The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel

by Stansfield, Anita

  Jackson took hold of her hand and played with her ring. He noted that his shaking had almost stopped. “I thought I was a lot tougher than this. I’ve been trained for stuff like this. And even though they tell you that all the training in the world can’t really prepare you for the reality, you think you can handle it. I started praying for death the first hour. After a week I couldn’t believe that the human body was capable of enduring so much and not dying. I became angry with God for keeping me alive. Now I’m grateful that He did, but it’s not black and white.”

  Jackson saw tears on her face. “What is this?”

  “When I think of how you suffered, I . . . I . . .”

  “That’s why you mustn’t think about it.”

  “How can I not? Sometimes I think my imagination is worse than whatever you might tell me. When I was told that they didn’t know where you were, my mind went wild with possibilities. Now I know that some of them were true, and it’s just so . . . horrible.”

  “Yes, it is,” he said gently. “That’s why my feelings are complicated. Sometimes I’m still angry, and I wonder if it would have been better if I hadn’t survived.”

  “I don’t know how you can sit there and hold my hand and wish that you were dead. Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?”

  He looked her in the eye. “I’m not unsympathetic to your grief, Chas. But there are things worse than death. I don’t want what haunts me to haunt you, too. You say that you know this is right. I’m not sure that I know. Maybe I should have thought things through a little more before I showed up here with a ring.”

  “And maybe you need to trust the decision you made when you were thinking clearly, as opposed to doubting it when you’re overwhelmed with the memories of what you’ve suffered.” He was thoughtfully silent until Chas asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that I could really use a drink.”

  “No, you don’t need a drink. You’ve come this far without it. You don’t need to take up drinking again now.” He said nothing, and she added, “You have come this far without it, haven’t you?”

  “I haven’t had a drop since the day I told you I would stop drinking, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been tempting.”

  “All the more reason for you to be living here with me, as opposed to somewhere else by yourself. You need me.”

  “I won’t dispute that.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Whether or not I should be a burden to you.”

  “I think you’re blowing this all out of proportion. You think I can’t handle some nightmares and panic attacks?”

  “I don’t know, can you?”

  “Try me,” she said, then kissed him before he could argue any further. He took her face into his hands to prolong the kiss. Then she whispered, close to his lips, “You need me. I need you. This is right. Now, why don’t we have some breakfast. We need to drive to Butte to buy something for you to wear to our wedding.” She was going to be wearing her grandmother’s dress; but she needed a veil, and Jackson needed the perfect suit.

  Keeping hold of her face, he asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Trust me.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said, thinking he still had a few days to talk her out of it, even though he was hoping with all his heart and soul that she wouldn’t bend. He didn’t know what he’d do without her, but he wasn’t sure that was basis enough for marriage.

  By the time they were on the road to Butte, Jackson felt more calm and realized that he did need to keep perspective. He still felt concerned, but it didn’t feel so overwhelming. He took Chas’s hand and said, “Your patience means a lot to me.”

  “It’s not so hard to be patient when you love someone,” she said, and they exchanged a warm glance before he put his attention back to the road. “It’s really nice to have you back.”

  “It’s nice to be back,” he said. “I just hope that my brain will catch up with the rest of me before too long.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  “That’s what my therapist says.”

  “What else does he say?” she asked.

  “She,” he said. “It’s a she, and she’s almost old enough to be my mother. She said that getting married and starting a new life was probably one of the best things I could do, only because we have an established relationship that was in place before the incident. I hate that word. It’s always referred to as the incident.”

  “So call it something else.”

  “I can’t think of anything else that I would dare say in mixed company, so I’ll just have to refer to it as the incident.”

  Following some minutes of silence, Chas said, “May I ask what else she said? And does she have a name?”

  “Her name is Marie, and her specialty is working with military PTSD. I can’t imagine the horror stories she must hear.”

  “I’m only interested in what she said about your horror story . . . only if you want to tell me. But maybe it would help if I knew what kind of guidance she’s giving you.”

  Jackson blew out a harsh breath, preferring to avoid this, but knowing it was inevitable, and necessary. If there was any real hope of the two of them getting married and making it work, she had to know what they were dealing with. “Marie believes that I’m having trouble letting go of certain aspects of the incident because they’re linked into traumatic memories associated with my father. And I can’t dispute that. I thought of him way too much while . . .” He stopped himself, cleared his throat, then said, “What kind of man was I raised by if being beaten by sadistic drug lords reminded me of him?”

  Chas wanted to ask what his father had done. She wanted to ask what exactly had happened to him that had made such a connection in his mind. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, and she was sure that he would likely never tell her. She only said, “I thought you had come a long way with your feelings about your father.”

  “I thought I had too,” he said. “Apparently I was wrong.”

  “You’re still struggling with that, then?”

  “Every day,” he said. “I think it’s time to change the subject now. I can only handle so much talk of the incident per hour.”

