A/N for anybody new to the story, Rhett left Scarlett, who had a subsequent nervous breakdown. Rhett, upon arriving at his mother's house in Charleston, had a heart attack and was advised to go away for his recovery. Wade, Ella, and Beau are trying to get along as best they can without any adults to care for them. And, without any further ado...
CORNESS, NORTH COUNTRY, NEW YORK STATE
1874
Rhett closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cow's flank as he reached underneath to milk her. Zghing! zghing! The milk squirted into the tin pail easily these days, and his hands no longer ached at the end of the day-Rhett had become quite efficient at milking, even Arnvid said so, and no man was more protective of the animals under his care than Arnvid Ivarson
Rhett inhaled, not minding the rangy smell of cattle, or the sweet, sharp scent of hay. A mouse scampered across one of the overhead beams, knocking loose a tiny flake of wood that landed on Daisy's back and made her skin ripple. Rhett chuckled when her tail smacked him in the back of the head, and he inched himself over a little on the milking stool.
He could just imagine what his mother-and the doctor-would think of his idea of rest and convalescence. With cash money he purchased this farm by the St. Lawrence River, hard by the Canadian border. The former owner, Arnvid Ivarson, was a farmer fallen on hard times. When Rhett bought the property he offered to keep him and his wife on to work the farm for him, to which they readily agreed. There was a bedroom on the first floor where he kept the few belongings he brought up from Charleston, and as for the rest, the Ivarsons worked the farm as always, with Gjertrud keeping the house in shipshape order and Arnvid in charge of the fields and livestock, with the assistance of Rhett.
He couldn't help himself-as soon as he saw it, Rhett fell in love with the countrified setting, the tangy, crisp air, the arable fields, the meadows and the deep forests which were still home to wolves and panthers and the occasional bear. He'd read in a book once about going to the woods to live deliberately, and he finally understood what the writer meant. The slow-paced way of life here with its closeness to nature and Earth were acting as a balm to his lacerated soul. Sometimes the locals complained amongst themselves that the wilderness was vanishing fast, that too many people were settling in the area. Rhett didn't bother to argue, but when he looked out over his hills and woods, or when he rode miles between farmsteads through the rustling forest with his rifle strapped on for protection-not against thieves and cutthroats, but against four-legged hunters-it didn't look like it was vanishing to him.
His head reared up when he heard the back porch bell. That was Gjertrud's warning bell. Supper would be served soon, and the men must wash up. She would ring once more when supper was served.
Rhett carried the pail to the end of the barn and strained the fresh new milk. Life was so quiet here, so clean, so uncomplicated. As a young man, he'd lived the life of the gambler and adventurer-danger was often at his side and he worked hard to get rich. And played hard in order to relax-he was no stranger to the saloons and brothels of the frontier towns. But he was younger then and intoxicated with the excitement.
He was surprised to find the mere act of hard physical labor could afford him relaxation and solace now-and he seemed to have no need for excitement anymore.
Strange to look back on it all now-on the night Melanie died, he had not lied to Scarlett when he told her he wanted the quiet, refined, gentrified life of the Charleston Old Guard. Now it seemed like that was a child's impulse born of desperation and grief-and before his illness made him see things in a different light. He rejected the lifestyle of his childhood when he was a young man for a reason-it was too cleaned, too sanitized. He must have had some peasant ancestry to him, he decided, grinning. He loved the fields, the woods, even the smelly byre. He was grateful he found this unspoiled country. The only man of his acquaintance who might have understood this newfound feeling was his brother-in-law, Will. A good man, Will Benteen. Too bad he wound up marrying Suellen O'Hara. Although, seeing as he already had four children, he was obviously making the best of things.
Rhett carried the pail through the slushy farmyard up to the house for Gjertrud. She would make it into cheese and butter and all the delicious filling foods her household needed. The extra she would sell in town.
