Romancing the South
Romancing the South Finding Love in the Carolinas A Two-Book Collection Featuring Somewhere a Rainbow and Smoky Mountain Sunrise
Yvonne Lehman with Lori Marett Eva Marie Everson
Romancing the South Iron Stream Fiction An imprint of Iron Stream Media 100 Missionary Ridge Birmingham, AL 35242 IronStreamMedia.com Copyright © 2022 by the estate of Yvonne Lehman The first editions of Somewhere a Rainbow and Smoky Mountain Sunrise were revised and updated for this collection. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. Iron Stream Media serves its authors as they express their views, which may not express the views of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only. Scripture quotation from The Authorized (King James) Version. Rights in the Authorized Version in the United Kingdom are vested in the Crown. Reproduced by permission of the Crown’s patentee, Cambridge University Press. Cover design by Hannah Linder Designs ISBN: 978-1-64526-340-1 (paperback) ISBN: 978-1-64526-341-8 (e-book) 1 2 3 4 5—26 25 24 23 22
To the Writers Younger and Older Beginners and Seasoned We celebrate you! Lori Marett and Eva Marie Everson in memory of Yvonne Lehman
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND MEMORIES FROM LORI MARETT
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t this writing, Valentine’s Day 2022 is just around the corner. My most recent and most cherished memory regarding this holiday was last year when my mother, Yvonne Lehman, had a lobe of one of her lungs removed. The surgery went well, and she had been told she could go home in a few days. Then her lung collapsed. The doctors decided to keep her for another week, which did not sit well with my mother. She didn’t see the issue. Wouldn’t her lung reinflate at some point? Couldn’t it reinflate while at home? Those of you who knew Mom, know that she was a determined woman. She had rebounded quickly after her stroke in September 2020, even being released from physical therapy early. However, during follow-up checkups with her doctors, she was told they found two spots on her lungs, one of them an immediate concern. She had cancer. But she approached this news just as she had when she was diagnosed with breast cancer twenty years earlier. She would beat it. The doctors advised her to have the lobe of her lung removed that contained the spot. So, she did. But the outcome was not what she had anticipated. Just the previous year, my mother had run a 5K race at the age of 84, not only finishing but coming in second place for her age division. Now, a year later, she was in a hospital bed, tethered to tubes and monitors, with the doctors refusing to let her go home. On one of those nights during that extended stay, I experienced one of the most special memories with Mom that I will cherish forever. There was a shift change taking place where the day nurses were getting ready to hand Mom over to the night nurses, with the next round being around 3:00 in the morning. Mom and I decided we would get some sleep between that initial night shift visit and the 3:00 check, so I turned the lights out and curled up in a chair. I got as comfortable as I could and was beginning to drift off when my mother broke the silence. vii
Romancing the South “Why don’t you write a Valentine story. I’ll include it in the collection.” I knew my mother was referring to her most recent project, a collection of Valentine novellas she was writing with several other authors. “Can you do that?” I asked. “I thought you had all the stories you needed?” “I can do whatever I want. Would you like to write a Valentine story or not?” I thought for a moment, “If I do, I want to write a Valentine story where the protagonist doesn’t find love.” My mother was quick to respond. “This is romance, Lori. A Valentine collection. You have to have the main characters fall in love in the end.” “Well, if I write a story for your collection, I don’t want the main character to find love. Do you know how many people hate Valentine’s Day because they are not in love? Because they don’t have anyone? I want to write a Valentine story where the main character doesn’t have someone to love. I want the main character to come to love herself. She will come to realize she doesn’t need a Valentine.” “You can’t do that,” my mother said sharply. “I can do whatever I want.” And there it is. I am my mother’s daughter. So much for sleep. My mother and I brainstormed my Valentine story despite the fact it was a departure from the status quo. She listened to me as I told her why and how I would ignore the rules of the standard romance novel. We batted ideas back and forth until the 3:00 nurses came in and left. Then, as my mother began drifting off, she said one final thing before falling asleep, “You need to write it. It’s a good story.” I would have written that Valentine story if Mom had lived. But she didn’t. Her unexpected death changed a lot of my plans. So, for right now, I will honor her with this project, the retelling of two of my mother’s romance novels, Smoky Mountain Sunrise and Somewhere a Rainbow, a project that would not have been possible without the foresight and hard work of Eva Marie Everson. viii
