In the silence that fell, Scarlett saw her mother as she must have

been in those last days, a thin power of strength in Tara, nursing,

working, doing without sleep and food that the others might rest

and eat.

"And then, they moved on. Then, they moved on."

He was silent for a long time and then fumbled at her hand.

"It's glad I am you are home," he said simply.

There was a scraping noise on the back porch. Poor Pork, trained

for forty years to clean his shoes before entering the house, did

not forget, even in a time like this. He came in, carefully

carrying two gourds, and the strong smell of dripping spirits

entered before him.

"Ah spilt a plen'y, Miss Scarlett. It's pow'ful hard ter po' outer

a bung hole inter a go'de."

"That's quite all right, Pork, and thank you." She took the wet

gourd dipper from him, her nostrils wrinkling in distaste at the

reek.

"Drink this, Father," she said, pushing the whisky in its strange

receptacle into his hand and taking the second gourd of water from

Pork. Gerald raised it, obedient as a child, and gulped noisily.

She handed the water to him but he shook his head.

As she took the whisky from him and held it to her mouth, she saw

his eyes follow her, a vague stirring of disapproval in them.

"I know no lady drinks spirits," she said briefly. "But today I'm

no lady, Pa, and there is work to do tonight."

She tilted the dipper, drew a deep breath and drank swiftly. The

hot liquid burned down her throat to her stomach, choking her and

bringing tears to her eyes. She drew another breath and raised it

again.

"Katie Scarlett," said Gerald, the first note of authority she had

heard in his voice since her return, "that is enough. You're not

knowing spirits and they will be making you tipsy."

"Tipsy?" She laughed an ugly laugh. "Tipsy? I hope it makes me

drunk. I would like to be drunk and forget all of this."

She drank again, a slow train of warmth lighting in her veins and

stealing through her body until even her finger tips tingled. What

a blessed feeling, this kindly fire. It seemed to penetrate even

her ice-locked heart and strength came coursing back into her body.

Seeing Gerald's puzzled hurt face, she patted his knee again and

managed an imitation of the pert smile he used to love.

"How could it make me tipsy, Pa? I'm your daughter. Haven't I

Inherited the steadiest head in Clayton County?"

He almost smiled into her tired face. The whisky was bracing him

too. She handed it back to him.

"Now you're going to take another drink and then I am going to take

you upstairs and put you to bed."

She caught herself. Why, this was the way she talked to Wade--she

should not address her father like this. It was disrespectful.

But he hung on her words.

"Yes, put you to bed," she added lightly, "and give you another

drink--maybe all the dipper and make you go to sleep. You need

sleep and Katie Scarlett is here, so you need not worry about

anything. Drink."

He drank again obediently and, slipping her arm through his, she

pulled him to his feet.

"Pork. . . ."

Pork took the gourd in one hand and Gerald's arm in the other.

Scarlett picked up the flaring candle and the three walked slowly