This was my first requested story I wrote for a reader who entered information in the Design a Story section. He wanted it posted here. You can have one done too. Just click on the Design a Story link to provide some details and have your own story posted for free. Read the Be in Your Own Story link.
Not a 49er
For my family and the love we have shared over the centuries, starting here.
The ships were being prepped to set sail from New York on their way to California, "GOLD, THERE'S GOLD THERE IN CALIFORNIA!" a voice rang out in the hordes of people working their way to several ships that were getting ready to make the long journey west in search of wealth and prosperity.
It was the great gold rush of 1849. People from all over the world, including my great, great, great grandfather, decided to make the trip to the region from North America by way of New York. California was one year from being a state, and the great Pacific Railroad had yet to be built. My grandfather decided a one-year boat ride was safer than making the trek on the California Trail across the country.
My grandfather was a big Irishman who immigrated in the 1820s in search of a better life, like all immigrants during that time and as they still do today. With word of the instant rich being born in his new country, my grandfather thought, "What's a few extra thousand miles. I made it this far."
"Barkeep." my grandfather shouted as he slams his mug on the table. The noise makes a loud pound as it smacks against the handmade wood bar top. "Another round before my journey." wiping the foam on his sleeve.
"We are going to be a 49er?" the barkeep asks.
"Yep. I figure a big Irish boy like me can haul away my fair share of gold. And I will." He said with a stoic voice.
"You know, people die all the time on those trips. A big Irish man or not, you'll die before you make it to California." A tiny voice said over the piano and voices of other men sharing the stories of future riches.
"Who asked you?" The Irishman said, sipping his newly poured beer and slowly turning in his bar stool to place a face on the voice who dared to knock his dream.
Once his eye locked on the person who spoke out, he nearly fell off his bar stool. Before him was the most beautiful girl the Irishman had ever seen. She was tiny, dwarfed by his size, and looked like a kid among men as she cleaned up after their filth.
"I'm just saying. Working in the bar, I hear stories of burials at sea more than people who exit the ship on the other coast." She said, turning away and wiping off a table.
She was the Barmaid and the bar owner's daughter. She worked there taking care of her dad after her mother died of disease. It wasn't her dream job, but back then, family was everything, and she wasn't about to leave her father.
"Well, it looks like I will have to stay here." My grandfather said with a smile on his face.
They married that year and never parted ways as she took over the bar from her father. A bar that is still there today in our hearts and minds, and I am proud to say I'm happy my grandfather was never a 49er.
593 words
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Well done, Chris! After several family members researched our family tree, the next logical step would be a short story such as this heartwarming one of how grandparents met.
ReplyDeleteThis is a perfect addition to anyone's ansestry family tree to be shared with the entire family! What a great idea, Chris.
I plan on being in contact with you. Regards, SP