The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel

by Stansfield, Anita

  “Not shocked, perhaps. But I’ll probably cry.”

  “Don’t waste too many tears on me, young man. I’ve had a good life. Yours is just getting started.”

  While Granny was in the bathroom, Jackson pondered her words. Just getting started? It felt mostly over and basically pointless—or at least it had until he’d met Chas. But he was older than she was, and sometimes he felt just plain old. He chuckled at the thought of how Granny would respond to such a comment. She was nearly fifty years his senior. When she was his age, Chas hadn’t yet been born, and Granny had given a lifetime to raising her. Maybe he was just getting started. He’d like to think so.

  After Granny was settled back into her chair, they finished the movie, but Granny dozed off toward the end, and he had to elbow her to remind her to watch the best part. “Come on,” he said, “you can’t miss Sydney facing off the guillotine.”

  “No, I wouldn’t want to miss that,” she said somewhat seriously. “It’s a very Christian story, isn’t it.”

  “Is it? I’d never really thought about it that way.”

  “There’s a lot of things you should think about, young man,” she said. “Since you’re reading it again, take notice of what a Christian story it is. I believe Charles was very purposeful with the way he filled it with Christian metaphors.”

  “Such as?”

  She looked at him as if he didn’t have a brain in his head, but her expression made him chuckle. “One man giving his life for another, with the only motive being love and sacrifice.”

  “Okay, I can see that,” he said. “I’ve just never been very . . .”

  “What?”

  “Religious.”

  “Neither have I, but that doesn’t mean we’re not Christians.”

  “How exactly would you define being Christian?” he asked.

  “Believing in Christ, living in a way that coincides with what He taught, which is simple: to be kind to other people; have integrity. All the good things we can be in this world came from His example.” She tightened her gaze on him. “So are you or aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “A Christian?”

  “I . . . um . . .”

  “You’ve never really thought about it?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Well, maybe you should. Charles was a Christian; still is, I’m sure. It’s evident all through his books what his beliefs were. That gives us something in common. You do celebrate Christmas, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “And you do know why we celebrate Christmas?”

  “I do.”

  “That’s something, then,” Granny said.

  “Is Chas a Christian?” Jackson asked.

  “More than most people,” she said as if she’d already given the matter a great deal of thought. “She not only believes it on Sundays, she lives it every hour of every day.”

  “So she does,” he said quietly.

  Granny fell asleep, and Jackson found Chas still busy in the kitchen. When she refused to let him help her wash dishes, he went up to his room, had a drink and read, watching for telltale evidence that Charles Dickens was a Christian. He fell asleep with the book in his lap and woke in the middle of the night. Once he was in bed, he thought of his conversations with Chas and couldn’t wait to see her again. He slept again and woke to daylight. When he was ready to leave the room, he found a note that had been slid under his door. The piece of paper folded in half was stationery from the inn. On it was written in Chas’s handwriting, I had to leave early and won’t be back until very late, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good day. Chas. P.S. Your anniversary gift is in the dining room behind the coffee maker. It has your name on it. You can’t miss it.

  Jackson smiled and read it all the way through three times before he set it aside and hurried downstairs to see what she had left for him. He was disappointed to think of not seeing her today, and wondered where she might have gone. But the evidence that she’d been thinking of him helped immensely. Just behind the coffee maker was a large white mug. He picked it up to see that someone had written his name on it in permanent black marker. In Chas’s elegant hand it said, Agent Jackson T. Leeds. He imagined it on his desk back at the office and smiled, but he wasn’t sure of the point. Then he turned it around and laughed out loud to see that it was just like Granny’s favorite mug. He glanced around to make sure he was alone and that no one had heard his outburst. Then he just had to say it aloud. “Mostly, it was the worst of times.” Oh, the perspective it put on having a bad day once in a while!

  Jackson left the mug there, certain no one else would use it when it really did have his name on it. After his run and a shower, Polly served him a lovely breakfast. Then he went into town to look around. Anaconda was a quaint place with a lot of character, and he liked the look and feel of it. He wished that he’d thought to ask Polly where Chas had gone. He thought, however, that he probably shouldn’t appear too nosy; but when he returned and Polly was in the office, his curiosity was far stronger than his concern about looking nosy.

  “She’s gone to Idaho Falls,” Polly said, keeping her attention on her paperwork.

  “Idaho Falls?” he repeated as if she’d said Afghanistan. “Isn’t that an awfully long drive?”

  “Four hours each way,” she reported.

  “Why?” he asked too much like an FBI agent. “Does she have a friend there, or—”

  “It’s a religious thing,” Polly said, finally looking up. “I don’t understand it. I just know it means a lot to her. There’s a Mormon temple there. She goes once a month. Drives over and back in one day. She’ll probably be late.”

  “How late?”

  “Way past supper late. But don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.”

  “You don’t have to cook my supper, Polly. I’m certain I could manage.”

  “It’s okay. I have to take care of Granny, anyway. Chas left everything ready. It’ll be a cinch. Is there anything you need in the meantime?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine. If you need any help with Granny, let me know.”

