Angels of Mount Hope is Book II of the Anamosa Stories and the prequel to Wapsipinicon Summer.
When a soldier’s letters from the Korean War are discovered in an abandoned junkyard, they serendipitously trigger a flood of memories of events that occurred nearly half a century earlier.
Haunted by the horrors of war, closely guarded secrets, and tragic circumstances from the past, the main characters each come to a crossroads and are forced to confront the consequences of their actions, only to discover the inscrutable need for hope, the mystical forces of love, and the power of the angels all around them.
Dedicated to the angels in our lives, Angels of Mount Hope is a story about courage. It’s about believing in tomorrow, getting up one more time, and not giving up no matter what life gives you.
Jacob Keeler sat in his truck at the crossroads. It was six thirty in the morning, and he could still taste the hard bitterness of the bottle of vodka he’d drank the night before. His head throbbed, and he smelled the alcohol seeping from his pores. For the third morning in a row, Jacob was hungover.
The radio seemed to blare in his ears, and the announcer’s annoying voice made his headache worse. “Gonna be another hot one today. S’pose to hit a hundred degrees by early afternoon. If you’re out workin’ in the sun, better drink plenty of water and take periodic rest breaks in the shade.”
“No shit, dumbass,” Jacob mocked the announcer as he reached over and turned off the radio. Perspiration formed on his forehead, and his head throbbed as if it was being pounded with a jackhammer.
He flicked his signal to turn left onto Stone City Road, but instead of turning, he idled at the stop sign. As he looked off to the south, an impulse shot through him: I could keep going. Instead of going to work, I could just keep going straight. Today, I could make a change. I could keep going south to the open road. Just head to the highway and never look back. Maybe start up somewhere new altogether.
Jacob tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as his mind wandered with thoughts of a fresh start somewhere in the South, perhaps near the Gulf in Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, or even Texas. He smiled at the thought of soft gulf breezes, pure white sand, and the continuous sound of the waves. He could start a new business away from Iowa and the mess he’d made of his life. But it all seemed too good to be true.
The steady metallic tick of the turn signal annoyed Jacob. It reminded him that he couldn’t go straight—he couldn’t run free. He had to turn left because he had too many responsibilities.
Jacob squinted as he looked off in the distance. He had made a mess of his life, Mandy’s life, and their son Daniel’s life too. At thirty-two, Jacob had little to show for his years on the planet. He wondered what direction he was going, where he would be in a year, in ten years, in fifty years.
He rolled his eyes and let out a deep breath as he thought about the reality of his life. A year from now, he would probably still be in Iowa, still working in scrap metal. Jacob rubbed his eyes and peered out ahead. Going south was a pipe dream, and that was all it would ever be.
Jacob thought about Mandy. They both longed to be wanted, to feel valued. They had each been adopted, so neither of them knew their birth parents. Those might have been the only things they had in common.
Although Jacob never cared about where he’d come from, Mandy never stopped searching for her birth parents. Even so, they had both lived their lives trying to fill that inexplicable void in their hearts.
“Shit,” Jacob mumbled to himself as he looked out across the intersection one more time. He hung his head as he remembered that a week prior, Mandy had left him and had taken Daniel with her. Jacob clenched his jaw, overcome with anger and misery.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe the pounding behind his eyes. For the past few days, he’d been doing his best to drink himself through the pain. Mandy’s love and that boy were the only purpose he’d ever had in life. He’d always thought that would be enough, but it wasn’t—it would never be enough. Eight years together, a kid, and their dreams of the future were all gone now.
TICK, TICK, TICK, TICK.
The turn signal seemed louder and reminded him of where he was and where he had to go. He sighed as he pushed down on the accelerator and started the left turn toward Stone City. Wistfully, he thought that maybe one day he’d change. Someday, I’ll go straight, head south, and keep going. I’ll take to the open road and never look back.
Not today, though. Today, he had work to do. Today, like most days, he would go east to more of the same, to the mundane work that awaited him.
