A Christmas Dream (Hudson House Holiday #1)

Prologue

Silver Bluff, Oregon

April 1889

“R ight there, Rem. Right there is where we are going to build it.” Brant Hudson turned from gaping at the splendid landscape before him to look at Remington Monroe, his best friend. The man had also been his butler, valet, manager, and assistant since they’d both turned sixteen.

Remington wasn’t quick to answer. It was one of the things Brant most appreciated about him. Rem wouldn’t say what he thought Brant wanted to hear. He could always be counted on to speak the truth.

“The location is as grand as any I’ve ever seen, Brant. The ground is fertile. It’s close to Silver Bluff to have easy access to supplies and the rail line, but far enough out in the country to leave behind the bustle of town. If you can buy the land around it, like you’ve discussed, it could be a self-sustaining estate. I can see you spending many happy hours here. However, you must keep in mind it’s a half-day of travel by train from Portland to Silver Bluff, then thirty minutes out here. Are you sure this is where you want to build the house you’ve been dreaming about for the past ten years?”

Brant grinned and thumped Remington on the shoulder. “I’m sure, Rem. As sure as I’ve ever been about anything. I don’t know what it is about this place, but it feels right.”

“I assume it feels right due to the superb location.” Remington waved his hand toward the mighty Columbia River below as it wound along a curved section of the gorge. All around them, a spectacular array of wildflowers filled the landscape with brilliant splashes of color. Overhead, the sky was a deep, rich blue, dotted with fluffy cotton-white clouds.

A chuckle rolled out of Brant. “It is magnificent. I can see why the town was named Silver Bluff, positioned up on the steep slope above the river. I’ve noticed when the sun or the moon hits the water at a particular angle, it looks like silver. Not only that, but all the sagebrush in the area can appear to look silvery in the right light.”

“It’s a fitting name for the town.” Remington motioned to the spot where Brant wanted to build his house. “What will you name the house, or estate, if you create one?”

“Hudson House.”

“Why am I not surprised? No vanity in that at all, Sir Hudson,” Remington said dryly. “If we’re going to get this house built for you, we best start by buying the land.”

“I already contacted the owner of this piece of ground. We have a meeting with him at two in the hotel’s lobby.”

Remington pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket. “Then it would behoove us to hurry.”

Brant wasn’t at all concerned about arriving back at the hotel in time for the meeting. It might have taken more than thirty minutes to reach this beautiful property from town in a buggy, but riding the fast horses they’d rented at the livery, they could be back in Silver Bluff in less than ten minutes.

Slowly turning in a circle, Brant surveyed the landscape, thinking of the years he’d waited for this day.

He’d been seventeen when his parents had sent him off to Europe for a year with Remington at his side. The two of them had explored Spain, France, Italy, England, Ireland, and Scotland. In every village and town they’d visited, Brant had gathered ideas for the home of his dreams. Five years ago, he’d hired an architect to turn all his ideas and sketches into plans for a grand home.

Armed with the blueprints for the house, Brant had waited until he’d found the perfect spot to consider building it. Now he was ready to see the house that existed in his mind become the country estate he could escape to whenever life pressed too heavily upon him.

Brant—the third son in his family, and therefore useless to his father—had known he was never going to be involved in the Hudson family business of real estate and investments in New York. Not when his two older brothers had taken the helm of the company and all but slammed the door in his face. He’d been trained to manage companies, to know a good business venture from a bad one, to handle finances and make sound investments.

With astute business ventures, and a few that were risky, Brant had doubled the money he’d inherited when his grandfather had passed away. Then he’d doubled it again. Now able to support himself without touching a penny of his father’s money, Brant had been looking for opportunities to expand and grow.

Thank goodness for his sister Eloise’s husband, Dean Mitchum. Long before Eloise had caught Dean’s eye, he and Brant had been friends, first becoming acquainted at school when Brant had been twelve and Dean was all of fourteen. Dean was an integral part of the Mitchum Shipping empire that had begun four generations earlier. The company had hundreds of ships in its fleet, traveling all around the world hauling freight, passengers, and trade goods.

