The Lynch family existed in an old, cramped, three bedroom apartment on East Broadway, just above Murphy's Used Bookshop, in an Irish Catholic lower middle class neighborhood a few miles south of downtown Boston. One of Riley's favorite pastimes was to browse through the musty boxes of new arrivals in the back of the bookshop before old Mr. Murphy had a chance to sort them out. It was here where he learned all of life's lessons in the absence of his father -- from Asimov, Pohl, Heinlein and Wells, or from Christie, Conan-Doyle, Poe and Wolfe; or from Orwell, Huxley, Verne and Thoreau. And he learned all he needed to know about girls and sex from Anais Nin and D.H. Lawrence, or so he thought. Mr. Murphy let the family borrow as much as they liked for free, and in a family with little discretionary income, it was popular entertainment. Riley's apartment was a favorite hangout for his friends, too, as there was always some activity going on, and if things got boring, the boys would slip down to the bookshop for impromptu browsing, hoping to discover a discarded Playboy or Penthouse magazine buried among the great pyramids of paperbacks, Readers Digest, and National Geographic.
Riley was lucky to be the youngest of seven and to have three older brothers and three older sisters to care for and fuss over him when his mother was at work. His mother Sarah worked two different menial jobs to make ends meet -- one as a part-time secretary to a local real estate developer, and the other as a cashier at the Blue Hills Wal-Mart.
Sarah Lynch was an absolute wonder of a woman, thin, plain and mousy but with a bottomless store of energy -- Riley never remembered her ever being tired. (Many years later at her funeral, Riley commented to his sister Meghan that she looked all wrong, as it was the first time he had seen her lying down.) Sarah could work two jobs, clean house, prepare gourmet meals for eight, pay bills, shuttle the kids to school for activities, and still have time to volunteer at church, read romance novels, crochet, and chat on the phone for what seemed like hours with her nosy sister Eileen. Sarah would be hovering about the apartment whistling show tunes when Riley woke in the morning, and would still be humming when he went to sleep at night. He assumed she never turned cross, and did not sleep.
Riley never met his father Seamus who ran off a few days before he was born. Only his eldest brothers and sisters remembered their father much at all, and those memories were fading. Seamus Lynch was a dark and mysterious man, a licensed plumber by trade, and was a true son of a bitch (as his Aunt Eileen called him) who would turn up every year or so in a conciliatory mood, bearing money and exotic gifts for the kids, and who would stay just long enough to impregnate Sarah then disappear again. Sarah claimed she never knew where he went, though she was able to figure it out sometimes from the papers the sheriffs served or from the questions from the police detectives' periodic visits. No one would have blamed Sarah if she had divorced dashing Seamus the bum years earlier, and many encouraged it, but she found the concept morally offensive and wouldn't hear of it -- she never considered it to be an option. Seamus Lynch had not been heard from in the many years since Riley's birth, and though no one would admit it aloud, they assumed he was no longer alive.
When Riley was 13, his brothers (Sean, Ryan and Liam) were 19, 17 and 14, while his sisters (Erin, Meghan and Siobhan were 21, 15 and 14) respectively -- Siobhan and Liam were twins. Mr. Murphy called the children the "Irish Septuplets" with great affection. And though Erin and Sean were both adults, they still lived at home and tried to contribute to the family well-being as much as they could.
Both Seamus' and Sarah's families traced their roots in the old neighborhood back over 150 years, having arrived with the immigrants from Ireland in the 1820's. They came to the new world to sweat and toil in the old textile mill which still stands refurbished now as an artists' colony a few blocks away. East Broadway was the heart and soul of the Irish community both then and now, populated by row upon row of tightly constructed three-story, flat-topped red brick buildings, most with identical faded green awnings and frilly white curtains. The lower level of most buildings serve as some sort of shop or restaurant, each owned and operated by an Irish merchant whose family's roots in the community were well established. (Except for Theodora's Greek Restaurant on the corner who, as Mr. Murphy used to say was allowed to stay because, "the Irish can't make good pizza... and Mr. Theodora wasn't Italian.") Pride in the neighborhood kept the streets safe and clean, and would only became disorderly on weekend evenings when the pubs would fill with drunken suburbanites creating trouble to excite their dull, meaningless lives.
