Landon Falls by Shannon Elliott

Prologue ...

Friday - June 9, 1939

As the sun peeked over the horizon, embers from the burning wood continued to rise and glow in the twilight with the fierceness one would expect from little demons who’d found their portal of escape from the underworld.

Stepping out of his truck, Jackson Landon stood in the driveway of his new home and watched as the store he’d built, Landon's Dry Goods and Supplies, continued its quick descent to nothingness just a quarter mile up the road. Taking a swig of whiskey, he compared his hopes, his dreams, his life to the path of the supposed spirits. Full of speed and fury upon their ascent. Only to have the harsh world squash their spark and blow them into a nearby field where they would forever be part of the dirt from whence everything came.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." Jackson raised the bottle in a mocking salute before its rim once again caressed his lips. 

"I’m sorry, did you say something?"

Jackson looked over at his wife Adele, leaning beside him against their recently purchased but soon to be repossessed 1939 Dodge TF37. Her beauty typically brought solace to his bouts of self-pity. But this time it couldn't stop the despair piercing through his soul like pins through a cushion. He’d failed her. 

No, that wasn't true. God had failed them both.

Jackson had done everything right. He worked hard. Never bothered anybody. He even went to church when his business endeavors allowed. Maybe it was a mistake to borrow large in the last few years and swing for the fences with his new store and home for his expanding family. But God couldn’t spite a man for wanting to better himself.

Or could he?

A fire—the embodiment of the Almighty's punishment for those who opposed him—had destroyed Jackson’s and Adele’s future. There wouldn't be a recovery. With their mortgage, auto payment, and soon-to-be increasing home needs, Jackson and Adele had foolishly agreed to let their insurance lapse, betting on Providence to take care of them.

Maybe he deserved this fate, but not Adele. If there was a heaven—and at this moment Jackson had his doubts—there wasn't an angel who could measure up to his beloved wife.

"What are we going to do?" Adele asked.

Turning, Jackson cupped Adele’s soot-laden cheek with his free hand. When the flames had been at their hottest, the town's men yelling it was a lost cause, she’d stood as near as possible while Jackson fought the blaze until he’d finally accepted the inevitable.

Tracing his thumb along the white rivulet made by her tears, Jackson glanced down at his wife's gravid stomach where she rested her darkened hands. Due in less than a week, their firstborn had just turned from a blessing to one more burden on a list of many.

He didn't answer but brushed Adele’s curly auburn hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead before turning his attention to the town below. Their new home rose from the top of a hill overlooking not only their beloved store but fifty or more other homes that made up the settlement of Summer Shade, Kentucky.

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His family had purchased this piece of ground while the Confederates and Yankees were marching back and forth fighting for control of the borderland. A waterfall at the back of the property fueled a grain mill his father had managed until his death five years ago. Though the mill had been profitable, Jackson had seen how times were modernizing and that people needed more than flour. In honor of his forefathers, he’d named their new home Landon Falls.

From their hilltop perch, Jackson watched the flames dwindle to coals. The townsfolk who’d tried so valiantly to save his store had long since returned to their homes throughout the valley below. The soft yellow gleam of coal oil lamps lit some windows while others boasted harsher electric light for the few who could afford that luxury. The process of washing grime and the stench of smoke from their bodies had undoubtedly begun.

But there were stains soap couldn't remove.

This afternoon, the town women would bring baked goods to Adele while the men gathered on Jackson's front porch to assure him all would be well and spout promises of how they’d help him rebuild.

But there wouldn't be a rebuild. Just loss. Bankruptcy followed by a life of hardship with a newborn who only knew how to take and not give. There was no doubt in Jackson's mind about that. The day he’d signed on the dotted line with Mr. Randolph Spears standing over him, he might as well have handed the keys to his kingdom to the devil and told him to enjoy the trip.

Adele’s left arm entwined tremulously into his, her bosom snuggling up to his side. "Jackson?" Her soft voice brought him back to the present. “Who's that coming up the road?"

With the dawn rays at his back, a tall, lanky man turned onto the long gravel drive leading up to the Landon home. The man's pants, jacket, shirt, and wide-brimmed fedora hat were as dark as the deepest night. If not for the early glimmer of Earth's closest star, one might think his gaunt, pale face was a beheaded specter floating through the world, separated forever from his lost corpse.

When he neared, the man tipped his hat to Adele. "Morning.” 

