A Christmas Dream (Hudson House Holiday #1)

Chapter Seven

“L et’s go!” Charli shouted as she raced into Holland’s room and grabbed a fistful of Holland’s skirts in her hand. “Come on, Holland. Mama said everyone is waiting on you.”

“I’m coming, Charli, but let me take a breath.”

Her little sister released her skirt, which Holland smoothed, then Holland gave her reflection one last critical glance in the mirror. She wore the made-over teal dress from Mrs. Clampton and a comfortable pair of black shoes. Her hair was curled and pinned into a riotous pile at the crown of her head. A few tendrils escaped to frame her face in a manner she hoped was becoming and not merely untidy.

Holland decided she’d done the best with what she had to work with. She hastily indulged in touching a drop of perfume that had been a birthday gift from her siblings last year behind each ear.

“Me too! Do me, Holland!” Charli begged, so she added one of the precious drops to the inside of Charli’s wrist, where the child could sniff it all evening.

“Race you to the wagon,” Holland said, taking a step toward the door. Charli ran past her and noisily made her way down the stairs while her giggles floated back up to Holland.

Holland slipped on her coat, stuffed a handkerchief and a few coins in her reticule, and hurried downstairs and out the door.

Charli had been correct that everyone was waiting for her, but no one seemed put out about the delay. In fact, the way Savannah fussed with her skirts, she’d likely just taken her seat between Austin and Boston.

Denver swung Charli into the wagon, then reached down and gave Holland a hand. She wasn’t fully seated when her father smacked the lines and the team started down the lane to the road.

“I think we should sing to pass the time,” her mother said from her position on the wagon seat next to her husband as she looked back at her offspring in the wagon bed.

Denver launched into the chorus of a rowdy saloon song Holland was sure he’d learned from the men at the estate. Sarah Drake reached back and swatted him with her reticule, making them all laugh.

“Try again, son,” Sarah ordered, scowling at her eldest child.

Denver cleared his throat and began to sing “How Beautifully Blue the Sky.” They all joined in and rode the rest of the way to town singing in harmony and enjoying the precious moments spent together.

As they neared the community hall where the dance was being held, they waved at friends and neighbors, all of them excited for a fun evening ahead. Jack Drake pulled the wagon to a stop beside the line of others already parked outside the hall, set the brake, and looked back at his children.

“I expect each one of you to be on your best behavior. No fighting”—he stared at the boys—“no whining”—he looked at Savannah and Holland—“and no crying.” The last comment was directed to Charli.

“Promise, Papa!” Charli stood and held her arms up to him.

Jack lifted her and kissed both of her cheeks, then handed her to Denver when he jumped out of the wagon and reached up for his sister.

“Come on, Denver. I’ll show you how to dance,” Charli said, patting his cheeks, making the rest of them grin as they stepped out of the wagon. Holland, Savannah, and their mother gathered the pies and cookies they’d made to contribute to the dessert table. As a group, they made their way inside.

Holland set the custard pear pie she’d baked alongside the other desserts already filling the table and looked around.

“Here, I’ll take your coat,” Boston offered, tugging gently on the back of her collar.

“Thank you, Bost.” She smiled over her shoulder at her brother as she unfastened the buttons and slipped her arms from the sleeves. Austin took Savannah’s coat and their mother’s, then the two boys made their way to the storage room that had been cleaned out to hold coats, hats, and bags for the evening.

Holland watched as their mother made her way over to a group of her friends. Charli squealed and raced over to Dulcie and Bobby who stood near the refreshment table, looking uncertain.

Holland elbowed Savannah when Denver headed toward Dulcie. “I think our brother might be smitten.”

“There’s no might about it. He is completely smitten, and I’m glad. I adore Dulcie, and Bobby,” Savannah said, slipping an arm around Holland’s waist as they surveyed the crowd. “He’s almost as loopy over Dulcie as you are over Brant.”

Holland opened her mouth to protest, but she wasn’t going to lie. She was besotted with Brant, thoroughly.

The fact that she was infatuated with her employer bothered her no small amount, though, especially when he strode into the building with Remington, looking handsome and rugged in the navy sack coat and canvas trousers he’d worn to their house the first time he’d come for dinner. He’d been to lunch one Sunday after church, and to dinner another evening when their father had invited him to come. It seemed Brant had a multitude of questions about orchards, and the two men spent the better part of the evening discussing varieties of apples, pruning techniques, and harvest yields. There wasn’t a single romantic thing about his visits, but Holland enjoyed watching him interact with her family.

Rather than dwell on her inappropriate feelings for Brant, she cast her sister a sly glance. “What about you, Savannah? Are you ready to admit you are enchanted with Remington Monroe? Don’t you dare deny it.”

Savannah shrugged. “I wasn’t going to, but like you, there’s nothing to be done about it. Remington is, well, that,” she said, pointing to the gentleman with nary a hair out of place, his attire perfectly pressed, even his shoes polished to a high shine.

