Chapter 40

           Scarlettsleptlittlethatnight.Whenthedawnhadcomeandthesunwascreepingovertheblackpinesonthehillstotheeast,sherosefromhertumbledbedand,seatingherselfonastoolbythewindow,laidhertiredheadonherarmandlookedoutoverthebarnyardandorchardofTaratowardthecottonfields.Everythingwasfreshanddewyandsilentandgreenandthesightofthecottonfieldsbroughtameasureofbalmandcomforttohersoreheart.Tara,atsunrise,lookedloved,welltendedandatpeace,forallthatitsmasterlaydead.Thesquattylogchickenhousewasclaydaubedagainstrats,weaselsandcleanwithwhitewash,andsowasthelogstable.Thegardenwithitsrowsofcorn,bright-yellowsquash,butterbeansandturnipswaswellweededandneatlyfencedwithsplit-oakrails.Theorchardwasclearedofunderbrushandonlydaisiesgrewbeneaththelongrowsoftrees.Thesunpickedoutwithfaintglisteningtheapplesandthefurredpinkpeacheshalfhiddeninthegreenleaves.Beyondlaythecurvingrowsofcotton,stillandgreenunderthegoldofthenewsky.Theducksandchickenswerewaddlingandstruttingofftowardthefields,forunderthebushesinthesoftplowedearthwerefoundthechoicestwormsandslugs.

           Scarlett’sheartswelledwithaffectionandgratitudetoWillwhohaddoneallofthis.EvenherloyaltytoAshleycouldnotmakeherbelievehehadbeenresponsibleformuchofthiswell-being,forTara’sbloomwasnottheworkofaplanter-aristocrat,butoftheplodding,tireless"smallfarmer"wholovedhisland.

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