by HELEN HARDT
Lessons of the Heart
Daughters of the Prairie: Book Two
Helen Hardt
Contents
Copyright
Praise for Lessons of the Heart
Praise for Helen Hardt
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Continue the Daughters of the Prairie Series with Book Three
Chapter One
Message from Helen Hardt
Also by Helen Hardt
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is an original publication of Helen Hardt.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
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Copyright © 2016 Waterhouse Press, LLC
Cover Design by Viola Estrella
Cover Photos: Fotolia
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All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Praise for Lessons of the Heart
Lessons of the Heart is about sizzling attraction and a touching union.
~Paty Jager, EPIC winning author
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Ms. Hardt has once again written another well-developed, interesting novel. Her characters were so believable it was as if I lived on the outside of the cabin looking in. The main characters had such dynamic, emotional personalities, it seemed as if they were destined to find each other. However, a happily-ever-after was not simply reached. The style of Hardt's book grabbed my attention… Hardt is an author whom I expect to see more and more of in the future.
~ The Romance Studio
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I loved this historical romance. Ms. Hardt did a lovely job bringing her characters to life, and bringing their lives together… Of course the heat is there but there are so many layers to both Ruth and Garth's past that once you start reading this book you won't want to put it down. This story is one of the best I've read… Stories like this one don’t come along very often. The writing is excellent, the flow is perfect, the characters are likable, loveable, even when there’s the chance these two won’t wind up together. I’ve never read one of Helen Hardt’s books before, but I will be reading more in the future.
~ Long and Short Reviews
Praise for Helen Hardt
Flawlessly written and in my opinion a work of art…
~Girly Girl Book Reviews
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Is it hot in here? I mean it’s July, the sun is blazing, but I’m sitting in an air conditioned house sweating bullets. Congratulations Ms. Hardt, you dropped me into the middle of a scorching hot story and let me burn.
~Seriously Reviewed
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Ms. Hardt has a way of writing that makes me forget I'm reading a book. It's more like slipping into a world she created and getting lost for a while.
~Whipped Cream Reviews
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I loved this book. The characters were wonderful. They each showed their vulnerable sides as well as their strengths. They are real people and have real problems but also some very loving solutions…
~Night Owl Reviews
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Ms. Hardt creates magic…
~The Romance Studio
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Helen Hardt writes as smooth as a hot knife cutting through butter. Her words take you away and you feel like you are watching the story play out right in front of you.
~Delightfully Dirty Reads
In memory of my step-father, Richard Leigh Tom.
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The civil war memories in this book are loosely based on some of his experiences during World War II.
Chapter One
Dakota Territory, 1876
“Mary Alice?”
The timid young girl looked up. Around her, Ruth’s other students jarred their desks, gathered their books, writing tablets, and slates, and ran out into the sunshine. Another school day over.
“Yes, Miss Blackburn?”
“I need to speak to you, please.”
The pretty—she’d be stunning if she ever smiled—eleven-year-old sullenly approached Ruth’s desk.
“You missed five words on your spelling examination today.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
“You’re a very bright girl, Mary Alice,” Ruth said sternly. “I’ve let mediocre work slide in the past, and you’ve promised to do better.”
She nodded.
“However, this approach is clearly not working. I’m afraid I must punish you.”
She nodded again and her lips trembled. “I understand.”
Ruth’s spectacles slid down her nose a smidge, and she pushed them up. They’d only slide down again in a few moments. Perspiration covered her face. Spring heat in Dakota Territory became unbearable inside the stifling schoolhouse.
“Have you been studying your speller?” she asked the child.
“Yes, Miss Blackburn.”
“Well, then, I don’t see how you can be doing so poorly. Perhaps copying the words onto the blackboard will help and will also serve as your punishment.” Ruth cleared her throat, stood, and straightened into her firm teacher stance. “I want you to write each word you missed twenty-five times.” She strode to the board, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote separate, desperate, appreciate, exhilarate, and educate at the top of the board and then turned to face Mary Alice. “Just copy the words in columns underneath where I’ve written them.”
The child chewed her lip. Such a timid little creature. Ruth’s heart sank a little. She hated to punish her, but letting her continue to get away with mediocre work when she was capable of so much more would be a disservice to her student.
Ruth smiled. “Here’s something that helped me when I was your age. Remember that there is ‘a rat’ in separate and exhilarate, but not in desperate.” She held out the chalk.
Mary Alice didn’t move.
“Come on, now. It won’t take long.”
Still no movement. “M-Miss Blackburn?”
“Yes?”
“Can I—”
“May I, Mary Alice.”
The child’s cheeks reddened. “May I do this tonight? On my tablet? I really need to get home, you see.”
“I understand, but you must serve your punishment first.”
