Beware the wrath of a patient man
Jan 11, 2021 22:31:21 GMT -6
texican, freebirde, and 18 more like this
Post by cutter on Jan 11, 2021 22:31:21 GMT -6
I may be making a mistake, starting another story before I finish RTR, but Patrick and his clan are getting deafening in my head. Here we go again.
Chapter 1
In 1922, Patrick Barry came to America from Ireland. He arrived at Ellis Island with two American dollars and two full suits of clothes. He wanted nothing from anyone, except the respect and wages he earned. He had never seen anything like New York City, and it took him about an hour to decide he never wanted to see anything else like it, ever again. There were too many people and too many, too tall buildings for his taste. These Yanks were in far too big of a hurry to suit Patrick. That was alright; Patrick had a plan.
Patrick found a restaurant and paid fifteen cents for a good, filling supper and a piece of pie. When he finished, he left the pretty Irish server a nickel for a tip and found the hostel she told him about. He paid the outrageous price of fifty cents, but it came with clean sheets, a hot bath, and breakfast. He figured after the long boat trip from Ireland, he deserved to spoil himself a little, and he definitely needed a bath! The next morning, he set out to chase his future. He stopped by a general store on his way out of town and bought a loaf of bread, a good sized round of hard cheese, a link of hard salami, and two bottles of beer. He bought an empty bottle too, and filled it with water. He put those things in his rucksack and started walking out of town. He was headed for Indiana. After about three miles, he managed to hitch a ride. That got him near a railway station, where he managed to hop a train headed in more or less the right direction. Patrick Barry was officially a hobo.
It took him almost two months, but Patrick finally made it to Indianappolis. Like New York, Indianapolis was far too big and busy for his liking. Even so, his money was low, so he spent four months there, working odd jobs. He had made himself a hobo camp in a small stand of trees near the places he worked. He worked as a dishwasher and cook, a stable hand, and in his trade as a carpenter. When he arrived in Indianapolis, he had just twenty-five cents to his name; when he finally headed south, he had managed to save almost ten dollars.
It took another month of mostly walking, to get to Corydon, Indiana, but that was fine with Patrick; he was a very patient man. He had the good fortune to hitch a ride on a farmer’s wagon. He rode the last ten miles, talking to the farmer.
“Do ya’ know where a strong, young lad like meself could be findin’ a place ta’ work?”
“Well, some folk around here don’t cotton well to you Irishmen, but I could use a hand on my place. What say ya' give me a hand today and we’ll see how ya’ do? If ya' suit me, I’ll offer ya' room an' board an' $20 a month to work for me on my farm.”
“Well now, that’s a fair pretty offer, but you’re a bit stingy with yer money. A month’s work ought ta' be worth room an’ board and at least $40.”
“Greedy damn Irishmen! Ya' work with me today and we’ll see.”
“Oh, I’ll be a workin’ with ya’ today; I owe ya’ fer the ride. And I’ll be a makin’ sure yer a gettin’ yer money’s worth.”
They arrived at the general store a few minutes later. After almost an hour of loading supplies, the farmer had to sit down. Patrick kept on loading. When the last items were loaded, Patrick picked up the tin cup at the well, to get a drink of water.
“No lazy, thievin’ Irishman is gonna' drink from MY well! Put it down!”
“Get yer drink, Son. Claude, that man’s loaded three loads to both of your corset wearin’ boys’ one! Shame they’s so hairy an’ ugly; you could put ‘em in dresses and marry ‘em off, to get ‘em out yer hair. What’s your name, son?”
“Patrick Barry.”
“Well, when ya' drank yer fill, take this here quarter and git yerself somthin’; don‘t let Claude blow up the price none on ya’ neither!"
Later that afternoon, they arrive at the farm. The farmer takes Patrick in the house. They are greeted by a stout but very pretty woman.
"You're home early, John! Who's this? Irish by the look of him."
"Me name's Patrick Barry. And what might your name be, Lass?"
"Sarah Williams, pleased to make your acquaintance. John, is Mr. Barry a new hand, or a new friend?"
"New hand fer now. Hopin' he ends up bein' somma' both."
"Well, your bedroom's upstairs; I'll freshen it up for you after supper and leave the door open so you can find it. I'll put clean bedclothes on every Saturday; that's also when I do the washin'. You just make sure your dirty things are in the basket up there and you'll be foldin' and puttin' away your own clean things. I'll not be havin' any drunkenness or forward behavior in my house. Breakfast is at 5:30 and supper's at 7:00. You eat what's on the table, when it's on the table. Don't be late and don't be particular; this is a farm, not one of them fancy hotels back east."
"Ya' remind me of me dear old Mum. I'm not particular, but I do like me potatoes; they remind me of the old country. I'll be a havin' a beer or a drop of whiskey in the evening, on occasion; but I'm a havin' no patience for a drunkard. I think I'm gonna be a likin' it here. What are ya' wantin' me ta do now, Mr. Williams?"