“Is there any harm, just for tonight, pretending they are regular fellows who’ve never heard of Hudson House?” Holland asked, smiling broadly when Brant caught her eye and headed toward her with Remington on his heels.

“Just for tonight,” Savannah repeated as the two men bowed to them.

“Ladies, you both look most fetching this evening,” Brant said, lifting Holland’s hand and kissing the back of it. She felt something zing up her arm at the contact and would have backed away if she’d had anywhere to go.

“Might you care to dance, Miss Savannah?” Remington asked, offering Holland’s sister a look of such longing Savannah appeared slightly dazed as she nodded her head and took his hand.

“You do know he’s quite taken with her,” Brant said, bending his knees so he spoke directly into Holland’s ear. The warmth of his breath on her skin made a shiver of anticipation glide along her spine. Would Brant kiss her? Did he want to? She’d been so certain yesterday when she’d awakened and sat up that he would have kissed her the previous day if there hadn’t been any number of eyes watching their every move.

“Does he realize she’s infatuated with him?”

Brant straightened and shook his head. “Not in the least. If his level of density in matters of the heart increases, he’ll turn into a boulder.”

Holland grinned and Brant smiled. For the moment, for tonight, she wanted to pretend they belonged together. Come Tuesday morning, when she and Savannah arrived for work, they’d return to being nothing more than the housemaids.

A fairy tale Charli loved entered Holland’s thoughts, and she smiled, wishing some magical being might appear and grant her the dearest wish of her heart—a wish to make dreams come true.

“You look lovely, Holland. That gown is a wonderful color on you. Did you do something different with your hair?” Brant asked as he took her hand and led her toward the dance floor.

Suddenly self-conscious, Holland touched her curls to make sure they hadn’t slipped out of place. “Savannah and I helped each other with our hairstyles this evening.”

“You both are beautiful, but only one of you makes me want to spout poetry about a lady fair of face and full of grace.”

“Since I’m neither graceful nor fair of face with these blasted freckles, I will assume it’s Savannah of whom you speak,” Holland teased.

Brant swept her into the dance. “Hardly, Holland. It is you, dear girl, who captures my attention and my …”

He paused, and Holland willed him to continue, but he remained silent for the length of several dance steps. When he appeared to be struggling to find the words to say, she took pity on him and changed the subject.

“Tell me about places you’ve traveled. I heard Remington mention to Dulcie that you’ve been all over the world.”

“I have been.” Brant performed the dance steps flawlessly as though they were a natural part of him. Goodness only knew how many women he’d danced with over the years, how many he’d charmed.

Holland derailed that train of thought before it built any steam. What mattered was the moment, and it was here, dancing with Brant.

“What would you like to know?” he asked, spinning her around.

“Anything. Have you been to Europe? Asia? What was the place you liked the best? The worst place? The city you’d like to see again?”

Holland listened to the cadence of his voice, admired the light in his eyes as he spoke, and lost herself in his arms. She had no idea when one dance stopped and another began as they swayed across the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone begin to approach them, but Denver intervened. She’d have to thank her brother for that later.

“What’s it like, sailing on the ocean? Are you ever frightened?” Holland asked.

Brant nodded. “Sure. Plenty of times. Whenever a storm arises, it reminds me that we are no bigger than a sparrow in the Master’s hands, but He counts every hair on my head and is with me always.”

“It’s comforting, isn’t it, to know we are never truly alone.”

“It is,” Brant said in agreement, then abruptly changed the subject. “Have you ever seen a sea otter?”

Holland wondered at his question. “No, but I have seen river otters. They remind me of a weasel, only wet.”

Brant grinned. “Same family tree. Sea otters are much larger than river otters—they have big fuzzy heads—but the thing I admire about them is the way they help each other. When they sleep, they wrap their paws together so they don’t drift away and get lost. When a group of them do it, it’s called rafting, but it is one of the sweetest things in nature I’ve witnessed.”

“Really? I would love to see that. They hold hands, or paws, to ensure no one is left adrift or behind. Is that correct?”

“That’s right. Perhaps one day you’ll be able to see the wondrous sight in person.”

Holland highly doubted that would ever happen, but she nodded. “Perhaps, someday.”

When the song ended, Brant placed his hand against her back and leaned toward her. “Would you care for a cup of punch and a rest?”

“That would be nice. Thank you.” Brant escorted her off the dance floor and over to a table where Austin and Boston were digging into plates piled high with desserts. He studied the variety of sweets, then glanced at Holland as he pulled out a chair for her. “What did you make?”

“A custard pear pie. Savannah made molasses cookies, and Mama baked an apple pie.”

“I look forward to tasting all three,” he said, then strode over to the refreshment table, returning with two cups of punch before he perused the desserts and returned with two plates holding an assortment of sweets.

“I wasn’t sure which apple pie your mother made,” Brant said as he settled into the chair beside Holland.

“You got the right one,” she said, motioning to a sliver of apple pie on his plate. “Mama always sprinkles sugar on the crust. None of the other ladies do that.”

“Do you like chocolate, Mr. Hudson?” Austin asked, eyeing the assortment of treats he’d selected.

