Read the book: «His Prairie Sweetheart»

Many thanks to Berit Oviatt and Jody Rosedahl for help with the Norwegian translations (any mistakes are solely mine), to Allie Pleiter, harpist extraordinaire, for help with the care and feeding of harps, and to my husband, Peter, for taking me to Vesterheim to research Norwegians in America.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Raleigh, North Carolina

August 1887

The humiliation. That’s what the gossips of Raleigh were calling it. Rehashing it with delighted horror in the tearooms and front parlors of the city.

Savannah Cox kept her chin level and marched down the church steps, careful to slant her parasol to keep the August sun off her face...and if she was honest, to block out the looks. She put on her most remote expression, a reflection of the cold numbness that surrounded her broken heart. Agony at the core, a shell of ice around the pain, and proper manners covering all.

After all, a lady’s pain was like her petticoat; she must never let it show.

Three weeks ago she’d ascended these same steps arrayed in bridal white, eager and naive, surrounded by bridesmaids and anticipation. Shame squeezed tighter than her corset. Would it always hurt this much? Would she forever walk in the ignominy of being a jilted bride?

Perhaps, but she wouldn’t do her walking here.

Savannah climbed into the family carriage, ignoring her younger sisters’ chatter. Aunt Georgette patted her neck and temples with a lace hankie. “Poor Savannah. You’re being so brave. I’m just glad your dear mother isn’t here to see...” She tapered off with more fluttering and patting.

Next to Aunt Georgette her sister, Aunt Carolina—broad, mannish and practical to her marrow—crossed her arms. “Nonsense, Georgette. Think for one moment what you’re saying. You’re glad Bettina is dead? Savannah will survive this, and the sooner everyone stops feeling sorry for her, the sooner things can return to normal. I, for one, think she made an expedient escape. If Girard Brandeis was so callow as to bow out at the eleventh hour without so much as an explanation, then he doesn’t deserve our Savannah. Now, let’s talk about something else.”

Savannah stiffened. This was her chance. She’d dreaded introducing the subject, but she was running out of time. Inhaling a breath for bravery, she blurted out, “I wanted you all to know I’ve accepted a teaching position in Minnesota, and I’m leaving Raleigh the day after tomorrow.”

Her sisters stopped nattering, Aunt Georgette dropped her hankie and a spark of something—was it admiration?—lit Aunt Carolina’s eyes.

The coach lurched as the driver slapped the lines and the horses took off, harness jingling, wheels whirring.

“You’ve what?” Aunt Georgette found her voice first.

Savannah spoke with more conviction than she felt. “I said I will be teaching school this fall. In Minnesota. I leave on Tuesday.”

Aunt Georgette blinked, and her face crumpled. “This is tragic. Think of the scandal. Savannah Cox, of the Raleigh Coxes, running off into the night to nurse her broken heart. Whatever will I say at the garden club, or the Aid Society, or at Priscilla Guthrie’s soiree next Friday?”

“I imagine,” Aunt Carolina drawled, “you’ll say whatever gains you the most attention, and that you’ll say it dramatically and with great frequency. Now sit back and be quiet. I suggest we wait until we’re at home before we get further explanations.”

Savannah shot Aunt Carolina a grateful glance, but she knew a reckoning was in her future. Father might be the titular head of the family, but not much happened without his sister Carolina’s blessing. What if she forbade Savannah to leave? Did Savannah have the courage to defy her? What if she encouraged her to go? Did she have the courage to follow through on her plans?

Houses flashed by, and the horses’ hooves clopped on the cobblestones. Aunt Georgette dabbed herself, her brows beetling, her lips moving as if rehearsing what she wanted to say. Savannah’s sisters, Charlotte and Virginia, whispered behind their fans.

Church had been a nightmare, the first service since...the humiliation. Savannah hadn’t heard a word the preacher said, had only mouthed along to the hymns and stared straight ahead the entire time, feeling the eyes on her, the speculations swirling.

Oh, Girard. Why? What was wrong with me that you had to run rather than marry me? What did I lack? Did you ever really love me? How did this happen? All the same questions ran round and round in her head like a waterwheel, tumbling and splashing and getting nowhere.

When they arrived at the house, mounting the steps to the three-story Italianate mansion the Cox family called home, Savannah headed straight for the room they jokingly called “headquarters”—Aunt Carolina’s sitting room.

One of the servants had closed the tall shutters against the sun, and the tile floor and soft colors made the room the coolest in the house. August in Raleigh was brutal. Because of the wedding, they’d put off their annual trip to the coast, and Savannah missed the cooling sea breezes.