  “Okay,” Chas said. “Have I told you in the last hour how much I love you and how grateful I am that you’re alive, and that you’re here with me, and that I get to be your wife?”

  Jackson smiled at her and kissed her hand. “Not in the last hour, but that’s okay. Hourly reminders won’t hurt.” He kissed her hand again. “I love you too.”

  Their errands in Butte went well, and they were able to find what they wanted without too much trouble. On the return drive, Chas reminded Jackson that the bishop was coming over that evening to visit with them. “Since he’s going to marry us on Friday,” she said, “he just wanted to have a little chat with us.”

  “Okay,” he said. “You told me that already. Is there a problem?”

  “I’m just wondering if you’re okay with that.”

  “I’m fine with it. As I recall, he’s a very nice man.”

  “He is.”

  “I just wonder if he has a problem with you marrying outside the Church.”

  “I already told him that I’d prayed about it and I knew it was right. He respects that completely. He likes you. Not that it would matter if he didn’t. I know what I’m doing is right.”

  “I sure hope so,” Jackson said and chuckled, “because we just spent a fortune on that suit.”

  “Worth every penny,” she said and laughed with him.

  Through miles of silence Chas prayed for guidance in being able to do the right thing, for herself as well as for Jackson. She didn’t question whether marrying him was right. Her answers had been clear and firm all along. But she wanted him to feel the same peace that she felt, and she wanted him to feel hope over the possibility of healing from all that currently plagued him. With his limited understanding of gospel principles and the workings o
f God, it was difficult, if not impossible, for her to explain the hope she felt on his behalf that he could eventually come to terms with the incident, as well as his feelings toward his father. But they had to move one step at a time, and with a man like Jackson, they had to move slowly. What’s the next step? she asked her Heavenly Father over and over, knowing that He knew what she meant.

  She prayed and pondered in silence for many more miles before a thought came to her. A simple, quiet idea that would fit perfectly into their plans for the evening—provided that Jackson would agree to it.

  “Have we ever talked about priesthood blessings?” she asked.

  Jackson roused himself from his thoughts enough to hear what she’d said and then process it. “I think so. Remind me.”

  She gave him a brief summary of the power of the priesthood, its purpose, and how blessings could be given for reasons of health, guidance, and comfort.

  “Okay,” he drawled. “And the point would be? You are trying to get to a point, aren’t you?

  “So I’m transparent. Remind me never to play poker with you.”

  “You don’t play poker.”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t play it with you.”

  He chuckled. “Nor would I with you.”

  “Touché,” she said. “The point is that the bishop is coming over this evening to talk with us about the wedding, and I think it might be a good idea for him to give each of us a blessing.” She watched him closely for a reaction. “If you’re okay with that.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “So . . . you believe that God can speak through a man who holds this priesthood power?”

  “I do.”

  Chas expected him to say that he didn’t believe it, but he only said, “I’m not a member of your church.”

  “The only requirement to receive a blessing is some measure of faith.” Chas allowed some long moments of silence for him to think about that before she asked, “Do you believe that God exists, that He hears our prayers, and that He might answer them through a chosen servant on our behalf?” He looked at her, then shifted his gaze back to the road. She could see his mind working and knew that he would never be anything less than completely honest with her. She added firmly, “And don’t say that you believe it if I believe it. That’s not good enough.”

  “I realize that. But is it okay to say that the things you’ve taught me, and the way you live, have made me believe it’s possible?”

  “Yes, that’s okay,” she said and smiled.

  “I don’t know that such things are true the way you do, and as you’ve pointed out on numerous occasions, I can’t just take your word for it. But I believe in God, and I believe in miracles. Is that faith enough?”

  “I’m certain it is,” she said and squeezed his hand. “You also believe in angels.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said.

  “But you haven’t really answered my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Are you okay with having the bishop give you a blessing?”

  “If you think it would help,” he said, “I’m okay with it. I’m not sure what to expect, but . . . I’m okay with it.”

  “All you have to do is show up and listen . . . with a little faith.”

  “Okay, I can do that,” he said, and Chas felt a deepening hope that everything would be all right. In her opinion, Jackson wasn’t nearly so bad off as he thought he was. She suspected his panic over the issues was due more to opposition attempting to keep them apart, rather than being an accurate indication of his mental state.

  When Bishop Wegg arrived that evening, Chas answered the door and ushered him into the parlor where Jackson was waiting. The two men shook hands, and they all took a seat. The bishop told them that he was pleased with the decision they’d made, and honored to be able to perform the ceremony. He explained how the ceremony would go according to Church and legal guidelines, and said that he’d be happy to answer any questions they had for him. But before he stopped talking long enough for either of them to ask a question, Bishop Wegg said, “I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but there’s something I’d like to say.”

  “Of course,” Chas said at the same time as Jackson motioned with his hand for the bishop to go on.

