A Christmas Dream (Hudson House Holiday #1)

Chapter Five

B rant spent the day doing the last of the finishing trim work in what he’d decided would be Dulcie’s room, thinking about Holland, life in Silver Bluff, and his future.

At four, he gathered his pear-smeared suit, rode into Silver Bluff, and returned to the hotel where he bathed, shaved, and stood in nothing more than his cotton drawers trying to decide what to wear when a knock resounded from the adjoining door between his room and Remington’s.

“Come in,” he called, and Remington stepped into the room, looking both tired and pleased with his day’s adventures.

“How did things go with Dulcie?” Brant asked as Remington lifted an eyebrow at Brant’s state of undress.

“Fine. We were able to purchase everything on her list, and several things that weren’t. What are you doing?” Remington asked with a smirk. “Thinking of posing for a statue? It might get a bit drafty in the winter months.”

Brant glanced down at his bare chest and shook his head. “Hardly. I have an invitation to dine with the Drake family at five-thirty. Well, Alex has an invitation to dine with them. Holland made it quite clear Mr. Hudson was not included in the invitation.” He sighed. “Denver was not exaggerating about her temper.”

“Do tell,” Remington said, stepping over to Brant’s wardrobe and looking through the clothes hanging there.

“I went for a ride and happened upon her picking pears. You should have seen her, Rem, standing on the back of her horse to reach up into the tree. For a moment, I was terrified the horse would move and she’d break her neck. Anyway, she recognized me, or at least thought I looked familiar. Rather than draw out the deception, I admitted to being Mr. Hudson. You won’t believe her reaction.”

Remington looked from one side of Brant’s face to the other. “I don’t see any lingering handprints, so she must not have slapped you, even though you probably deserved it.”

“Probably,” Brant said dryly. “She threw rotten pears at me. No one has ever done anything like that in my life, Rem, other than the time we were five and rolled around in that basket of tomatoes because we were pretending to be wounded soldiers valiantly fighting off the foe.”

“That was during your buccaneer phase, I do believe,” Remington said, handing him a blue-striped shirt with a band collar from the wardrobe. “She really threw pears at you?”

“Yes. Would have caught me square in the face if I hadn’t ducked, but they splattered all over my clothes. Once she calmed down and listened to my explanation, she agreed to my idea to pretend we’d just met and begin our friendship anew. Then she invited me, or Alex, rather, to come for supper.”

“Well, then you best not be late. Are you thinking of taking a gift for the family?”

“I thought about it. What would you suggest?”

“A box of candy they all could share, or a game they could all play together.”

“I like the idea of candy. Can you acquire a box before I need to leave?” Brant asked, slipping his arms in the sleeves of the shirt while Remington took a pair of navy trousers and a matching vest and sack coat from the wardrobe. The clothes weren’t costly, but they were tailored to fit Brant’s broad shoulders and thighs which were thickened with muscles from both working hard and riding Gentry.

“I’ll see about the candy while you finish dressing. What did Holland say, exactly, when she invited you?” Remington asked as he stopped in the doorway to his room.

“She said if her friend Alex would like to come for supper, he’d be welcome.”

Remington nodded. “Don’t wear a tie, leave your hair a bit mussed, and wear boots instead of the shoes. I’ll return shortly.”

In the time it took Brant to pull on his trousers and socks, tuck in his shirt, tug on his boots, finger comb his hair, and stuff a few things in his pockets, Remington returned with a large box of chocolates from the nearby mercantile.

“Thanks for that, Rem,” Brant said as he slipped on the vest and fastened the buttons along the front of it. “How did things go with Dulcie?”

Remington grinned. “Very well, Brant. She is a force to be reckoned with when she has her mind set on something. She seemed fearful of spending too much money on supplying the kitchen, but once I got her to understand we prefer good quality, she chose cookware and knives, and all manner of things that will last for years. She also purchased food supplies, necessary things, really, to begin cooking. I figure even if you decide not to keep her as the cook, she’s done a huge service in selecting the basic kitchen supplies. She should be compensated for her efforts.”

“We’ll pay Dulcie. Don’t doubt that for a minute. Besides, I’m confident she’ll work out just fine. Even if she’s a terrible cook—which I can’t imagine—I can’t turn her and Bobby out on the streets. The poor woman has been through enough losing her husband and being forced to quit her job.”

“Dulcie told me about that today while Bobby was napping. It’s a terrible business when a fine woman like her isn’t safe in her own employer’s home.”

“Agreed. I would shoot anyone who made a female member of my staff feel threatened.” Brant shrugged into his sack coat and turned to face Remington. “Well, what do you think?”

Remington reached over and mussed Brant’s hair, then handed him a cowboy hat he preferred to wear. “It looks like Alex is off to dinner at the Drake home. Did you ask Holland if she and her sister would like to come to work sooner than Tuesday?”

