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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1674368-Luck-of-the-Irish
by Kaoru
Rated: E · Short Story · Friendship · #1674368
Story about an Irish gal who came to the land of opportunity sharing her luck with another
“Luck of the Irish”

Delaney had come to America in her early twenties on her student visa. Back then, they weren’t so strict on those types of things as they are now. Her dream was to open a truly Irish pub. She came to Kansas City as a student and ended up a resident for life. Some would say there wasn’t much to do here in a Podunk town like this. But Delaney loved it. It was quaint.

One of the first people she met, in college, was her Aaron. Aaron was a good ol’ boy to most people, but to Delaney, he was a prince. When they had graduated from college, they came back to Aaron’s hometown to open a pub like she’d dreamed. Aaron would do anything for her. They got married right off. Aaron was smitten with Delaney’s Irish freckles and flame red hair. He used to tease her that she even had freckles where the sun don’t shine. It was true, but only she and Aaron knew it. Delaney had come from Dublin, Ireland. She had bigger aspirations when she first came here. It truly was a land of possibilities. They decided, after Delaney had fallen in love with her locals, to open a pub and sink themselves into the community. They called it “The Four Leaf Clover.

She kept the pub in fine Irish style. The drinks were good, the food was better. But people came mostly for Delaney’s Irish hospitality. Today, the locals had piled up in her pub, all eyes on the telly. That’s what Delaney called it, so the locals followed. They were busy watching the election counts for the Presidential Election. Most of the folks round here were voting for Obama. Maybe they weren’t necessarily Democrats, but something had to change. We just couldn’t keep on the path that good ol’ W. had set us on. The Chance that McCain might follow in W’s footsteps was a chance that most Americans didn’t want to take. They were sitting smack in the middle of what was being called The Greater Depression.

Luckily, Delaney didn’t feel the pinch of the economy as much as others. No matter how much people lost money, they still came to either drown their sorrows, or at least console them a bit with the Guiness and the Irish hospitality. It was the least she could do. Though she didn’t condone alcoholism, even as her heritage dictated, she seemed to allow more portions of drink than normal.

Delaney made her rounds to the good folk of K.C., making sure their glasses were kept full. Tonight she had a great special on her drink. As she made her rounds, she happened upon a sad little gal, in her early twenties, looked like.

“Hey there, Lass, Can I get ye a drink t’nite love? Delaney’s warm Irish sentiment was saturated through her velvety voice. She watched as the blonde-haired gal nervously fumbled through her near-empty wallet to get the few dollars she had.
“I would like Vodka shot with cranberry juice splashed in please?” She nervously handed the few dollars to Delaney. She could tell immediately that this gal was new to America.

From conversation throughout the night, she had learned the gal’s name was Anishka and she’d escaped from her “guardian” in the Ukraine with the assistance from a nice young policeman who had accompanied a foreign dignitary there for protection while he was “entertained”. That’s where he’d met Anishka, and found out her parents had taken her there in hopes that the gentleman who owned the establishment would provide their daughter with an education and some of the finer things in life. While it was true that Anishka received an education and finer clothing, her life had become something that she was pretty sure her parents didn’t intend. At the age of 11 she had become a prostitute for foreign dignitaries and government officials. They did have a taste for the younger ones, and some very sick requests. She’d had help from the policeman to get a visa to come here, as a nanny for some rich family here, but that work had fallen through, and Anishka was stuck.

Delaney felt her heart go out to this girl immediately. “Well, lass, it seems the Four Leaf Clover might bring ye some luck after all. I just was telling me Aaron that I be needed some help round here. Would ye like to help me out around here?” Anishka’s face lit up instantly. It wasn’t hard to fall into friendship with Delaney and the folks round here. “I would very much love to come help you here!” She smiled as she spoke, from ear to ear.
“Let this ol’ Irish gal go find somewheres for ye to stay. Ye look as if ye don’t hev a place really yet. There’s a lady in town, has rooms to let. She’d love to have ye too. We’ll fix ye up. Don a worry about a thing, lass. Ye’ve friends here now.” Delaney ran to talk to old Ms. Weatherby, who had a large farmhouse, that wasn’t exactly on farmland anymore, as the land had been sold and developed. Way too much room for one ol’ lady for sure, so she let rooms out to people as needed and was glad for the company.

She winked her eye at her Aaron, tending bar, and walked straight to the phone to make arrangements. Ms. Weatherby was a great ol country soul for sure, her wrinkled smiling face and her kind heart was known to all around here. She would come with her almost fluorescent pink lipstick, caked on of course, and her pies. Yes, Anishka and Ms. Weatherby would get along just fine, she was sure of it.

When she went back to the table, the haggard-looking girl was gone, and an exuberant, smiling one sat in her place. Delaney had spoken to the ol’ lady and of course she was elated to have company. She secretly arranged to pay her for Anishka’s lodging, at least til she could afford it on her own. America was truly going to be the land of opportunity for Anishka, as it was for Delaney. Even in the Greater Depression, as they were calling it now, it was still a better life than what this girl had been part of before coming here.

Delaney felt good that night, as she closed up shop. She felt like she had been in the right place at the right time to help this gal. She winked at her Aaron, and blew him one of her Irish kisses. Aaron was the bartender and the bouncer, with his 6 foot 2 frame, but there was never much call for him to “bounce” anyone in their pub. Once in awhile, tempers flared during some of the sports games got people riled up. But tempers were usually soothed by the offer of free rounds of Guiness, or whatever your choice of poison was. This turned out to be a good night. Obama was elected president. The future of America, and a young immigrant girl, seemed to be looking up.
© Copyright 2010 Kaoru (dragonladie76 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1674368-Luck-of-the-Irish