Courting Holly
HOLLY GRAHAM’S WORLD IS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN
…by her mother’s deathbed confession. Fortunately, there’s one constant in Holly’s life: her best friend, Bryce Jarvis. His strong arms are there to comfort her. And his honey-brown eyes see her as more than the little girl he grew up with….
Bryce has waited for years to court Holly. But when his chance finally comes, Holly faces questions about her very identity. She isn’t sure about anything anymore—even how she feels about Bryce. Can he make her understand that the pure love right in front of her is true and sure?
“Holly, I love you.”
“I love you, too. I’ll be interested in kissing you later when you are feeling better.”
“Promise?” Holly’s smile in return touched his heart.
“I promise, Bryce. Remember the night in the barn when I wanted to kiss you?”
He nodded.
“You said you would wait until I knew for certain what kind of love I have for you. I know now. So now I am asking you to wait until you are fully recovered. You said you wanted it to be special, and I do, too.”
He released her. “Absolutely. Until then I shall continue to dream.”
Holly giggled. “And so will I.”
Bryce groaned. “You are sure you want to wait? I wouldn’t mind kissing you right now.”
“But I would!” John Graham’s harsh voice boomed throughout the room.
LYNN A. COLEMAN
is an award-winning and bestselling author and the founder of American Christian Fiction Writers organization. She writes fiction full-time and loves visiting places like Savannah and other historical locations. She makes her home in Florida with her husband of thirty-nine years. Together they are blessed with three children and eight grandchildren.
Lynn A. Coleman
Courting Holly
I’d like to dedicate this book to Eleanor Debaucher. Officially, she is my husband’s aunt, but her love and kindness is so sweet that I’ve adopted her as my aunt, as well. Thank you for all the many times
you let me crash at your place while I was
working on research for this story. All my love.
Chapter 1
Savannah, GA, 1881
H
olly gripped her mother’s hand. The licorice-like scent of laudanum assaulted her nostrils. How could something to ease terrible pain smell so sweet? “Momma...”
“Holly, in my Bible...” Her mother’s chest rose with a great deal of effort then fell. “There’s a letter.” Another labored breath. “Explains all...” She paused. “Forgive me.” Momma’s deep green eyes darkened.
“Momma, there is nothing to forgive.” Holly grasped her mother’s hand tighter. Her own breathing labored as she eased closer to her mother on the bed.
“Your father...” The words were raspier.
“He’s right here, Momma.”
“No, real father...” Holly looked over at her father. His dark brown eyes pierced hers and his lips parted. His drawn features flickered with the glow from the oil lamp. “Emmett Landers...schoolteacher...” Holly’s gaze returned to her mother.
“Allison,” her father interrupted, “I’ll tell her. You relax.”
Real father?
Momma must be delusional from all the laudanum and other pain medications. All Holly’s life she’d lived in this house on the Savannah coast. Her father was always there. From the earliest of her memories he’d been at her side encouraging her, loving her. Mother must be confused.
Father caressed her mother’s forehead, brushing away the red strands, and kissed her gently.
“Forgive me, Holly. Forgive me.” Her eyes were wide with fear.
“I forgive you, Momma.” What else could she say? She’d been called to her mother’s room, having spent the past hours in the kitchen taking care of Momma’s chores. Tiffany, her sister, was old enough to help, and she’d done some of the work, but Holly wanted her to continue with her studies.
Father nodded and Mother’s eyelids closed. Her lips moved. No discernible words passed through. Holly’s stomach twisted. Tears burned the edges of her eyes. Momma was dying and there wasn’t anything anyone could do.
God, where are you? Why are you letting this happen to such a good woman?
* * *
Bryce paced outside the Grahams’ bedroom door and wrung his hat. It wasn’t right that someone as kind and loving as Mrs. Graham—a woman he’d known and admired his entire life—would have been run over by a careless wagon driver. The creak of the door captured his attention. He watched Holly step backward out of the room, her red ponytail draped between her slumped shoulders. She paused and braced herself against the doorjamb. He closed the distance between them. She turned. He wrapped her in his embrace. “I am here, Holly.” Her swollen emerald eyes glanced up into his. Her delicate porcelain skin flushed with emotion. He escorted her to the parlor.
“She’s dying, Bryce.”
“I know.”
She burrowed her gaze upon his and knitted her eyebrows. Holly nodded and closed her eyes. A fresh flood of tears ran down her cheeks. “I don’t understand why.”
“Nor do I.” He brushed a strand of her fiery red hair behind her ear. His fingers tingled. This was the closest he’d been to her in years...except in his dreams. He’d been waiting two years for her twenty-first birthday to court her, per her father’s request.
