The Linen Queen

by Patricia Falvey

  Prayers were said to St. Brendan, patron saint of sailors, and St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, and I said prayers for Gavin and Joel and my da. Father Flynn gave a sermon about the benefits of sacrifice and how suffering cleanses our souls. Well, our souls would be scrubbed clean all right with this boyo around—he had caused more suffering than anybody I knew. Before the Mass ended, a young acolyte, the son of one of the sailors, read out the name of every sailor who had been aboard the Ashgrove, while a bell tolled at each name. Gavin’s name was called last. The sorrow I had been cradling deep down in my heart escaped in one cry of anguish. As the echoes of the bell faded so did my last hopes of ever seeing Gavin again. Mrs. Hollywood took my arm and pulled me close to her. Grainne turned her back to me, but not before I saw the tears flooding her cheeks.

  When the service was over we filed out while the choir sang the hymn to the Virgin Mary, “Ave Maris Stella,” or “Hail, Star of the Sea.” In ancient times Our Lady was seen as the protector of those who earned their livelihoods from the sea.

  As I reached the cathedral steps somebody tugged at my sleeve from behind. “Och, Sheila love, there you are. I thought it was you.”

  I turned around. There stood Ma, her hand linked into the arm of an older man I didn’t recognize. There were tears in Ma’s eyes.

  “Wasn’t it a beautiful service, Sheila?”

  She let go of the man and linked her arm in mine as we walked on down the steps. “I prayed for Gavin, Sheila. And I heard about poor Joel. Lovely boys, both drowned.” She sighed. “But I prayed most for your da.”

  I wanted to get away from her. I tried to shrug her off, but she gripped my arm even harder. I was reminded of the night of the blitz when she had my arm in a vise. She looked around at her companion as she shoved me away out of his hearing.

  “I know you don’t believe me, Sheila, but I loved your da. It nearly destroyed me when he left.”

  She was right; I didn’t believe her. “I always loved him. It’s just that, well, I couldn’t help the way I was. When my good moods took me over, I didn’t realize what I was doing. And I was young, and lonely. I only had you for company. We were happy in the beginning though, love. We really were.”

  I tried to turn away but she held on to my arm. “Wait, I have something for you.”

  I sighed. “What?”

  She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a small box and thrust it at me. “Here. By rights this should be yours. Your da often said we should give it to you on your wedding day. But since there’s no hope of that now, I thought I’d give it to you today. I knew I’d see you here.”

  I opened the box. Inside, on a silk cushion, lay the blue and silver necklace Da had given Ma the day I was born, the one she had lent me the night of the Linen Queen competition.

  “But I can’t take this, Ma,” I said. “Da gave it to you.”

  Ma put her hand over mine and squeezed it. “Take it.”

  I didn’t know what to do. Would Ma come running back next week accusing me of stealing the necklace? But as I looked at her face smiling back at me, happier than I’d seen her in a long time, a faint hope crept through me that maybe at last she’d changed. I shoved the box in my pocket.

  I should have known better. Ma giggled like a young girl and nodded towards her companion. “I have new fish to fry now you see, and I don’t want to be cluttered up with memories of your da.”

  All energy went out of me. “Who is he?” I said wearily.

  She giggled. “Och don’t you recognize him? That’s Shane Kearney. You remember he ran a pub in Glenlea. I took you there a few times when you were small. He and your da were great friends.” She looked over at the man and smiled. “He was always in love with me, but I wouldn’t give him the time of day. I only had eyes for your da. Shane married another girl and raised a family. But he’s widowed now.”

  I listened, but said nothing.

  “He came and found me,” announced Ma with pride. “And he says he’ll take care of me.”

  “He must be a saint,” I said.

  “Och he is, love, he is. Come on over and say hello.”

  Reluctantly I shook hands with Shane Kearney. I wondered if he knew what he was getting himself into. Well, better him than me. I made my excuses and ran to catch up with Mrs. Hollywood and Patsy and Grainne. Later I was sorry I had not wished Ma luck. But at that moment I’d had nothing generous left inside me. I hoped that she would find some happiness with Shane. She deserved it. She’d had a hard life. Maybe if she had someone beside her who loved her she would get better. I supposed it was all any of us wanted.

