Jackson Hope

By Simon Andrew Stubbs

Jackson Hope is a dark thriller / horror story set in rural Arizona in both modern and historical times. in 1890 Adam Cooper and his young family move to the farming community of Jackson Hope to start a new life, but soon find themselves under the watchful eye of tyranical Head Selectman General Llewellyn Stape. Stape and his twisted right hand man Darius Fogg are holding the town to ransom, bleeding the residents dry and subjecting them to a life of fear and misery; but what is the hold they have over the residents of Jackson Hope? Why will nobody stand against his reign?Adam will be the first to challenge the tyrant, but to what effect? His actions will have long standing implications over the future of the town, and Stape will stop at nothing to come out the victor, not caring who or what he destroys in the process.
In modern times Teddy Lorello has been given the task of surveying the land around the now silent ghost town of Jackson Hope for a major construction project, but it is clear on arrival that all is not well in this once thriving town. Strange noises and screams in the night, accidents to his men that cannot be explained and a dark presence, a malevolence from beyond the grave that is set on their demise.
Future and past will meet and the secrets of Jackson Hope will be laid bare and when they do it will be the role of both Adam Cooper and Teddy Lorello to prevent the vile atrocities that were once the ruin of Jackson Hope, and threaten to be again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Andrew Stubbs
• Release date: May 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311836205

Simon Andrew Stubbs

Simon Andrew Stubbs was born in Bradford, England in February 1976. He is married to Victoria and has two children, both boys; Ethan and Joseph. His first novel 'Envy' was published in 2006. He writes dark thrillers sometimes venturing into horror and loves reading the work of similar minded authors.

Book preview

Jackson Hope

Simon Andrew Stubbs

Published by Simon Andrew Stubbs at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Simon Andrew Stubbs

Also by Simon Andrew Stubbs and available in paperback or for Kindle:

Envy

Bodies

For Ethan Jake Stubbs

For the million different ways he makes me smile

Table of contents

Foreword

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Epilogue

Foreword

I have an apology to make.

Actually that’s not true; the horrible truth is I have an abundance of apologies to make.

Whether new to my work or a returning reader (my favourite kind – hey, I’m only human!) by the end of this novel you will literally be scratching your head in amazement at the length and breadth of my laziness.

I make no bones about it; I am a lazy author. I’ve always been of the write now think later ilk and usually any thought I do muster later tends to be whimsical at best. That’s why this novel (as with all my novels eh returning reader?) is so full of holes you could grate cheese with it.

I grew up and still live in Bradford, a former industrial city in the north of England. I have been to America, four times in fact, but this hardly qualifies me to write a novel based in Arizona, and all the headaches and complications that venturing into the unknown may bring.

For this very reason I usually base my stories somewhere in the United Kingdom, although this isn’t the first time I have ventured abroad (see ‘That’s the way my love is’ from ‘Bodies’) it is the first time I have been out of my comfort zone with my subject matter. However as you will read in the coming pages the story just wouldn’t have worked in the slightly less romantic locations of Barnsley or Rotherham, so instead, dreading the unquestionable headaches to come I journeyed to pastures new.

Let me start by apologising for the Geography of this novel; for I have callously created, uprooted and disregarded real American cities in a vain attempt to give my township some believability. I knew when I started writing that there was no Clarkesville in Arizona, I believe there is one in Georgia, but that didn’t stop me. As for Jackson Hope? There may be one, but Google maps doesn’t seem to think so. I didn’t let this stop me either, so my Clarkesville shifted way out west and my Jackson Hope I created from scratch.

Next I need to apologise to any readers out there who work in the building trade; surveyors, contractors, architects, regulators, the list goes on. I could have contacted people; I could have researched online, I could have spent countless hours in the library researching my subject, but I didn’t. I chose the lazy option. I’m a creative writer, so I got creative. If you work in any of the mentioned fields you may read what I have written here and find it has no semblance at all to your line of work. I apologise, but then you are about to read what is effectively a ghost story, not a building manual, so please try to forgive me.

Finally (because if I had to apologise for every act of callous laziness on display within these pages we’d be here all day) I apologise for the possible (probable?) mistakes made towards the back of the book with regards to state versus federal law. Now I did research this topic, but it’s a tricky subject, and way too taxing for my daydream fuelled brain, so I’m sure I may have made a couple of mistakes here, try to forgive me, like I say I’m telling a tale here not trying to save the world!