Her brilliant green eyes sparkled from tears. “Momma’s dying and, and...”
“Shh, you don’t need to say a thing, Holly.” He pulled her into his arms as they sat on the settee. He didn’t care if it was proper or not. She was hurting—and she was his best friend. Maybe more, someday.
While Holly was closer to his sister Catherine’s age, it had always been he and Holly who would run off on adventures, read the same stories, engage in long conversations and dream with one another. Only after he’d left for college had he realized his love for Holly was more than that of an unofficial big brother.
She placed her hand on his chest and pushed back. “I am frightened. Momma said...”
He could sense the fear, as if her life were crumbling. “Whatever it is can wait, Holly. Let me give you my strength to help you through this.” She eased back into his embrace and placed her head on his shoulder. He resisted opening his heart to her, as he had resisted for the past two years.
He glanced around the room, so familiar. His gaze settled on the leg of the table that had a notch in it. A notch he and Holly were responsible for. His backside and hers had smarted for quite a while after Mrs. Graham caught them playing with their wooden swords as French musketeers in the formal sitting room. The notch in the table leg was nothing compared to the rare handblown glass vase they had knocked over during their battle.
“I brought a pot of Mother’s venison stew. I see you have already started some chicken and dumplings.”
She nodded.
“Mother said she would visit tomorrow and lend a hand around the house. I will take care of the chores in the barn. Is there anything else I can do?”
“No.” She tossed her head from side to side. She pushed away from his shoulder and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.
He pulled out a clean white handkerchief. “Here.”
She accepted the cloth and dabbed her sparkling green eyes. “I should get back to the kitchen before the dinner burns.”
“As you wish. You are certain there is nothing else I can do for you?”
She smiled. “No, not yet. I may need my best friend, though.”
“Anytime, any place. You know how to get in touch with me.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, as he had done when they were mere children. “I will return before I leave.”
“Thank you.”
“’Tis my pleasure, my lady.” He stood and bowed with the flair of a French musketeer. “I am and always will be your servant.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet.
Holly laughed. “I seem to remember quite a few games where you were in charge.”
“But of course, I am the oldest.” He chuckled.
Holly rolled her eyes heavenward.
It was good to see her smile, even for a moment. “Alas, I must excuse myself and be off to ye ole barn.”
“And I to slave over the stove.”
* * *
Holly stepped into the kitchen, removed the cast-iron pot from the stove and went over to the sink. She glanced out the window and followed Bryce as he meandered down the worn path toward the barn. An unexpected sigh escaped her lips. He carried his muscular six-foot frame with a gentle ease. He turned, saw her in the window and waved. She waved back self-consciously and looked away—but just for a second. A girl could get lost in his honey-brown eyes. Her fingers twitched at the thought of running them through his wavy brown hair. If only...
She shifted her gaze and went back to work.
She stirred the contents of the pot, checked the coals and added several. She cleaned her hands then pulled out the rising dough from the sidewall cabinet of the stove and punched down the swollen batch. The dough should yield three large loaves, or four dozen rolls for the funeral.
The funeral... Dear God, was all hope lost?
Holly pulled and slammed the dough on the floured table. She didn’t want her mother to die. She’d spent last night in tears after the doctor told them nothing could be done after the accident. She had snuggled into a fetal position under the covers.
But today was different. Father needed her to be strong, and the entire family depended on her. She slapped the dough down once again. Mother counted on her to help with the children. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t yet married, even as she approached the age of twenty-one. Holly punched the center of the dough. After her mother was gone, she would be needed to raise her sister and brothers.
“Holly, may I have a word with you?” Father stood in the kitchen doorway, interrupting Holly’s thoughts. In his hand he held Momma’s Bible.
“Give me a moment to roll out these loaves.” Anything to put off the knowledge she feared.
“Tiffany can finish the bread.” He called her sister and gave his orders, then shifted his gaze back to Holly. With a lift of his head, he said, “Follow me, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She loved her father. He was a stern man, very disciplined, most unlike her. Holly found giggles and folly in most of life’s circumstances. Father enjoyed a laugh or two every now and again but preferred to keep somber moments somber. Holly’s giddy behavior was in direct contrast, and something she had in common with her mother. They’d agreed years ago it had to be the fire in their hair that set their blood to easy excitement.
He sat in the leather chair in front of his mahogany desk. The den was the place where quiet and decorum were kept at all times. One could play a game of chess, read a book, speak softly and enjoy sketching or some such sport.
He motioned for her to join him in the matching chair beside his. “Please take a seat, child.”