“As a matter of fact, I do. What’s your favorite sweet, Austin?”

Holland watched her brother point to the last bite that remained of a piece of chocolate cake. “Mrs. Hillard makes the best chocolate cake, but don’t eat her pie. It’s awful.”

Brant grinned. “Noted. What else is safe to eat, or should be avoided?”

Holland sipped the punch and ate a piece of pumpkin pie from her plate while her brothers educated Brant about the best baked goods in town.

“One of you should take pity on Alice Perrigan,” Holland said when there was a lull in the conversation. “The poor girl looks positively heartbroken, sitting all alone over there.”

“I’m not dancing with her,” Austin declared, giving Boston a shove that nearly sent him toppling from his chair.

“Fine,” Boston scowled as he righted himself. “I’ll dance with her, but if she starts bugging me, you have to fix it, Holland.”

“Gladly.” She hid a smile behind her cup of punch and watched as Boston wiped his mouth on a napkin, tossed it on the table, then rose and strode across the room to the girl who’d been watching him all evening. Holland knew Alice had a crush on Boston and had been waiting for weeks for him to catch on, but he seemed as oblivious as certain present members of the male species.

After watching Alice’s face light up when Boston asked her to dance, Holland’s attention swiveled to the man beside her.

His gaze tangled with hers and beneath the table their fingers entwined. When he smiled, she felt like her heart might burst with the joy she found in his presence.

“I need a rest,” Savannah said, plopping into a chair and breaking the spell of the moment. She looked at Holland. “Are you the reason Boston is dancing with Alice?”

“I’m sure I don’t know a thing about that,” Holland said cheekily.

Savannah laughed, then looked at Austin. “You better watch out or you’ll find yourself dancing with Mamie Easterly.”

“No, I won’t! I’ll walk all the way home before you make me do that.” Austin shoveled in a big bite of pie as though that settled the matter.

Remington set two cups of punch on the table, one in front of Savannah, and took a seat beside her. “It’s quite a lively celebration. And you say this happens every year?”

“Yes,” Savannah said, lifting the cup of punch to her flushed cheeks. “After harvest, but before Thanksgiving. It’s a time to celebrate another year of being part of our community.”

Holland nodded in agreement to her sister’s explanation. “We’re so glad you both are here, and Dulcie too.”

They all turned to watch Charli and Bobby dance together. The two children bobbed around like corks caught in a tempest, but they appeared to be having a fantastic time.

“Rem, did you teach Bobby all your best dances?” Brant asked with mock seriousness, making everyone at the table laugh.

“I thought he observed you, Sir Blunderfoot,” Remington said, lifting his punch in a mock toast.

“Blunderfoot, is it? I ought to—”

“Ask me to dance again,” Holland said, amused by the good-natured ribbing between the two men.

“What she said.” Remington sat back in his chair and took a long drink of his punch.

Brant rose and held out a hand to Holland. “If it so pleases you to gift me with another dance, Miss Drake, I’d be most delighted.”

“Then gifted you shall be.” Holland took his hand with a laugh, and they joined the group of dancers swinging across the floor in an energetic quadrille.

They finished the dance, then danced three more before Holland realized she had monopolized Brant’s entire evening. When the song ended, she stepped close to him.

“I’m so sorry, Brant. I’ve kept you from dancing with others this evening and meeting more people. I can introduce you to some of the girls in town.”

He settled a hand at her waist and dipped his head so his lips nearly brushed her ear. “Don’t you dare, Holland Drake. I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening and you’re threatening to ruin it. Please don’t.”

She looked into his face, his blue eyes bright as they gazed at her with mirth and affection, and she wanted desperately to hug him, to kiss him, to love him. Before the temptation became too much to resist, Remington and Savannah bumped into them as the next dance began.

“Last dance of the evening,” a voice called over the room.

“It seems too soon for that,” Brant said, dancing Holland toward the door instead of across the floor. He didn’t bother with coats, just swept her outside into the frosty night air. With her hand clasped in his, he tugged her around the side of the building into the shadows.

“Before you freeze to death or slap me silly for dragging you out here, I just wanted you to know I’ve had a marvelous evening and enjoyed every moment of dancing with you, Holland. I wish I could take you home, but I do believe it’s far better to bid you a good night now.” Brant kissed her cheek. “You smell luscious, Holland.”

Before she could gather her wits enough to reply, he’d led her inside the building. The final song had ended, and people were gathering their coats and empty dessert dishes.

“Until Tuesday,” Brant whispered in her ear, then he disappeared into the crowd.

All the way home, as she rode huddled beneath heavy blankets with her siblings, a sleepy Charli cuddled on her lap, Holland recalled the entire evening with Brant, of how attentive, amusing, and sweet he’d been. How urgently she’d wanted him to kiss her.

It had been the best evening of her life, and she didn’t want to forget a single detail.

As soon as she arrived home and helped her mother tuck Charli into bed, Holland took out a journal she’d begun keeping a few months earlier, and recorded all her memories of the dance so she’d never forget them.