Yvonne Lehman I knew of and had spoken with Eva Marie for decades but had not had the honor of working with her until she approached me a few weeks after my mother’s death, suggesting we honor Mom by resurrecting some of her earlier novels. Because of Eva Marie’s reputation and professionalism, and because she knew my mother well, I felt with her guidance, we could edit and update these novels with the utmost honesty and integrity. This would never, ever, have been possible without her vision, grit, and determination (and mad editing skills). Eva is not only a peer and colleague of my mother’s but she’s also someone Mom greatly respected. Eva “understood” my mother, her ways, her quirks, and her talents. And it was an extreme pleasure to work with Eva on this collection that means so much to me. Thank you, Eva Marie, for helping me honor the spirit and faith of my mother. This has truly been a blessing to work with you on this. I’d also like to thank the amazing team at Iron Stream Media for allowing this work to happen. May this be as great a blessing to you as it has been to Eva Marie and me. Finally, thank you, Mom. Because of you, I know Jesus. Because of you, I have my strong work ethic. And because of you, I have become a writer. May I glorify God through my own words and may I continue to live out your legacy. And yes, I’ll get around to writing that Valentine story one day. It may break some rules, but it will reflect your life, a story of love and triumph when things don’t go as planned. Smoky Mountain Sunrise (originally published 1984) I admit I’d not read Smoky Mountain Sunrise until Eva Marie approached with this project. This book was written by my mother in the early 1980s while I was in college. The only reading I did back then was required, not recreational. So, I was excited to jump into the story, immediately recognizing the setting for this novel—a boys’ camp located in the Blue Ridge Mountains, not far from our home, where my mother had worked as a secretary. While the backdrop was familiar, I knew the characters were fictional. Yet, they contained the very essence and spirit of my mother. ix
Romancing the South These four main characters—Ramona “Rae” Martin, Olivia “Livi” Doudet, André “Andy” Doudet, and Lucas Grant—were striving to achieve their dreams. They had goals and ambitions, whether relational, occupational, or living out God’s calling. These characters were an extension of my mother. They dared to dream. And they dared to do! When this novel was published in 1984, my mother had already directed the eighth annual Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers’ Conference, soon approaching its Year of Jubilee. My mother was happily married and a mother of four. She was working and writing, successful at both. But the most poignant memory I have of my mother was in the late 1970s, around the time I decided to go to college, when she decided to attend college as well. Because of all her activities and responsibilities, she could only afford to take one or two classes each semester and summer. My mother wrote Smoky Mountain Sunrise while slowly obtaining her college degree. In 1986, two years after the publication of this novel, she earned her bachelor’s degree in English Literature from the University of North Carolina at Asheville. My mother, the overachiever, then went on to receive her master’s degree in English from Western Carolina University in Cullowhee, North Carolina, in 1991. This achievement was so inspiring, my father (sixteen years her senior, who had dropped out of school and lied about his age to join the Marine Corps to fight in World War II), went back to get his GED. I have a wonderful picture of my parents holding their degrees on that celebratory day! As you can tell, Smoky Mountain Sunrise, is more than a nostalgic trip for me. Her characters capture her essence. So, in the spirit of my mother, and these wonderful characters she has created, may we carry on Yvonne Lehman’s legacy. I can hear her now. “Dare to dream, sugar! But then, dare to do!” Somewhere a Rainbow (originally published 1999) In 1993, I got a call from the sheriff’s department in St. Petersburg, Florida, where I lived at the time. My then husband had been arrested x
Yvonne Lehman and they asked me if I’d like to come get my car before they impounded it. I honestly can’t remember who I called to help me get the car; the only thing I remember is that I was going to have to take my twomonth-old daughter with me. Once arriving at the mall where my car was parked, I was informed by the deputies that my husband had been arrested for forgery. There were multiple charges and each one a felony. They told me he would be in jail for a long time. I thanked them for letting me pick up my car and the rest is a blur. That is, until the following day when my father and brother-in-law drove in from North Carolina to help me. They rented a truck to pack up what we could in a few short hours before we made the ten-hour drive back to my parents’ home. Within twenty-four