The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel

Cover images:
Large Victorian House in Winter
© Gary Buss, Courtsey of Getty Images.
Blank Sign
© xyno, Courtsey of iStock Photo.

Cover design copyrighted 2009 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

American Fork, Utah

Copyright © 2009 by Anita Stansfield

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

First Printing: November 2009

ISBN-13 978-1-60861-164-5

This book is dedicated with deep admiration and respect to

the greatest fiction writer of all time—

Charles Dickens—

whose work as well as his life have been a great

inspiration and comfort to me,

and to all who have been touched by the great work of

this great man.

“God bless us, every one.”

CHAPTER 1

Anaconda, Montana — The Sunday before Thanksgiving

Chas Henrie rushed frantically to make certain everything was under control at the inn before she checked on her grandmother and hurried off to church. She was pleased when she managed to get to her usual seat five minutes before the meeting started, which gave her time to take a few deep breaths and shift the gears of her mind from her responsibilities in temporal matters to her desire to improve in spiritual ones.

Chas was used to sitting alone at church, but it still made her feel lonely. People were kind and good to her, but everyone else had family members to sit with. She’d often been invited to sit with a number of families, but she preferred her solitude over pretending to fit in with a family that wasn’t her own. Granny was her only real family, but she was not a member of the Church. She’d always been completely respectful of Chas’s decision to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, even though she’d thought it was a bit strange. And they had a firm mutual respect regarding each other’s opinions and beliefs. Chas didn’t criticize her grandmother for drinking coffee or having her warm brandy at bedtime, and Granny didn’t criticize Chas’s decision to not join her for coffee or brandy. A cup of cocoa maintained their social rituals without compromising Chas’s standards.

As the meeting progressed, she found it difficult to focus during a couple of talks that were decidedly boring. They were good people and she admired them, but many of the speakers who ended up at the pulpit were not necessarily good at it. Still, she readily recognized that the spirit of the meeting was strong, and she was grateful. And yet her mind wandered. The lessons in Sunday School and Relief Society were good, but her mind continued to meander around in territory she preferred to avoid. After all these years, why did it still have to feel this way?

It was starting to snow when Chas left the church building, and by the time she had returned to the inn, it was coming down heavily. The storm was destined to be bad, and her thoughts focused on the guest who was flying into Butte this afternoon from Virginia and making the drive to the inn. As she quickly went to check on her grandmother, she said a silent prayer for him that he would arrive safely.

“You okay, Granny?” she asked, making the old woman’s bed now that she’d moved to the big chair with a book.

“I’m dandy,” Granny said with her usual enthusiasm while focusing on her reading. Chas chuckled while she automatically tidied the room. Her grandmother could barely walk from the bed to the chair to the bathroom. She was old and weak and tired. But at ninety-three she had the most positive attitude of anyone Chas had ever known. She was always “dandy,” even when she clearly wasn’t. No matter what happened, Granny—as Chas had called her from the cradle—always saw the glass half full. Chas consciously tried each day to do the same, but it was harder for her than for Granny, and she wished she’d inherited more of an ability to be positive from this great woman who had raised her.

Chas’s father had never been around. Chas didn’t even know who he was, and preferred it that way, since she was well aware that her conception had been a crime. Her mother had been—according to Granny—so emotionally and physically traumatized by the event, that her health had been tenuous throughout the entire pregnancy. But she had been determined to keep her baby, and had loved it long before it was born. Chas’s mother had died bringing Chas into the world. And Chas had been left to be raised by her grandmother, a widow with no family to speak of and nothing to her name but a rotting family home that was more than a hundred years old. But Chas had loved growing up in the huge, old mansion. And she’d never wanted for anything, especially love and a sense of belonging, something she suspected other people born under such circumstances might not feel.