If you can’t forgive me for any or all of the above, or for any other lazy mistakes that fill the coming pages, then give me the caning I so rightly deserve, who knows it may even serve to prevent me from being so lazy in the future, but I doubt it.

All that said I hope you enjoy reading my tale as much as I enjoyed writing it; it was a work of love and I hope you can become as invested in the characters as much as I; rooting for the good guys and hissing away as the baddies take shape, or maybe your loyalties are firmly rooted in the bad guy camp? In that case I’m sure you’ll enjoy becoming acquainted with the lovely Mister Darius Fogg.

This is the third time I have written a tale from two perspectives; (see ‘Envy’ and ‘In the arms of sleep’ from ‘Bodies’) with the difference this time being the two perspectives cover a timespan of over 100 years.

I don’t want to say any more as I don’t want to ruin whatever surprises may lay ahead, but thank you for taking the time to read my work, without you it really wouldn’t be worthwhile.

Strap yourselves in, we’re going on a journey to Jackson Hope, and there may be a few bumps along the way.

Simon Stubbs

Bradford, England

March 2014

Prologue

The young woman’s eyes widened as the man approached, although the look on his face could have curdled milk it was not this that terrified her; it was the burning torch in his hand, the flame flickering brightly in the cool night air. He stopped in front of her, enjoying the moment, taunting her with the flame.

Why are you doing this? She asked, the tears streaking her dirty cheeks.

Because we can. The man smiled his toothless grin, the corners of his mouth turning up into a hideous Halloween mask.

You bastard. The woman whimpered, all around she could hear the screams and wailings of her fellow captors, their tears echoing throughout the square. She would have felt for them if she was not in the same perilous situation. Again she tugged her arms against the cruel ropes that bound her tight, but there was no give, and her fruitless effort did nothing but exhaust her.

Oh you struggle me beauty, you just go on and keep struggling, for what good it will do ya. The man with the greasy blonde hair chuckled, then he wafted the flame in front of her face again and the woman screamed in absolute terror.

She could smell the kerosene soaked wood of the bonfire beneath her, or maybe she just imagined she did, after all her nose was badly broken. The monsters had come when it was least expected, kicking down the doors to the town’s homes and rounding up their prey, their firepower too immense to defend against. Nobody was safe; they attacked without reason or remorse, their intellect too small for their evil acts to weigh on their conscience. The truth was they enjoyed their work; nothing like the smell of crackling on a brisk October’s evening.

Don’t do this please. The woman pleaded. The cackle that was her reply did little to ease her concerns.

Suddenly a scream shrilled above the others; this scream was different, it was not derived from fear, it was derived from total and absolute pain; it had started.

The dirty man looked in the direction of the sound, seemingly disappointed he had not been the one to start the party.

Fucks and curses. He muttered, spitting a huge lungful of green phlegm onto the floor of the dusty town square.

The woman tried to follow his stare but was unable from her precarious position on the wood pile. Instead she looked up to the stars, begging to the Heavens with her eyes; not like this, it couldn’t end like this.

The man turned back to her, the anger unmistakable in his eyes.

Oh no, please no! The woman’s face etched in absolute misery.

It’s fryin’ time. The grin reappeared on the thugs face, happy again after his momentary lapse.

As he leant forwards and lit the foot of the kerosene soaked bonfire with the flame of his torch the young woman leant her head back, squeezed her eyes shut tight and screamed until the blood clogged in her throat.

The woodpile caught instantly, the destructive combination of fuel, heat and oxygen causing a sudden gulf of flame that tore up the wood stack in a wave of orange menace. The woman screamed in much the same vein of the screamer before her, though the flames had not yet touched her she knew it was only a matter of moments before they did and the fear was too great to subdue.

The man watched on in fascination, salivating at the mouth like a rabid dog, he could feel his penis starting to stiffen in his pants and rubbed at the bulge with his free hand.

Suddenly the woman’s thin cotton dress caught fire and for the first time she felt the heat of the fire against her naked flesh. Her next scream was brought on by the all consuming pain, the only thing capable of blocking out the fear.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air as the night was torn wide open with a cacophony of screams. Those not yet burning on their stakes struggled for freedom as the smoke drifted across the square.