Right now she was supposed to be on her honeymoon, a month-long sailing trip up the coast to New York City. She shoved that thought from her mind.

Aunt Carolina glided into the room—she never walked anywhere—and rang the brass bell on the desk. The maid came in, followed by fluttering, scuttling Aunt Georgette.

“Clarice, bring some lemonade.” Aunt Carolina took the pins from her cartwheel hat and eased it from her piled iron-gray curls. “I’m perishing in this heat. And tell the cook luncheon will be late.” She eased her comfortable bulk onto the settee and tugged off her lace gloves. “Sit, child, and start at the beginning.”

Savannah removed her own hat. She’d known a confrontation would be coming, but now that the moment was here, she wondered if she should just take it all back, pretend she’d never said it, claim temporary weakness of the mind. Aunt Carolina skewered her with a “get on with it” stare. Savannah swallowed and wondered where to start.

“She’s distraught, that’s what.” Georgette fussed with her fan. “She can’t be held responsible for anything she says or does when she’s in such extremis. Poor thing. I mean, the humiliation.”

The mention of that word steeled Savannah’s resolve. This was why she had to leave. She was smothering under a blanket of pity. Words popped into her head...or maybe poured out of her heart.

“I am not distraught. Nor do I have a nervous condition, though I might develop one if people don’t leave me alone.” Savannah dropped into a chair. “Aunt Carolina, I answered an advertisement I saw in the newspaper. You remember that client of Daddy’s who came to dinner, the one from Saint Paul? He had a copy of the Pioneer Press with him, and the moment I saw that classified advertisement, I knew I should apply. I have to get out of Raleigh, at least for a little while. If I don’t, I’ll forever be known as the girl who got left at the altar.” She clenched her hands in her lap, pressing against her legs through all the layers of fabric and hoopskirts to still the trembling in her muscles.

Clarice entered with a tray of glasses. Ice tinkled in the pale yellow liquid as she poured. Savannah loosened her fingers to accept hers, careful to hold it securely given the condensation already forming on the outside of the glass. She sipped the tangy sweetness, letting the cool lemonade ease the tightness in her throat.

“You’ve never taught school a day in your life. What makes you think you can now?” Aunt Carolina asked over the rim of her own glass. “And why Minnesota? If you want to teach, why can’t you find a school in Atlanta or Richmond or Charlotte? We have family and friends in those cities with whom you could stay. You wouldn’t be so alone that way.”

“I graduated from normal school. I have a teaching certificate. I’m sure teaching a few children won’t be beyond my capabilities. And I chose Minnesota because I want to get away and start fresh. If I stay with friends or family, I’ll still have to endure their questions and pity. I want to go where nobody knows me, nobody knows what happened.”

“Have you discussed this with your father?”

“How can I? He left the day after the wedding on his business trip and hasn’t been back since. Anyway, he’d only tell you to handle it, the way he does everything that isn’t work related.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, but at Aunt Carolina’s frown, Savannah knew she hadn’t succeeded.

“If you only want to get away for a while,” Aunt Georgette interjected, “why don’t you go up to New York City? Your father offered to pay for the trip... Anyway, I think you should stay here with your family, where we can support you and look after you. I’m sure the scandal will die down eventually.”

“I don’t want to go back to New York. I’m supposed to be there right now with—” Savannah broke off, not wanting to say his name aloud, her heart once more sinking under a wave of pain and disillusion.

Aunt Georgette subsided.

“I can understand that.” Aunt Carolina drained her glass and set it on the side table. “However, Minnesota seems extreme. Where in Minnesota is this school, anyway? In Saint Paul?”

Savannah shook her head. “It’s in the western part of the state. A small town called Snowflake. It’s a small school, too. Less than a dozen students.” At the moment, that sounded blissful.

Aunt Carolina stared at her hard. That was the trouble with Aunt Carolina. She could hear all the things you weren’t saying and detect all the things you were trying to hide.

Finally, when Savannah was sure she was going to veto the entire proceeding, her aunt’s lips relaxed, and she blinked slowly.

“All right. I give my blessing, but it comes with a warning, too.” Her eyes narrowed. “You are trying to outrun your embarrassment, and I can understand that, but you’re also trying to outrun your self-doubt and hurt. You need to learn that while you can remove yourself from the circumstances, the feelings are going to go with you. You can’t run from what’s inside yourself, and it’s foolish to try. Until you deal with your feelings, they’re going to own you, whether here in Raleigh, in New York City or in the wilds of western Minnesota.”