Holly’s knees wobbled. In that moment she knew the bizarre words her mother had said moments ago were true. The man beside her was not her father. But how? Why? What happened? A sinking feeling began in the pit of her stomach. Was she the product of a violent act done on her mother? She squeezed her eyes shut.
Please God, no.
“Holly, I know what your mother said is disconcerting, but relax your fiery imagination for a moment. I will tell you what you need to know.” He paused.
“Your mother was married to another before we met. She lived with him on the frontier—for a while. His name was Emmett Landers. He forced your mother to return to Savannah, to your grandparents, with the capable help of an old friend. All of you made it back to Savannah just before the war hit. Your father stayed behind to protect his land and honor. Your mother never heard from him again, until she received word a year later that Emmett had died in battle.
“About that time, you and your mother had caught my attention. I courted your mother for a year and a half before she agreed to marry me. We were married on Christmas day in 1864. You were four at the time. I loved you as if you were my own. You must know that.”
Unable to speak, Holly nodded.
“Your father arrived back in Savannah the following year. He hadn’t died. Records weren’t always accurate. He found out that your mother had remarried and was expecting Tiffany.” Her father paused again, more emotional than Holly had ever seen him. “Your mother still loved your father. But she loved me, too. It was a very difficult time for everyone.
“Inside the Bible are three letters. Two are from your father Emmett, one to your mother and one to you. Your letter has not been opened. Your mother wrote a letter to you, as well. I know the contents of Emmett’s letter to your mother and your mother’s letter to you, but not your letter from your...real father.”
He went on, his voice strained. “If you have any questions, I will try my best to answer them. I will admit I am concerned about the contents of Emmett’s letter to you. It would be impossible not to be. But you know I am a rational man, Holly, and my concern is not rational. Concern never is, when it comes to a father and his daughters. I am and always will be your father, and my goal is to protect you from harm. However, we agreed to give you these letters on your twenty-first birthday or just before your wedding day. None of us could have foreseen the accident...” his voice faltered “...changing that timetable.”
He stood and handed her the Bible. “I’ll leave you and close the door behind me. I cannot imagine what kinds of thoughts you are formulating in your mind right now, but you need time to absorb this information.” He kissed the top of her head and left the room.
Holly’s fingers caressed the well-worn leather, her mind reeling. She’d seen this Bible on her mother’s nightstand for years. But it wasn’t the one she read on a daily basis. Holly traced the cracked leather on the edges that embraced the pages within. She opened the Bible and found the three letters inside the front cover. The paper was yellow with age and dry. Her mother’s script was evident; her father’s unknown, but masculine and elegant. Her father was an educated man. Momma said he was a teacher.
She decided to open her mother’s letter first.
My dearest daughter,
On March 18, 1861, your father Emmett Landers packed a wagon for you and me to return to Savannah. He had some business that had gone very wrong and feared for our safety. With a great deal of reluctance, and a fair amount of arguing, of which you and I are quite capable, I finally agreed to go. His utmost concern was our safety, and what convinced me to leave him behind was our concern for you.
You are a grown woman now, and I hope you will understand my keeping your father a secret from you. Your grandparents were not fond of him, and they were pleased with John Graham, your other father. Darling, please understand, Emmett did nothing wrong, apart from taking their beloved daughter out to the Wild West. For this they never forgave him. And when he returned, they were not happy.
I loved your father Emmett with all my heart. Never forget that. I also love John. We have made a good home for ourselves, and a good family. Emmett saw that we were in love, and he also saw how much you loved John. He didn’t want to upset you and your life. He had our marriage annulled, allowing John and me to stay together.
My dear daughter, you are probably wondering what was whirling through my head. Why didn’t I simply choose one man over the other? Honestly, I couldn’t choose at the time. I loved both. But Emmett had been gone from my life for nearly four years by the time I saw him again. I thought I was seeing a ghost. I fainted. Emmett and I spoke briefly, then he left. A week later he returned with the letters and a copy of the annulment. He said his prayer was for our happiness and if we ever needed him, he would come. He agreed to have you wait until your marriage or your twenty-first year before giving you his letter.
I know this is very confusing, and I am sorry. We did what we felt was best at the time. Only you can decide whether we did right by you or not. Forgive me for not having the courage to trust you with this knowledge while you were young. I see a bit of myself in you, as you and I have discussed on several occasions. I know that with my temper, if I were angry enough and had another father, I would have found myself on a train out to Emmett’s home in Tennessee. I pray you do not do that in anger. If you wish to visit Emmett, I have a savings in the red purse with the white and purple flowers embroidered on it. You will find the purse in my closet, if I am unable to give it to you at the time.
