His Prairie Sweetheart. Erica Vetsch
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chirruped to the sorrel mare, and the buckboard lurched, leaving Tyler behind. They soon reached the outskirts of town and headed north.
Miss Cox leaned forward to talk around Captain, who had his snoot in the air, sucking in the breeze created by their forward motion. “Where are we going? I thought we were heading to my lodgings.”
Elias frowned. Did she think he was taking her on a sightseeing tour of the county first? “This is the quickest way to the Halvorsons’.”
“The Halvorsons’?” Her parasol caught the breeze and jerked upward. She fought it down. “Is it always so windy here?”
“This isn’t windy.” She thought this was windy? “The Halvorsons are the folks you’re boarding with. Didn’t Tyler tell you?”
The dog leaned against her, and she pushed him away. “Boarding with a family? No, he didn’t mention that. I thought I’d have a room at a boardinghouse or hotel.”
“Got no boardinghouse nor hotel. Is that gonna be a problem? The stage hasn’t left yet if you want to go back.” He tried not to sound too hopeful.
Miss Cox pressed her lips together and shook her head. Even under the shade of her umbrella, her hair glowed in swoops and curls, all pinned up under a hat that had nothing to do with deflecting the elements. What she needed was a decent sunbonnet or wide-brimmed straw.
“How much farther is it?” She sounded tired, and Elias’s conscience bit him again. After all, she’d come a long way. It wasn’t her fault that she was unsuitable.
Or that she stirred up memories of Britta.
“Schoolhouse is two miles out of town on the north road. The Halvorson place is the closest farm to the school.”
“And how far apart are the house and the school?”
He shrugged. “If you take the road, it’s about a mile and a quarter around, but if you cut across the fields, it’s about half a mile, I guess.”
“A mile and a quarter. I suppose by buggy that won’t be too bad.”
Elias laughed. “Doubt anybody will fetch you in a buggy. Or a wagon, either. You’ll walk, same as the Halvorson kids. The students who live farther than a couple of miles will ride ponies. There’s a livestock shed and corral at the school.” He slapped the lines again, urging the mare into a faster trot. “There’s the schoolhouse. School starts on Monday, but I guess you know that.”
The clapboard building shone white in the sunshine, sporting a fresh coat of paint. Elias had been part of the work crew that had seen to the new paint job early last spring before planting time. The money for the new school building—a vast improvement on the old sod-and-log structure they’d had before—had come from a bequest, and Tyler had hoped it would be an enticement in hiring. So far, it had sat empty far more than it had been in use.
Just short of the school, Elias turned at the crossroads to head west. “The Halvorson place is over there. We’ll be there soon.”
“Could we stop at the school first? I’d like to see inside.”
She didn’t look particularly eager, but maybe she was just forestalling having to meet more strangers.
“Sure, if you want. Tyler gave me the key to give to you.” He turned the mare and headed toward the schoolhouse, wishing it was Tyler showing her around. It was his brother’s job, after all.
From the corner of his eye, he studied her again, frilly dress, lacy gloves, fancy shoes, remote touch-me-not expression. He’d give this “ice princess” a week before she hightailed it back to where she came from.
The beastly dog leaned on Savannah again, and she gently elbowed him upright. Her dress would be covered in dog hair soon. His hot, moist breath puffed against her cheek, and his tongue lolled, dripping saliva.
But his brown eyes were friendly. Friendlier than his master’s. From the moment she’d stepped off the stage, she could feel the sheriff’s disapproval—which puzzled her. He didn’t even know her. Why should he take such an instant dislike?
The buckboard jerked to a halt in front of the tiny white building, and the sheriff jumped down, rocking the conveyance, forcing her to clutch the seat.
Thankfully, the dog followed him instead of breathing his doggy breath in her face anymore. “Thank you for stopping, Mr. Parker.”
“Call me Elias.”
Mr. Parker—Elias—sauntered around the horse to help her down. Savannah could feel him sizing her up...and to judge by the skeptical tilt to his brows, finding her wanting. She knew she wasn’t at her sparkling best, travel-worn and tossed into what felt like a foreign land. Her self-confidence had sunk to an all-time low ebb with Girard’s defection, and the sheriff was doing nothing to bolster it. She felt strange and a bit weepy, which wasn’t like her at all before her broken engagement, but now seemed to be her constant state.
Elias, on the other hand, exuded confidence. Tall, muscular and in familiar surroundings. Dark hair, gray eyes and, when he bothered to smile, deep creases in his cheeks. He’d probably never suffered a setback in his entire life.
“The school’s been closed up since last Christmas, when the teacher left town.” Elias tromped up the steps and opened the door. The hinges let out a terrific squeal. “It’s going to need a good cleaning before Monday.”
Savannah furled her parasol and stepped past him into the building’s foyer. A beadboard wall greeted her, with doorways on either side that led into the classroom. A crock stood in the corner, and several shelves with hooks ran along the walls. To the right of the entry door hung a rope, held to the wall by large metal loops. It ran up through a hole in the ceiling.
“School bell. Don’t ring it now, or folks will come running, thinking there’s an emergency.” Elias tipped his hat back on his head and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Schoolroom’s through there.” He indicated the doorway with his chin.
Great blocks of light fell through the western windows onto the hardwood floor. Three rows of desks took up most of the space. Not patent metal and wood desks but rough-hewn benches and long, slant-top desks with a single shelf beneath, clearly locally made.
On a slight platform sat a teacher’s desk and chalkboard, and behind the last row of desks, a small iron stove. Portraits of Presidents Washington and Lincoln graced the spaces between the windows, and an American flag hung proudly in the corner.
The air smelled stale, and dust covered everything and danced in the air. Savannah’s trailing skirt left a track as she made her way to the front of the room. Aware of Elias watching her, she sought for something intelligent to say. Nothing came to mind. She was too fuzzy-headed with fatigue.
The dog trotted up the aisle as if he owned the place, his nails clicking on the floor. He sniffed around the desks and sneezed. Savannah didn’t know much about dogs, but she did know they should stay outside. She kept a wary eye on him as she placed her hand on the back of the teacher’s chair. From here she was supposed to rule this little kingdom.
The crisis of confidence that she’d carried around since Girard had jilted her welled up and threatened to paralyze her. What had she been thinking to come so far from home?
“You might want to check out the list of rules for teachers. They’re posted by the blackboard.” Elias said it casually, but she sensed a challenge in his tone. Was she imagining things, or was she overlaying her insecurities onto him?
Scanning the paper tacked to the wall, she wilted inside. Clean the lamps, haul water, haul coal, scrub the floors and windows once a week, check the privies, clean the livestock shed, be circumspect in her behavior, attend church regularly, start the fire by seven each morning in cold weather so the room will be warm by eight. Savannah