Scarlett did not return to Atlanta at the end of the summer. In fact, she had barely been home a week when Scarlett decided she would never return to Atlanta again. When looking back later in life, she would never be quite sure what changed her mind about Tara. As a child she had been so eager to leave the red dirt of Clayton County behind, and after the war Tara had become a millstone around her neck that she was too stubborn to admit she could not carry on her own. After Pa's death it had become a reminder of everything she had lost, at once too precious to let go and too dangerous to hold tight. But one morning she had taken a long walk through the fields and come upon a place where she remembered her mother used to sit and watch over the house and the yards - and for the first time she found peace there instead of hurt and anger. She had cried more tears than she ever knew she had, and she knew it was time to stay for good.
Suellen, though, was not prepared for the return of the prodigal daughter. Initially, Suellen simply pretended not to hear when Scarlett and Will Benteen discussed the long-term management of the estate. But as the summer wore on and Scarlett made no move to return to the city, Suellen embarked on a campaign to make life as uncomfortable as possible for her sister. Scarlett tried valiantly to play nice, often appealing to Melly and her mother's memories for help as she rode out her anger on the back of whatever horse happened to be saddled when she stormed into the stables. But once Suellen started targeting her children, Scarlett was more than happy to "get her Irish up", as Rhett had used to say.
After one particularly heated fight that resulted in a broken window and a smashed table, Will managed to broker an agreement of sorts between the remaining O'Hara sisters to divide the estate between them. The notion of building a second house on the property was briefly entertained before being flatly rejected by both sisters, neither of whom wanted to be the one who was forced out of the old house. Eventually it was decided that Scarlett and her children would take possession of the old house and that Scarlett would fund the building of a new wing for Suellen and her family. Suellen considered this only fair, given that Scarlett had enjoyed all the niceties of city life while she had been stuck on the farm for a decade - not to mention that Scarlett had stolen her beau. (Which Suellen did of course mention many, many times.)
Construction began before the plans were even finalized to ensure that everything would be ready before winter set in. Even before the walls had been raised, though, Suellen began laying claim to various pieces of furniture that she wanted for her wing of the house. In the interest of keeping the tenuous peace, Scarlett rarely protested Suellen's choices - even when she absconded with Ellen's carriage clock. There was very little left from before the Yankee occupation, and Scarlett didn't really care much for the hodgepodge of pieces that Suellen had curated over the years since. Scarlett did put her foot down, though, when Suellen tried to move Pa's chair from its place by the fireplace in the study. Otherwise, she was content to have some of her furniture from the house at Peachtree Street moved out to Tara. There was something comforting in the way all her past lives ended up mingling together in the parlor. It quickly became her favorite room in the house.
The children flourished at Tara. By the end of the summer, Wade became a fearless adventurer. He could often be spotted from the top-floor windows bouncing along through the fields, barefoot and freckled with golden curls peaking out from beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. He learned every inch of the old plantation and every thing about every person on it. Soon, "Young Master Wade" was the favorite of many of the hired hands - and anyone who didn't favor him simply hadn't met him yet.
Wade had the softest of hearts and he had often wished that his mother was more like his Aunt Melly, who had always been as ready to play pirates as she was to cuddle with stories. But one day, as Wade watched Scarlett hike up her skirts and climb onto the roof to patch a hole in the ceiling of Ella's room, the thought came to him that perhaps his mother's way of showing love was doing things for others. He began bringing her things that needed fixing just to see what she would do. Wade was amazed to find that no matter what he brought her - from farm tools to birds with broken wings to homeless drifters - Scarlett would drop whatever she was doing and devote her attention to his problem. Oh, she would often grumble and huff and sometimes say things a lady probably should not say. But she would always find a way to make things right, and more often than not she would grace him with a special kind of smile that made his heart glow. By the time Wade went off to school in the fall, Scarlett found she had grown accustomed the sound of her boy bursting through the back door and clamoring for her to "fix it, Mother!"
Ella, too, lost some of her timidity at Tara. People were still beyond Ella's ken, it seemed, but she had an astonishing way with animals. Sheep would come bounding across the meadows at Ella's gentle call, and it seemed like she was never without a kitten in her arms or a dog at her side. Scarlett honestly lost track of what animals actually belonged to Tara and which ones simply seemed to have taken up residence. At least once a week, one of the other families would come to call looking for a stray piglet or cow, and Ella would know just where it was - more of then than not it was following her around! She was still a gawky, awkward little thing with no head for figures and a painfully slow way of reading that often drove Scarlett to distraction, but at least at Tara there were plenty of different corners for mother and daughter to retreat to when they began to grate on each others' nerves.
Fall faded into winter, and Christmas came and went with no sign of Rhett. Every morning Scarlett would wake up alone in her bed and look across the counterpane wondering if Rhett ever thought of her. Then the children would wake up and the day would get started and she would have no time to nurse her broken heart. At least, not until the evening fell and she was alone again - always alone. Was this what Rhett had felt like all those years when they had lived as strangers in their own home? She did not even know where he was now or how to contact him.
But as the first anniversary of Bonnie's death drew near, Scarlett became increasingly restless. She took to riding out on the hard, empty fields every morning in a blue velvet coat in memory of her beloved daughter. Haunted by memories of her father and daughter, it took her weeks before she could even attempt to jump a low lying fence, but quickly the thrill of the chase came flooding back to her. She had loved racing these fields with her father, and she could almost hear him goading her on as she careened across the countryside. Sometimes she imagined Bonnie was along for the ride, too, and her delighted squeals would echo in her memory every time she soared over a stile.
One particularly foggy morning, Scarlett was flying along a forest path when suddenly her usually well-behaved hunter came to an abrupt stop, rearing up before a gloomy shape in the mist. As she wrestled her horse back under control, the gossamer vision became solid, and she nearly fell from her saddle in shock.
"Well, my dear, I never had you pegged for a sentimentalist."