuls she pushed into his mouth and washed them down with noisily gulped water. His soft brown eyes followed her every movement, large, round as dollars, a childish bewilderment in them as though her own scarce-hidden fears had been communicated to him. When he had finished she sent him off to the back yard to play and watched him toddle across the straggling grass to his playhouse with great relief.
She arose and stood irresolutely at the foot of the stairs. She should go up and sit with Melanie and distract her mind from her coming ordeal but she did not feel equal to it. Of all days in the world, Melanie had to pick this day to have the baby! And of all days to talk about dying!
She sat down on the bottom step of the stairs and tried to compose herself, wondering again how yesterday’s battle had gone, wondering how today’s fighting was going. How strange to have a big battle going on just a few miles away and to know nothing of it! How strange the quiet of this deserted end of town in contrast with the day of the fighting at Peachtree Creek! Aunt Pitty’s house was one of the last on the north side of Atlanta and with the fighting somewhere to the far south, there were no reinforcements going by at double-quick, no ambulances and staggering lines of walking wounded coming back. She wondered if such scenes were being enacted on the south side of town and thanked God she was not there. If only everyone except the Meades and the Merriwethers had not refugeed from this north end of Peachtree! It made her feel forsaken and alone. She wished fervently that Uncle Peter were with her so he could go down to headquarters and learn the news. If it wasn’t for Melanie she’d go to town this very minute and learn for herself, but she couldn’t leave until Mrs. Meade arrived. Mrs. Meade. Why didn’t she come on? And where was Prissy?
She rose and went out onto the front porch and looked for them impatiently, but the Meade house was around a shady bend in the street and she could see no one. After a long while Prissy came into view, alone, switching her skirts from side to side and looking over her shoulder to observe the effect.
“You’re as slow as molasses in January,” snapped Scarlett as Prissy opened the gate. “What did Mrs. Meade say? How soon will she be over here?”
“She warn’t dar,” said Prissy.
“Where is she? When will she be home?”
“Wel’m,” answered Prissy, dragging out her words pleasurably to give more weight to her message. “Dey Cookie say Miss Meade done got wud early dis mawnin’ dat young Mist’ Phil done been shot an’ Miss Meade she tuck de cah’ige an’ Ole Talbot an’ Betsy an’ dey done gone ter fotch him home. Cookie say he bad hurt an’ Miss Meade ain’ gwine ter be studyin’ ‘bout comin’ up hyah.”
Scarlett stared at her and had an impulse to shake her. Negroes were always so proud of being the bearers of evil tidings.
“Well, don’t stand there like a ninny. Go down to Mrs. Merriwether’s and ask her to come up or send her mammy. Now, hurry.”
“Dey ain’ dar, Miss Scarlett. Ah drapped in ter pass time of de day wid Mammy on mah way home. Dey’s done gone. House all locked up. Spec dey’s at de horsepittle.”
“So that’s where you were so long! Whenever I send you somewhere you go where I tell you and don’t stop to “pass any time’ with anybody. Go—”
She stopped and racked her brain. Who was left in town among their friends who would be helpful? There was Mrs. Elsing. Of course, Mrs. Elsing didn’t like her at all these days but she had always been fond of Melanie.
“Go to Mrs. Elsing’s, and explain everything very carefully and ten her to please come up here. And, Prissy, listen to me. Miss Melly’s baby is due and she may need you any minute now. Now you hurry right straight back.”
“Yas’m,” said Prissy and, turning, sauntered down the walk at snail’s gait.
“Hurry, you slow poke!”
“Yas’m.”
Prissy quickened her gait infinitesimally and Scarlett went back into the house. She hesitated again before going upstairs to Melanie. She would have to explain to her just why Mrs. Meade couldn’t come and the knowledge that Phil Meade was badly wounded might upset her. Well, she’d tell a lie about it.
She entered Melanie’s room and saw that the breakfast tray was untouched. Melanie lay on her side, her face white.
“Mrs. Meade’s over at the hospital,” said Scarlett “But Mrs. Rising is coming. Do you feel bad?”
“Not very,” lied Melanie. “Scarlett, how long did it take Wade to get born?”
“Less than no time,” answered Scarlett with a cheerfulness she was far from feeling. “I was out in the yard and I didn’t hardly have time to get into the house. Mammy said it was scandalous—just like one of the darkies.”
“I hope I’ll be like one of the darkies too,” said Melanie, mustering a smile which suddenly disappeared as pain contorted her face.
Scarlett looked down at Melanie’s tiny hips with none too sanguine hopes but said reassuringly: “Oh, it’s not really so bad.”
“Oh, I know it isn’t. I’m afraid I’m a little coward. Is—is Mrs. Elsing coming right away?”