“But ma’am, I have chores.”
“You’ll be done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Ruth said. “Your chores will still be there when you get home, and you’ll know how to spell these words.” She placed the chalk in Mary Alice’s hand. “Go on.”
The little girl sighed and trudged to the blackboard. Ruth sat back down behind her desk and shuffled the pile of compositions her upper class had written. She glanced at the first one. Neat penmanship, perfect grammar. But no vibrancy to the words. Ruth removed her spectacles and sighed. She considered the written word sacred and adored sharing her love of writing with her students. Clearly she wasn’t reaching this one.
She blew on the lenses, polished them, and replaced the spe
ctacles on her nose. She looked to the child at the board. Such a pretty little thing. Mary Alice Mackenzie’s eyes were bronze and long-lashed. Her face was a perfect oval with high cheekbones, and her lustrous honey-blond hair hung in two long braids that fell nearly to her waist. A little skinny, though lots of pre-adolescent girls were thin. Mary Alice didn’t talk about life at home much. Her father was widowed but seemed to be doing well enough on his small farm. Still, Ruth sometimes brought an extra cookie or a homemade turnover and slipped it to Mary Alice during lunchtime. The child’s big brown eyes always glowed with thanks for the treat. She most likely didn’t get such sweets often with no mother at home to bake them.
Mary Alice started on the third word. She wrote slowly, diligently, neatly. The girl was intelligent. And so pretty. The whole package, as far as Ruth was concerned.
She’d been intelligent. Always at the head of her class. But how she’d longed to be pretty. Her older sister, Naomi, was pretty. Beautiful even. Where Naomi’s hair was a glossy sable, Ruth’s was mousy brown. Naomi’s eyes gleamed a piercing violet. Ruth’s were dark blue. Boring dark blue. Naomi’s figure was perfectly proportioned, and though she was tall for a woman, her height wasn’t a detriment, as most men still stood taller. Ruth, on the other hand, stood nearly six feet, dwarfing her tall sister and many of the men in town. She’d always felt she resembled an adolescent boy more than a woman. Though her breasts had finally made an appearance at sixteen, thank goodness.
Naomi was an A. A for excellent. Ruth was a C. C was average.
Men had started courting Naomi when she was merely fourteen, and she married the love of her life at nineteen. No man had courted Ruth. She was an old maid at twenty-two, still living with her parents on the homestead her preacher father now owned.
Ruth blew out a breath, turned back to the banal essay, and began marking. Boring verbs, inferior descriptions, no sensory detail at all. Grade: C. Average.
She shuffled to the next paper. Midway through her marks, heavy footsteps interrupted her. She looked up to see a big bear of a man walk into the schoolhouse.
“Mary Alice.” His deep voice was stern.
The child at the blackboard turned. “Pa?”
“Where have you been, girl? You have chores.”
“I-I…” the child stammered.
Ruth removed her spectacles and stood, her dander rising at the man. He hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. She was the teacher in this school, for goodness’ sake.
“Mr. Mackenzie, I presume?”
He turned, and his dark gaze raked up and down her body. She warmed. This man was big as a mountain and more handsome than any in town. Thick blond hair the same hue as his daughter’s brushed his broad shoulders in silky waves. Golden stubble covered his firm jawline and surrounded full dark red lips. His eyes were big and bronze like Mary Alice’s, and his nose slightly crooked, as though it had been broken, maybe more than once. The small imperfection only added to his appeal.
Like his daughter, he’d be beautiful if he smiled.
But clearly that wasn’t likely to happen.
He hadn’t yet spoken, and Ruth cleared her throat. “I’d appreciate it if you’d remove your hat, sir.”
The man ignored her. The nerve.
Ruth stood and walked toward him. Lord above, he was tall. Her eyes only reached the chin of this one.
Tall and mountainous he may be, but Ruth refused to put up with such discourtesy in her classroom. Not from a student, and not from a parent, no matter how good looking he was. A spark of anger fueling her, she reached forward and removed the cowboy hat from his tousled head.
“I said, please remove your hat in my classroom.”
The man eyed her again. Was it her imagination, or did his gaze rest on her chest a little longer than normal? She resisted the urge to cross her arms. A good teacher needed to take a firm stance with students, and sometimes with parents as well. Give one inch, and they’d take a mile.
One side of his mouth edged upward, just a touch. Was that the beginning of a smile? It disappeared in an instant, so Ruth wasn’t certain.
“Beg pardon, ma’am.” He took the hat from her.
As his hand brushed hers, a flicker of warmth traveled up her arm. Strange. And not unpleasant.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, sir. My name is Miss Ruth Blackburn, and I’m the schoolteacher here.” She held out her hand.
“Garth Mackenzie.” He didn’t take her hand. “Why is my daughter still in school at this hour?”