Many of the pubs had private backrooms where local and trusted men could still hang out, visit and play cribbage, nine card don or penny ante poker. Sarah lived in constant fear of these rooms. During her childhood, the notorious Winter Hill Gang would meet in the Dog Rose Pub below her parents' apartment, and she would talk about how her father would stay awake nights listening for any sign of disagreement, terrified that misdirected bullets would launch up through the floor killing his family in their sleep.
In the Sixties and Seventies, the FBI had pretty much wiped out the murderous old street gangs and chased the organized criminals out of town, ending a dark and brutal era in the neighborhood. But the street legends and lore remained, and the men would still gather in the pubs to share stories of life in the neighborhood when men were men, the world was right, the community was one, and the Southies ruled New England.
And it was the mythology and legend that Sarah feared most -- that Riley, Sean, Ryan or Liam, would become attracted to these patriotic war stories and would join all the other young mob wannabes who were caught up in the romance and intrigue of the past. Even though he was just 19 and not yet of legal drinking age, Riley's oldest brother Sean was already hanging around the dank pub backrooms, drinking with the boys, and not coming home until the wee hours smelling of beer and exhale.
Sarah prayed to God for her children's safety, well-being and mortal soul every day. She and Eileen built a small but elegant altar in a spare closet in the family's already cramped apartment, complete with statues, candles, chalices and ornate holy relics, to save busy Sarah the time of walking all the way down the block to St. Finian's for her daily worship and prayer. It wasn't uncommon for older, pious neighbors to drop in unannounced from time to time, often during spats of bad weather, for an opportunity to pray, and gossip. Sarah would almost always share a Hail Mary with them. The Catholic faith was an essential part of all their lives, it fueled Sarah's every breath, and she would demand respect and allegiance to their faith from each of her children at all times.
Sarah's proudest moment would occur many years later when Ryan was ordained a priest and had she lived to see it; her darkest would have been Riley's arrest and subsequent imprisonment for the mob related murder of Giovanni Marcellino. Ironic it is that both these paths began in St. Finian's CCD classes on Spring Street.
St. Finian's, a glorious, gothic, white marble church was home to the neighborhood Catholic community, served as a place of worship, and was the area's largest soup kitchen, meeting hall and parochial school to the neighborhood. The church was created over 100 years earlier from the sweat and inspiration of the neighborhood's Irish immigrants who constructed pointed spires so tall Riley assumed they reached through the clouds to the heavens themselves; its ceilings high and proud, and its large windows stained and intimidating to the impure soul. It was obvious to all who entered that oh yes, God did in fact live here. And despite Sarah's profound faith, devotion and impeccable service to Father O'Connell and the parish, she just couldn't afford the tuition to send her brood to the church school. So the kids took the yellow public school bus with all the heathens to South Boston Elementary and Middle Schools, and three nights a week, the children would be schooled in their Catholic faith by deacons at the free CCD classes at St. Finian's.
Riley thought of CCD classes as "guilt classes." The boys would be separated from the girls, and then sorted by age. Father O'Connell and the deacons would drill the teens in the immorality of sex, infidelity, masturbation, abortion, con
traception and a colorful array of other perversions that Riley hadn't even heard of never mind understood. Deacon Sabol, an old, sweet Lithuanian man who also ran the church soup kitchen, was responsible for Riley's group. Once a month, old man Sabol would invite each of the boys to meet with him in private to counsel them on whatever was on their minds and explore their faith. Each time it was Riley's turn to go, he would become apprehensive and his spine would tingle -- an inexplicable internal radar alert warning him of impending danger. Riley almost always found an excuse to avoid Deacon Sabol, often with Liam's pre-planned interference. (He learned from his brothers to avoid "the funny deacons.") At the end of each class, all the devout, God-fearing young students would rifle through the desks of the day students stealing pens and other items to sell at public school the next day, or to trade with the other CCD students on the walk back home.