The woman’s entire dress was alight now and her arms were rubbed raw where she had struggled against her bindings, then her pony tail caught in the flames and the hair on her head was suddenly engulfed in flame. She screamed and screamed, shaking her head from side to side; spit flying from her mouth in an unladylike fountain. The pain was like nothing she had felt before, so intense that ‘pain’ was not actually a strong enough word. The skin of her arms blistered in hideous yellow sores that exploded from the heat, the puss oozing down her sides, then the skin itself was alight and her flesh slipped from her bones like icing through a funnel. Her face lit up like a lantern and her eyes bulged and scorched in their sockets.

As the last humiliated and desperate wail escaped her throat her captor rubbed at himself once more and then moved on to his next victim.

One

Dust blew up from the roof of the Samatomi building as the helicopter made its steady descent to the helipad below. Teddy Lorello drained his coffee cup as he watched it come down; before him Manhattan exploded in a myriad of skyscrapers and exuberance, it didn’t matter how long he spent in this city he could still happily stand and stare at the skyline in a dreamy daze.

He had gotten the building bug when he was just a kid, making toy houses out of old bits of scrap wood his dad brought home from the lumber yard, growing up in Portland you were never short of wood. When he was nine he had built a tree house at the bottom of the family yard complete with a bay window that overlooked the house; to this day it still overlooked the old homestead. By fifteen he was filling his summer vacation working as a lackey at a local construction firm, but it wasn’t long before Sam Shephard the site foreman saw the potential in the young enthusiast and put him to work as a regular builder. Over the next couple of summers the job helped him scrape together enough money to go away to college where he studied building planning and architecture. It wasn’t easy but he buried his head in the sand and put his life on hold for four years, using every spare moment when not working at Dillon’s bar or the Laundromat for his studies. He graduated with honours and found work as a surveyor for a small building and Loans Company back home in Portland; this was where he really found his knish.Within three years he had built up a reputation as the most reliable and informed surveyor in all of Maine, but his ambition didn’t stop there; Teddy had always had itchy feet and craved to see more of what the old U.S. had to offer. So he cut his losses and quit the firm, using the money he had saved plus his reputation to acquire a handsome loan from the Portland bank. He set up Edward Lorello, Surveyor’s Inspector’s and Regulator’s in 1991 and moved into a small plot in Brooklyn the following year. Within three years the business was renowned throughout Manhattan, within nine throughout the whole of Washington State and by 2006 Teddy was the man you called if you had a lot of money in bricks and mortar and wanted to know it was worth your while the length of east coast America.

Building’s fascinated him; from their foundations to the peaks of their rooftops. There was something beautiful in their angles and proportions that few people truly saw; but Teddy did, and he had devoted the best part of his life to bringing more and more of them into the world, sometimes to the detriment of his personal life. Yeah he was a regular buildings nut, a workaholic of ridiculous standards, and at forty-seven had no intention of slowing down.

The helicopter landed amidst a cloud of dust, the whup whup whup of the propeller blades and the whine of the engine forcing the two workers on the scaffold to the side of the helipad to adorn their protective earmuffs. Teddy placed his mug down on the makeshift table and pulled the plastic partition aside to greet his guest.

Alan Pearce, a small balding man of fifty-two bent low as he climbed down from the chopper; he placed his briefcase over his head, as though this would give him some magical protection should he accidentally be struck by one of the blades, and hurried over to the steps that led to the partitioned area above. When the man was at a safe distance the helicopter rose into the sky again, ascending up and away from the skyscraper and arcing in the air until it was facing the direction in which it had come.

Alan hi. Teddy greeted from the top of the stairs.

Get me out of this wind quick. Pearce replied.

This way. Teddy said, and led the slightly overweight man into the protection of the makeshift office. When they were safely inside Teddy closed down the flaps of the temporary doorway and fastened them in place.

Pearce placed his briefcase down on the table and puffed out his cheeks. I must have flown over Manhattan a thousand times but landing on top of a skyscraper still gives me the heebie jeebies, how are you Teddy? It’s been too long. He held out his hand and the tall man with the sandy blonde hair shook it, his smile genuine and warm.