“I’m afraid I had to punish her, Mr. Mackenzie. She missed five words on her spelling lesson. I’ve let it slide in the past, but I’m not doing her any favors by—”
“Favors?” Though he did not raise his voice, the tone was not kind. His handsome face tightened. “Her lot in life is to marry and bear children. She doesn’t need to spell. She has chores to attend to at home, Miss—”
“Blackburn.” Ruth’s skin heated. Who did this man think he was? “And if that is what you envision as your daughter’s future, sir, why send her to school at all? Why not keep her at home all day doing chores?”
“I’ve considered it, Miss Blackburn.”
“And what stopped you?”
“That’s not likely any of your business. Your business is to teach my child. It’s what I pay all those damned property taxes for.”
Rage surged through Ruth, and she whipped her hands to her hips. “You will not use such language in my classroom, Mr. Mackenzie. And as for teaching your child, that is why she has been kept after school. To learn the spelling lesson that she didn’t learn the first time.”
“Let me rephrase myself,” Mackenzie said. “Your job is to teach my child during normal school hours. After those hours, she’s needed at home.”
“I understand that Mary Alice has chores to attend to. All my pupils do, as do I. But learning comes first in this schoolhouse, Mr. Mackenzie. It’s what the county pays me for, and I take my job seriously.”
“If you’d taken your job seriously, ma’am, you’d be married with a family of your own by now.”
His cruel words pierced her heart. Marriage and a family had always been her dream. But not her lot in life, it seemed. Her fate was to teach. A job that brought her both joy and frustration in equal amounts. She opened her mouth to respond but noticed Mary Alice had stiffened against the blackboard. The chalk fell from the girl’s fingers, and she grasped the bottom ledge. Paleness crept into her cheeks.
“Goodness, Mary Alice.” Ruth grasped the child’s shoulders and steadied her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ruth touched the girl’s forehead. Clammy, but cool. “It’s so hot in here, dear.” She ushered her to a nearby desk. “You sit down for a moment.”
“Of course it’s hot in here,” Mackenzie said, gesturing. “These windows are positioned all wrong. You can’t even get a cross breeze. Who built this schoolhouse?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Mr. Mackenzie.” Ruth rubbed Mary Alice’s back in slow circles. “Whoever did so most likely did the best he could.”
“You need better ventilation. Any fool can see that.” He marched along the edge of the room, shaking his head. “What a waste of my good money. Damned taxes.”
“Mr. Mackenzie! I’ll not tell you again to refrain from profanity in this school.”
“Miss Blackburn, I’m not your pupil. I’ll speak how I like.”
“Not in my classroom. And I should think you’d be a little more concerned about your daughter. She nearly fainted. She requires medical attention.”
“Don’t put much stock in so-called medical science. She’s fine.”
“Then she’s overworked. Just how many chores does she have at home?”
“That’s not likely your business, ma’am.”
“I consider the well being of my students to be my business, sir.” She stood. “You stay here, Mary Alice. I’ll run and get D
oc Potter.”
Mackenzie opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of speaking and closed it. He nodded. “Get the doc. I’ll stay here with Mary Alice.”
Finally, some sense out of the man. If Garth Mackenzie couldn’t afford to pay the doctor, Ruth would bake him a few pies. Doc Potter always raved about her cooking at the church picnics.
“There’s a pump right outside, Mr. Mackenzie. Mary Alice could do with a dipper of cool water. I won’t be long.”
Ruth rushed out the door and down the steps of the schoolhouse. The general store was a block away, and Doc Potter kept his office in a room above.
Goodness, this heat. She swiped her forehead as she hurried down the dusty road. Several brown curls had come loose from the tight knot at the back of her head. They stuck to her neck and made her itch.
When she entered the store, cool air drifted over her heated face. Was this the cross breeze Mr. Mackenzie had mentioned? What a blessing that would be in the schoolhouse. Ruth pulled her handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and blotted her forehead.
Doc Potter stood by the counter speaking to Lula Stiles, the wife of the storekeeper.
“Good afternoon, Miss Blackburn.” He smiled, his green eyes crinkling. Doc Potter was a nice looking man, but too short for Ruth. She towered above him by nearly two inches.
“Good afternoon. I require your assistance, Doc. One of my students had a near fainting spell. She’s waiting in the schoolhouse with her father.”
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his hat and black medical bag from the counter. “Give my best to Manny, Lula.”
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Garth didn’t like how the doctor looked at Miss Blackburn. Kind of like he wanted to eat her for dinner, and then again for breakfast. Was he courting the teacher? Garth stifled a small chuckle. Ruth Blackburn was strong and lovely and resembled an Amazonian warrior princess. Too tall for the diminutive doc.