Granny had worked most of her life in a bakery, which had provided sufficient income for their needs since the house had been inherited free and clear. It had been a good childhood, and Chas had felt certain the goodness of her life would continue when she’d married her high-school sweetheart. She believed that she had loved Martin since kindergarten. He’d always been around, always been a playmate, and they’d always felt drawn to each other. For as long as she’d known him, he had talked of becoming an Air Force pilot. When he’d asked Chas to marry him, she’d known he was joining the military, and that she would spend her life moving from place to place. But she loved Martin and committed her life to him and to his military career. Granny had been heartbroken to think of Chas leaving Anaconda, but she never would have stood in the way of Chas’s happiness. Granny had always liked and respected Martin. It had all seemed perfect.

After being stationed a thousand miles away with her new husband during his training, Chas had returned to Montana the week before Thanksgiving to finish out her pregnancy and have her first baby in her hometown, with her Granny there to help her. Martin would have a few days of leave during the holidays, and more when the baby came. Then on the Sunday before Thanksgiving, everything changed. The glass had spilled, and she’d been trying to get it half full ever since.

“How are
you?”
Granny asked, setting her book on her lap.

“I’m fine,” Chas said with a smile, telling herself that it was more an attempt to be positive than it was a lie. “What are you reading?” she asked for the sake of distraction. Chas took the book to see the cover, already knowing it would be a Dickens novel. Granny rotated through them regularly, and rarely—if ever—read anything else. She practically had them memorized.
Martin Chuzzlewit.
She chuckled. “You love the way Dickens makes fun of Americans in that book, don’t you.”

“Yes, I do!” Granny said and actually clapped her aged hands together. The light in her eyes and her smile contradicted her frail appearance. “But I especially love the part when young Martin comes home from America.”

The words stung Chas.
When young Martin comes home.
It took all her willpower to not let her chin quiver or her eyes water. But she was even more determined not to let her emotion show when she realized that Granny was watching her closely, waiting for a reaction. “You said that on purpose, you old goose!” Chas said and put the book back in her grandmother’s lap before she turned away to pretend to watch the snow falling.

“Of course I did. I had to say something to get you to acknowledge what day it is.”

“I don’t have any trouble acknowledging what day it is, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Maybe you should,” Granny said, and Chas marveled that a tiny, shriveled old woman could have such a voice of authority.

“There’s nothing to say that we haven’t said a hundred times. It’s been twelve years.”

“And you’re still hurting over it.”

“I’ll get your lunch, Granny,” Chas said and hurried to the kitchen, stopping first to shut herself in the bathroom and cry just enough to relieve the pressure of her grief.

“You know what your problem is,” Granny said when Chas returned with the lunch tray.

“You do,
apparently,” Chas said and situated the little portable table in front of her grandmother so that she could eat her meal.

“You need to find someone else, someone to love, someone to replace the memories.”

Chas was momentarily stunned. She’d heard her grandmother say it before, but not for about five years. That’s when Chas had issued a firm decree that her need to find a man would no longer be discussed. She’d said then and she said now, “If God has a man out there for me, I’m sure He’ll send him my way.”

“So you seem to believe, but do you think any man could get through that armor of yours, even if God gave him a big shove in your direction?”

“I’m not talking about this, Granny,” Chas said. “Is there anything else you need right now? Do you need to get to the bathroom before you eat?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you for the meal, honey. Remember that I love you.”

Chas sighed. Granny said it frequently, like a disclaimer to counteract any hurt feelings between them. And it always worked, because Chas knew she meant it. “I love you too, Granny,” Chas said and kissed her grandmother’s forehead before she went to check on the progress of the day’s business of the inn. Chas didn’t like working on Sundays or having other people do it for her. But that was the nature of the business. She had long ago settled the issue with the Lord, and knew with confidence that He approved of her profession, and she took very seriously the task of creating a different atmosphere at the inn on Sundays. Only the bare minimum of work was done to care for guests coming and going. Rooms that didn’t have to be cleaned for Sunday night arrivals waited until Monday. And Chas considered her role as innkeeper to have deep meaning for her.