I’m good, never better, how’s Rhonda and the kids?

Oh still as bossy as ever, still cooks like she learnt at pre-school, yatta yatta yatta, you know how she is. Hanks living in Kentucky now, no room for a divorce lawyer back home apparently, personally I think he just needed some space. Paige is doing fine, got married last Spring, nice boy by the name of Tom Burton so she’s Paige Burton, all grown up now, not my little Minnie Mousskin anymore. I don’t know they grow up so fast you blink and suddenly they’re not around anymore and the house feels a little emptier you know what I mean?

Yeah I guess. Teddy agreed, though as he had no wife or children himself he could really only surmise.

So how’s business? The smaller man asked.

Busy, as ever, certainly can’t complain not with all the troubles in the construction industry.

This place looks great. Pearce enthused.

Got three floors on the Rockefeller which I think was one of Mr. Samatomi’s precedent’s, if they could have gotten the permission to go higher than the Empire State they would have with bells on, whether they needed the extra floors or not. Got views of the park and the docks from floor fifty-nine and above and they’ve plans for a rooftop observatory and restaurant so the tourists are gonna love it too. Yeah not a bad old building even if I do say so myself.

And what exactly is your hand in it?

Oh you know, the usual, foundations, stability, risk assessment, the works. Everything’s in good order, our Japanese host is pulling out all the stops. McGrouder’s have got the contract, they don’t come cheap but you get what you pay for, in honesty there hasn’t been much for me to do, just overseeing and putting my name to it, anyone with a couple of boxes of Lego could give it a go.

I’m glad to hear it. Pearce said with a smile. "I may have something m

Oh? Teddy was instantly intrigued. He watched as his old colleague and friend wandered back over to the table and unlatched his briefcase. I’m forgetting my manners; can I get you a drink of anything?

I suppose a scotch is out of the question?

It’s ten-thirty in the morning. Teddy replied with a perplexed grin.

So I’m about ninety minutes later than usual come on you’re not my mother, though you look a little like her, minus the bulldog jowls.

How about a coffee?

An Irish one?

No regular good old American morning coffee, nothing but the beans my friend.

Coffee it is. Pearce agreed reluctantly.

Teddy ambled over to the corner where a couple of lengths of two by four had been pinned together to make a shelf and grabbed the dusty kettle; it was still half full from that mornings early brew so he placed it back on its cradle and flicked the switch. Within a few seconds the water was boiling and steam rising up from the spout. When the switch flicked back up Teddy spooned in a couple of heaps of Black Gold and poured in the water. The aroma of the coffee wafted across the room and Pearce looked up from his place by the makeshift desk, his nostrils awakened at the smell.

The two men had met at a building regulations conference in Salt Lake City in 1994. Teddy had been trying to suss out a rival firms interest in a New England real estate contract they were both pitching for while Pearce had made the trip solely for the complimentary crab cakes. They had shared a bottle of Remy Martin in the hotel bar after the tedious afternoon of lectures and after several hours of wisecracks, jokes about the building trade and locker room tales had retired to their rooms a little worse for wear but with the foundations of a new found friendship firmly rooted.

These days it was rare the two got together anymore, the pressures of their jobs and geography being the main obstacles, but in the years gone by they had kept word by letter and spoken regularly on the phone and in more recent times had become acquainted with the joys of Hotmail, though Pearce had taken a little time to come round to this new fangled technology.

Teddy picked up the cups and crossed over to where his old friend was stood, as he placed them down on the desk he had time to notice how tired the older man was looking before he turned to Teddy with a beaming grin and gestured to the plans he had laid down on the table.

What do you know about Jackson Hope? Pearce asked, grabbing his coffee from the desk and taking a tentative sip.

Never heard of it. Teddy conceded.

Your coffee tastes like shit by the way. Here, take a look at these. Pearce picked a couple of black and white A4 sized photos from the desk and handed them to Teddy. The contractor flicked through them with mild curiosity. The first picture was of what appeared to be a huge lake surrounded by sloping sandstone cliffs.In the middle of the water was a small island, barely visible. Teddy flicked to the next picture and was surprised to see that the island was not actually an island at all. This photo was much closer than the last, possibly taken with a telephoto lens; it showed the lake again but not so much of the cliffs, the thing in the middle of the lake was much clearer now and Teddy was surprised to see it was actually some sort of steeple, the kind you get in old fashioned wooden churches, its spire poking out of the water.

