I was a fortunate child. I had one of those childhoods where my mother stayed home and gave us frosted graham crackers for a treat after school, and a huge backyard big enough for a neighborhood game of kick-the-can, and a dad who called me his cowgirl and snuggled on the sofa with me as we watched Gunsmoke. (Marshall Dillon was probably my first love).
But best of all, every summer, usually around the Fourth of July, my family headed to Mobridge, South Dakota where we stayed for a week, fishing and swimming in the Missouri River, hiking to the soda fountain (alone!) in town, and attending the annual Independence Day Rodeo. Why Mobridge? Because my grandparents lived there, in a delightful yellow house in the middle of town, with an attic full of ancient clothing and whispered secrets in the rafters, a storm door we could slide down, and lots of homemade chocolate chip cookies. But the best part were my grandparents…grandmother and POPS. I actually didn't know his real name (Henry) until I was a teenager, because my grandpa, whose grey-striped railroad hats lined the walls along the steps to the basement was always, simply, Pops. I don't think I ever saw Pops angry. He had enormous hands, which he used to catch me when I'd jump in his arms. And wave good-bye as we'd pull away, hanging our heads out of the station wagon window. But mostly I remember those hands holding my grandmother's during the twilight years of his life. He died of lung cancer way, way too early, leaving a giant hole in the fabric our family. But the love he left behind stayed with me, like a fragrance, and I couldn't wipe the image of my grandparents sitting on my parents' sofa, nearly fifty years married, still holding hands.
And romance novelist imagination picked up from there. Back in the days when, attempting to be a writer, their story – or at least the one I imagined – stirred in my heart, and it seemed to be the right one to try and write, first. So, after penning an epic 200K novel that I would never sell, I attempted something shorter….the love story of my grandparents, called Letters to the Enemy. Of course, my version isn't their actual story – theirs has much less tumult. And, I wanted to set it in Mobridge, during the first World War. But the essence is theirs…a strong woman, a brave man, and love that blessed many generations. Four revisions later, Barbour bought it, and put it out as a Heartsong novel. To my joy and delight, they've repackaged it into a three story collection, called Prairie Hills, just hitting the shelves now.
Of all my books, this is the one I wish my grandmother has been alive to read. Hey, maybe she will someday, from the bookshelves of Heaven! For now, I'm thrilled to introduce it again to you all, my reader friends. I hope you enjoy it!
I'll post an excerpt later this week!
God Bless, and thank you for your encouragement and support!
In His Grace,
Susan May Warren