Scarlett
on the afternoon train, and that’s all there is to it. Will can drive me over and be back in plenty of time to milk his nasty old cows.
    Halfway to Jonesboro, Scarlett stopped chattering brightly about Tony Fontaine’s return. She was silent for a moment, then she blurted out what was preying on her mind. “Will—about Rhett—the way he left so fast, I mean—I hope Suellen’s not going to go blabbing all over the County.”
    Will looked at her with his pale blue eyes. “Now, Scarlett, you know better than that. Family don’t bad mouth family. I always figured it was a pity you couldn’t seem to see the good in Suellen. It’s there, but somehow it don’t show itself when you come ’round. You’ll just have to take my word on it. Never mind how she looks to you, Suellen’ll never tell your private troubles to anybody. She don’t want folks talking loose about the O’Haras any more than you do.”
    Scarlett relaxed a little. She trusted Will completely. His word was more certain than money in the bank. And he was wise, too. She’d never known Will to be wrong about anything—except maybe Suellen.
    “You do believe he’ll be back, don’t you, Will?”
    Will didn’t have to ask who she meant. He heard the anxiety beneath her words, and he chewed quietly on the straw in the corner of his mouth while he decided how to reply. At last he said slowly, “I can’t say I do, Scarlett, but I ain’t the one to know. I never seen him above four or five times in my life.”
    She felt as if he had struck her. Then quick anger erased the pain. “You just don’t understand anything at all, Will Benteen! Rhett’s upset right now, but he’ll get over it. He’d never do anything as low as go off and leave his wife stranded.”
    Will nodded. Scarlett could take it for agreement if she wanted to. But he hadn’t forgotten Rhett’s sardonic description of himself. He was a scoundrel. According to everything folks said, he always had been and likely always would be.
    Scarlett stared at the familiar red clay road in front of her. Her jaw was set, her mind working furiously. Rhett would come back. He had to, because she wanted him to, and she always got what she wanted. All she had to do was set her mind to it.

5
     
    T he noise and push at Five Points was a tonic to Scarlett’s spirit. So was the disorder on her desk at the house. She needed life and action around her after the numbing succession of deaths, and she needed work to do.
     
    There were stacks of newspapers to be read, piles of daily business accounts from the general store she owned in the very center of Five Points, mounds of bills to be paid, and circulars to tear up and throw away. Scarlett sighed with pleasure and pulled her chair up close to the desk.
    She checked the freshness of the ink in its stand and the supply of nibs for her pen. Then she lit the lamp. It would be dark long before she finished all this; maybe she’d even have her supper on a tray tonight while she worked.
    She reached eagerly for the store accounts, then her hands stopped in mid-air when a large square envelope on top of the newspapers caught her eye. It was addressed simply “Scarlett,” and the handwriting was Rhett’s.
    I won’t read it now, she thought at once, it’ll just get in the way of all the things I’ve got to do. I’m not worried about what’s in it—not a bit—I just don’t want to look at it now. I’ll save it, she told herself, like for dessert. And she picked up a handful of ledger sheets.
    But she kept losing track of the arithmetic she was doing in her head, and finally she threw the accounts down. Her fingers tore the sealed envelope open.
    Believe me
, Rhett’s letter began,
when I say that you have my deepest sympathy in your bereavement. Mammy’s death is a great loss. I am grateful that you notified me in time for me to see her before she went
.
    Scarlett looked up in a rage from the thick black pen strokes and spoke aloud. “

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