Those photos were taken in 1963. Pearce said, then he fished back in his case and pulled out another couple of A4 shots. These ones were taken a couple of months ago.

Teddy took the photos and looked upon them with growing fascination. This time there was much more to see; the waters of the lake had subsided to reveal what looked like the remains of a long concealed town. On the first picture the roves of houses could be seen above the water, chimney breasts and weathered slate grasping at the air. On the second picture the waters had subsided further still; green and mottled houses and moss covered buildings long destroyed by the water were slowly drying out in their shallow pools in the sun. Debris lay everywhere, washed up boards, aged furniture devastated by the submergence and filth of all descriptions making what would once have been the streets of the town little more than a natural dump. But there was something else too, something he couldn’t quite grasp, something familiar.

What is this place? Teddy asked, looking up at his friend.

That’s Jackson Hope, or what’s left of it. Pearce replied. Hope was a small farming town up until the late nineteenth century, just your typical, average, run of the mill small town community. They were cattle farmers mostly, some swine, supply train would run through once every Tuesday and they’d send on their meat and dairy to the bigger townships and cities, it was poorly paid work but it was work, in those days you didn’t stick your nose up at it, you just got on and worked your butt off to feed your family.

Teddy, who had been engrossed in the pictures, looked up for a moment. What happened?

No-one knows for sure, but the township was down stream from the Eagle Star reservoir. Some time between the twenty-seventh of October and the first of November 1890 there was a terrible accident. Cattle train rolled into town as per usual on the Tuesday and suddenly the line wasn’t there anymore, neither was the town. Seems the Barsdon dam that supported the reservoir had collapsed, there was no hope, the water came down too fast, no warning for the folks down below, the whole town was submerged in minutes.

My God. Teddy could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck slowly starting to rise.

When Pearce spoke again it was with a hushed tone, Teddy guessed it was out of respect. Was a terrible tragedy, hundreds of people lost their lives that day, men, women and children. A dark day in American history.

This is awful. Teddy replied, he no longer wanted to look at the pictures so placed them down on the table, to him the pictures had taken on a whole new and grizzly meaning. Were there any survivors?

No-one ever came forward so chances are there weren’t, a whole township of people gone in minutes, horrible isn’t it.

Just a bit. Teddy agreed, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looked back to his friend. I don’t get it though, what’s this have to do with me?

Pearce smiled. This is where the story becomes a little more positive.

Teddy sighed. I’m glad to hear it.

It’s been a hell of a summer in Arizona, Pearce continued, droughts from May through to September. In that baking heat any expanse of water can subside. That’s what’s happened in Jackson Hope. Every couple of years when the summer’s particularly hot some more of the township could be seen creeping above the water, but nothing like this; it’s pretty much all dried out now, a few pools and puddles and what have you but nothing like the lake that’s always been there before. Here, let me show you something.

With a brush of his hand Pearce swept the table clear, sending the photos and a couple of other bits of bric-a-brac tumbling to the floor.

A bit dramatic wasn’t it? Teddy said with a wry smile.

What? Oh sure, but I get excited about this, just wait til you see this you will too.

For the first time Teddy noticed the cardboard tube his old friend had carried in along with his briefcase, and as the older man popped off the plastic stopper on the end he felt the old excitement build in his guts.

Pearce unrolled the blueprints and laid them out on the table, using a couple of account books to hold down the corners. Here, take a peek at this.

Teddy leant forwards and surveyed the plans, his eyes growing wider as the scale of what he was looking at really took effect. Pearce watched his reaction with some mild amusement.

I’ve been representing Wright and Stonebridge for longer than I care to admit, but it’s long enough for my belt to go up three notches and my hairline to recede enough to make me look like a hard boiled egg, but I’ve never been as excited about a project as much as I am about this one.

What is this place? Teddy asked, unable to take his eyes from the huge sheet of paper.

What you’re looking at here is the architect’s plans for thirty-seven thousand houses, twenty-eight square miles of roadway and freeway, banks, shopping complexes, a movie theatre, skating rink and there’s even licensing for its own super casino.