“I was going to, but the reason she was out picking pears is due to the girls trying to get a bunch of work taken care of before they start at Hudson House. I didn’t want to make her feel as though she had to choose between helping her family or keeping her job. I have a feeling Dulcie will want to set up everything in the kitchen herself, and there is no rush since it’s just the two of us who will be in the house for a while anyway.” Brant picked up the books he’d brought for Holland from his Portland residence, as well as the box of candy.

“Agreed.” Remington stepped into the hall with him and walked as far as the stairs. “Have a nice time, Brant. I’ll be ready to head out to the house in the morning and get to work. Dulcie will likely be sitting in a wagon loaded with supplies, ready to go at the crack of dawn.”

“Then we best be up early and ready to go.” Brant settled a hand on Remington’s shoulder. “Thanks for all you do, my friend.”

“My pleasure, Alex ,” Remington said in an exaggerated tone. “Have fun.”

Brant hurried outside to where he’d left Gentry at one of the hitching rails, tucked the candy and books into his saddlebags, then mounted the horse and rode out of town. He had a vague idea of where to find the Drake home. Following Holland’s directions about the tree with the double trunk, he arrived at a white house painted with light-blue trim right on time.

He left the horse tied to a rail outside the fenced yard, walked through the open gate beneath an arbor of climbing roses with the books and box of candy in hand, and made his way to the front door of the two-story farmhouse. Inside, the hum of voices and laughter could be heard before Brant raised his hand and knocked on the door.

Silence followed, then the sound of footsteps approaching the door. When the portal swung open, Brant found himself looking into the face of Denver, only this version was a good twenty-five years older.

“Greetings. I’m Brant Hudson.” Brant held out his hand, pleased the man with a broad smile shook it firmly. “Your daughter kindly invited me to join you for supper. I hope it isn’t an imposition.”

“Not a bit. I’m Jack Drake. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hudson. Come right in.” The man stepped back and welcomed him into the cozy, inviting home that radiated family and love.

In that moment, Brant realized that feeling was what he wanted for Hudson House, what he’d been seeking when he’d decided to build a home. He longed for it to be a place that felt welcoming. A place full of love and joy. A place he, and those he loved, would feel at home.

A little voice whispered in his thoughts that the secret to a joyful home wasn’t in an elaborate building constructed with every modern convenience. It would start in the heart, with Holland.

Uncertain what to make of that thought when he’d barely met the woman, he set it aside and focused on trying to make a good impression on her family.

“The girls just about have supper on the table. Holland baked a pear cobbler for dessert, and Savannah whipped up a bowl of sweetened cream. You are in for a treat,” Mr. Drake said, looking Brant over from head to foot. “You can leave your coat and hat here on the hall tree.”

Brant set the books and candy on the upholstered bench seat of the walnut piece, hung his hat on a hook, his coat on another, and avoided giving in to the temptation to smooth his hair in the beveled mirror before he picked up the box of chocolates and held it out to Mr. Drake. “I thought your family might enjoy these, sir.”

“Well, that’s mighty kind of you, Mr. Hudson. Thank you.” He looked at the books, then at Brant. “Might as well leave the books here until later, or my children will have their noses buried between the pages and forget about supper.”

Brant smiled and followed as Holland’s father walked down the hall and into a dining room. A cabinet built into the wall held various dishes. None of the pieces looked expensive, but Brant had a feeling they were priceless to Mrs. Drake.

A door swung open, and six expectant faces entered the room, each person from oldest to youngest carrying a bowl or platter to the table.

“Mr. Hudson, I’d like you to meet my wife, Sarah,” Mr. Drake said, motioning to an attractive woman with plump rosy cheeks, hair several shades lighter than Holland’s, and a smile Brant realized she shared with her daughter.

“Thank you for allowing me to intrude on your meal this evening, Mrs. Drake. I’m grateful.”

“It’s an honor to have you join us, sir,” Mrs. Drake said, dipping her head in a polite gesture.

Mr. Drake set the box of candy on the buffet behind him, then stepped over between Holland and a young woman who looked a good deal like her, only fairer of hair and bearing stormy gray eyes rather than brown.

“You know Holland, of course,” Mr. Drake said, then placed his hand on the shoulder of the other woman. “This is Savannah, who’ll be working for you starting next week. Next to her is Boston, then Austin, and the little one who can’t seem to stand still for more than five seconds is Charlotte, better known as Charli.”

Savannah was beautiful, and Brant could see why Remington would be taken with her. His gaze roamed over the two boys who shared similarities with Denver and their father in their appearances. Little Charli, though, caught him by surprise. He’d been so sure the name belonged to a boy, not an adorable little imp with her mother’s nearly blonde curls and her father’s gray eyes.