"Let's take a walk. I'll show ya' around the place."
Three years later…
“Well me friend, I better be a takin’ me leave now. You an’ Sarah been good to me, John, and I’m thankful.”
“Don’t think nothin’ of it. Patrick, I had my doubts at first, but yer the best hand in the county; and yer a right fine friend.. I hate ta’ see ya’ go, but a man’s gotta’ do what he thinks right. I wish ya’ well, but if it don’t work, you always got a place here with us. We’ll miss ya’.”
“When I get meself set up, I’ll be a callin’ on ya’. You and Sarah and the lad and lass are welcome anytime. Besides, ya’ got the best cows in Indiana; I might just have ta’ buy me a fair few. Keep an eye on those two new lads; the one don’t know how ta’ work an’ the other’n don’t know when ta’ stop workin’. That lad’s strong as an ox too, and he’s got no patience for loafers.”
(John laughing) “I’ll keep my eye on ‘em. Fare thee well, my friend.”
“Till we meet again.”
(Barry farm, South of Corydon,, IN late summer, 1928)
Patrick has been sitting at his desk in his study for hours, reading the newspaper, as he looks over the farm records with a critical, concerned eye. Harvests have been good and the stock market has been on a seemingly endless march upward. He’s worried. Something doesn’t feel right to him and he is determined to figure out what to do about it. When he first arrived in the area, he had the good fortune to meet an old farmer who had no children. The old man was tired and sick; his health wouldn’t let him farm anymore. The land wasn’t as fertile or in as good a shape as it should have been for farming. After three years of working for John and the old farmer in his off hours, Patrick bought the old man's farm for a very good price. He met a young lady who lived on a neighboring farm and married her a year later. Not only did Alice love him endlessly, she was a Godsend with her knowledge of farming. Their day began long before sunrise, and ended long after sunset, every day of the week. Their only indulgence was Sunday church meeting, though being raised Catholic, it took Patrick a while to get used to those Baptists. In those three years, Patrick and Alice managed to enrich the soil and greatly increase the yields of the crops. Much of their success was due to their wise choice of raising livestock, and using the resulting manure to make the fields much more fertile, as well as planting smaller amounts of a wide variety of crops that were complimentary to the soil.
“Patrick Barry, you’ve been in here for hours! What’s got you so unsociable?”
“Something's wrong, Lass. The fields been a given’ us their bounty like I never seen. Them fool buggars back east throwin’ their money in a leprechaun’s pot! It can’t last, me love! Hard times are a comin’!”
“So, what do we do, Patrick?”
“We may a done some of it already. They’s wheat for miles, but we didn’t plant none this season, thank God. We did corn and beans and potatoes. I never thought me love o’ potatoes would be a savin’ me skin. It’s a good thing the land here was poor, or we might not a been buyin’ the cattle from John so soon. Lass, people are a gonna’ be needin’ food, but I got a feelin’ that they’ll not be a havin’ any money to be a payin’ for it.”
“Well if nobody can buy our crops, what do we do? We can’t give it away; we’d starve ourselves!”
“Calm down, Lass; we’ll not be a starvin’. There’s plenty enough here to feed us and the little leprechaun. We’ll be alright. I’ve got it in me head to go down to talk to them lads at Camp Knox. Big, strong fightin’ men need plenty to eat. Maybe we can sell our meat and crops to them.”
“Do you really think they’d want to buy from us?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll never be a knowin’, if we don’t ask. I think I’ll ride up an’ talk to John, see what he thinks of it. Maybe he and I need to ride down to the camp there and see what they’re a wantin’. Maybe we can strike us up a deal.”
“Whatever you think, Patrick. John and Sarah been good to us. You’re right; we should help them if we can.”
“I’ll be a goin’ tomorrow mornin’. Will you be alright with the wee leprechaun until I get back?”
“Patrick Barry! Little John nearly killed me, birthin’ him, but he didn’t. I think I can manage.”
“You’re right me dear Lass. I love you so much. You and the wee leprechaun are everythin’ to me. I’ll be stayin’ overnight, but I’ll be back Thursday. Don’t you be a lettin’ them young lads be a layin’ about while I’m gone.”
“You don’t need worry over that. We pay our hands better than most around here pay their foremen. Land sakes, you even pay those two Negros the same!”
“Now woman, I’ll have no more o’ that in me house! It’s not their fault, they’re not pasty as I am! Them two men work just as hard as the rest o’ the hands. Don’t forget, Lass, they come here from somewhere else, just like I did. I’ll not be a treatin’ any man different, just for the color of his skin. We may not live to see it, but there’ll come a time when they’ll be a treated just like us, and we’ll be a better country for it.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m a sayin’ so. Them men work hard for us, make us our livin’, and I’ll not be a havin’ ‘em be treated any different.”
