His Prairie Sweetheart

by Erica Vetsch

  He raised one eyebrow, pivoting her. “You didn’t think we were all clumsy, clodhopping farmers, did you?”

  She closed her gaping mouth. “Of course not. Several of my partners have been quite good, but you’re...exceptional.” She relaxed in his arms, trusting his ability not to step on her toes or bump into other couples, both of which had happened several times already tonight. Instead, Savannah allowed herself to think only of the music and the company. “Where did you learn?”

  “Pa’s a good dancer. He taught me and Tyler. Though he grew up dancing Irish jigs and Scottish reels more than waltzing.”

  Savannah asked no more questions, giving herself over to the dancing and enjoyment of being with Elias. Long before she was ready, the music ended and another young man stood beside her, asking for the next dance.

  “Thank you, Elias. I enjoyed that.”

  He shot a hard glance at the man waiting and then shrugged. “Your admirers await.”

  The next tune started, and she was carried away from him.

  A string of partners came and went, tall, short, fair, dark, some in traditional Norwegian dress with double-breasted vests and silver buttons, some in American garb. She smiled and danced and smiled and danced, all the while watching for Elias, waiting for him to cut in.

  But he didn’t. He danced once with his mother and then retired to the sidelines.

  During a small intermission, her partner—Rollef? —leaned in and whispered, “It is warm, ja? The rain has stopped. You vould like to go outside?”

  It was warm in the barn, and crowded. A little space to think would be welcome. Elias’s inexplicable behavior tonight had her on edge, taking away from what should’ve been a joyful occasion.

  She allowed Rollef to guide her to a small door set into the large, rolling ones at the far end of the barn. As he opened it just wide enough for her to slip through, fresh, cool, damp air hit her cheeks. She breathed in, turning into the slight breeze, letting it cool her face. Careful to keep her hem off the wet ground, she glanced up at the clearing skies, picking out the stars in the indigo night.

  “It’s beautiful.” Darkness blanketed the countryside, and when Rollef shut the door behind him, only faint starlight allowed her to see.

  “You are beautiful.” He stood close, his breath stirring the hair at her temple.

  “Thank you.” Savannah moved away. Alarm bells began to ring faintly in the background. Rollef had been a perfect gentleman all three times she’d danced with him. She was probably misreading him. Perhaps it was a cultural thing that she didn’t understand.

  “You are most beautiful woman I have seen.” He closed the distance again and reached for her hand. “I say that right?”

  Her heart banged in her chest, and her breath hitched. Cultural or not, this was making her uncomfortable. “Rollef, you said that nicely, but I think you’ve misunderstood. I only came out for a bit of air, nothing else.” She untangled her fingers and moved around him toward the door.

  Rollef grabbed her elbow. “Vait.”

  “No. Let me go.”

  He pulled her closer instead, grasping her by both elbows. “You dance vid me tree times, you smile, you come outside and now you...how you say it, tease?”

  His eyes glittered in the darkness, and he loomed over her. Her mouth went dry, and she tugged against his grip, but to no avail.

  “I vant von kiss.”

  “No.” She twisted her head as his face lowered to hers.

  A bar of light fell across them, and a man stood silhouetted in the doorway. “Fjelstad, let her go.”

  Elias. Relief washed through Savannah.

  Rollef hung on for a moment longer, said something in Norwegian and flung her away, stalking into the barn.

  Savannah’s knees shook, and she pressed her hand to her throat. “Thank you. I’m so glad you came just then.”

  Her rescuer closed the distance between them, grabbing her elbows much as Rollef had done. “What do you think you’re doing, stepping outside with a man? Don’t you care at all for your reputation? It might be done at a Southern dance, but here, a girl can be ruined for such carelessness. Not to mention the parents of her students might question her judgment and fitness for teaching children.”

  Savannah’s mouth gaped open as heat and shock blazed through her.

  “Never mind. I don’t care. Get back in there before someone misses you.”

  Stepping into the light of the barn, she blinked, feeling bludgeoned by both Rollef’s advances and the anger in Elias’s voice. She dared a glance up at him, and his rigid jaw and narrow eyes brought a lump to her throat.

  “Elias, I—”

  “Don’t talk, just dance.”

  He took her in his arms again, swinging her out onto the floor, but his hold was stiff. He stared over her head. Woodenly, she followed his steps, her heart like a brick in her chest. Heat flamed in her cheeks, and tears burned her eyes.

  How had things gone wrong so quickly?

  Chapter Nine

  Savannah entered the busy mercantile, list in hand, resolve and dignity wrapped around her like a cloak. She hadn’t seen Elias all week and wasn’t sure what she would say to him if she did. The last time they’d spoken, after their dance, he’d handed her over to the Halvorsons like an unwanted puppy, then turned on his heel and strode away.

  Thankfully, the Halvorsons had been ready to leave the party, and hadn’t questioned her. It seemed no one knew of her faux pas beyond Rollef and Elias.

  And Aunt Carolina. Or she would soon.

  Savannah had written out an account of the entire evening, everything from the charming costumes, to the noxious lutefisk, and Elias’s inexplicable behavior.

