The far side of heaven, p.1
The Far Side of Heaven, page 1
The Far Side of Heaven
D.L. Gardner
Published by D.L. Gardner, 2020.
Table of Contents
Title Page
The Far Side of Heaven
Dedication
Charlene’s Bane
The Shop
The Flat
The Diner
An Icy Storm
Christmas is coming
The Ranch
The Eve of Christmas
Lights
Not Goodbye
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About the Author
The Far Side of Heaven
This story is the sole work of
D. L. Gardner.
No portion may be copied or used in any form without the consent of the author.
@ 2020 D. L. Gardner
Information may be obtained by contacting
Dianne L Gardner at gardnersart.com
All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to any place or person is purely coincidental.
More works by the author as well as video and audio are listed on the author’s website.
https://gardnersart.com
Cover design Les Solot Les
https://www.fiverr.com/germancreative
Dedication
THE FAR SIDE OF HEAVEN is dedicated to all of those who have had a hard time at Christmas and often feel they may be forgotten. I know I’ve had my share of sorrow during the holidays. May this little telling bring you a sense of hope, and some Light at the end of your tunnel.
Charlene’s Bane
“THE FAULT, DEAR BRUTUS, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves.” -William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
IF CHARLENE SHUT OFF her old pickup truck next to the ruins of her burned out house, she’d have to coast it down the hill and pop the clutch, and if that didn’t get the engine going, she’d have to push the rubber-wheeled antique back up the hill by herself. That was a no-go on this icy incline, so she put the vehicle in park and with two hands, she hoisted the emergency brake lever.
“Darn thing still sticks,” she mumbled, giving the brake a final yank.
Exhaust trundled into the air. The engine both sputtered and purred. She paused, her foot hovering over the clutch.
“Well? What are you going to do?” she asked the old Ford. “Run or stall?”
Charlene waited.
The engine spat a few times, then settled into a growl. She nodded and grabbed her gloves off the seat before planting her feet on the crunchy ice.
She pulled her wool scarf over her ears and tucked it in a knot under her coat close to her chin. Tugging her ski cap down over her head, she stepped away from the cab. She grabbed three milk crates out of the truck bed and headed toward the ruins that was once her home. The truck door swung open; the heater hadn’t worked ever since her ex rewired the ignition so what did it matter?
Nothing of her former house remained. There was only a lone brick fireplace standing amid the rubble of a burned-out ranch house. Most of the debris had been cleared, the broken glass, the charred furniture, the wiring that had melted into the ground. Her parents had hired a crew to clean up the remnants with a backhoe after this summer’s wildfire destroyed the forty-acre estate. She had no fire insurance. No one in Meritville did. Too many wildfires.
Because of that, property values had plummeted. Instead of trying to sell the forty acres, her parents signed a quit claim deed to the property for Charlene. They put a portion of their savings in the bank to help her pick up the pieces of her broken life and then her parents moved to Europe.
Perhaps someday Charlene would rebuild.
The only part of the ranch that hadn’t been devastated by the fire was the root cellar which was a dug-out separate from the home. Today Charlene filled her crates with the last of the home-canned goods that had been stored there. Apples, peaches, canned plums. Even the green beans from last year’s garden were still good. She’d need the extra food. With snow covering the mountain passes, their local grocery store was having difficulty keeping stocked. Tourism in her little town of Meritville would come to an abrupt standstill. It always did when winter set in unless the ski lodge twenty miles away brought visitors.
But why would they? Meritville had little to offer folks from the big city.
Charlene’s shop had weathered the lack of tourism in the past, but that was before the fire took so many homes. The population had declined drastically. Like her parents had, Meritville folks moved elsewhere. It was a wonder that the little community hadn’t become a ghost town.
Christmas was going to be cheerless this year.
The Shop
“I’VE LEARNED A LONG time ago not to depend on the Meritville Mercantile to feed us” - Charlene
CHARLENE NOTICED JILL Newberry standing outside the Cozy Home Gift shop that also served as a library and coffee shop. When Charlene drove up, her friend pulled her hands out of her downy coat and waved, steamy breath leaking from under her turned up collar. The store wouldn’t open for an hour so to see Jill with her teeth chattering and stomping her boots on the brittle sidewalk surprised Charlene.
“I’ll be right there. I’ve got to park this battle-axe on the hill. Meet me around the corner and you can help me carry a crate.” Charlene stopped in the street and shouted out the half-opened window.
“Got ya!” Jill agreed.
The truck skidded when Charlene turned right on Oarlock Street, wheels spinning. She gunned the vehicle up the hill, made a U-turn by the alley and pulled up alongside the curb. Turning her wheels inward and with a strong hoist on the emergency brake handle, she shut off the engine. She quickly jumped out and retrieved two bricks from the truck bed and tossed them on the ground. With her boot, she kicked them in front of her tires. Jill trudged up the hill to meet her.
“What did you get this time?” Jill asked as Charlene pulled the crates out of the truck.
“Food.”