“Alright.”
Chapter 1
In 1922, Patrick Barry came to America from Ireland. He arrived at Ellis Island with two American dollars and two full suits of clothes. He wanted nothing from anyone, except the respect and wages he earned. He had never seen anything like New York City, and it took him about an hour to decide he never wanted to see anything else like it, ever again. There were too many people and too many, too tall buildings for his taste. These Yanks were in far too big of a hurry to suit Patrick. That was alright; Patrick had a plan.
Patrick found a restaurant and paid fifteen cents for a good, filling supper and a piece of pie. When he finished, he left the pretty Irish server a nickel for a tip and found the hostel she told him about. He paid the outrageous price of fifty cents, but it came with clean sheets, a hot bath, and breakfast. He figured after the long boat trip from Ireland, he deserved to spoil himself a little, and he definitely needed a bath! The next morning, he set out to chase his future. He stopped by a general store on his way out of town and bought a loaf of bread, a good sized round of hard cheese, a link of hard salami, and two bottles of beer. He bought an empty bottle too, and filled it with water. He put those things in his rucksack and started walking out of town. He was headed for Indiana. After about three miles, he managed to hitch a ride. That got him near a railway station, where he managed to hop a train headed in more or less the right direction. Patrick Barry was officially a hobo.
It took him almost two months, but Patrick finally made it to Indianappolis. Like New York, Indianapolis was far too big and busy for his liking. Even so, his money was low, so he spent four months there, working odd jobs. He had made himself a hobo camp in a small stand of trees near the places he worked. He worked as a dishwasher and cook, a stable hand, and in his trade as a carpenter. When he arrived in Indianapolis, he had just twenty-five cents to his name; when he finally headed south, he had managed to save almost ten dollars.
It took another month of mostly walking, to get to Corydon, Indiana, but that was fine with Patrick; he was a very patient man. He had the good fortune to hitch a ride on a farmer’s wagon. He rode the last ten miles, talking to the farmer.
“Do ya’ know where a strong, young lad like meself could be findin’ a place ta’ work?”
“Well, some folk around here don’t cotton well to you Irishmen, but I could use a hand on my place. What say ya' give me a hand today and we’ll see how ya’ do? If ya' suit me, I’ll offer ya' room an' board an' $20 a month to work for me on my farm.”
“Well now, that’s a fair pretty offer, but you’re a bit stingy with yer money. A month’s work ought ta' be worth room an’ board and at least $40.”
“Greedy damn Irishmen! Ya' work with me today and we’ll see.”
“Oh, I’ll be a workin’ with ya’ today; I owe ya’ fer the ride. And I’ll be a makin’ sure yer a gettin’ yer money’s worth.”
They arrived at the general store a few minutes later. After almost an hour of loading supplies, the farmer had to sit down. Patrick kept on loading. When the last items were loaded, Patrick picked up the tin cup at the well, to get a drink of water.
“No lazy, thievin’ Irishman is gonna' drink from MY well! Put it down!”
“Get yer drink, Son. Claude, that man’s loaded three loads to both of your corset wearin’ boys’ one! Shame they’s so hairy an’ ugly; you could put ‘em in dresses and marry ‘em off, to get ‘em out yer hair. What’s your name, son?”
“Patrick Barry.”
“Well, when ya' drank yer fill, take this here quarter and git yerself somthin’; don‘t let Claude blow up the price none on ya’ neither!"
Later that afternoon, they arrive at the farm. The farmer takes Patrick in the house. They are greeted by a stout but very pretty woman.
"You're home early, John! Who's this? Irish by the look of him."
"Me name's Patrick Barry. And what might your name be, Lass?"
"Sarah Williams, pleased to make your acquaintance. John, is Mr. Barry a new hand, or a new friend?"
"New hand fer now. Hopin' he ends up bein' somma' both."
"Well, your bedroom's upstairs; I'll freshen it up for you after supper and leave the door open so you can find it. I'll put clean bedclothes on every Saturday; that's also when I do the washin'. You just make sure your dirty things are in the basket up there and you'll be foldin' and puttin' away your own clean things. I'll not be havin' any drunkenness or forward behavior in my house. Breakfast is at 5:30 and supper's at 7:00. You eat what's on the table, when it's on the table. Don't be late and don't be particular; this is a farm, not one of them fancy hotels back east."
"Ya' remind me of me dear old Mum. I'm not particular, but I do like me potatoes; they remind me of the old country. I'll be a havin' a beer or a drop of whiskey in the evening, on occasion; but I'm a havin' no patience for a drunkard. I think I'm gonna be a likin' it here. What are ya' wantin' me ta do now, Mr. Williams?"