  I honestly didn’t think I was doing anything wrong, but apparently I’ve committed quite the transgression. Did I lead Rollef on or somehow give him the impression I was inviting his advances? I didn’t think so. But Elias was so angry...disgusted, really. I was as shamed as I was bewildered. I thought he was beginning to like and accept me here, but now, I think he’d just as soon pack me off to Raleigh with the next post.

  Savannah felt for the letter in her reticule as she stepped to the post office counter, edging around a barrel of dried beans and one of rye flour.

  “Good morning, Miss Cox. You are here for letters?” The proprietor, Karl Svenby, came down the aisle behind the counter. “Tree of dem came in for you.”

  His accent was so thick she had to concentrate to decipher his words. Gladly she took the envelopes, scanning the addresses. Aunt Carolina, Aunt Georgette and... Stillness came over her. A letter from her father.

  He’d never written her before. The occasional telegram addressed to the household, but never a letter just for her.

  A crowded store was no place to delve into such an anomaly, so she stuffed the mail into her handbag and withdrew her missive to Aunt Carolina. “Could you please frank this for me? I also have a list of things I would like to order.”

  “Ah, letters to home again? Always you write.” He stamped the envelope and dropped it into the mail bag. “De stage vill pick it up on Mandag morgen.”

  The door opened, letting in a gust of brisk air. And Elias.

  A quiver went through Savannah.

  “Hi, Karl. Getting chilly out there.” Elias blew on his hands. “Weather sure changed all of a sudden, didn’t it?”

  “Ja, I am selling much long-handles.” The store owner grinned. “I tink it vill be a cold vinter, ja?” As he spoke, he deftly wrapped a customer’s parcels in thick brown paper, tying them with string and handing them over with a smile.

  “Hello, Miss Cox.” Elias lowered his voice and removed his hat. “I was hoping I’d see you today.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t keep the archness out of her voice. If he’d want
ed to see her, he knew well enough where he could find her. She studied a glass case of sewing notions.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” Not after the way he’d treated her.

  He tunneled his fingers through his dark hair. “Then you can listen.”

  “Miss Cox.” Something thumped her leg, and she looked down into a little face.

  “Hello, Ingrid. How are you?” She spoke slowly, squatting down to put her arm around her youngest pupil.

  “I. Am. Vell.” Ingrid paused between each word, and grinned, showing her two missing front teeth.

  “Perfectly said.” Savannah squeezed the little girl. “Your English is coming along better than my Norwegian.”

  The door opened again and several more people came in, crowding the store, separating her from Elias. Before long, she found herself surrounded by students and their parents. Hands clasped hers, words poured out in Norwegian. Bewildered and frustrated by not being able to communicate, Savannah nodded and shrugged, spreading her hands. Johann’s father reached through the crowd and snagged Elias’s sleeve, tugging him in.

  “He wants me to interpret for them.” Elias listened to them and turned to Savannah.

  “They say they are very happy you have come to teach the children. They hear good reports of you each day, especially about the music. They would like to have you visit them.”

  “Really? That’s so nice. Tell them I’d love to come to their homes.” She smiled at each of her students as he translated.

  “They would also like me to accompany you.” He paused. “To help with the Norwegian.”

  She studied him. It bothered her to be upset with him and yet need him. “Very well. It would be useful to have you along, I suppose.” Dispassion laced her words. “Perhaps we could begin next Saturday?”

  “Fine.” He slanted her a grim glance. “I’ll work out a schedule with them and let you know.”

  Savannah edged out of the crowd and weaved her way to the counter with her list, but Mr. Svenby and his two assistants were busy. She perused the goods for a bit, then wandered back to the rear of the store, past the stove with its pretty isinglass doors showing the bright flames inside, past the kitchen goods and shoes and ready-made clothing, stopping when she reached the high table where the catalog perched proudly.

  The pages rustled under her fingers as she leafed back to the women’s clothing section. She’d never ordered clothes from a catalog. All her garments were made by a modiste especially to her measurements. Savannah turned the pages, examining the offerings—every type of garment from the skin out in multiple price ranges, with or without embellishments. Fascinating.

  “You shopping for Christmas presents, or for more clothes?” Elias spoke over her shoulder.

  Savannah slapped the catalog closed. “I was just looking.” She could’ve bitten her tongue for rising to his bait. Why did he get under her skin so much?

  “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about the dance.” He looked around to make sure no one was listening, but there were people everywhere. “Can’t we get out of here, go somewhere quieter and talk?”

  “That’s what Rollef said, and look what trouble that got me into. I have shopping to do.” She edged away from Elias, all too disturbed by his nearness, disappointed in herself for remembering how it felt to be held by him and spun around the dance floor. Remembering the mischievous light in his eyes as he’d tempted her to try Norwegian delicacies.

  “I’ll help you.”

  “I really don’t need your help.”

  “I’ll help you, anyway. After all, Tyler did tell me to look after you.” Elias took her elbow and guided her toward an open space at the counter. “Karl, when you have a minute.” His voice rose above the chatter, and the store owner flung up his hand in acknowledgment.

  Soon, she handed over her list. Mr. Svenby stroked his bushy mustache, his brows waggling as he read.