“Food? You worry too much,” Jill said.
“And you don’t worry enough, Jill. I’ve learned a long time ago not to depend on the Meritville Mercantile to feed us.”
“It’s not like Lewisville is eons away. It only takes an hour to get there.”
Charlene looked at her friend’s brilliant blue eyes peeking out from under the woolen ski hat.
“You jest,” Charlene said.
“We could take my car,” Jill added meekly after a quick examination of Charlene’s truck.
“Thanks for recognizing this gas guzzling jalopy isn’t road-worthy!” She carried the weight of two filled crates down the hill with Jill carrying the other. “There’s a big stormfront coming from Alaska this week. Should be hitting Washington tomorrow.”
“Christmas Eve is Thursday,” Jill reminded her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Shoot. That means we probably won’t have power on Christmas.” Jill pouted.
Charlene set her boxes on the sidewalk and slipped the key to her shop into the keyhole. Icicles hung from the eaves above her and frost covered the corners of the door’s window.
“What Christmas? Or should I say what’s Christmas?”
“You’re such a humbug,” Jill complained as the two pushed their way into the store with arms loaded. “My nephews from the coast are supposed to be here Wednesday.”
“Your nephews will be snowed in.”
“That’s ok. They like snowboarding.”
“How are they getting here?”
“The train. They’re arriving tomorrow night and we’re supposed to go shopping together in Lewisville. Brr. Turn the heat on!” Jill set the box of food on one of the tables in the dining area.
The Cozy Home Gift Shop had two tables and a kitchen, but it wasn’t really a restaurant of sorts. It was a library first and foremost because Charlene’s father, who had started the busines and then signed it over to her when they left, had been an avid reader and book collector. It had been his idea to open the library and offer scholastic opportunity to the rural residents of Meritville. Only after Charlene’s divorce did he give the store over to her and she added to the inventory by buying books wholesale and offering them as merchandise. She promoted local authors by writing reviews in a column in the local newspaper and letting them have book signings.
With tourism a primary resource for Meritville’s economy, Charlene purchased customized gift items to put in the shop and soon she had soaps and crafts made locally, and tourist relics to remind travelers that there indeed existed a little town called Meritville. Since she spent all day in the store, she purchased an espresso machine and offered coffee, tea, and homemade breads and cookies for customers who wanted to linger. Mrs. Jameston did the baking. Hence, the dining area.
Charlene deactivated the security alarm, turned on the heat and picked up her crates again. “We’re taking these upstairs.”
Jill grunted and followed her up the creaking rungs at the back of the store. “This is hard,” she complained. “You really do need to get these stairs fixed. What if I tripped and broke my hip?”
“You’re not old enough to break your hip. C’mon Jill, be a big girl.”
At the top of the stairs, Charlene goaded the door open and stepped into the tiny flat she had made a home out of. A foam cushion on the floor served as a bed. She set her crate on an old folding table and pushed the microwave up against the wall. Her clothes were folded
Jill set her crate down and looked around.
“I thought you were going to get some furniture in here.”
“Didn’t happen. Besides, Sheriff Bandon says I have to move out in the spring. He said it’s illegal for me to take up residence here.” She tossed a kitchen towel that had been wadded on the table into her pile of laundry.
“He’s not going to evict you what with the fires and all is he?”
“Not now. But as soon as the weather turns, he will.”
“Over my dead body!” Jill tossed her blond hair behind her shoulder and put her hands on her hips. Charlene chuckled at her. Always there to stand up for her friend.
“What are you going to do? Fight the sheriff?” Charlene asked.
“No. I guess not. You can move in with me. You might as well. You shower there, you do laundry there. Why not?” Jill inspected the jars in the crate.
“It wouldn’t work. I’m too independent to move in with you, Jill. You know that.”
“You’re stubborn is what you are.”
“Is that what it is?” Charlene looked her friend in the eye. “You have too many house guests. You don’t want that room occupied. What about your nephews? And your niece? She’ll be staying with you in the summer when she works at the lodge. It wouldn’t be fair to your family. Besides, what happens in the spring is the furthest thing from my mind. I’m worried about what happens tomorrow if the power goes out.”
“I guess.” Jill pulled a jar of apples out of the crate and held it up to the light. “Too bad that beautiful orchard went up in flames.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Jill.” Charlene moved the jars off the table. There had to be some place they wouldn’t be in the way.
“Sorry,” Jill said.
“I grew up on that ranch. A lot of wonderful childhood memories disintegrated...,” she inhaled and flushed the image of that blazing night out of her mind. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ll let it rest,” Jill whispered. “And start the coffee.”
The jingle of the doorbell alerted Charlene before Jill got to the bottom of the stairs.
“I brought in the newspapers.” Mr. Atwater’s voice came through crisp and clear. He was a regular customer who visited every morning to read his daily paper and drink coffee. He’s early, Charlene thought, but in this weather, any customer was a good customer. Charlene transferred the crates to a corner of the room and hurried down the stairs.