"Let's take a walk. I'll show ya' around the place."
Three years later…
“Well me friend, I better be a takin’ me leave now. You an’ Sarah been good to me, John, and I’m thankful.”
“Don’t think nothin’ of it. Patrick, I had my doubts at first, but yer the best hand in the county; and yer a right fine friend.. I hate ta’ see ya’ go, but a man’s gotta’ do what he thinks right. I wish ya’ well, but if it don’t work, you always got a place here with us. We’ll miss ya’.”
“When I get meself set up, I’ll be a callin’ on ya’. You and Sarah and the lad and lass are welcome anytime. Besides, ya’ got the best cows in Indiana; I might just have ta’ buy me a fair few. Keep an eye on those two new lads; the one don’t know how ta’ work an’ the other’n don’t know when ta’ stop workin’. That lad’s strong as an ox too, and he’s got no patience for loafers.”
(John laughing) “I’ll keep my eye on ‘em. Fare thee well, my friend.”
“Till we meet again.”
(Barry farm, South of Corydon,, IN late summer, 1928)
Patrick has been sitting at his desk in his study for hours, reading the newspaper, as he looks over the farm records with a critical, concerned eye. Harvests have been good and the stock market has been on a seemingly endless march upward. He’s worried. Something doesn’t feel right to him and he is determined to figure out what to do about it. When he first arrived in the area, he had the good fortune to meet an old farmer who had no children. The old man was tired and sick; his health wouldn’t let him farm anymore. The land wasn’t as fertile or in as good a shape as it should have been for farming. After three years of working for John and the old farmer in his off hours, Patrick bought the old man's farm for a very good price. He met a young lady who lived on a neighboring farm and married her a year later. Not only did Alice love him endlessly, she was a Godsend with her knowledge of farming. Their day began long before sunrise, and ended long after sunset, every day of the week. Their only indulgence was Sunday church meeting, though being raised Catholic, it took Patrick a while to get used to those Baptists. In those three years, Patrick and Alice managed to enrich the soil and greatly increase the yields of the crops. Much of their success was due to their wise choice of raising livestock, and using the resulting manure to make the fields much more fertile, as well as planting smaller amounts of a wide variety of crops that were complimentary to the soil.
“Patrick Barry, you’ve been in here for hours! What’s got you so unsociable?”
“Something's wrong, Lass. The fields been a given’ us their bounty like I never seen. Them fool buggars back east throwin’ their money in a leprechaun’s pot! It can’t last, me love! Hard times are a comin’!”
“So, what do we do, Patrick?”
“We may a done some of it already. They’s wheat for miles, but we didn’t plant none this season, thank God. We did corn and beans and potatoes. I never thought me love o’ potatoes would be a savin’ me skin. It’s a good thing the land here was poor, or we might not a been buyin’ the cattle from John so soon. Lass, people are a gonna’ be needin’ food, but I got a feelin’ that they’ll not be a havin’ any money to be a payin’ for it.”
“Well if nobody can buy our crops, what do we do? We can’t give it away; we’d starve ourselves!”
“Calm down, Lass; we’ll not be a starvin’. There’s plenty enough here to feed us and the little leprechaun. We’ll be alright. I’ve got it in me head to go down to talk to them lads at Camp Knox. Big, strong fightin’ men need plenty to eat. Maybe we can sell our meat and crops to them.”
“Do you really think they’d want to buy from us?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll never be a knowin’, if we don’t ask. I think I’ll ride up an’ talk to John, see what he thinks of it. Maybe he and I need to ride down to the camp there and see what they’re a wantin’. Maybe we can strike us up a deal.”
“Whatever you think, Patrick. John and Sarah been good to us. You’re right; we should help them if we can.”
“I’ll be a goin’ tomorrow mornin’. Will you be alright with the wee leprechaun until I get back?”
“Patrick Barry! Little John nearly killed me, birthin’ him, but he didn’t. I think I can manage.”
“You’re right me dear Lass. I love you so much. You and the wee leprechaun are everythin’ to me. I’ll be stayin’ overnight, but I’ll be back Thursday. Don’t you be a lettin’ them young lads be a layin’ about while I’m gone.”
“You don’t need worry over that. We pay our hands better than most around here pay their foremen. Land sakes, you even pay those two Negros the same!”
“Now woman, I’ll have no more o’ that in me house! It’s not their fault, they’re not pasty as I am! Them two men work just as hard as the rest o’ the hands. Don’t forget, Lass, they come here from somewhere else, just like I did. I’ll not be a treatin’ any man different, just for the color of his skin. We may not live to see it, but there’ll come a time when they’ll be a treated just like us, and we’ll be a better country for it.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m a sayin’ so. Them men work hard for us, make us our livin’, and I’ll not be a havin’ ‘em be treated any different.”
“Alright.”