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Black wool, black silk, black cotton, black...
Posted on Tuesday, January 26, 2010 at 5:42 AM
Black wool, black silk, black cotton, black twill, black velvetShe
could go on mourning for the rest of her daysMourning for Bonnie
still, and now mourning for J MelanieI should find something darker
than black, something more mournful to wear to mourn for myselfI
won't think about that, not nowI'll think
about it when I get to Tara
"Put on your things, PansyAnd don't you dare
forget the crape armbandThis is a house of mourning The streets
that met at Five Points were a quagmireWagons and buggies and
carriages were sunk in mudTheir drivers cursed the rain, the
streets, their horses, the other drivers in their wayThere was
shouting and the sound of whips balenciaga handbags cracking, and the noise of people
There were always crowds of people at Five Points, people hurrying,
arguing, complaining, laughingFive Points was turbulent with life,
with push, with energyFive Points was the Atlanta Scarlett lovedToday Five Points was in her way, Atlanta was holding
her backI've got to make that train, I'll die if I miss it, I've got
to get to Mammy and Tara or I'll break down"Elias," she yelled, "I
don't care if you whip the horses to death, I don't care if you run
over every single person on the street Her
horses were the strongest, her coachman the most skillful, her
carriage
the best that money could buyNothing better get in her chanel necklace way,
nothing
She made the train with time to spareThere was a loud burst of
steamScarlett held her breath, listening for the first clunking
revolution of the wheels that meant the train was movingAnd the rattling, shaking of the
carShe was on her way at lastEverything was going to be all
rightShe was going home to TaraShe pictured it, sunny and bright,
the white house gleaming, glistening green leaves of cape jasmine
bushes studded with perfect, waxen white blossomsHeavy dark rain
sluiced down the window beside her when the train left the station, but
no matterAt Tara there'd be a fire in the living room, crackling
from pine cones thrown onto the logs, and the curtains would chanel handbags on sale be
drawn,
shutting out the rain and the darkness and the worldShe'd lay her
head on Mammy's soft broad bosom and tell her all the horrible things
that had happenedThen she'd be able to think, to work everything
out
Hissing steam and squealing wheels jerked Scarlett's head
upright
Was this Jonesboro already? She must have dozed off, and no
wonder, as
tired as she wasShe hadn't been able to sleep for two nights, even
with the brandy to calm her nerves
No, the station was Rough and ReadyStill an hour to JonesboroAt
least the rain had stopped; there was even a patch of blue sky up
aheadMaybe the sun was shining at TaraShe imagined the
entrance
rive, the dark chanel ice cube handbag cedars that bordered it, then the wide green lawn and
the beloved house on top of the low hillScarlett sighed heavily
Her sister Suellen was the lady of the house at Tara now
Ha! Cry-baby of the house was more like itAll Suellen ever did was
whine, it was all she'd ever done, ever since they were childrenAnd
she had her own children now, whiny little girls just like she used to
beScarlett's children were at Tara, tooShe'd sent
them with Prissy, their nursemaid, when she got the news that Melanie
was dyingProbably she should have had them with her at Melanie's
funeralThat gave all the old cats in Atlanta one more thing to
gossip about, what an unnatural mother she cartier picasso tank watches w
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