hours, I had become a single mother of a two-month-old daughter, I had no income since I was on maternity leave at my job, and I had no way to pay my bills. I would lose the home that I owned. And I had no time to say goodbye to my friends. My life had literally changed overnight. Somewhere a Rainbow was written during the five-year span that I and my daughter Emily lived with my parents. It was a dark time for me but a period in my life where I felt an incredibly strong connection with God. In this story, I was the inspiration for the protagonist, Brooke Hadden, a single parent trying to rebuild her life with her five-year-old son. While some of the circumstances are different (such as how Brooke became a single parent and the fact she didn’t live with her parents), her struggles were very real and authentic. But there are happy moments too. Like Brooke, I found romance and am still married to the man I met during this transitional time in my life. Rodney and I have three wonderful daughters and two exceptional grandchildren. So, there is a happy ending to both stories! But I could not have found this happy ending without prayer, which is such an integral theme to Somewhere a Rainbow. Without a continual conversation with God, sometimes a crying out, I would not be where I am today. I weathered this difficult time in my life through my prayers and the prayers of others. This is a central theme to this novel. There is one special prayer in this story, however, that is especially sentimental xi
Romancing the South and personal to me. It takes place when another single parent and her children bring a spaghetti meal to Brooke and her five-year-old son, Ben, who offers to say the blessing for it. “Mmm. God bless Mommy and my doggie and the buh-sketti.” Ben then takes his hands, spreads them and adds, “That’s all.” On the surface, this prayer is very simplistic. But it is exactly how my five-year-old daughter, Emily, would pray. With childlike innocence. With certainty and brevity. My grandson, Emily’s five-year-old son, continues the legacy. While not brief with his thoughts (he has been known to go on and on and I think he will be a writer one day!), once he’s said all he needs to say to God, he concludes with “that’s all” or the occasional “the end.” Somewhere a Rainbow was a sweet reminder to me of how important prayer is. No matter what we’re experiencing in life, we should feel comfortable approaching God with childlike innocence, with certainty and brevity. We don’t need to be eloquent. We simply need to go to our Father, spread our hands, and say, “that’s all.”
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Book 1
Somewhere a Rainbow
One B
rooke Haddon drove her Nissan Altima along Highway 278 toward the resort island of Hilton Head and recognized the depression settling over her like a gray sky over the ocean. She tried to concentrate on her son’s enthusiasm, to be as excited as her five-year-old. But all that Ben found so fascinating only mimicked the same feelings she’d had seven years before. She’d been a blushing bride of twenty then, with a model’s face and figure, and as innocent and trusting as a child. Now she felt ancient—not so much in years as in experience. She’d spent her honeymoon in blissful naïveté on this island off the coast of South Carolina. Then, after a little more than six months of wedded bliss, her figure ballooned with pregnancy and the marriage took a downhill turn. Her new husband, politician Barrett Haddon, seemingly had everything going for him except a happy marriage. Now Barrett was dead, Brooke was a single parent, and the only thing between her and homelessness—or dependence upon her parents—was the honeymoon cottage owned by Barrett’s parents and recently deeded to her dreams. A year ago—had it only been a year?—when she’d sat in the back of a limo, driven from Barrett’s highly publicized funeral, she’d known that the following day the body of his lover would be laid to rest on the other side of town. She’d cried and grieved over a failed marriage, a son without a father, an auto accident that took two lives, and for truth that would have to be told someday. “Go slow, Mom,” Ben pleaded from the back seat, his dark eyes so like those of his father’s. “I want to see the gators.” Brooke forced a smile as she told her son, again, that alligators were found in lagoons and not along the main roads. She also emphasized the danger of getting close. Then she pointed out and said, “See the trees, 1