  “Vat is dis?” He pointed.

  “I need one dozen slates and two dozen slate pencils.”

  Elias took the list. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She drew a patient breath. “I’m ordering school supplies.”

  “And just who do you think is going to pay for these? I told you, there’s no money. These people have all come in to pay off their store bills with the cash they got from selling their grain. They have to stock up for the winter on food and clothing and supplies. There won’t be anything left over for books and pencils and the like.” He rubbed his forehead as if her reasonable plan was giving him a headache.

  “The children can’t learn as they’re supposed to without them. If the parents or the school board can’t afford them, then I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you? The fastest way to alienate a Norwegian is to wound his pride. They don’t want your charity.” Elias tossed the paper onto the counter.

  “They want their children to succeed, to be educated and take their place as citizens of their new country. I can’t do that properly without books and slates and supplies.”

  “And they don’t want to be in debt, not to you or anyone else. It’s hard enough that they have to charge things here at the store for months at a time until the harvest. Why can’t you understand that? They live one harvest to the next, and if that harvest fails, they go without. This isn’t your high-class, grand life in the city. These people don’t have a rich daddy to give them handouts...and they don’t want one. They’re making it, slowly. On their own.”

  Savannah pinched the bridge of her nose. How could they be so stubborn? They’d given her a task and no way to complete it.

  Or was Elias trying to ensure she didn’t succeed? That she went home sooner rather than later? He’d never been in favor of her, not from the moment she arrived. Savannah picked up the list, smoothing it out. “I’ll make the purchases for myself then, and I’ll explain as much to the families when I visit them.”

  “If you think anyone will buy the notion that you need twelve slates, two dozen slate pencils and a dozen sets of McGuffey Readers just for yourself, you’re delusional. And if you think I’m going to help you insult my friends and neighbors, you’ve got another think coming.”

  His dictatorial tone set her teeth on edge.

  “Mr. Parker, I have no desire to insult anyone, but I will do my job to the best of my ability, and that includes getting these children the tools they need. You seem to think I am a half-witted child who needs your help and guidance at every step. I assure you, I intend to discuss my actions with the parents, and I am confident we can reach an agreement that will satisfy everyone involved, even you.”

  “And I’m just as confident that you don’t have any notion of what you’re doing. But—” he crossed his arms “—I can see there’s no dissuading you. Why is it that women are always so headstrong and sure they’re right?”

  She gasped. “Do you hear yourself? That’s the pot calling the kettle obsidian if ever I heard it done.”

  Karl’s laughter cut between them. “You sound like old married couple. Nobody fight like people who care, ja?” He picked up the list. “I haff to send avay for dees tings, but I get dem here quick, ja?”

  Savannah hardly registered his question. Like an old married couple? Fighting because she cared?

  That was ridiculous.

  Leaving the mercantile, she braced herself against the cold wind. Low clouds scudded across the sky, obscuring the sun. “You are a Southern thin-blood, Savannah Cox, but don’t you dare show it,” she muttered under her breath, drawing her shawl around her and fisting her hands in the fringe.

  Two doors down, she ducked into the drugstore which also served as a small café. Her encounter with Elias had left her shaken and doubting herself. Was she going to insult her students’ parents if
she procured teaching materials? Was she being headstrong and stubborn?

  She ordered tea, and when it arrived, she opened her letters, starting with Aunt Georgette’s.

  Savannah found herself smiling over her aunt’s theatrics. All the news about people Savannah didn’t know. Fluff and frills and fashion—quintessential Georgette.

  Until the last paragraph.

  Savannah, darling, we miss you so much here. The girls miss your steadying influence, and Carolina misses having someone to share responsibility with, and I miss your sweet face. Most of the furor over your broken engagement died down when you left. Until that dreadful Girard showed up married to another woman! Now sympathies are flowing very much in your favor, dear child. Everyone thinks it God’s blessing that you escaped marriage to that horrible man, that’s what. And I do, too. I just wish you weren’t perishing up there on those stark prairies. Can’t you come home now?

  Perishing on the stark prairies. Savannah shook her head, restoring Georgette’s letter to its envelope. If only they could see her. She wasn’t perishing, she was flourishing.

  Aunt Carolina’s letter started with a bang.

  Savannah,

  I returned the ring to Girard, and I left him in no doubt as to my feelings on the matter. I am stunned that he courted you under false pretenses, giving no thought to the devastation he would leave in his wake. Then to have the gall to request the return of the ring. Still, you don’t want such rubbish cluttering up your life, ring or man.

  I’ve sent along the recipes you asked for, though the one for fried green tomatoes will be difficult to make at this time of year, I imagine.

  Do write soon. We love your letters, and I worry about you up there all alone.

  Several recipe cards accompanied the letter. When Savannah had written requesting them, she hadn’t known she would be at such odds with Elias. Still, she would go through with her plans.

  Worried about her up here all alone. Funny, after the first couple of weeks, she didn’t feel alone. In fact, she was rarely alone. Living with the Halvorsons, being surrounded by her students each day, trips to town on Saturday, church on Sunday... Life here had kept her so busy she hardly had time to be homesick.