Patrick G. Whalen

I haven’t participated in Friday Fiction in some time, but a short story assignment from Associated Content started my imagination flowing this week. The object was to find a picture on a free service then write a short story that encompassed the picture. The following is that picture and story

A Bottle Replenished

The battered, blue Chevy kicked up dust that caked at the edges of my drying lips. Screeching brakes signaled that my driver believed he was in the right place. I clutched my meager bag by the hand and hopped over the tailgate. My boots hit solid ground.

Solid, if there was an understatement, that was it. The oven-baked clay and sand I had been breathing for the last hour was nearly enough to make me throw my bag back into the truck and head back to town.

I glanced through the filthy, cracked glass and noticed Jose smiling in the crooked mirror. “You sure you want to stay out here my friend?”

I waved, “Sure? No. But I’ve got to find whatever it is that’s out there. Thanks for the ride, Jose.”

I tapped the tailgate a few times then Jose nodded, “Okay, señor. I’d tell you to call if you changed your mind, but I don’t think there’s a phone out there.” I wrestled up a cheap smile and Jose chuckled in the cab of his truck. Jose’s faithful beast shuddered at the touch of his foot on the accelerator. His hand waved out the window, “Adios!”

My feet wanted to chase after him and jump back into the rusted bed, but they seemed unresponsive. Perhaps they had melted onto the hot rock that served as a road that took travelers away from civilization.

Jose and his Chevy gone, there was nothing but silence; silence and the long dirt road that lay ahead. The only thing that even resembled green was a spattering of medium sized trees and a few low hills in the distance. How long I stood there was anyone’s guess. Time didn’t seem to matter much out in this long forgotten landscape.

My first few steps down that road were labored, my ears searched for something that resembled sound, but there was nothing short of a light, hot breeze at my back. I pulled the bottle of water from my pack and took a long pull on the nozzle.

I continued down the road lined with unwired posts that must have been a fence some time ago. Perhaps it was the desire to hear something that brought the memory of that phone call to my mind.

Over the sound of sirens and car horns the plastic machine on my table rang out, begging to be consoled. The night before had been a long one and I had tied one on so tight that my brain begged me to shut up that phone. I considered throwing a bottle at it, but some inner voice told me I had better pick it up.

“Hello.” I struggled through a dry throat and tongue.

“Is this Mr. Vargas. Mr. Chet Vargas?”

I took a swig from the bottle and nearly spit out the vile, flat liquid. “Yes, this is Chet Vargas. Who is this?”

“My name is Hugo Jimenez. I am a lawyer in…”

“Mr. Jimenez, I know who you are. You are my father’s lawyer. I suppose he’s suing me now for repayment of some loan or something , right?”

“No Mr. Varagas. I regret to inform you that your father has passed away and has left you his estate.”

My ears perked, “His estate? What exactly does that mean Mr. Jimenez?”

“I’m afraid I can’t fully disclose all of that to you over the phone. Your father’s last request was that you return to his home. I am to meet you there and then you will be informed.”

“Right. You want me to come back to that crap hole I left twenty years ago so you can give me the deed. Thanks, but no thanks, Mr. Jimenez. I have enough financial liability where I’m at. I don’t need another headache.”

“Ah yes, Mr. Vargas. Perhaps the two of you talked less than I had been informed. Your father purchased a ranch several years ago and that is what he is leaving to you.”

“A ranch? What kind of ranch? How big is it?”

“I’m afraid I cannot…”

“Yeah, yeah…I’ve got to see it for myself. Another of pop’s grand scheme’s to bring me into reality. Fine, fine.”

Once Hugo had given me directions, I booked a plane and here I was. Walking down some sun-baked dirt road towards what I really had no idea. The trees in the distance came closer and soon the outline of a white ranch house took form between the shadows.

This wasn’t right. How could my father have purchased a ranch? Especially with all the money I had suckered, I mean borrowed, from him. Then again, there it was. Perhaps I was in the wrong place. Maybe Jose had been thinking of some other Vargas when he dropped me off here. I pulled the water bottle out once more, but now it was empty. My throat craved refreshment and the only way to get it was inside that house. I had been such a fool.

Find more great Friday Fiction at Dancing on Rainbows

Not too often in my internet travels do I come across articles that transcend the typical battle or leader profiles. More often than not, when I do come across articles centered upon the lives of soldiers or civilians, one of the typical themes left out is their religious mindset and beliefs. Readers at Uncommon History know that I come from a certain perspective that religion was a driving force, and to a large extent even continues to be so today.

Today I came across an article that very much illustrates the religious passions of one woman during the Civil War that motivated her to exceedingly support the Southern view she and her family had adopted.

Eliza kept a diary throughout the war and although I have not had the opportunity to read it, many of the extracted quotes I have read  speak very plainly that there were plenty of American citizens at the time that would, and did, sacrifice all for their religious convictions.

Here are just a few quotes from her diary:

“I am becoming more firmly fixed in my conviction concerning this war that religion will be more intimately interwoven in its history than any which had ever preceded it,” she wrote on October 13, 1862. “The men who have honored God are the men he has chosen to honor on almost every field.”

“And I do feel the judgments of Almighty God will rest upon the heads of the Northern people for their unjust interference, thereby thwarting our plans for the elevation of our colored people in a moral point of view.” Slavery, Eliza Fain believed, was the cornerstone of the war effort – the very reason her kin had pledged to fight and die for the cause.”