Brant bowed, then straightened and smiled at his hosts. “I’m grateful to join you all this evening. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

“Please, have a seat, Mr. Hudson,” Mrs. Drake said, pulling out a chair in the center of the table.

Brant found himself seated between Charli and Boston with Holland directly across from him. Although he’d hoped to dine directly beside her, he decided it was advantageous to sit where he could watch every expression that crossed her face and the way she interacted with her family.

After Mr. Drake asked a blessing on their meal and offered a word of thanks for Brant joining them, they enjoyed a delicious meal of chicken and dumplings, fresh sliced tomatoes, pickled beets, and slices of bread—warm from the oven—slathered with butter and peach jelly. The conversation as they ate was carried mostly by Brant and Mr. Drake, with Boston and Mrs. Drake asking an occasional question.

They had finished eating and were waiting for Savannah and Holland to serve the pear cobbler when Brant felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down into Charli’s charming face. Freckles stood out on her nose and cheeks, and there was a gap in her smile where a front tooth was missing.

He found her to be thoroughly delightful.

“Mister Hudson?” the little girl asked, lisping slightly around the missing tooth.

“Yes, Charli?”

“Are you made of money?”

Brant heard Mr. Drake choke on the coffee he’d been sipping. Mrs. Drake inhaled so sharply he was afraid she might suck the silverware right off the table. Holland, who had been carrying in the large pan of cobbler, nearly dropped it. Only Boston’s hand darting out to support the bottom of the pan kept dessert from turning into a disaster.

“I’m not made of money, Charli.” Brant held his hand out to her. “Go ahead. Touch my hand. It won’t make quarters squirt out of my fingers or my nose.”

Charli giggled and pushed a pudgy little finger into the back of his hand.

“What about you?” Brant asked, bending closer to the child as he covertly dipped two fingers into his vest pocket and pulled out a coin, keeping it hidden in his hand. “Are you made of money?”

“No,” she said, giving him an earnest look. “I only got three pennies!”

“Then what is this?” Brant gently tugged on her delicate earlobe, then held out his palm with a dime on it. “You have money falling out your ears.”

“I do?” Charli asked, eyes wide in surprise. She vigorously shook her head to the left, then the right, attempting to dislodge more loose change. Savannah placed a hand on the child’s curls lest she rattle her brains.

“Mr. Hudson is teasing you, Charli. No one is made of money. We’re all human,” Savannah said, giving Holland a scorching look.

“But Holland said Mr. Hudson is—”

Savannah’s hand over the child’s mouth cut off whatever she was about to say.

Curious and amused, Brant did his best to keep his face devoid of expression as he looked at Holland. She set the cobbler on the table and began scooping servings onto plates while Savannah added spoonfuls of sweet thickened cream.

“Shall we eat dessert?” Mrs. Drake asked, her face three shades paler than it had been five minutes earlier. “Holland uses a delightful blend of spices to get the seasoning on the pears just right. Do you enjoy cinnamon, Mr. Hudson? Nutmeg?”

Brant assumed the woman’s rambling generated from nerves over Charli’s question.

The cobbler was better than any Brant could recall eating and wondered if he and Rem had made a mistake in not hiring Holland to work in the kitchen. Regardless, with Dulcie there to fix meals, they needed every available hand they could find to start putting the house into order.

After the meal, Savannah and Boston did the dishes while the rest of the family gathered in the parlor.

Brant retrieved the books he’d brought for Holland. Her family didn’t appear destitute, but he’d assumed there may have been some lean years on the farm due to the mention she’d made about the lack of books in her home.

Between the farm and keeping six children clothed and fed, there probably wasn’t a spare dollar left over for any extravagances, like books or fripperies for their home.

As he took a seat on the sofa with Austin and Holland, Brant observed the decorations were all handmade, which added to the home’s appeal in his estimation.

Mr. Drake sent Austin to retrieve the box of chocolates once Savannah and Boston joined them. Everyone chose one piece of candy from the box before Mr. Drake returned the lid to it and set it aside.

Brant listened as Holland read the first page from Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, Heidi by Johanna Spyri, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain. He could tell by the reactions of the family Mark Twain’s book would be the first one they enjoyed together, but Holland seemed the most interested in the little girl named Heidi.

“In the winter evenings, Holland and Boston take turns reading to us. The school has a library they encourage the children to share with their families,” Mr. Drake said, pulling Charli onto his lap when the child couldn’t seem to decide on a place to land. The big man kissed his daughter’s rosy cheek, and the child settled against him with a contented sigh.

Brant had always wondered what it would feel like to know affection and love from his parents, particularly his father, who was a cold and distant stranger. Someday, if the Good Lord blessed him with children of his own, Brant hoped to have the kind of relationship with them he witnessed in the Drake home. Unbidden, a vision of Holland as their mother, of them seated in the library at Hudson House around the fire on a chilly winter’s evening, filled his mind.