Once she knew that everything was under control, Chas fixed some lunch for herself, then sat to write in her journal. More and more it had become her best friend. She didn’t know if that was good or not. She had friends from church, and friends outside of the Church. In fact, she’d been blessed with many friends. But only one came close to being what she could call a best friend. That was Charlotte. But as much as she and Charlotte enjoyed each other’s company and helped each other through a variety of tasks and situations, their values were dramatically different, and Charlotte simply didn’t understand the most important aspects of Chas’s life. Therefore, her journal was truly her closest friend, and she poured her heart out, especially on this difficult anniversary. She shed tears again as she recalled so clearly the day when the news had arrived. The Sunday before Thanksgiving.

Chas was startled from her grief by a thought that urged her to go to the office to look at the reservation roster. There was only one guest arriving tonight, the man flying in from Virginia. It was her standard policy to get detailed information when reservations were made, so she knew where he was coming from, when his flight was scheduled to arrive, and that he would be renting a car. And she knew his cell phone number. She smiled to recall their phone conversation when he’d called to make the reservation, confirming the fact that she would rent rooms by the week according to what he’d read on her website. She’d asked him all the usual questions, and he’d said in a voice that was facetiously sarcastic, “Is this some kind of background check? Would you like me to fax over my fingerprints?”

“You can if you want,” she’d replied in the same tone, “but it’s really not necessary. I just want to know when to expect you and how to get hold of you if I need to. I make it a policy to take very good care of my guests.”

“All I need is peace and quiet,” he’d said with the barest hint of an edge to his voice.

“Now, that’s not true,” she’d countered lightly. “You need a bed, a bathroom, and a good meal now and then—or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

“You got me there,” he’d said and gave her his credit card information, adding a crack about blood samples and DNA testing.

Chas looked out the window at the deepening snow and said another prayer on behalf of his safe arrival.

* * * * *

Jackson Leeds watched from the plane window as the runway of Butte, Montana, came closer and closer through the flurry of snowflakes. The jolt of the wheels hitting the ground startled him, even though he’d been waiting for it. He was still wondering if he’d made a mistake, running away like this, hiding like some scared rabbit. But he didn’t know what else to do, or where to go. There was nowhere familiar to him that might keep him safe from the varying degrees of well-meant concern and consternation of everyone he knew.

It took far longer than he’d hoped to get his luggage and pick up his rental car. By the time he was on the road out of the city, he felt exhausted and just wanted to sleep, even though it was still daylight. He glanced at his watch and estimated his time of arrival. Less than an hour from the airport, he’d been told. He was counting the minutes until he could be in bed.

Jackson hadn’t been driving for long when the snow suddenly worsened. He had to slow down considerably, and he cursed under his breath as a simple drive turned into a stressful ordeal. His frustration grew as he was forced to keep driving more slowly, and it became difficult if not impossible to see the lines on the road, or the signs. When the car clock showed him that he had passed the time when he should have been taking a nap, he hit the dashboard with a fist and cursed more loudly. He was actually beginning to feel nervous about getting stranded or lost when his cell phone rang. He glanced quickly at the caller ID, then back to the road.
Dickensian Inn
it read, and he flipped the phone open, wondering if there was a problem with his reservation. The very idea
really
ticked him off.

“Yeah?” he said, then reminded himself that he wasn’t talking to one of his coworkers.

“Mr. Leeds?” asked the same person who had helped him make his reservation a few days ago.

“Yes.”

“Forgive me, but . . . I just wanted to make certain you were okay. The weather’s gotten really nasty.”

“You think?” he said, then cleared his throat as if he could cancel that. “Sorry,” he said. “Yes, the weather is nasty and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m lost. It was very kind of you to call. Thank you. I’m on my way, but I’m not sure when I’ll get there.”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” he admitted, and she began asking questions about signs and landmarks. When he told her that he hadn’t seen anything for many minutes because of the snow, she offered him kind reassurance that she’d come and find him if she had to. He laughed, then had to say, “You’re serious.”

“Yes, of course.” She sounded surprised that he would doubt her.

“And what makes you think you wouldn’t get lost yourself?”

“Because this is my hometown, Mr. Leeds, and I can get whatever help I need from the people around here to make certain my guests arrive safely.”

Not certain how to acknowledge something so surprisingly kind, he was relieved to be able to say, “I just passed a sign.” He told her what it said, and she told him to watch his odometer, and exactly how far it was to the turn.