“When a band of Federal soldiers passed her home in October 1863, she challenged them to reflect upon their motives to wage war. “They have to acknowledge that slavery has been the inciting cause to this war,” she triumphantly declared.
“They all tell me if they thought they were fighting to free the Negro they would quit and go home.”

I can do no more justice at present on this intriguing woman than the fine writing of  Maggiemac at Civil War Women. You can read her article on Eliza at her blog.

Further Reading

Sanctified Trial

John Fain (Editor). Univ Tennessee Press 2004, Hardcover, 432 pages, $32.06

The genesis of this day of celebrating love is among those dates clouded in a mist of uncertainty. Among the most convincing tales surrounding Valentine’s day is that it is a commemoration of the martyrdom of a Christian who refused to recant his faith in Jesus Christ. This beleiver, named Valentine, was killed for his faith (perhaps also because as a temple priest, Valentine had defied the Roman Emperor Claudius) on February 14, 269 AD. It is said, in this version of the story, that the daughter of his jailer had befriended him and before his death, left her a farewell letter in which he closed with, “From Your Valentine.”

According to history, the Queen of Roman gods and goddesses, known as Juno, was honored every February 14th. It had become the custom for young girls to write their names on slips of paper and young men would draw these names from their container. During the festival that followed the following day, known as Lupercalia, the boy and girl matched by the paper slip would participate in the festivities together. Tradition has it that eventually some of these pairs would fall in love and even marry. Over time, Popes of the Roman Catolic faith were apt to replace pagan festivals with celebrations of their own faithful followers. Thus was the case in 496 AD when Pope Gelasius decreed that February 14th of each year would be a day of memorial to honor Saint Valentine.

Over time, Valentine became regarded as the patron saint of lovers and a custom of exchanging messages of love and friendship emerged. These simple yet intimate messages of endearing love were soon followed by poems, gifts and flowers.Modern commercialism has greatly affected the way in which Saint Valentine’s memorial is celebrated, but the central theme of love and friendship remains.

Of course, as is the case with many ancient customs and traditions, the actual source of the celebration is a matter of acedemic contention. Regardless of the exact history behind what is known today as Valentine’s Day, it would be wise not to engage in intellectual debate over its origins of February 14th. Instead, those who have a special love interest in their life would be well advised to leave history to scholars and arrive on time and with a token of love and gratitude. Such an act will honor the memory of Saint Valentine and keep the celebration a joyous one.

Learn more about the plight of the American Abolitionist Movement

On June 24, 1813, Henry Ward Beecher was born in Litchfield, Connecticut. At the age of 26, Henry became a Presbyterian minister and served in that capacity in Lawrenceburg and Indianapolis. In the year 1847, the Reverend Beecher went to Plymouth Church in Brooklyn. He was a skilled orator and popular preacher who drew in thousands to Plymouth Church each Sunday.

His Congregationalist pulpit was a favorite place to espouse his political and social views which included abolition, women’s suffrage, Darwin’s theory of evolution, as well as temperance. It was from this pulpit that he became an outspoken critic of the Kansas-Nebraska bill and through his political activism, Henry Beecher raised money to purchase rifles that were used to oppose the spread of slavery. Armed with these “Beecher Rifles,” volunteers including John Brown and his five sons departed for the contested ground of Kansas.

As a civil war loomed nearby in 1860, Beecher exchanged his Free Soil Party membership for that of the Republican party. As the lines were drawn and sides taken, Beecher used the resources of his congregation to raise and equip a regiment of volunteer infantry. His associations, and politics throughout the war abdicated a complete end to slavery. He even went so far as to converse with President Lincoln about proclaiming an end to slavery. His abolition aims did not end there as Beecher embarked upon a speaking tour in England in order to raise opposition to further support for the Confederate South. When the war came to an end, the Reverend Beecher advocated that, “Compassion will cure more sins than condemnation.” Reverend Beecher died on March 8, 1887 and was buried in Brooklyn’s Green-Wood Cemetery.

The Beecher family included a number of political, social and abolition activists that included:

- Sister, Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin
- Sister, Catharine Beecher, educator
- Brother, Charles Beecher, activist
- Sister, Isabella Beecher Hooker, activist
- Nephew, Edgar Beecher Bronson

Interesting side-notes:
In 1870, Henry Beecher was accused of having an affair with Elizabeth Tilton, the married wife of a family friend. The information reached the ears of women’s rights and free love activist, Victoria Woodhull, who publicly claimed that Beecher had embraced the free-love doctrine that he had denounced from his pulpit. Subsequently, Woodhull was arrested for using the mail system to send obscene material. Beecher was eventually exonerated by the Plymouth Church of any wrong doing.

Strict adherence to Calvinistic orthodoxy reigned supreme in the Beecher houshould and the family did not celebrate Christmas or birthdays in order to avoid ‘undue frivolity.”

“I don’t like these cold, precise, perfect people, who, in order not to speak wrong, never speak at all, and in order not to do wrong, never do anything.”

Further Reading

The Most Famous Man in America

Debby Applegate. Three Leaves 2007, Paperback, 560 pages, $6.00

What Hath God Wrought

Daniel Walker Howe. Oxford University Press, USA 2009, Paperback, 928 pages, $12.30

Love Divine

Anya Laurence. iUniverse, Inc. 2006, Paperback, 154 pages, $12.12

The following is the population breakdown for the United States in 1860.

Further Reading

Us Census Bureau