READ AND REVIEW MY DEARS!
Author's Note
Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! I love 'em! Enjoy the chapter. It's not my favorite but...c'est la vie
1885—Hill Valley
November 30th
6:20 am
Marty had never witnessed Emmett's scientific process before, not first hand anyway. He and Amelia had only ever seen the finished product. When everything was said and done, that's when Emmett would triumphantly appear to explain his findings. There was something strangely magical in the elusive way Emmett conducted his experiments. Marty preferred it that way. It was one of the last great mysteries of his adolescent life. Realistically, he knew he was being silly, but at seventeen there were very few things that the little boy in him had to cling to. So when Emmett uncovered the DeLorean and began fiddling with the gears Marty felt his heart drop in disappointment. He was about to witness the end of his childhood imaginings; and he had thought the news about Santa Claus had been hard to swallow.
"Do you need any help, Doc?" Marty asked, more to be polite than anything.
"Not at the moment, Marty," Emmett said, head buried in the engine, "just doing some preliminary diagnostics."
"Oh."
Marty leaned back on the cot and heaved a sigh. He watched a spider scuttle across the beams above his head. It tripped lightly to its web and began devouring the fly caught there. His thoughts drifted to Amelia; he wondered what kind of a time she was having with Jackson. While Marty still wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of her spending time with other guys, he wasn't going to risk another huge fight by showing it. He trusted her, and if their last encounter was any indication she was beginning to trust him too. Jackson may be a pig, and Marty was thoroughly convinced that he was, but he surely wasn't stupid. He wouldn't try anything out in the open. At the moment, she was safe…and Marty needed to relax.
Jackson wouldn't take no for an answer; he was determined to show Amelia everything Hill Valley had to offer. Thankfully, that wasn't all that much. The town was still very much under construction and only about a half-mile long from beginning to end. Along Main Street (the only street) ran all the shops and amenities Hill Valley needed. If you started at Brown's Smithy and headed left you would find a gentleman's tailor, William and Sons General Store, a land office, Hill Valley Bank and Trust, a telegraph office, and the county jail. Working your way back up the street on the right was the Hill Valley train station, The Silver Dove Saloon, a stagecoach depot, a very smart two-story hotel called The Lydia, and a barber.
Amelia was driven past each one of the shops in turn and forced to gaze with false interest at the buildings as Jackson chattered happily away next to her. He was a charming companion, very obliging and gentlemanly, but everything he said was seasoned with an inflated sense of self-importance. He spoke of Hill Valley with an arrogance that suggested he felt he owned it. He probably does, she thought as he rambled on and on about horses or something equally boring, didn't they say he was a big deal or something? Well, that would explain the ego.
Jackson's abrupt laugh startled Amelia back into reality. She giggled uncertainly.
"Don't you think so?" He asked her when he had caught his breath.
"What?" Amelia suddenly realized she hadn't been paying attention to a thing he had actually been talking about.
"About the Indians," Jackson said. "This land is a goldmine and they're not even aware of it. I can't see why they're putting up so much of a fight for it. Now we, civilized man, we know what can be accomplished with land like this. The Indians will just let it all go to waste. They're better off taking what we give them before they all get themselves killed; although that would hardly be a tragedy if you ask me."
Amelia gaped at him.
"But we took this from them," she said indignantly. "It was their land first."
Jackson's smile was full of sympathetic condescension.
"Isn't that just like a woman, always the peacemaker. You'll see, Miss Brown, they'll be happier on the settlements we provide them."
If the past twenty minutes hadn't convinced her that Jackson Hubert was a spoiled brat, that speech certainly had. Amelia sat back on the seat, feeling insulted and ready to be rid of him.
Jackson continued to talk to her, oblivious to the fact that he had said anything remotely wrong. The wagon rumbled along. Occasionally, somebody would bid them a good morning and Jackson would stop, prolonging a trip that already felt painfully like an eternity to Amelia. When they finally made it back to the end of the street where Emmett's shop was, Amelia was all but ready to throw herself out of the wagon.
"It was lovely talking to you, Mr. Hu—" Amelia began, gathering her skirts around her and standing up.
"Oh, we're not done, Miss Brown. You haven't seen the courthouse yet. It's nearly completed."
Amelia had seen the courthouse. She'd seen it at least a thousand times from the barred window of her bedroom, but she sat back down all the same. If Emmett found out she had been rude he wouldn't be happy.
The unfinished Hill Valley courthouse capped off the east end of the street. Its partial shadow loomed over Brown's Smithy and the barber shop, making them look tiny and unimportant in comparison. A spindly mass of scaffolding climbed up the incomplete walls like wooden ivy, stretching to cover every inch of the building's facade. Several men were already entangled in the crisscrossing web, hard at work spreading mortar and laying bricks. They waved down at Jackson.
Jackson stopped the wagon just before the stone steps of the courthouse. Amelia gazed up the front of the building. An empty socket, the future location of the courthouse's clock, stared back at her, black and unseeing. It was eerie not having the shining moon face of the clock smiling down at her. Amelia didn't like it.