Teddy finally looked up from the blueprints. I don’t get it. He admitted.

The area where Jackson Hope once stood has been state land for over a hundred years, ever since the accident wiped out the town, there’s never been any interest in the land because it would be a hell of a salvage job to pump out a million or so tonnes of water. But we’ve been keeping our little eyes peeled for about fifteen years now, waiting for a moment just like this. With the drought we’ve faced this summer its unlikely the waters are ever going to come back again, so my colleagues in the legal department made some enquiries and the big boys at the top of the food chain were able to secure first refusal on the land where the town once stood right across the train line and back to where the reservoir used to sit. What you’re looking at here my friend is the birth of a whole new American city.

Teddy swallowed hard and looked back at the plans.This is a pretty ambitious project.

Ambitious, unthinkable, crazy even, but isn’t that what makes it so exciting? Face it Teddy did you ever think you’d be around to see a whole new City spring up on the map? Buildings yes, retirement villages even, but cities? It’s unheard of in our lifetime.

Teddy shook his head slowly and looked down again at the prints, but inside he couldn’t help the excitement that was buzzing through his veins, he really had never seen anything like this before and wanted to know exactly where he figured in the plans.

Where do I fit in? He said simply.

Well you’re the man you call if you want to know if an investment’s worthwhile aren’t you. So we’re calling. We want you to survey the land, lend your expert eye to the development site, see if the ground is going to be stable enough, see if the entire project is viable or just a steaming pile of kaka. You’re the man Teddy; we need your approval and say so to get this whole project off the ground.

Teddy blew out his cheeks. I’m flattered Alan, really I am, but I just don’t know if this thing’s a little too big even for me.

Oh come on, you’re being modest, Pearce countered, if you’re wanting me to blow butterflies up your ass I will, you’re the best and you know you are, if you can’t do it no-one can. Besides, I believe you’ve needed something as big as this just as long as I have.

Teddy blew out his cheeks and looked down at the plans.

A whole new American city huh? He mused.

Pearce watched him with a small smile on his face, who was the younger man trying to kid? He was as much a part of this project now as he was, but he allowed him to continue pretending he had something to think about.

After a few moments Teddy looked back to his friend and slowly shook his head. I must need my brain examining, but it’s not something I think I could refuse.

So you’re in? The portly man asked.

I’m in. Teddy replied, and as the two men shook hands a strange feeling passed over him, like the ground was opening up beneath his feet and he could do nothing to stop it.

The Cooper family sat anxiously waiting in the baking heat of the dusty old stage coach as Adam looked down from the ridge at the township below. They had been travelling for six days now and were exhausted from the road. The children were red and sore from the sun and Mary’s back ached from countless hours sat back against the hard backed bench of the coach.

Two nights ago they had been attacked by a small group of bandits as they camped out for the night at the side of the dusty track they had been travelling. Adam had fired his rifle into the sky several times to ward them off and this seemed to work, though he spent a sleepless night keeping watch over the camp, fearful that they might return.

The decision to leave town and start over some place new had not been an easy one; Clarkesville had always been Mary’s home, but a string of bad debts and a farm with dying crops had put the final nail in a coffin which had been in the dirt for some time. Adam, a former drifter, was not so sentimental about his roots, and had made the decision for the good of the family.

The children had cried as they waved goodbye to their school friends; Mary had not spoken to Adam on this day, her heart broken at the tears that streaked her daughters faces, but no matter her own feelings on the subject she had had to put them aside for the sake of her husband, she knew that he was right and only had the survival of their family at heart, and staying in Clarkesville would have killed them for sure.

She looked out of the coach window at the two horses up front, knowing that when they finally found somewhere new they would have to be sold, their last bargaining chip in an unnerving battle to put a roof over head and food on the table. Living so precariously she felt a long way from her early beginnings as the daughter of a reasonably wealthy Baptist minister, but with Poppa long gone it was time to face reality, and find a way to make it work.

