Sean
always walked when going to Rafferty’s, mostly because it wasn’t
so far as to be uncomfortable and he enjoyed the surroundings along
the way. The narrow cobblestoned streets were old and peaceful, mostly
lined with brick or stone row houses. Occasionally, on warm days he’d
pass a small shop or pub with its owner standing in an open doorway,
always ready to acknowledge a cheerful passing greeting.
While walking, Sean sometimes found himself thinking about his childhood
… of the ways of his people and the prejudices some of them
held. “The English are not to be trusted, Sean,” Uncle
Wolfe had said. “Many times they’ll pretend to like you
and when they do, it takes a while for you to discover you’ve
been stabbed.”
They haven’t been anything like that, Sean decided. At least
not the people I know. Damn, it’s good to be free of that bloody
hatred!
Weeks after Sean’s first visit, Rafferty mentioned he had invited
a few other friends for dinner, friends he’d like Sean to meet
as he was sure he’d like them. Pleased at the prospect of meeting
people from outside the navy crowd, he arrived at Rafferty’s
and looked forward to a pleasant evening of conversation that, once
the initial greetings were over, wouldn’t center on submarines
or navy life in general.
The friends, John Rainey, Michael Rich, and Bridgette Toomey were,
by all accounts, as Sean had imagined them. Rainey, a tall native
of Belfast, had for quite a while worked as a machinist for the shipyard.
He was friendly in an unsophisticated streetwise manner and seemed
to Sean, slightly rough around the edges regarding his conversational
skills—but always straightforward and to the point with whatever
he had to say.
Michael Rich was an entirely different man. Educated and soft-spoken,
he presented himself to the world as would an imagined professor of
literature. With a ready smile, he exuded an air of friendly trust
and whenever he spoke, Sean felt he was about to learn something new
about the world and especially the Irish race. That Rich was shorter
than everyone in the room other than Bridgette seemed to go unnoticed,
except by Sean. Rich was obviously well built in an athletic way,
and one glance at him left little doubt he was more than capable of
handling himself in any situation.
Bridgette Toomey was, in Sean’s eyes, from an entirely different
world than the one in which he existed. Classically Irish, her well-groomed,
shoulder-length, flowing red hair would set her apart in whatever
room she entered. Petite and with a bubbly manner, she captured both
his interest and his heart instantly. She was the most beautiful creature
he had ever encountered.