But the feelings were too painful to address. If Savannah opened the door to them, they would swarm out and engulf her. What Aunt Carolina said might well be true, but for now, Savannah’s only hope for recovery lay in keeping her feelings locked up tight and escaping to a place where she could start anew.

* * *

“Why do I have to be here? I didn’t hire her.” In fact, this was the last place he wanted to be. Elias Parker hitched his gun belt on his hip and tipped his chair back to rest against the front of the jail. He reached down and ruffled Captain’s fur. The collie rewarded him with a nudge from his wet nose and a swipe of his rough tongue.

“You’re here because I need your help. Because I have to go to Saint Paul to appear before the State Board of Education and don’t know how long I will be gone.” Elias’s brother, Tyler, straightened the lapels on his checked suit and adjusted the angle of his bowler hat.

Propping his boots on the hitching rail, Elias pushed his hat forward and crossed his arms. “Why are you dressed like a snake-oil salesman? You look like you just fell off a Baltimore bus.”

“And you look like you just fell off a wanted poster. I’m trying to make a good impression on the new teacher.” Tyler checked his watch. “The stage is late.”

“The stage is late eleven times out of ten.” Elias scanned the street from under his hat brim. As the town sheriff, it was his job to keep an eye on things and anticipate trouble—something not too difficult in a sleepy farm town like Snowflake. “Tell me her name again.”

“Miss Savannah Cox.” Tyler said it as if he was reading copperplate writing with lots of loops and whorls.

“And she’s from the Carolinas somewhere?” Elias grimaced. “Why’d you go and hire somebody from so far away?”

“Small matter of ‘nobody else applied.’ After the last two fiascos, I promised myself I’d find the perfect applicant, but Miss Cox was the only one who answered the advertisement.” Tyler fussed with his collar.

“Better to hire nobody at all than have another black mark on your record.” Or have a prissy girl arrive in town, flirting and leading you on one minute, and then decamping without a backward glance the next.

“The children can’t afford to lose another year of schooling while we wait for a better applicant. I’m counting on you to look after Miss Cox. I can’t be here often. I have an entire county to supervise. You’ll be right here all the time.”

“It’s not like I don’t have my own work to do, you know.” Which usually meant sweeping out the jail and making sure all the stores were locked up for the night. Snowflake was as quiet as a church on a Tuesday morning. Which wasn’t a bad thing because it gave Elias time to help his folks out on the farm. And evidently, time to babysit the schoolteacher. “How old is this woman, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but she had such a refined way of writing, and used such fine stationery, I assumed she was middle-aged or better. She sounded very mature in her application letter.”

Elias scratched his chin, feeling the rasp of whiskers he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning. A “mature” female teacher might set some of his anxiety to rest.

“Here comes the stage.” Tyler straightened and slipped his watch back into his vest pocket. He rubbed his hands together and scrubbed the toes of his shoes on the backs of his pant legs as if he were preparing to meet royalty.

The coach rocked into town and pulled to a stop across from the jail. Elias let his boots drop to the boardwalk and levered himself out of his chair, righting his hat and bracing himself to meet the new teacher. “Stay here, Cap.” He motioned to the dog, which subsided into a hairy heap beside the chair.

Elias formed a mental picture of the new teacher based on Tyler’s assessment. She’d probably be a dried-up old stick with a prunes-and-prisms mouth and no sense of humor. She could pose for the illustration in the dictionary beside the word spinster. She most likely carried a ruler and couldn’t wait to smack a kid’s hand for the slightest infraction. Elias foresaw a long winter ahead if Tyler made him look after her for the entire term. Then again, she’d probably take one glance at the living conditions and bare-bones schoolhouse and scamper back to where she came from.

He rounded the coach just as Tyler opened the stage door, and Elias braced himself to greet an old crone. Instead, a slender gloved hand appeared, and a dainty gray buttoned boot, followed by yards of light blue skirts. A decorative—if impractical—hat emerged, and then she stood on the dusty street.

Elias sucked in a breath and held it. Surely this wasn’t the teacher? He peered over her shoulder, expecting another woman to be perched on the seat, but no one else occupied the coach. He looked back at the young lady.

She was perfection.

Miss Savannah Cox.

In copperplate. With loops. And whorls.

His breath escaped slowly as every thought of crabby spinsters scattered like buckshot. If his teachers had looked anything like her, he might’ve enjoyed school a bit more. Come to think of it, he might be tempted to enroll again.

If she was a day over twenty, he’d eat his spurs. Fair skin that surely felt like rose petals, full pink lips, and those eyes...blue as Big Stone Lake, and about as deep.