  The day dragged for Jackson, even though he spent some time with Granny more than once. He wondered what on earth Chas would drive to Idaho Falls for that had to do with her religion. He couldn’t help being curious, but he wondered if this was the kind of religion that disapproved of people marrying outside of their religion. That would certainly complicate the possibility of their ever ending up together. And yet, here he was, contemplating marriage. Two weeks ago if someone had told him he’d be contemplating marriage, he’d have laughed—hysterically. On top of that, he was pondering religion, or at the very least, wondering if he was a Christian. He really had never thought of it before. He understood the dynamics of celebrating Christmas; and all that stuff about peace and good will was something he appreciated and respected, but not any more or less than he appreciated and respected the fact that Jewish people did not celebrate Christmas. It was certainly food for thought.

  Throughout the evening, Jackson almost felt a tangible cloud gathering around him. He started feeling crazy for even considering that he could have a future with someone like Chas, certain that she deserved far, far better than he could ever be. He began to wonder if he should just pack his bags and get back to Norfolk before he and Chas became any more attached to each other. He knew the searching of his premises had long since been completed, and he could go back there now; but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to face the creepy feelings he knew he’d have just thinking about people in his agency going through his every belonging. As he’d told Chas, he wasn’t terribly concerned about the outcome. He just hated the ugliness of the situation. And that, too, added darkness to his mood. He thought of Dave’s wife, Mary, facing the holidays alone with her children, and he felt nauseous. He started hearing the shots go off in his head, and those shots triggered other shots that took him back to moments during his Marine experience that he wished he could permanently erase. Emptyin
g his glass and pouring more into it, he thought of Chas telling him that he drank too much and felt certain she was right. And she’d nailed it right on the head. It wasn’t so much the quantity that he drank, or the frequency. It was his reasons for doing it that were a problem. Everything seemed to be a problem, he thought and went down to the parlor, wanting to be sure that Chas made it home safely. He’d never be able to sleep until he knew she was okay.

  * * * * *

  Chas pulled into the inn just after eleven, glad to be home and to know that everything was all right. She’d talked to Polly on the cell phone a while ago and knew that Granny was asleep, Jackson had been given a nice dinner, and all was well. Polly was going to sleep in one of the rooms, as she did on occasion. It was something they’d done many times for different reasons. Tonight it was just easier for Polly to go to bed as opposed to waiting until Chas got home. Sometimes she slept there so she’d be available early if Chas needed extra help with breakfast for several guests. And Chas had decided back when she’d opened the inn that she would never spend the night alone in the house with only one male guest there. It was simply her policy for Polly to stay if that were the case. The only exception she’d ever made was having Jackson in the house, but of course, Granny was there. And Jackson made her feel more safe, not less.

  Chas got out of the car and opened the back door of the inn with a key. As was her habit, she walked up the hall to make certain everything was as it should be and to peek in on Granny. She set her things down just outside her bedroom door, then she noticed a glow coming from the parlor. Creeping closer, she could see that there was a fire in the fireplace, and Jackson was sitting in front of it, his stocking feet up on the cocktail table.

  “Hello,” he said without looking in her direction when she entered the room.

  “Hello,” she said, noting that he looked a little dazed while he stared into the flames, holding a glass of liquor in his hand.

  “You’re home safely.” He took a long sip but still didn’t look at her.

  “I am. Were you worried?”

  “Maybe. I knew you would be late, but I wasn’t sure I could sleep until I knew you were safe.”

  “That’s very sweet,” she said and sat down across from him, but still he didn’t look at her. Certain the liquor had affected his brain, she felt mildly angry and intent upon getting his attention. She prayed silently that her wonderful day wouldn’t be ruined by coming home to something that might mar it. Without giving him any warning, she took the glass from his hand and threw the contents into the fire where the flames let out a brief burst of exuberance from the added fuel. “Do you see what that stuff will do to you?”

  Her tactic worked when he looked up at her, astonished, and snapped out of his daze. “You can take the cost of that stuff off my bill.”

  “Gladly.” She slammed the empty glass on the table. “Although I think it’ll balance out the extra charge for babysitting. Is this what you do when you’re at home alone?”

  “Usually,” he had to admit.

  “Well, if you think I’m going to let you just sit around here and drink yourself into oblivion, you’re very, very, very mistaken.”

  “What difference does it make to you, Mrs. Dickens? As long as I pay my bill and don’t cause you any trouble, what I do is what I do.”

  “Then do it in your room. But don’t lie around in my parlor like an unmade bed, holding that booze like some kind of teddy bear.” He said nothing, didn’t move, and she added with a fair amount of confidence, “If you ask me, you wanted me to find you and dump it out. If you really wanted to be alone and get drunk, you would have stayed in your room.”