  “I’ve been thinking a great deal about the two of you since you called and asked me to perform the ceremony, and you’ve both been in my prayers. I realize that it’s not up to me whether the two of you get married, but . . .” Jackson held his breath, waiting to hear this man say that he felt it would be best if Chas didn’t marry him because he wasn’t a member of the Church—or because the man had been inspired concerning Jackson’s mental issues. The bishop took a breath and said, “I want you to know that I’ve felt a great deal of peace and happiness on your behalf. If I did have a vote, I would give it heartily in favor of this marriage. I’m certain the two of you are going to be very happy together, and bless each other’s lives a great deal.”

  Jackson felt Chas squeeze his hand while he basked in the relief of the bishop’s statement. It didn’t erase his every doubt, but it helped to know that Chas’s ecclesiastical leader was supportive of the union.

  “I also had the impression,” the bishop went on, “if you’re not opposed to it . . . that I might give each of you a blessing.”

  Chas and Jackson exchanged a lengthy glance then looked back to the bishop, who seemed alarmed. “Unless there’s a problem with that,” he said. “As I said, I don’t want to be—”

  “There’s no problem,” Jackson said “Whatever you feel is best.”

  Chas felt a miracle at work as the bishop laid his hands on her head and proceeded with the blessing. In it she was told that her Heavenly Father was pleased with the way she lived her life and with the choices she had made, and that the Spirit would be with her continually, to protect and guide her and her loved ones through whatever challenges might lay ahead, so long as she remained faithful to her covenants.

  Chas sensed some mild nervousness in Jackson when it came his turn, but only because she knew him so well. She felt certain the bishop wouldn’t have noticed. His blessing was much longer than hers, and she had trouble holding back tears as she listened. He was told that he was a choice son of God who had devoted his life to an honorable cause and had done much good. He was also told that his Heavenly Father was pleased with the place he had come to, and that he would continue to be guided so long as he continued to exert simple faith and trust in God. Chas nearly gasped aloud when words came forth about the severe injustices of the world and the harm that they caused to the human spirit at times. He was told that few people could understand the extreme depths of such depravity, but that God understood and had perfect empathy for his suffering. Jackson was promised healing in accordance with his faith, and great blessings through the trials that lay ahead as he united himself with the woman of his choosing and sought to be anxiously engaged in a good cause with her by his side.

  After the amen had been spoken, Chas met Jackson’s eyes and saw wonder and amazement there. If he believed that what had just been said was true, and had indeed come from God, it could be a huge step toward his eventually embracing the gospel that was so precious to her. One step at a time, she reminded herself as they exchanged a serene smile.

  After they had all returned to their initial seats, Jackson said to the bishop, “Were you aware of the recent challenges I had related to . . . my work?”

  The bishop looked confused, and Chas said to Jackson, “I spoke with my home teachers when I was going through the worst of it, but the bishop was out of town at the time, and . . . I didn’t tell him.”

  “I’m sorry,” the bishop said. “I didn’t know. Is it something I can help with?”

  “Perhaps something you should be aware of,” Jackson said. “Or maybe you already are.”

  Their eyes met firmly, relaying a silent message, and the bishop chuckled. “Forgive me, but . . . I often can’t even remember what I say when I give blessings. However pe
rsonal it might have been, it really didn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said, as if accepting that fact was not a problem. “But since you’re going to be my bishop too, in a roundabout way, I think you should know that I have been officially diagnosed with PTSD.”

  Chas took his hand, feeling proud of him for being so open about it, and she intended to tell him so later.

  “Post-traumatic stress?” Bishop Wegg asked.

  “You know it.”

  “Know of it,” he said. “It’s hard not to these days. But you haven’t been in the military for many years, or—”

  “I was held captive for three and half weeks during an undercover assignment with the FBI. It hasn’t been terribly long, and I must admit that I’ve wondered if I should burden Chas with the problem. It happened since the two of us met, and I believe I’ve changed a great deal because of it.”

  “Obviously God believes the two of you should be together,” the bishop said, and Chas waited for Jackson’s response, not certain how he really felt about what had been said in the blessing.

  “That would seem apparent,” Jackson said. “I suppose I just want to say that . . . I’m glad that you know so . . . if problems come up, you can be aware . . . for Chas’s sake.”

  “I’ll be happy to do anything I can,” the bishop said with evident sincerity. “Don’t hesitate to call if there’s ever a problem; anytime—day or night—I mean it.”

  “Thank you,” Chas and Jackson both said at the same time.

  The conversation lightened with some small talk that eased any residue of awkwardness over the difficult topic. After they walked the bishop to the door, Jackson went back to the parlor and sat down. Chas sat beside him and waited for him to say something. When minutes passed and he didn’t, she finally said, “Well, what do you think?”

  She was aching to hear his thoughts regarding the entire conversation, and the outpouring of spiritual information. He just smiled and said, “Will you marry me?”

  “I already said yes.”

  “Then, I guess we’re set.”