But her crowning glory...that hair. Elias had seen some yellow hair before—this was the land of the Scandinavian immigrant, after all—but yellow didn’t seem the right word to describe hers. Gold? Wheaten? Honey? Flaxen? They all fell short.

“Are you Mr. Parker?” She said it “Pah-kah” in a Southern drawl as slow and sweet as dripping sorghum syrup. Elias stepped forward, but halted when he realized she was speaking to his brother.

“I’m Tyler Parker, the school superintendent. Welcome to Snowflake, Miss Cox.” He swept his bowler off his head and smoothed his hair like a boy in Sunday school. “We’re so pleased to have you here.”

Elias tucked his thumbs into his gun belt and leaned against a porch post, aiming to strike an I-am-not-bowled-over-by-a-pretty-face posture, even though she’d knocked him for six. As he strove for some aplomb, his mind raced. He’d never seen anyone less suited to teach the Snowflake school. If Tyler had any sense at all, he’d thank her kindly, buy her a return ticket and send her on her way. The poor girl would perish here before the first snowfall.

If she lasted that long. She might turn out to be just like Britta, who had stayed just long enough to break Elias’s heart.

Miss Cox squinted up at the bold sunshine and turned to retrieve her belongings from the stage. She withdrew a parasol and snapped it open. Elias blinked. The parasol exactly matched her dress, must’ve been created just for her outfit. He’d never seen the like. Where did she think she was, New York City?

Poor Tyler. He’d picked a winner this time. She was pretty to look at, but about as practical as a silver spoon when you needed a snow shovel.

She stared at the buildings lining Main Street, at Tyler who rocked on his toes and rubbed his hands together again, then finally at Elias, sizing him up from his boots to his hatband. His thoughts must’ve been evident on his face, because even though he touched his hat brim and gave a nod, her chin went up and she seemed to freeze. Lips tight, she looked around once more, as if hoping for city streets and fancy houses to appear. She didn’t glance his way again.

Elias shook his head. What was she expecting? A royal welcome? Brass bands and banners? What had his brother saddled him with for the next nine months? She looked tighter wound than a reel of barbed wire.

“Please—” Tyler took her elbow “—come up here out of the sun. You must be tired after your long journey. This is my brother, Elias. He’s the town sheriff, but for today, he’s tasked with seeing you safely ensconced in your new dwellings. He’ll take care of the baggage.” Tyler ushered her onto the boardwalk, making clearing motions ahead of them though there was nobody around besides the stage driver. Treating her as if she were a fragile pasque flower. That might be fine for Tyler, but she’d get no such coddling from Elias. She’d chosen to come to western Minnesota, and she’d have to learn to stand on her own two feet out here. Or go back where she came from. They needed a teacher, all right, but not one like this.

“Hey, Sheriff.” Keenan hopped down from the high stagecoach seat and coiled his whip, threading it up his arm and onto his shoulder. “Good traveling weather, but we could use some rain.” He spit into the street under the horses’ bellies. “That’s some looker I brung ya, huh?” His version of a whisper rattled the windows of the stage office, and Miss Cox’s already straight spine stiffened. If she put that nose any higher in the air, she’d drown in a rainstorm.

“Just get up there and throw down her bag.” Elias adjusted his hat. “I’m supposed to be the teamster today, getting her where she needs to go.”

“Her bag? You mean bags. They’re in the boot.” Keenan swaggered toward the canvas and strapping covering the rear compartment and began setting valises and trunks and bags on the porch.

Four, five, six, seven. “All of these?” She had more baggage than an empress.

“And one inside the coach, too.” Keenan shook his head. “She put up quite a fuss about being careful with that one. Must have all her china in it or something. She brought near everything else she must own. Maybe she’s planning on staying in the territory. It could be she hopes to snag her a husband while she’s here and set up housekeeping. Way she looks, I reckon they’ll be lining up. Won’t matter if she can’t cook a lick nor sew nor garden. A fellow might marry her just to have something that pretty to look at every day.”

Wonderful. This just kept getting better and better. Maybe she had come out here hoping for a husband. There were more men than women in western Minnesota, and a woman of marrying age got snapped up pretty quickly. Pity the poor sap who wound up with her, though. A man needed a helpmeet out here, a woman who could tend the house and garden and children, and help in the barn and fields if the need arose. Miss Cox hardly looked the type to pick up a pitchfork or hoe a row of potatoes. More likely to know how to pour tea and do needlepoint.

Elias gathered several of the bags and brought them to the steps. He staggered, just to get his point across to Tyler. Who needed all this stuff?