"My family commissioned it," Jackson said proudly, settling back in his seat and admiring what he clearly thought was his own handiwork. "What do you think?"
Before Amelia had a chance to answer, four men emerged from between the legs of the scaffolding. They were led by an elderly gentleman in a dark grey suite and impeccably shined boots. His round, grandfatherly face spread in a brilliant smile when he saw Jackson's wagon.
"Hullo, m'boy!" He called gaily from the top of the steps. "Come to see what your father is up to, eh?"
Amelia looked from the man on the stairs to Jackson and had to swallow the urge to laugh. That was Jackson's father? That barrel-chested, stout old man with the gleaming bald patch and wiry mutton-chop whiskers was the father of the town playboy? She almost couldn't believe it. Perhaps he gets his looks from his mother…
"Just giving the grand tour," Jackson said, nodding toward Amelia. "This is Miss Brown, Father, daughter of the blacksmith."
Mayor Hubert and his entourage skipped down the steps and came to the side of the wagon. They all took turns shaking Amelia's hand.
"Lovely to meet you, Miss Brown," Mayor Hubert said. Amelia noted he had the same twinkling blue eyes and dazzling smile as his son. Ok, so it's not all the mother. "How does our little town suite you?"
"It's very nice," Amelia said. Mayor Hubert and his gaggle of underlings smiled up at her expectantly, clearly unsatisfied with the simplicity of the compliment. Amelia coughed and cast around for what to say. "It just might be the biggest town I've seen out west."
That appeased them. They laughed appreciatively.
"Will you be attending the festival tomorrow night, Miss Brown?" Mayor Hubert asked, his eyes darting between her and Jackson.
"Festival?" Amelia frowned.
One of Hubert's men gestured behind her. Amelia turned. A banner was stretched between her father's shop and the barber. In big red letters it read: Celebrate History! Hill Valley Clock Tower Festival, November 31st. The sign was huge; she wondered how she had missed it before.
"You really should come," Hubert urged, nodding enthusiastically at his son.
"I hadn't really thought about it," Amelia said. At all, actually, since I just found out…
"I was hoping," Jackson hummed next to her, his voice oozing charm, "that you'd allow me to escort you."
Amelia blinked at him. Had he really just done that to her; asked her something like that in front of all those people? Yes, the smile that played on his lips said he knew exactly what he had done. She could feel Mayor Hubert and his posse staring at her, waiting for her answer. If she said "no" now she'd look horribly rude. Not to mention she'd probably be the first girl in the history of Hill Valley who had ever turned down anything Jackson Hubert was offering. Rejecting the town heartthrob was sure to draw some unwanted attention to the Browns. Amelia didn't think her father would appreciate nosey housewives poking around his shop while he was trying to reinvent a time machine. The jerk had caught her. He was clearly more intelligent and conniving than she had giving him credit for.
Well played, Jackson.
"Sure," Amelia said, trying to play off her budding agitation as indifference.
"Wonderful!" Mayor Hubert said, beaming up at them. His followers nodded their approval. "I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Brown."
Jackson bade his father goodbye and cracked the reigns. The wagon lurched forward. Amelia scowled down at her boots, she didn't like being outsmarted.
"Will you have lunch with me later at my ranch?" Jackson asked after a moment of quiet. "You'd love it, I assure you."
Was this really happening? Amelia didn't look at him. She was afraid if she did she'd start yelling.
"My father needs me."
"Nonsense," Jackson scoffed. He stopped the horses in front of Emmett's shop and turned to face her. Amelia looked up finally, forced to. Her defense wavered under the gaze of his electric blue eyes. Knock it off, Aims. "I won't take no for an answer."
No you won't, will you. Her agitation gave way to anger. Was she just there for his amusement? Did she have no say in anything anymore?
Apparently not...
"Fine," Amelia said sharply. She climbed clumsily down from the wagon seat, nearly falling on her way. "But if my father says he needs me you'll be eating by yourself."
Jackson didn't seem worried. He smirked down at her in total satisfaction.
"Until later, Miss Brown."
He tipped his hat and drove off in a cloud of dust.
Amelia glared after him, the heat rising to her cheeks and waves of white hot anger and embarrassment coursed through her. She turned quickly and hurried into the shop.
"Marty!" She called, throwing the doors open before her, "Dad! You guys better know how to get out of here before I'm wanted for murder!"
Bea had seen him through the upstairs window of her saloon. He had driven right past her in that ridiculous wagon his father had purchased him. A wagon she had never been allowed to ride in. The harsh reminder of her social standing was bitter arsenic on her tongue.
So that's what had been so important that morning. The Brown girl needed to see the sights. Well how lovely for her. Bea snapped the lace curtains back over the window so severely they tore.
She should have seen such a thing coming…she had seen such a thing coming, but that little tramp had simpered and sighed and promised that men were the furthest thing from her mind. Now look where she was. Bea was so angry she could spit.
The Brown girl needed to go and she needed to go quickly. Bea had worked too hard for too long to lose to someone barely out of diapers. Jackson Hubert was the designated property of Bea Tannen, and the girl wouldn't last very much longer if she failed to understand that.