Over the past couple of weeks, his salvage crew had been clearing the old junkyard out at Mount Hope. He hated his job of cleaning up other people’s messes. But he’d been doing it since high school, so it was what he knew.
When Jacob started working on the salvage crew, he’d been certain it was just a summer job. But the summer job had turned into his everyday job. And now, fortunately—or unfortunately—he’d been doing it for so long that he’d been promoted to foreman of a six-man crew. He had people working for him, which brought responsibility. Lives depended on him, and he didn’t like the heavy burden that carried.
Responsibility. He hated the thankless weight of it all. The men on his crew were lazy and unreliable and he wondered how many of them would be on time or would even show up.
“Just keep on keeping on,” he told himself.
When the gravel road kicked up a cloud of dirt, Jacob rolled up his window and turned on the air conditioning. Even so, a puff of dust followed by warm air spat out of the vents. “Piece of shit!” Jacob cursed as he switched off the air conditioning and rolled his window halfway down.
As he coasted down Stone City Road, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and thought about his life. Somewhere along the way, his dreams had faded into the background and had been replaced with a daily routine that was getting him nowhere fast.
Jacob pushed the thought out of his mind and tried to focus on work. This week, he was clearing out an old junkyard for some highfalutin developers who had a new housing project in the works. Land was expensive, but large wooded areas with lots of acreage were attractive to the wealthy and affluent of Cedar Rapids.
A sense of sadness washed over Jacob then a tinge of guilt. Soon, the fields and woods would be replaced with houses, and, in a small way, he would’ve contributed to the destructive change.
Jacob tapped the breaks as the truck approached one of the many sharp corners that defined the gravel road. Glancing up he noticed the familiar old roadside sign that indicated he would be at the work site soon. Two miles to Mount Hope Quarry.
Mount Hope. The name seemed silly to Jacob. The area was hilly, but nothing resembling a mountain could be found in this part of eastern Iowa. He rolled his eyes as he thought about the irony of the old quarry’s name. At this point, it wasn’t much more than a large hole cut in the side of one of the many large rolling hills in the area—a vacant limestone quarry where, nearly a hundred years ago, stone was pulled to build the massive, castle-like state penitentiary in nearby Anamosa. Now, it was just an ugly, gaping pit and a reminder of the colossal stone walls needed to protect society from the evil that men do.
Over the years, the limestone quarry had been replaced with a junkyard, and was anything but hopeful. Now, the old quarry filled with junk was just a scar from a time long ago.
Jacob looked out his window as he drove his truck down the winding, gravel road toward Stone City. When he passed a sign for Matsell’s Bridge, he slowed down again. The curves were sharp and had the potential to be dangerous.
With its rolling hills and deep woods, this area of eastern Iowa was beautiful—by far one of the most pristine areas Jacob had ever seen. He could understand how it had inspired the paintings of native Iowan and famous artist Grant Wood. It was once a wild country, but now houses were starting to devour the fields, forever changing the landscape.
As Jacob turned off the gravel road toward the jobsite, mountains of junk—some over twenty feet high—surrounded the area as far as he could see. Looking from left to right, his eyes settled on the small, dilapidated, wooden shack with a tin roof. Most of the shack’s windows were broken, and the front door was barely clinging to its hinges.
Jacob had never ventured inside the shack, but he figured it probably had two rooms: a bedroom and a kitchen. As he wondered what kind of person could live in such squalor, a sense of pity washed over him. “Good God,” he said, scratching his head.
Abandoned, rusted-out cars, some stacked on top of each other three high, littered the yard. Washing machines, refrigerators, and assorted appliances were arranged amongst massive piles of scrap metal, making it difficult to see the entire work site all at once.
“Good God,” Jacob repeated as he wiped the perspiration off his face with his forearm. He scanned the old junkyard, shook his head, and grumbled, “Yeah, Mount Hope. I don’t think so.”
Jacob glanced down at his watch. He was early and his crew had not yet arrived. As he looked out again at the piles of scrap and assorted debris scattered across the area, he thought to himself, Mount Hope. Unbelievable. It was going to be another hot, miserable day, and he wondered if anything would ever change.