When Dean had invited Brant to join him in a new business enterprise on the West Coast last year, Brant had jumped at the opportunity. Dean and Eloise had packed up their life in New York and moved to San Franciso where they’d established the headquarters of Pacific Horizon Shipping Company. Brant had supplied half the funds needed to get the new partnership off the ground. The original plan had been for Brant to remain in New York, but once he’d traveled to San Francisco to help Dean with the business, he’d stayed.

Six months ago, Brant and Remington had boarded one of the Pacific Horizon ships sailing up the rugged Pacific coast bound for Seattle with supplies, freight, and trade goods. They disembarked from the ship in Astoria, and traveled from there all the way to Pendleton, Oregon, by train, studying the Columbia River and the opportunities Pacific Horizon Shipping could pursue along the water route and inland.

Immediately, the obvious need for more tugboats to tow ships over the deadly bar where the Pacific Ocean and the Columbia River met had been evident to Brant. Any ship seeking to travel to Portland along the river had to be towed across the bar. Within a month, Pacific Horizon Shipping Company had purchased half a dozen tugboats and established themselves in the towing business.

An office in Portland had been necessary for conducting business along the river. Brant had found a suitable building, purchased it, and hired competent staff. He bought an Italianate-style home a few blocks away, as well as a wharf, and soon a warehouse took shape with their company emblem painted on the outside of the building. Pacific Horizon ships arrived in the port with items from around the world, bringing sought-after goods to Portland or leaving them to be loaded onto railcars to be taken inland for sale. The ships sailed out with loads of wheat, timber, and wool to be sold in foreign markets.

Although his brothers and father had no use for him, Brant was a perceptive businessman with a sharp mind and an innate sense of which deals were worth pursuing. It had served him well, made him his own fortune, and allowed him to chase his interests as well as his dreams.

Dreams such as building the house he’d been waiting so long to call his home.

Brant pulled himself from his musings and settled his hand on Remington’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Can’t you just picture it, Rem? The drive will be long, with an entry on the right side, circling in front of the house, then departing to the left. The house will look like it was transplanted from an old European estate with turrets on each side of the second-floor balcony, and a wide window beneath it. Over there, to the east, is where I’ll want the stables. We’ll have at least a dozen stalls, tack rooms, a place to store the conveyances, rooms for the men to live in on the second floor. We’ll build barns, a greenhouse, and fenced-in pastures for both beef and dairy cattle. I also want to raise pigs, and possibly even chickens.”

“Chickens?” Remington asked, appearing decidedly wary at the prospect.

Aware of his friend’s aversion to the birds, Brant grinned. “You won’t be required to go near the chickens.”

Remington appeared relieved. “That’s a good thing, Brant, or you might be looking for a new butler.”

“Never, old friend.” Brant’s hand swept out in a grand gesture over the landscape as they faced the river. “I want the view from the house to the river to remain unobstructed, and as natural as possible. I need to find a landscape architect who can keep the wildflowers and native plants, but create something beautiful with walking paths and benches, like a stroll in a park, except without trees marring the view. Trees will be planted on the sides of the house and further back to the south for a windbreak as well as shade. We’ll have a glorious yard with fountains and statues, and roses of every color.”

Remington pointed to a tree-covered hillside in the distance. “If you buy that property, you’ll have your own source of timber.” He shifted slightly and motioned to the southwest. “There’s an established apple orchard over there. I believe that ground we passed when we diverged from the main road would be well suited to growing wheat.”

“I noticed that as well.” Brant slapped Remington on the back. “Now, let’s go see about buying this perfect piece of land.”

“It is perfect for what you’ve been waiting to build, Brant,” Remington said in agreement.

Brant swung onto the back of his rented horse, then gave his trusted friend a broad smile. “This seems like a momentous undertaking, Rem, but I know it’s going to be worth it.”