Adam rubbed his chin and kicked a pebble about on the dusty track. Lizzie, at five years old was keen to show her lack of patience, sighing heavily and puffing out her cheeks. Daisy giggled at her sister and put her arm around the little girl’s shoulders, pulling her close. But Mary felt unable to join in the fun; this was the third town they had come across on their exhausting journey, and if this one wasn’t right she wasn’t sure how much more travelling she could stand. Apart from anything else their provisions were starting to run low, it would be even harder to go on on a empty stomach.

Adam stood with his back turned and his hands on his hips, eventually he rubbed his chin before turning back to the stagecoach. Mary watched him approach, inhaling deeply as he neared the carriage door.

Can I have some water? He asked.

Mary tried not to show her frustration but passed her husband the canteen from Lizzie’s side. He tilted his head back and drank the warm liquid thirstily, mopping his mouth with the back of his leather riding glove. He handed the canteen back and took a breath.

I think it’s the one. He finally said.

Mary let out a small cry and put her face in her hands; the relief sweeping through her body in a tide of released pent up emotion.

Are you sure? She asked.

It’s a fairly big community and there’s at least 3 cattle farms that I can see so I should be able to get some work. There’s a church too and a bit of a market square. I think we’re home.

He smiled as he said this last line and seeing the upturn on her husbands stubble covered chin was all that Mary needed. She flung the stagecoach door open and leapt from the carriage into her husband’s waiting arms, to hell with her supposed dignity. It had been a long time since she had seen anything but a look of grim concern on his face and that smile made the last six days of weary travelling all worthwhile. He laughed as he embraced her, feeling the tension release from her body. The children laughed and clapped at the stagecoach door, enjoying the unexpected lift in their father’s spirits and the childlike glee of their mother.

Ten minutes later the stagecoach was trundling down the hill towards town with Adam at the reins. The dust billowed up in a cloud from the horses hooves so Adam kept his mouth covered with his neckerchief. As they made it down onto the flat and the first of the townships wooden houses came into view Daisy noticed a fading wooden sign at the side of the road.

Jackson Hope, prospectors welcome, rich prospectors more so. She read.

Is that the name of the town? Mary asked, her youngest daughter cuddled up in her lap.

Yes, there was a sign. Daisy replied.

As the stagecoach continued into town Adam noticed the flicker of the net curtains in some of the house windows; it seemed their arrival was being met by quiet curiosity by the locals. He smiled to himself under the protection of his neckerchief; let them look, at least they weren’t being ignored.

There were maybe fifty houses around the outskirts of the town, their whitewashed walls faded from the relentless glare of the sun. A lizard flicked out its tongue from its position bathing on a garden fence as the horse drawn carriage rolled by. Adam looked on with mild fascination as they passed a hay strewn pen of cows and a huge barn filled with swine; there really should be work here.

They rounded a bend and at the end of another row of neat little houses the bottom left corner of the town square could be seen. That would seem a pretty good place to try and find your feet Adam surmised so he steered the carriage in that direction.

There was a scarecrow in the garden of one of the houses, its floppy threadbare hat hanging loose from its straw stuffed face. Lizzie clapped her hands together enthusiastically then pointed it out to her mother who looked on with mild fascination. Now that they were nearing town the apprehension of the unknown was eating at her earlier enthusiasm. What if there was no work here after all? What if there was nowhere to rest their heads? What if – as can often be the case in small communities- outsiders were not welcome? She took a deep intake of breath and tried to steady her nerve.

The stagecoach rolled into the dusty market square with the small family on board pressed up to the open carriage windows, anxious for their first glimpse of the meeting hub of the place they hoped to soon call home. There was a stone monument in the middle of the square of an eagle and cross; Adam chose this as his place to bring the carriage and its exhausted horses to rest. He jumped from his perch affront the coach and opened the carriage door; holding out his hand to support his wife as she clambered down. Then he held out his hands so he could carry his youngest daughter to her place at her mother’s side, finally stretching out a hand again to aid the elder of the two girls. They dusted themselves down and took a look around.

People were going about their business quite freely, some had stopped to take a look at the new arrivals but unlike on the outskirts of town this wasn’t the only distraction. The square was alive with activity; in the corner where they had entered a blacksmith was hammering a new shoe to a horses hoof. Adam looked at the name written in faded white paint on the tarred roof; Tom Cortle. Next door to Tom was a sight that pleased Mary immensely; although a little run down, its pink painted walls peeling in the baking heat, the Emporium Hotel meant that they would at least have somewhere to rest their heads that night.