"What did you get?"
"Just a few pencils and a notebook."
"I got a pencil sharpener this week, and a sticker book.
"I got a Hershey Bar."
"Whoa.... you made out, man! Trade me! I'll give you the pencils and the baseball cards I got last week for the Hershey Bar."
"Oh, no friggin' way! You'll have to do better than that. It's white chocolate with almonds."
Riley despised CCD classes. At the ripe old age of 13, he was questioning his faith. Why wouldn't God let his devout mother divorce his loser of a father and re-marry a nice man like Mr. Murphy? Why did the kids who steal the most things from the school always get to be the altar boys on Sunday? Why was he afraid of such a nice man like Deacon Sabol? Why would he get punished by God for wanting to hug and kiss Tammy Meeks, but God wouldn't punish the psychotic Yvonne Tannen and make her end her reign of terror? He did not understand, and CCD was not giving him the answers his mother promised it would. Liam said he used his brain too much.
While Riley traded hot Catholic school contraband with his friends, Ryan often stayed back to worship and study with Father O'Connell in the rectory. Ryan was working on a full-boat scholarship to Sacred Heart University, in Fairfield Connecticut to study theology (Father O'Connell was pulling a few strings). No one in either Seamus' or Sarah's prodigious clans had even set foot on a college campus, never mind attending class.
Sarah would never be more proud of her boys.
Riley was never more confused.
Sarah's bubbling pride with her four handsome boys (Riley smart and inquisitive, Ryan pious and driven; Sean responsible and practical; Liam devoted and helpful) didn't match her boundless disappointment with her three distressed girls -- Erin, Meghan and Siobhan.
Erin, who was the eldest at 21, was short, dumpy, drank heavily and pursued her life in a constant foul mood. Sarah believed that had it not been for her daily morning prayer to St. Thomas Aquinas, the patron saint of students, Erin would never have graduated high school. She had many friends but each was a more negative influence than the next, and many an evening's family dinner ended in a shouting match between Sarah and her cranky eldest daughter over Erin's irresponsible use of her burgeoning independence. Erin worked as a waitress across town at the 24-hour Howard Johnson's several nights a week, and though she would make a modest contribution to the household finances, more times than not she would drink away her tip money with her friends at one of the local pubs on her way back to the apartment.
Meghan was 15 and tantalizingly pretty. Her long, luscious red hair, soft smile and deep blue eyes turned many an adolescent head, and she knew how to use all of it. Meghan seemed to have a new boyfriend every other day, whose longevity depended upon their devotion and ability to acquire and shower lavish gifts upon her. And once the hapless new boy's wallet had been drained, a cheerful Meghan would bat her red silky eyelashes and move on.
Siobhan was 14, quiet and withdrawn. She was born 10 minutes after her stronger, bigger twin brother Liam, and being so small and underdeveloped, was given less than a 50 percent chance of survival. It was only through the miracles of science that the doctors at Massachusetts General Hospital on Fruit Street were able to save the poor girl (or, as Sarah would explain, the miracle of prayer) and Siobhan was expected to live a long and normal life. Though older than Riley by a year, Siobhan was small and skinny and assumed by outsiders to be the baby of the family.
Whenever thinking about his crazy brothers and sisters, Riley always recalled one especially unforgettable and infamous Christmas from his childhood.
Each Christmas Eve, as is the long observed Irish tradition, a single red candle would be lit in the front window as a symbol welcoming Joseph and Mary to their home if they might happen by. It was Riley's responsibility, as the family's youngest, to light that candle each year, and even at age 13, it was still an honor. The family gathered round the well-decorated window and Riley lit the candle as his family sang a heartwarming rendition of Silent Night.