  “Fine, I’ll stay in my room,” he said and came to his feet. She noted that he couldn’t have been drinking too much. He didn’t have any trouble moving around her and walking briskly toward the stairs. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, and the distant sound of his door closing two flights up, then she sank into the chair where he’d been sitting and cried. It had been such a good day—until a couple of minutes ago. The feelings that had come to her with thoughts of Jackson and their blossoming relationship had been so warm and positive. She had really believed that they were on a good course, even if she didn’t know what the outcome might be. And then she’d come home to this.

  She sat there until the fire burned down, praying and pondering the situation. She finally came to the conclusion that she was tired, and this issue needed to be addressed once she’d had some sleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jackson came awake and recalled the conversation with Chas just before he’d come up the stairs. He groaned and wondered what he’d been thinking. If he was trying to convince her that he wasn’t good enough for her, he was doing a good job. But that’s not what he wanted, and he had to figure out a way to reverse it. He went out for his usual run, hoping that brisk air and exercise would help him find the answer. By the time he got back it was snowing hard, and the answer had come. He knew what to do as clearly as he’d ever known which person was guilty of a crime and needed to be arrested. When it was right, he just knew it. Still wearing his running clothes, he looked at the partially full bottle of expensive whiskey, and the other one that hadn’t been opened. It took him a minute to gather the courage, and then he just did it. He opened them both, dumped their contents down the drain, and threw the empty bottles into the waste basket. He’d told Chas she inspired him to be a better man. Whether or not he could ever measure up to a woman like Chas, he was surely capable of becoming a better man.

  He showered and went down to breakfast, drinking coffee from the mug with his name on it, and reading USA Yesterday.

  “Good morning,” he said to Chas when she appeared with the first part of his breakfast.

  “Good morning,” she replied, sounding only mildly cool.

  He tipped down the paper and looked at her. “Thank you for the mug. I love it. If I ever do go back to the office, it will be greatly coveted.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, seeming a little more relaxed. But she hadn’t gone back into the kitchen.

  “Listen,” he said, needing to get it over with, “I behaved badly last night, and I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again.”

  “Apology accepted,” she said.

  “Are you going to join me?”

  “If you like.”

  “I would like that very much,” he said and set the paper aside.

  “Did you miss me?” she asked as she sat down.

  “I did. Did you miss me?”

  “I did.”

  “What did you do, exactly?”

  “I already know that Polly told you where I went.” She paused and studied his expression—and her feelings on the matter. She knew that now wasn’t the right time to bring up religion with him. In that regard she needed to move slowly and with caution, relying on the Spirit to guide her. Only the Lord would know when the right teaching moments might come up with this man who had lived a hard life and would likely not be impressed by someone even appearing to push religion on him. “I’ll tell you more about it some other time,” she concluded and started talking about the weather. A taut silence ensued, and she decided that she just had to clear the air. “Forgive me,” she began, “but I can’t skip over what happened last night. It’s really bugging me.”

  “Are you saying that you can’t live with a man who drinks?”

  “Whether or not we end up living together—only if we were married, of course,” she added with panic, not wanting him to get the wrong idea.

  “Of course.”

  “That issue is secondary to the fact that you’re drinking, and usually alone, and more when I’m not around.” Her voice softened. “I’m concerned, Jackson.”

  He set down his fork and folded his arms. “Okay, why don’t you just say what you feel like you need to say and get it over with.”

  “Okay, I will. I’d wager you’re dependent on alcohol and you just won’t admit it.” She ignored the way he
glared at her. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. With the way the world is today, a lot of people are dependent on liquor to get through a day.”

  “So, you’re saying I can’t go without it?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said, “I’ll take you on. What’s your wager?”

  Chas grinned like a Cheshire cat. “If you can go a week without drinking any liquor at all—not a drop—I will take you out to dinner at the finest restaurant in town and buy you a meal you will never forget.”

  “And if I don’t make it?”

  “You have to do the same for me.”

  “I just see one problem with this,” Jackson said. “What makes you think I’ll be here another week?”

  Instead of letting the question rattle her, Chas chose to sway in the direction of being positive. “Where else are you going to go? What motivation do you have to go out in this weather and get yourself to the airport where you can sit in a cold chair and wonder if your flight will get off the ground? You don’t want to leave, and I know it.” She saw him smile, that barest hint of a smile that rarely showed, even with short of bursts of laughter. And she couldn’t resist adding, “Sometimes you’re just a little more transparent than you think you are.”

  “Fine,” he said, his smile going a little wider. On a scale of one to ten, he might have almost hit a three. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mrs. Dickens. I assume this means you and I will be spending a lot more time together.”

  “You’re assuming to the point of being presumptuous, Mr. Leeds.”

  “What else am I going to do to distract me from my supposed alcoholism?”

  “Read a book.”

  “All day every day? Come on, this was your idea. You’ve got to help me out here. Consider me a charity case. I know how you feel about charity.”

  “How do you know how I feel about charity?”

  He pointed to a stitched wall hanging to his right that read Charity Never Faileth.

  Chas chuckled. “You got me there. Okay, charity case, after breakfast you can go down to the cellar and bring up some potatoes and carrots, and then you can check on Granny.”