I LIKE THE SOUND OF THAT

By Peter Merz

"So then we are agreed."

"Aye, four years then."

"Get your family and effects and meet me in the square in an hour."

Sean MacDonald was a "Redemptioner" from across the pond. Well from Northern Ireland to be more precise. He had come to the New Country with high hopes and aspirations of creating a new existence in the land of freedom and opportunity. And if that meant be basically an indentured servant for a span of four years, well then that was a small price to pay.

"You're late," said Harold Zimmerman. Harold was a stout and muscular man who stood head and shoulders above most who had come to call Bethlehem, Pennsylvania home. Zimmerman was a carpenter by trade and had bought MacDonald's services due to an increased workload. Harold had immigrated to the colony of Pennsylvania in early 1740's and had become a leader and pillar in the community of Bethlehem.

"Aye, I beg your forgiveness, sir. This place, she is'na Tipperary. I had a devil of a time finding my way around. But fear na' I will make it my foremost priority to learn the ins and outs before week's end," apologized MacDonald with much use of hand gestures and body language. MacDonald was regally slim and stood at 5'10" tall. He had a high Scottish forehead and was a very handsome man of 33 years of age. He and his family were a mere drop in the bucket of families who had left Ireland not just because of the hope of financial reversals, but also because of religious persecution. The MacDonald's were devout Presbyterians and in a heavily Catholic Ireland it had been a struggle to survive under the hand of such heavy religious prejudice. Sean Macdonald had tried his best while still residing in Tipperary to make the best of such a nearly hostile living situation. "For the love of the Saints," MacDonald had tried to tell his Irish neighbors, "The ground that our fathers ploughed are both the same – and the places we pray, they just have different names. Cut me and I bleed!" But he might as well have been speaking to a wall of stone.

"Alright, MacDonald," came Zimmerman's voice interrupting MacDonald's harsh memories of Ireland. "Get yourself and yours into the wagon and let's be off."

MacDonald composed himself and guided his family into the awaiting wagon. Best to let the dead bury the dead, he thought to himself. His eyes fell upon a newspaper in the wagon. July 4, 1755 the date read. "July 4th," he muttered under his breath. "I like the sound of that. It has a nice ring to it."

"Did you have a question?"

"Nay, Mr. Zimmerman. Just thinking aloud."

The wagon rode off into the sunset towards Harold Zimmerman's homestead, carrying with it a man willing to trade four years of his life for a chance at freedom and prosperity. The newspaper that MacDonald had studied with such vigor, fell from the wagon.

The following morning a traveling tinkerer happened upon the newspaper. "July 4th!" The Tinkerer mused excitedly. "I much like the sound of that. It has a ring of excitement. Revolutionary! Yes, very revolutionary."