Mr. Murphy had kept the bookshop downstairs open late to capture the last few procrastinating Christmas shoppers, then he joined the Lynch family upstairs for dinner. Mark Murphy was a widower, who lived alone in the suburbs, but loved the old neighborhood and loved books. His only child, a grown daughter named Mary, lived and worked as a translator in China for a pharmaceutical company, so he was often alone and adopted by the Lynch clan each holiday, serving as a de facto "dad" to the kids -- a role he, and the kids, accepted with enthusiasm.
The Lynch apartment was filled with the intoxicating aroma of mince meat, cinnamon and spiced beef. Sarah was at her culinary best, and had somehow whipped up an authentic Irish Christmas feast complete with an amazing Christmas dessert pudding, with rum sauce and raisins, that was legendary in the neighborhood, while still clocking extra hours at Wal-Mart and getting all the present-wrapping finished well in advance. And there was another dinner to prepare and serve the next day when Aunt Eileen and her family came to visit in the afternoon.
At around11:30, led by a triumphant Riley, they all started the trek up the hill to St. Finian's for midnight mass. East Broadway was calm and breathtaking, with twinkling lights and garland in the window of every storefront and apartment, and other families were coming out to join the Lynch's on their short pilgrimage. The loudspeakers above the patio of Theodora's Restaurant broadcast Good King Wencelas, and light fluffy snowflakes fell and nestled together on the sidewalk on the crisp, windless night.
"Looks like St. Stephen must be plucking his Christmas goose a little late this year," Mr. Murphy told them gazing up at the moonless, flake-filled sky.
"Mom," Erin began, "do we have to go to mass tomorrow morning since we are going tonight?"
"I don't want to go either," Meghan interrupted, "my new boyfriend Aiden wants me to go to his house in the morning."
"Yes, ladies, you will be attending mass in the morning, too. We haven't missed a Christmas Day mass since your father and I were married."
"Isn't that redundant? To go tonight, and then tomorrow?" Erin asked.
"No, Erin. Mind yourself."
"I am an adult. You can't make me go, you know."
"And I don't have to feed you either," Sarah replied in jest, sensing Erin was trying to pick a fight. Riley sensed a battle brewing, and fell to the rear. Meghan thought it safe not to repeat her request.
"I'm not going in the morning," Erin volleyed, "and there isn't anything you can do about it."
Sean had heard enough. "Erin, zip it. We're going to church in the morning like we always do. Relax."
"Don't tell me what to do. I do not need to relax."
"Come on Erin, not tonight. Don't do this tonight," Ryan chimed in.
"We stick together as a family, "said Sean.
"If we are a family, then where's Dad? I'll bet he's not at Christmas mass tonight or tomorrow," Erin said.
Sarah's heart sunk. It was the only thing her kids could say that could chip the enamel of her spirit. No matter how hard she worked at it, she could not replace Seamus' presence in the family. The older kids still missed him.
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nbsp; "Your father..." Sarah paused, swallowed, paused again, and then resumed. "...is a very special man. We all miss him, I know you all do. I do dearly. But I know that God watches over him wherever he is, and he is with us at church tonight because his presence is strong and in my heart now. He is with me, with us, tonight... on Christmas Eve, right now. I feel him." Mr. Murphy put his arm around Sarah and gave her a reassuring, tender squeeze.
There was silence among the group as the kids recognized the serious and dangerous turn of their mother's voice. "Your father gave me seven of the most precious gifts ever -- each one of you. As God gave his only son Jesus to us, your father gave all of you to me. I am truly.., truly blessed by God."
Tiny, little Siobhan had not said anything all evening -- always the first to enter a room, and the last to leave, and always the last to say anything to anyone. Siobhan's eyes watered, her mouth turned down, and she looked at Sarah, with affection and love.
"Mommy, I am blessed by God, too."
"Yes dear, you are... we all are blessed. Each one of us."
"No Mommy, I'm pregnant."
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by Steven R. Porter