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Back A Man of Honor
Chapters (71)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. Part One
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Part Two
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Part Three
  38. Thirty-Three
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Part Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Part Five
  61. Fifty-Four
  62. Fifty-Five
  63. Fifty-Six
  64. Fifty-Seven
  65. Fifty-Eight
  66. Fifty-Nine
  67. Sixty
  68. Sixty-One
  69. Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
  70. About the Author
  71. Newsletter Sign-up

Patrick smiled to himself, as he saw Blackie in his mind’s eye, singing his heart out, choosing old-fashioned ballads as well as favorites of the moment. He loved going to the Dance Hall in Upper Armley, and he was a favorite among the girls who went there too. He had also discovered that people loved his voice and encouraged him to sing. And so he did whenever they begged him to go up and stand with the band, his melodic voice breaking hearts with his rendition of “The Minstrel Boy.”

He gave it his all, and Patrick had soon understood there was a bit of the ham in Shane Patrick Desmond O’Neill. He enjoyed entertaining, and the applause perhaps most of all.

After a quick read of the newspaper, Patrick put it to one side, and took his Friday schedule out of the desk drawer. He only had a few small things to deal with this morning, and then at two o’clock he would be going to Mrs. Wilson’s house, one of the small mansions in the Towers.

This was a row of really elegant houses behind the high black stone wall that ran all the way up Tower Lane to a moor.

The main entrance to this private enclave was on the main road, just above Whingate Junction, where the tram turned around to go into Leeds. The service entrance was around the corner, just off Tower Lane, and not too far from his carpentry shop. A five-minute walk for him that afternoon.

Patrick sat back in his chair, thinking about the job there.

Blackie was a natural builder, good with tools of all kinds and a hard worker. He could turn his hand to most building work. But he had been born with a really special talent for creativity and vision, honing his skills with outdoor buildings for gardens and for the man of the house to potter in. Patrick knew Blackie could actually design a house now and build it himself, if necessary.

He had mastered carpentry and brickwork very quickly, had strong and nimble hands that proved to be a great asset. Blackie had a precise eye, and could envision whole buildings in his mind. He had been an intelligent apprentice, learning so much from Patrick, and also from Tom Goode, who was Patrick’s Master Carpenter and a talented draftsman. They had taken to each other, and Tom had enjoyed teaching Blackie.

Patrick was well aware he was lucky to have his nephew with him and, since his arrival, four years ago now, the business had begun to grow. And the two of them grew closer every day. In a sense, Patrick now had the son he had always longed for. He knew Eileen felt the same way.