Romancing the South Ben? Those are called live oaks. And that stuff hanging down? That’s called Spanish moss. And see those really tall ones? Those are palms. And see—” “But can we go see the gators tonight?” Obviously, Ben was having none of her lesson on the trees of Hilton Head. “No,” she said, “we can’t go alligator hunting tonight. I have to get to the Realtor’s office and pick up the key before dark.” She pushed the call button on her steering wheel and, when prompted, commanded the phone to dial the number for Jessica Lawler. Within a moment the woman, whose voice was now familiar, answered. “Hi, Jessica,” Brooke said. “I just wanted you to know that I’m getting closer. According to my GPS, I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” “Sounds good,” the Realtor said. “I’m waiting right here for you.” “Thank you. See you then,” she said, ending the call. Just as the GPS had predicted, about ten minutes later, Brooke pulled into the parking lot of the real estate office. As she turned off the car, her stomach knotted. She had no idea what she may be getting into coming back to Hilton Head. She only knew she’d had few other choices. Ben was unbuckled and ready to hop out by the time Brooke stepped out and put her hand on the back-door handle. The poor child had been exceptionally patient on the two-day trip from Indiana. Brooke had stopped only to get food and a few hours’ sleep at a hotel the night before. “Come on, buddy,” she said, reaching for Ben’s hand. “Mrs. Haddon?” the Realtor asked from an inner office when they stepped through the door. Brooke nodded as a woman dressed casually in slacks and a cotton blouse stepped into the front room. “Jessica Lawler? I’m so sorry we’re running a little late.” Brooke tucked a strand of blond hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “Not a problem,” the Realtor assured her, giving a gentle push to fashionable glasses that covered friendly blue eyes set in a pleasant face. “Gave me an opportunity to catch up on some picky things I always put off and rarely get—” Her words stopped in mid-sentence as she saw 2
Somewhere a Rainbow Ben’s smiling face and outstretched hand, which she leaned over and shook. “My name’s Ben,” he said, and Brooke knew that between his brown eyes fringed with dark lashes and his mop of curly black hair, her son had charmed the Realtor. By the time he’d reached age two, Ben had started mimicking his father this way, realizing it attracted and pleased other people. Brooke was all too aware that she had a big job ahead, instilling in Ben the kind of inner qualities that had been neglected while his father was alive. “Would you like to have a seat?” Jessica asked, gesturing toward the chairs. Brooke grimaced, touching the back of her jeans. “I’ve been sitting in a car for two days. If you don’t mind, I’ll just stand.” Jessica picked up a set of keys from the desk, holding them as if reluctant to let them go. Her smile quickly turned to concern. “The electricity and water are on, like you requested.” She paused. “As I told your in-laws, last year we had a few storms come through that did a little damage. That, plus time . . . I’m afraid the cottage is going to need some work.” Stabbing concern hit Brooke in the pit of her stomach. Yes, her inlaws had informed her that the cottage needed repairs. But since Barrett had died, they’d simply not felt up to taking care of things outside of their range of vision. Brooke had been unsure if deeding the property over to her had been a gesture of goodwill toward their daughter-in-law or one of good riddance. “But it is habitable?” she asked Jessica. “Well, yes,” Jessica agreed, glancing away as if she couldn’t quite meet Brooke’s eyes. “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Brooke said, holding out her hand for the keys. Jessica reluctantly laid the keys in Brooke’s palm. Then she picked up an invoice. “Here’s what you owe for yard work.” Brooke gulped, looking at the bill. Would the bills never stop? All she’d done for the past year was try and settle his accounts. Barrett had made good money and had left a substantial insurance policy, but he’d 3
Romancing the South also run up significant bills so he could portray the image of a successful politician. She’d had to sell their home, which she took a significant loss on. She’d traded the sporty Cadillac for the more-sensible Altima. After she’d paid off the funeral and their credit card debt, she’d put aside the rest for her and Ben to live on until she could begin to make a living. Thank goodness she had Ben’s Social Security check coming in every month. With nervous fingers, she opened her purse and took out her wallet. “I assume you accept bank cards?” Jessica took the card and ran it through a reader, punched in a few numbers, then handed the debit card back to Brooke. “Thank you,” Brooke said. “For everything.”
Jake Randolph pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and answered with a swipe of his thumb. “Hello,” he said. “Jake,” the caller quipped. “It’s Jessica.” “Yes, ma’am. What’s up?” “I thought you’d want to know. Mrs. Haddon just picked up the keys to the cottage at 26 Seabreeze Lane.” “Okay.” “I told her the cottage needed some work.” Jake straightened. “Yes, ma’am.” “But I didn’t tell her just how many repairs it needed. Jake, she has a little boy and, quite frankly, I think she may have bitten off more than she can chew. Honestly, she doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.” “I’m more than happy to drive over and see if I can help her,” Jake said as he turned his truck into his sister, Gracie’s, driveway. “Well, good,” Jessica said with a sigh. “Because she’s really going to need your help.”
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