All aboard this week’s installment of Friday Fictioneers… though perhaps “fiction” might be a stretch. This offering is more along the lines of family lore, and it contains more than a nugget of truth. I’ve seen a photo of my youthful grandfather, gazing into my grandmother’s cradle, and I’ve seen his sketches, framed on my uncle’s wall. Though he died when I was young, I don’t recall any accusations on his part. Problems spawn solutions, and if some of those solutions look a lot alike, well, people are clever that way. The story of his deafness, and how it saved him from the WWI draft, we’ll save for another day. As always, thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting, and thanks to you for stopping by.
Rolling Stock – 100 Words
Gran’daddy was to marry. But as she was twelve years younger than his sixteen, he had time to kill.
Unfit for war, he rode the rails. From Caroline’ to Cally-forn-i-ay, meetin’ too many men with too few fingers.
Gran’daddy sketched out a finger-sparin’ idea, and when that girl was sufficient growed, he come home, got hitched, and took them sketches from his inside pocket to a patent attorney in the City.
Two hun’nerd dollars to file, may as well been the moon. Railroad men mostly keep attached to their fingers nowadays, but Gran’daddy’s fortune done rolled on down the line.
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