Look daddy. Daisy said, pointing to the Haypicker Saloon that adjoined the Hotel. An old man with a long grey beard was leant emptying his guts over the balustrade onto the sidewalk below.

Well I hope that’s not a regular occurrence. Mary remarked with notable disdain.

Adam smiled; more accepting of such things than his wife, but his attention was soon drawn to the rather official looking building at the top of the square; it was a well kept timber building with a brilliant white façade, stone steps led up to the grand wood and glass entranceway and an imposing clock tower stood proudly on its roof. This must be the Town Hall; Adam guessed it also housed the holding cells.

The spire of the church could just be seen poking above the buildings to the far left hand corner of the square, one of which was a bank and the other a local store. Mary gave this a little attention as she looked around, pleased to see that they not only sold food but by the looks of it most general necessities for around the home.

Two young boys were filling a bucket with water from the pump at the front of the store; Lizzie watched them with a smile on her face as they splashed each other with the jet from the fountain.

Turning round and looking almost back in the direction they had come the buildings at the bottom right of the square were occupied by a small Doctor’s office, a tiny cobblers and a larger building that housed some working stables; these stretched across the bottom of the square to the corner that the carriage had rode in on, next to Tom Cortle’s.

Why don’t you ladies head over to the Hotel while I tie up the horses, see if you can sort us out a room. Adam suggested.

Mary nodded and turned in the direction of the Emporium. Come on girls. She said, and walked briskly towards the pink building.

If the Emporium had ever had a heyday this certainly wasn’t it, as Mary approached the paint peeled front door her nose wrinkled at the yellowing net curtains in the downstairs windows. She comforted herself with the thought that if there was a soft bed and a room with a bath and somewhere to get hot food it was a giant leap forwards from camping at the side of the dusty track that had brought them here. She opened the door and a bell jingled to mark their arrival. Mary walked up to the front desk with the girls following closely behind.

Adam had tethered the horses at the stables at the bottom of the square for a small fee and was loosening the trunk from the top of the carriage; he managed to get it down without too much trouble but was not happy at the distance he would have to lug it to the Emporium. Sighing wearily he lifted it up on one side by its handle and started dragging.

Mary, who had always been bright as a button had managed to negotiate a family room for 5 nights for the cost of only 2, but as this had still made a considerable dent in their finances it did little to lift her spirits, especially when their room smelt damp and a little like rotting ham and the wallpaper was stained and peeling. Still, hopefully it wouldn’t be for long, if Adam could find work as a ranch hand in one of the farms and she could make a little extra as a seamstress they would hopefully be able to settle here soon and get a place of their own. She took another look around the room, leaving the girls to fight over the beds and headed downstairs to meet her husband.

He was just coming through the door, a heavy sweat on his brow, when she appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

I know I didn’t see you pack this thing but I thought we’d left the bath tub at home. He said as he dragged the trunk through the door.

Ha ha, can I help? She asked.

No I got it. He replied. You manage to sort a room out?

Number 27, just up the stairs and down the hall.

Stairs eh? Great. Adam sighed and rubbed his tired eyes before bending down again to pick up the handle of the trunk.

You look like you could use a hand. The voice came from over by the reception. Adam looked up and for the first time saw the old man leaning against the customer side of the reception desk. He had been chatting to the fat guy on the desk who seemed happy to allow Adam to struggle if need be. The old man was somewhere the right side of seventy and was smiling in a way that lit up his whole face. He had wispy white hair and a thin gait and wore a baggy striped shirt and suede waistcoat that were far too big for him, probably been in his wardrobe since a time when he was able to fit into them.

Thanks. Adam said, allowing the older man to come over and pick up the handle on the other side of the trunk. With the weight halved it was much easier to manoeuvre the battered old trunk up the stairs and along the corridor to room twenty seven and when Mary opened the door and allowed them in it was with great pleasure that Adam could finally plonk it down next to the dusty old dresser.

Oh my back. The young man groaned, but smiling as he did so.

Daddy, who’s that old man? Lizzie asked, no longer interested in fighting with her older sister over who got what bed.

Good question. Adam replied, turning to the old man.

Walt Hennessey at your service. The old