His hollow eyes made a point to take in her protruding belly before he acknowledged Jackson with a nod. Without another word, the man turned to face the smoldering heap down the hill. Now that he was close, the stranger didn't seem so ghoulish to Jackson. In fact, a strange serenity in his stance reminded Jackson of a young traveling preacher who’d barnstormed through this area when Jackson was a child. 

The pastor had gathered a small following, but rumors soon sprouted that his true allegiance didn't belong to the Trinity. A group of men had visited him one night, and the pastor had disappeared. Most locals believed he’d been run out of town. But there were always a few who speculated—

The man's thin, bony neck extended, his Adam's apple popping out like a lemon as he closed his eyes and inhaled. Mesmerized, Jackson watched the man's nostrils flare in and out as though trying to suction every hint of smoke from the morning air.

"Dreadful. A most dreadful thing." Opening his eyes and exhaling, the man turned back toward the young couple. In the split second before the man’s green irises were directly in line with theirs, Jackson could have sworn his pupils were slit like a cat's. But the illusion passed as the man offered a sympathetic smile. "Of course, people such as yourselves can rebound for the better. Even come out stronger."

"Do we know you?" Adele asked.

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"In a way, but not like you think." Removing a golden pocket watch from his inner jacket, the man flipped it open and studied the time. "It won't be long now.” 

He slipped the timepiece back into the cloth. "Very soon, Mr. and Mrs. Landon. Very soon."

"What will be soon?" Jackson asked. “Who are you?”

"What will be soon, Mr. Landon? Why, the very thing you fear. Mr. Randolph Spears, the fat pig who is president of First National Bank, will be lying back with his feet kicked up on the porch you built."

"Never," Adele said.

The man scrunched his eyebrows together and parted his lips. "Never, Mrs. Landon? Isn't this the same man who tried to purchase this farm when your father-in-law died? Why do you think he was so quick to loan a young couple like yourselves a truckload of money, knowing that you were bound to fail if a misfortune occurred?" 

"How do you know this?" Jackson asked.

"I know many things, Mr. Landon. How a couple like you struggles to get ahead, do everything right, and the world strikes you down while God looks on and laughs. As a matter of fact, I have it on good authority that Mr. Spears paid a young lad to start the fire. Seems you were doing a little too well for his liking.”

Jackson felt the heat rise in his face. He’d heard rumors of Spears saying the Landon plateau would be his retirement home. But he’d thought it was nothing more than hearsay until now. “I knew in my bones that scoundrel was involved!”

“Oh, he truly was. Truly, truly was. But you'll never prove it. Too many people in his pocket. The sheriff? Why, that ole buzzard eats at Spears' house every Sunday. Did you know Spears’ flatulent cow of a wife is your sheriff’s sister?”

Fists clenching in rage, Jackson spurted out, "I'll kill him!"

The man removed his fedora with both hands, revealing thick hair the color of coal. He lowered the hat, stopping over his mid-section. "Personally, I'm not opposed to that. But you'd still be in the same boat, Mr. Landon, and your pretty wife left without a husband while you went to the gallows. Still, it doesn't have to be that way."

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Adele took a half-step toward the man, her suspicious frown turning to speculation. "You can help us?"

"That's why I'm here, Mrs. Landon. Think of me as an insurance agent. Someone who can right the wrongs you've endured and enable you to thrive."

"But what do we have to offer?" Jackson asked. "We’re broke."

"Something that can be easily replaced." The man glanced at Adele before focusing back on Jackson. "Why don't we go inside and discuss the matter over some of that fine bacon Mrs. Landon fries every morning and a strong cup of coffee. One hour of your time may lead to a lifetime of comfort. It never hurts to listen. If you say no, I'll be on my way."

"I don't—"

"Jackson,” Adele interrupted. “I'm tired of struggling. I want to hear him out."

Uncertain of his answer, Jackson looked into Adele’s chestnut-colored eyes and saw a pleading within that he’d never seen before. He’d listen to the stranger to appease the love of his life, but Jackson Landon wasn’t one for long conversations. This man certainly couldn’t rebuild his store overnight. But the overtones of the stranger’s words told Jackson he was promising the young couple something bigger than a country store and paid-off home.

“How are you going to solve our problems?”

The man fitted the fedora back on his head, tipped the front so it set just right, and placed his hands in his jacket pockets. A knowing smile conveyed to Jackson that the stranger’s answer was certain. “You’re standing on it.”  

Copyright © 2024 by Shannon Elliott