Scarlett clenched her teeth. What kind of foolishness was this? I’m at home, at Tara, and the dark cold will be gone as soon as the sun’s up. She forced a laugh; the shrill unnatural sound made her jump.

They do say it’s always darkest before the dawn, she thought. I reckon this is proof of it. I’ve got the megrims, that’s all. I just won’t give in to them, there’s no time for that, the stove needs feeding. She put a hand out before her into the blackness and walked toward where the coal bin should be, next to the woodpile. A sunken spot made her stumble, and she fell. The bucket clattered loudly, then was lost.

Every exhausted, frightened part of her body cried out that she should give up, stay where she was, hugging the safety of the unseen ground beneath her until day came and she could see. But Mammy needed warmth. And the cheering yellow light of the flames through the isinglass windows of the stove.

Scarlett brought herself slowly to her knees and felt around her for the coal bucket. Surely there’d never been such pitch darkness before in the world. Or such wet cold night air. She was gasping for breath. Where was the bucket? Where was the dawn?

Her fingers brushed across cold metal. Scarlett scrabbled along on her knees toward it, then both hands were clasping the ridged sides of the tin coal scuttle. She sat back on her heels, holding it to her breast in a desperate embrace.

Oh Lord, I’m all turned around now. I don’t even know where the house is, much less the coal bin. I’m lost in the night. She looked up frantically, searching for any light at all, but the sky was black. Even the cold distant stars had disappeared.

For a moment she wanted to cry out, to scream and scream until she woke someone in the house, someone who would light a lamp, who’d come find her and lead her home.