A Home for Her Heart
After being jilted at the altar, Southern belle Savannah Cox seeks a fresh start out West and accepts a teaching position in Minnesota. But between her studentsâ lack of English, the rough surroundings and sheriff Elias Parkerâs doubts and distrust, Savannahâs unprepared for both the job and the climate. However, sheâs determined to prove she can handle anything her new town throws her way.
Elias gives it a weekâor lessâbefore the pretty schoolteacher packs her dainty dresses and hightails it back home. But no matter how many mishaps he has to rescue her from, Savannah doesnât give up. Yet the real test is to comeâa brutal blizzard that could finally drive her away, taking his heart with her...
âThank you for your help, Mr. Parker.â
Savannahâs lips were stiff, and straight vinegar tasted better than this particular slice of humble pie, but she got the words out.
He shook his head. âThe kids can help you inside. If you need anythingânot that Iâm assuming you willââ he held up his hands ââbut if you do, holler.â
He strode across the grass, leaving Savannah staring after him. His walk was powerful, his upper body swaying slightly, his arms swinging. Everything about Elias Parker spoke of hard work and capability.
But he wasnât to be trusted. No man was. Elias offered help one moment, but in the next, let her know he was certain she would fail. Girard had asked her to marry him, but at the last moment, heâd fled rather than go through with the wedding.
Even her father wasnât reliable, never home for more than a week at a time, always traveling, always putting business first.
No, a woman shouldnât put her trust in a man. She was better off on her own.
It might be lonely, but it was better than a broken heart.
ERICA VETSCH is a transplanted Kansan now residing in Minnesota. She loves history and romance and is blessed to be able to combine the two by writing historical romances. Whenever sheâs not immersed in fictional worlds, sheâs the company bookkeeper for the family lumber business, mother of two, wife to a man who is her total opposite and soul mate, and an avid museum patron.
Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me,
for in You my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of Your wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by.
âPsalms 57:1
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.
Chapter One
Raleigh, North Carolina
August 1887
The humiliation. Thatâs 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 ladyâs pain was like her petticoat; she must never let it show.
Three weeks ago sheâd 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 wouldnât do her walking here.
Savannah climbed into the family carriage, ignoring her younger sistersâ chatter. Aunt Georgette patted her neck and temples with a lace hankie. âPoor Savannah. Youâre being so brave. Iâm just glad your dear mother isnât here to see...â She tapered off with more fluttering and patting.
Next to Aunt Georgette her sister, Aunt Carolinaâbroad, mannish and practical to her marrowâcrossed her arms. âNonsense, Georgette. Think for one moment what youâre saying. Youâre 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 doesnât deserve our Savannah. Now, letâs talk about something else.â
Savannah stiffened. This was her chance. Sheâd dreaded introducing the subject, but she was running out of time. Inhaling a breath for bravery, she blurted out, âI wanted you all to know Iâve accepted a teaching position in Minnesota, and Iâm leaving Raleigh the day after tomorrow.â