The Ivarsons were around Rhett's own age, he guessed. They had a grown daughter who had married the next farm over-and she was the reason they were grateful to Rhett for letting them stay and work the land-Arnvid and Gjertrud were clannish, and they dreaded to move and leave her behind. Then they had one remaining child at home-pa daughter who was not quite two.
Rhett washed in a little anteroom between the outside and the kitchen with some water Gjertrud left for him and Arnvid. It was warm enough here that the water wouldn't freeze, and the men were expected to wash before meals and change their muddy boots for indoor shoes which were left out for them. Gjertrud was a despot when it came to her kitchen, and would not tolerate mud tracked onto her clean floors. And, appropriately shod, Rhett entered the kitchen where the housewife was toiling and the daughter was playing.
Little Dagmar had a belt a round her middle constructed of sturdy cotton webbing with a long tail that was connected to Gjertrud's apron by two steel loops. The child was free to play at her mother's feet as she worked, but could not run away very far. She was a plump, blond rosy-cheeks who hid in her mothers skirts when she saw Rhett. Gjertrud nodded at him as he walked in, but did not pause in her tasks.
He sat down at the rocking chair in the corner where he was well out her way and picked up a book to look at. But under his brow, he observed Gjertrud as she set the table with quick, efficient motions. She barely paused when Arnvid came in, smelling of strong lye soap, threw an arm around her waist and gave her cheek a loud, smacking kiss. She gave him an impatient shove, but smiled to herself as he sat down at the table with a groan.
"The snow is half-melted in the yard, Mother."
"Praise be."
"Miles' folks are about due for their sugaring-off party." Miles was their son-in-law, married to their daughter, Sigrid.
"Then you better fetch the pails and troughs from the shed. You can give them to him when he comes."
Rhett sat quietly, breath almost suspended, listening to the quiet, domestic talk of his tenants. Sitting back there in his corner, it was almost like watching theater-a play about a faraway land quite alien to Charleston or the South. The stove made the kitchen cozy and intimate, and the kerosene lamps gave everything a golden glow and Rhett thought to himself how different his life would have been if he'd married a sturdy, buxom farm girl like Gjertrud-a true helpmeet.
His lips twisted into a lopsided grin. Imagine Scarlett a farm wife! For all she considered herself a country girl, she would have been utterly helpless here-imagine Scarlett keeping track of troughs and pails and the rising of the maple tree sap.
No. He couldn't imagine it.
He was nearly dozed off in the rocker when Gjertrud turned.
"Supper's ready, Mr. Kay."
Mr. Kay was the name he was going by in these parts. "K" was his middle initial. He still used Rhett, but the name was too strange and unfamiliar here. Folks thought it sounded more like "Red", and that's what they called him. Red Kay.
The four of them sat down to supper together, three adults and the baby in her high chair.
Gjertrud rose when they were all finished and took down the small washtub from its peg on the wall and poured the remainder of the hot water from the kettle, adding just enough cold water from the rain barrel to take the edge of the heat. The dishes were dumped in, and a little wire cage filled with lye soap bits was swished through it for bubbles. She rolled up her sleeves and in spite of himself, Rhett winced as she plunged her hands into that soapy, scalding water.
The men did not offer to help, nor would she have allowed them. The kitchen and the house were her domain, no matter who's name was actually on the deed. The last thing she needed was the incompetent help of the men folk, hindering her and getting underfoot. All she needed was for Arnvid to dump the old dishwater out in the yard when she was done. She simply wasn't strong enough to lift it. While she washed dishes, the men spread the chessboard between them.
On Rhett's first night here, Arnvid and Gjertrud tried to retire to their rooms upstairs immediately after dinner, believing Mr. Kay wanted his privacy, but he wouldn't hear of it. The fact was, their company acted on him like a tonic. In his mind, they were the perfect companions for him in this new, strange land. They were unspoiled, hard working, cheerful in adversity. They were of the same type as Melanie and Will, genuinely good people.
Yes, he was through with the South, through with city life, through with all the silly, petty intrigues and ersatz drama. He wanted to live deliberately, and Corness was the place where he would do just that.