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Shortly after noon we stopped to dine at a good tavern near the ferry. When the woman hung up her cape, Peter and I looked at each other and smiled. She was a red-headed beauty with Ireland written all over her face, and she had a body that would have brought a statue of St. Patrick to roaring life with a hard on.Peter leapt up, helped her with her chair and introduced himself, naming County Limerick as his ancestral home although his people had been here since his grandfather arrived in chains fifty years before. She smiled and said she was Seanna something. She pronounced the name "Shaw-nah." They both ignored me as it I were a loaf of bread. All through the meal, they made small talk and shared private smiles, leaning to touch shoulders and laugh. Peter told colorful stories of his adventures which the young woman translated for the Frenchman, and then we were back on our horses and into the woods.A Hessian patrol jumped us only a few hundred yards from the tavern with the river. She’d been class salutatorian senior year, he’d won a scholarship from the Marines. He had always loved her, always. Everyone assumed they would marry someday-after college, her parents insisted. His parents just nodded and smiled at that good advice. They were seniors in college now, and their virginity weighed heavily on them, but they had restrained ourselves. She wanted that for her wedding night, for him, for them. The ring told everyone what they had already known: Jack loved Janice, and Janice loved Jack. They met that April day under the oak tree in her backyard, where her parents had placed chairs and a little table, and in the warm spring sun the place was peaceful and quiet. They often sat there with her folks and drank a pop or lit firecrackers on the Fourth or talked politics, religion or baseball. It was just Janice with him this afternoon, they had a month and a half until college graduation, she from University of Cincinnati and he from Miami. Different schools had.
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