Unsettled by how real the picture seemed in his mind, he experienced an overwhelming urge to flee. He waited a few moments, listening as Austin answered his mother’s question about schoolwork, then rose.

“I do not wish to overstay my welcome, but can’t thank you all enough for a wonderful meal and a memorable evening,” Brant said, shaking Mr. Drake’s hand when the man stood with Charli clinging to him like a little monkey dressed in pink ruffles. “Thank you for welcoming me into your fine home.”

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Hudson. We hope you’ll come again,” Mrs. Drake said, smiling at him as she rose. She took the books Holland still held and gave her a push toward him. “Holland will see you out, sir. Have a safe trip into town.”

“I will. Thank you again for your hospitality.” Brant tipped his head to Holland’s parents, tweaked Charli’s cute little nose, then stepped into the hall and pulled on his sack coat before settling his hat on his head.

He opened the door and watched as Holland snatched a shawl from a hook before marching outside into the chilly evening air.

It was hard to believe how much the weather had changed in just a week. Denver had mentioned autumn seemed to be in a hurry to arrive this year, which Brant took to mean it wasn’t always this nippy at night in September. He couldn’t recall when the seasons had changed the past few years because he’d been too busy to pay much mind.

“Thank you for coming,” Holland said quietly as she walked with him out to his horse. She pulled half an apple from her pocket and held it out to Gentry. The horse greedily ate it from her hand.

“What’s his name?” she asked, patting the animal with a gentle hand.

“Gentry. He’s been my faithful companion for almost seven years.”

“What breed is he?” Holland asked, continuing to pet the horse as Brant released the reins from the hitching rail.

“American saddlebred. His ancestry is an intentional mix, with a healthy portion of thoroughbred and Morgan.”

“He’s beautiful. A handsome fellow who seems to take good care of his master.”

Brant grinned. “That he does. Thank you, Holland, for inviting me this evening. I enjoyed the meal and the company.”

“You don’t have to stretch the truth on my account, Mr. Hudson. My family can be an acquired taste for some.”

Brant shook his head, shifted the reins in his hand, and began leading Gentry away from the house. Holland fell into step beside him. “I’m not exaggerating, Holland. I had a nice time, and the food was wonderful. If you ever decide you prefer working in the kitchen at Hudson House to cleaning, just tell Remington. You’re a great cook.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind. Have you found a head housekeeper yet?”

“No, but I sent a telegram to my sister to see if she’ll have any luck finding a suitable applicant.” Brant glanced down at Holland. The moon, bright and full, spilled silver light onto her face, making her seem almost ethereal. Perhaps she was more fairy or pixie than human, he mused.

“I hope she finds someone. I know Savannah and I will have much to learn, but we’ll work hard and do our best, Mr. Hudson.”

Brant stopped and turned to face Holland. “Please call me Brant, or even Alex. This ‘Mr. Hudson’ business is most tiresome. You invited your friend Alex for dinner, and that is who stands before you now. Your friend. I had a wonderful time. My only regret is how quickly the evening passed. Well, I may also regret that Charli wasn’t able to make quarters pop out of my fingers since you told the poor child I’m made of money.”

A sheepish look stole over Holland’s features. “I apologize for that. I was still a little upset with you when I returned home this afternoon after picking pears. Mama helped me see things from your perspective, but not before I said a few things to which I had no idea Charli was listening. I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t be. I found it quite humorous.” Brant smirked at her. “Do you really think I’m made of money?”

“No. Like Savannah said, we’re all human. Some just have more money than others.”

Brant shrugged. “But others are rich in ways some of us are terribly destitute.”

Holland appeared to consider his words. “I am grateful for my family, for growing up in a happy, loving home. I know not everyone experiences that, and I’m sorry if you didn’t.”

Before Brant knew what she was about, Holland wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a hug. It was one of the most astounding things he’d ever experienced. Immediately, he felt embraced in warmth, caring, and something that felt like love.

Lest he read more into it than she meant, he lightly patted her shoulder, then stepped back. “Thank you, Holland. I’ll look forward to seeing you at church on Sunday.”

“I’ll save you a seat,” she said, smiling at him as she cocked her head to the side. “Why haven’t I seen you there before?”

“Rem and I usually sit in the back row and leave before anyone has time to pelt us with questions, if we happen to be in town. Often we are on a train bound for Portland on Sundays.”

“But you’ll be there this week?”

Brant nodded and swung onto the back of Gentry. “I plan to stay for two weeks before business draws me back to Portland. Thank you, again, Holland, for your kindness. It won’t be forgotten.”

“My pleasure, Alex,” she said with a teasing grin.

He touched the brim of his hat with his fingers, turned Gentry, and rode back to town, wondering if the ache in his chest was what it felt like to fall in love.