“Ah, good. You can load Miss Cox’s things in the buckboard.” Tyler slanted Elias a “behave yourself” older-brother glance, forbidding him any comment on the exotic import standing in the shade of the porch. “I will check in with you as often as I am able, Miss Cox, but Elias will make himself available to assist you in any way he can, should the need arise.”

“Sheriff Parker.” She held out her gloved hand, and Elias let her bags thump to the porch before taking her fingers for a brief clasp. “I’ll try not to be too much trouble, I’m sure.”

Ahm shu-wah.

Elias swallowed, steeling himself not to be swayed from his position by nice manners. He’d been down that road, much to his regret, and he had no desire to repeat his folly.

She turned to Tyler. “Mr. Parker, is this all there is of the town?” She looked both directions along Main Street. Actually, it was the only street. Twenty or so buildings, none of them grand, lined the thoroughfare.

Tyler cleared his throat. “Um, yes, for the time being. But we’re always growing. Snowflake is mostly a farming community, but we’re hoping to draw more commerce to town. Having a good quality school will go a long way in enticing family-owned businesses to our little settlement.”

“I see.” Her faintly bewildered tone said she didn’t see at all. She’d probably never lived anywhere with fewer than a thousand people within shouting distance.

“The buckboard’s over here.” Tyler ushered her up the street. “We’ll have you at your lodgings soon.”

Together, they walked toward the buckboard, and Elias, left with the baggage, forced himself not to stare at the graceful sway of her walk and the way her dress trailed and draped in layers and ruffles. He’d never seen a getup quite like that. She looked as if she should be at some garden club or tea party...not that he had any notion what women wore to tea parties, but her outfit had to be more suited to a social engagement than to traveling across the prairie.

“And which building is the school?” She had to look up at his brother, who wasn’t all that tall. Elias had a feeling he’d dwarf her, since he was half a head taller than Tyler.

“Oh, the school is north of town a ways. They built it there because that’s where the greatest concentration of children is. We’re almost up to a dozen students now.” Tyler smiled and held out his hand to help her into the buckboard. “I do apologize that I am unable to make the rest of the trip with you. I’m heading east on the stage for some meetings in the capitol. I’ll return as soon as I can, but you’ll be in good hands with my brother.”

Elias stowed bags and boxes on the backseat and floorboards. Miss Cox sat in the front seat like a little plaster statue, eyes forward, hands throttling her parasol handle, rigid as a new fence. He was just about to climb aboard when a shout shattered the sultry afternoon air.

“Sheriff, don’t forget this one.” Keenan stomped over, grappling with the odd-shaped box he’d removed from inside the stage.

“Oh, my.” Miss Cox fluttered like a bird. “I can’t believe I forgot. I must be more tired than I thought.”

Elias scratched his head. Where was he supposed to fit that monstrosity? If he’d have known she was bringing enough stuff to supply an army, he’d have brought his pa’s farm wagon.

“Please, be careful. That’s fragile.”

He sighed and wedged the bulky parcel in so it wouldn’t jostle, then climbed aboard and gathered the reins. Looking over at the jailhouse porch, he whistled. Cap shot up and bounded across the street. Elias scooted over and patted the seat between himself and Miss Cox.

Captain needed no second command. He leaped aboard and planted his furry rump on the hard bench. His tongue lolled and dripped dog spit, and he gave Miss Cox a friendly sniff.

She recoiled, eyes wide. “Get back!” She shrank further, looking ready to bolt.

“Whoa, easy, ma’am. He won’t hurt you.” Elias cuffed Captain on the shoulder. “He’s gentle. You act like you’ve never been around a dog before.”

Swallowing, she righted her hat and sat more upright, pressing against the far armrest so hard he thought it might break. “I haven’t, especially not one so...big.”

Captain grinned, showing a lot of teeth, his heavy tail pounding Elias’s leg.

“Are you sure he won’t bite?” Her voice trembled, and a little arrow of guilt pierced Elias. Not enough to overcome his scorn at such irrational fear, of course.

“Unless you’re a bank robber, or a horse thief, or a stubborn sheep, he’ll keep his fangs to himself. Cap’s a first-rate sheepherder and police dog, aren’t you, boy?” The big collie tried to lick Elias’s face, and he laughed, shoving him back.

Tyler frowned, fussing with his tie as he stood by the buckboard. “Perhaps you should leave him here.”

“Nope. I told Pa I’d drop him off at the farm after I ran your errand for you.”

“But Miss Cox—”

“Miss Cox will be fine. She’ll have to get used to a lot worse than sharing a seat with a friendly dog if she’s going to survive out here.”

He chirruped to the sorrel mare, and the buckboard lurched, leaving Tyler behind. They soon reached the outskirts of town and headed north.