“Good morning, Mr. Atwater!” she greeted and tapped the thermostat up a notch. She knelt next to the potbelly stove in the corner and made a fire, adjusted the vent, and shut the door. She would burn just enough kindling to take the chill away, then let the furnace warm the shop for the rest of the day. For such a small space, heating the room took forever.
“Mmm,” the tall, balding man mumbled. He sat down in his favorite spot and thumbed through one of the newspapers before pushing a dollar bill to the end of the table as payment. Charlene snatched it up immediately.
“Some new books came in last week. I thought you might like to look over some of the titles. They might interest you.” Walking to her cash register, an antique as old as her truck, Charlene pressed the series of keys to open it. The till rang, a drawer popped out, and she carefully counted cash from her pocket to slip inside for the day’s sales. She’d been robbing her savings account for a while to keep the business going. If everything worked out as planned, she’d have enough for rent and utilities until the tourists returned in the summer months.
“You know I don’t read books,” Mr. Atwater said as he opened the Lewisville Daily and buried his face in the financial section.
“Christmas will be here in three days. Surely you have a family member who reads,” Charlene offered.
“Nope.”
Charlene frowned at the man. His appearance was as ordinary as his monotone voice. Pale skin, pale eyes, pale expression on his elongated face.
Jill poured him a cup of coffee.
Charlene both appreciated Mr. Atwater and despised him at the same time. He’d been taking advantage of her cozy store for over a year now, coming in every day and buying a paper and a 50-cent cup of coffee, and never once had he bought anything from her store. She’d name him Scrooge if she thought he wouldn’t get angry. Still, that dollar-fifty was cash she could count on every morning. It might even pay the day’s power bill if it weren’t this cold outside.
“I’m leaving,” Jill announced. “As much as I love helping you, the restaurant hasn’t laid me off yet and I need to make some money before they do.”
“I’ll be fine,” Charlene assured her.
“The diner plans on shutting down on Christmas. What are you going to do on that special day?”
Charlene shook her head. She didn’t know what to expect with the storm, and she might have to tend to something in the shop. If the pipes froze, she would be in a real mess.
“I’ll be open, Jill. I live here. Come on over and maybe we’ll...I don’t know, play cards or something.”
“I’ll have my nephews. The Scouts will be caroling again this year on Christmas Eve. My nephews will be going with them.”
“They’re welcome to hang out here on Christmas day, too, if you want,” Charlene offered.
“All right. We’ll talk later. I’ll bring you some lunch this afternoon.”
Jill poured herself a thermos of coffee, wrapped her coat tighter around her neck, pulled her scarf over her nose and nodded a goodbye.
Charlene tended to the shelves, dusting, rearranging the little bit of inventory she had. Four months had gone by since she was able to restock, but what did it matter? Tourists weren’t coming in. No one in town would buy Meritville Mercantile-shaped piggy banks with the words Welcome to Meritville on them, not unless they were really hard up for Christmas presents. Most everyone in town had one of everything Charlene sold. Folks could only buy so much of the same thing. Still, there was a camaraderie here and people did what they could to support the few local businesses in town.
Except for people like Mr. Atwater who lived on a huge ranch a few miles down the road. He drove a brand new Lexus but wouldn’t take the blessed thing out of the garage on rainy days. Instead he drove his Lincoln in wet weather. He complained about the price of coffee and never left a tip, and yet spent his morning at Charlene’s table reading the stock exchange. All Charlene could do was be cordial. Perhaps he’d soften in time. Maybe soon. After all it was Christmas.
Like that will happen, she thought to herself while giving him an evil eye. There’s been plenty of time for him to be congenial.
Jill had decorated the shop for Christmas. She strung white lights around the storefront window and set up an artificial tree. Books, coffee mugs, and trinkets nested in fluffy cotton sprinkled with glitter. Not a huge display, but enough to show people that the Cozy Home acknowledged the season. Charlene hadn’t had time, nor the inspiration to add to the decorations. Christmas had meant something before her home burned to the ground. Family, good cooking, even church. Now...well, now there just wasn’t a reason.
She stooped and unlocked the glass case where more expensive antiques were housed. It was mostly tools from some of the older ranches in the area: snippers for shoeing horses, a butter churn, old wolf traps. Charlene seemed to just magically acquire the kind of things no one used anymore but were too intriguing for her to toss. After all, they might sell.... someday.
While dusting the shelf, Charlene sighed, thinking of the ash and embers she had to clean away at the ranch. Life seemed to be an endless motion of picking up broken shards and clearing away the dust. She stopped dusting when the bell to the door jingled. Mr. Atwater glanced up from his paper and Charlene stood to greet the two young men who walked in.
“Good morning!” Charlene said.
“Hello,” one of the men said. They were obviously from the ski resort. They smelled like fresh snow and had that look about them. The cutting edge jackets that no one in Meritville could ever afford, the thick insulated gloves, the scarves, the healthy tan smiles. Charlene peeked out the window at their Jeep, snow in a pile on its roof.
