Dani Larsen [Larsen - The Emancipation of Mary Sweeney

Copyright 2014 by Dani Larsen

All rights reserved, in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patent Acts of 1988. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means whatsoever, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

I dedicate this book first to my dad, Bert Hempe, whose grandparents this book is about, and my brother, Michael, who passed away at age nineteen. I wish they were here to read this story as I know they would have loved reading about the adventures of Mary Sweeney. Secondly, to my descendants, who are also descendants of Mary and John Troy: My children; Michael, Michele, Nicolas, Anthony and Danielle. My grandchildren; Benjamin, Catrinna (who also calls me "mom" as I raised her from the age of three), Brandy, Andrew, Joseph, Ryan, Brenden, Joshua, Delilah, Zachary, Jimmie, and my great-granddaughter, Dora. As well as my sister, Juli.

There are many people who have helped me with this book, and I want to thank all of you and tell you how much I appreciate each and every one of you. Many thanks to my friends: Dianne Meyer, Sandi Cleveland, and Louise Solis. Also, many thanks to my family readers; my granddaughter, Catrinna Crase, my son-in-law, Scott Teem, my mom, Vivian Hempe, who left this world in 2009, Gary and Rachael Larsen, and my dear husband, Darris Larsen, who helped me with a lot of the historical information. The comments, criticisms, and suggestions, each of you gave me added to the fabric of this exciting story about my great-grandmother. Also, thanks to Xel Moore, for designing the cover, Cameron Barry for assisting with the HTML format and last, but not least, thanks to my son, Nicolas Crase, who not only read the book, but is my Chief Editor. He also formatted it and published it for me, as his computer skills far exceed mine. Without the help of each one of you, this book would not have been published. Much love and thanks to all of you.

Late March, 1954

"May you be in Heaven a half an hour before the devil knows yer dead."

I'll never forget the spring of 1954. I was nine, and a very shy, timid girl, with a vivid imagination. For some reason, I worried about everything. My mother was a worrier, and passed that trait on to me. Her stories of being an orphan by the age of six; losing her mother when she was three to consumption, and her father in the logging camps when she was six, haunted me. Whatever the reason "death" was a word that petrified me.

The old ranch house in Pleasant Valley, Oregon, was filled with strange, musty odors and eerie, creaking sounds. Questions like, 'Is this the smell of death?' filled my overactive mind. I was too shy to ask such questions as I would surely be laughed at. While my cousins and brother were outside playing, I sat in the big over-stuffed chair in the living room looking at the old family albums.

My grandmother and grandfather looked so young in their wedding photo that I almost didn't recognize them. I loved the photo of my dad, and his brothers and sisters, when they were very young. However, the photo reminded me of death, as I knew that my dad's older brother, Joseph, died at the age of twelve from diphtheria. I didn't recognize many of the people in the old pictures. Someone had neatly labeled all of them with names and dates, but I wasn't familiar with most of them. Then I came upon two smaller photos that were the same as the two large oval framed pictures that hung on the living room wall. I had been attracted to those portraits when I first arrived. One was of a handsome dark eyed man with a large mustache that curled up on both ends. He looked like "Wild Bill Hickock" in the movies my brother and I went to on Saturday afternoons. The other portrait was of a pretty young woman with long hair pulled back from her face. The labels in the albums identified them as John Troy and Mary Sweeney Troy.

Just then, my father came in from the kitchen where several of the adults were quietly talking. "What are you doing, Dani Sue?" I loved it when he called me his nickname.

"Daddy, your brown eyes are just like the man's in this picture. Who is he?"

"That's my grandfather, John Stephen Troy. He died in 1934. This is my grandmother, Mary Sweeney Troy, when she was young. Your grandmother is their daughter."

"She was very pretty. Is that who is sick upstairs?"

The noise of the screen door slamming interrupted our conversation, when several of my cousins came in the house. Daddy took the photo album and put it back in the middle of the coffee table. Then he took my hand and led me outside to the swing on the front porch. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sounds of the ranch, with the magnified noises of the animals in the barn and fields, and the insects echoing through the valley.

"What's the matter, honey?"

"It's louder here than I thought it would be."

"It's just the normal sounds of a ranch, nothing to be afraid of."

"Daddy, what does Great-Grandma Troy look like now? I've never seen anybody who is almost 100 years old. Why is she dying, Daddy?"

"She is very old, and her body has been working for a long time. I guess you could say she's just plain worn out. Ninety-six years is a long time to live. Did you know she came from Ireland as a young girl all by herself to San Francisco? Would you like to talk to her before she leaves this world? Her mind is fine, but she's very weak and can't talk for long."

"I would like to talk to her very much, Daddy, if I can talk to her alone. I don't like to talk much in front of a lot of people."

"I think that could be arranged. You stay here, and I'll see if she's awake and feels like talking."

A few minutes later he returned and led me up the stairs, down the long hallway to the closed door at the far end. Aunt Fan was dabbing her eyes as she left the room. She patted me on the head as she passed us by. I was really scared as I stood next to her bed. My hands were tightly rolled into fists and my fingernails pinched my palms.

"Dani, I would like you to meet your great-grandmother, Mary Sweeney Troy. She hasn't seen you since you were a baby. Grandmother, this is my daughter, your great-granddaughter, Deanna, better known as "Dani".

"Dani, Deanna," she repeated slowly. "Both are good Irish names, me girl. How nice that ye wanted to see me. Most of the wee ones are scared of the likes of a wrinkled, old lady like me."

Although she spoke slowly and softly, her voice still held a kind of strength and excitement. Her sweet voice, which still had a prominent Irish brogue, was almost spellbinding.

Finally, I found the nerve to speak. "You are not as wrinkled as I thought you might be for being the oldest person I've ever seen. Were you here when there were covered wagons and Indians?"

She chuckled softly, "Oh yes, me girl, on this very land. Yer great-grandfather knew Chief Joseph and Chief White Bird personally. He used to tell some mighty good stories about the Nez Perce Indian wars."

She smiled and closed her eyes for a minute as if remembering those days. Finally, she opened them and spoke again. "We had no electricity, or running water, in our first little cabin, but everything changed when your great-grandfather built this place right over that wonderful spring."

She paused and took a deep breath between each sentence. "Those were the good old days, but they were also times of great hardship. Ye might be a little too young to appreciate the memories of me life. Nobody has wanted to listen to me stories for a long time."