  The next evening when I returned from work at the mill, I found Grainne in our room. She stood with her back to me forcing shut the rusty clasps on her battered old suitcase. The yellow light from the attic lamp beside the bed cast a glow on the girl’s bent head, turning her red curls to fire. She swung around.

  “You can’t stop me,” she said. “My mind’s made up.” Her eyes were defiant as she glared at me.

  “And just where in God’s name do you think you’re going?” I said, trying to control my sudden anger. “Is this how you repay us for all we’ve done for you?”

  God, I thought, I sounded just like Ma. But I couldn’t help myself.

  Grainne scowled. “I knew you were going to say that. It’s all you’ve ever said since I came here. I told you before, I never asked you to save me, and I’ve no intention of going down on my two knees to thank you.”

  “I know,” I said. “You think Gavin was the only one ever helped you.”

  Grainne’s face turned red. “Leave him out of it,” she said. “He’s gone, and a lot you care.”

  She turned back to closing her suitcase, but I went up behind her and spun her around to face me. I wanted to slap her.

  “How dare you say that? You’ve no notion how I feel about Gavin. You’re just a jealous wee bitch. Don’t think I didn’t see the way your eyes followed him around like a bloody wee puppy dog. D’you think he would ever have given the time of day to the likes of you?”

  My breathing was ragged, and the sweat poured down my neck. I was out of control. Why was I saying these things to her? Why was I hurting her like this? I wanted to stop but I couldn’t make myself do it.

  “You’ve been nothing but a dose of salts ever since you arrived on that train. So go on now. Get out and good riddance to you.”

  I sank down on my bed, exhausted. Grainne’s face crumpled up and she began to cry. Och, Sheila, I said to myself, what have you done now?

  “There’s nothing left for me here,” Grainne said quietly. “I’m sick of being a prisoner in this house—afraid to go out in case the IRA men come after me. And Gavin’s no longer here to watch out for me.” She bit her lip. “He’s gone, and I have nobody left. I may as well go.”

  She looked up at me, her green eyes softer than I’d ever seen them.

  “I was stupid to have such a notion for him,” she went on. “It’s you he loved, and I was jealous. That’s why I was so angry with you. And angry that you picked the Joel fella over Gavin.” She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry for all I did. I am grateful, Sheila.”

  I thought of the talk we’d had back in Queensbrook the night I saw her scars. I could have cut my tongue out now for what I’d just said. But it was too late. Once the words are out you can never take them back.

  “I’ll never have the chances you have,” she said. “I’m not pretty like you, and I’m not clever. But I’ll make my way somehow.”

  “But you’re only fifteen!”

  “Almost sixteen, now,” she said defiantly. “Old enough.”

  A horrible thought came over me. “You’re not going back to Amelia Street, are you?”

  Grainne shrugged. “I’m not that stupid. I’d never go back to that life. I saw what it did to my ma.”

  “Then where will you go?”

  “Belfast. I know the streets there like the back of my hand. And I know some people who mi
ght give me a place to stay…” Her words trailed off.

  An anxious feeling came over me. “What about money?”

  Grainne smiled and shrugged her thin shoulders. “I’m good at stealing. One of the benefits of being reared on Amelia Street.”

  I threw my hand to my mouth. “God, no, Grainne!” I shouted.

  Without thought I got up and went over to the drawer beside my bed and pulled out the envelope containing my Linen Queen prize money. I held it in my hands for a moment and then I held it out to Grainne. “Take it, love,” I said. “I can’t stop you going, but at least this will help until you get on your feet. You’ll not go far without it.”

  She shrank back as if I were offering her poison. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s yours. It’s for your dream. It’s for all you’ve ever wanted in this life.”

  “Take it. Take it as my gift to you. I can save more for when the time comes for me to go.” Even as I said the last words, they sounded hollow.

  I helped Grainne carry her things downstairs. There was no point trying to talk her out of it, just as I would not have been talked out of it back at the time. All I could do was give her the best advice I could and wish her well.

  Mrs. Hollywood met us at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes were ringed in red.

  “Good-bye, Mrs. H., and thanks,” said Grainne.

  Mrs. Hollywood pulled Grainne to her and hugged her.

  “Take care of yourself, love. And remember, you’ll always have a home here.”

  Sadness welled up in me as I stood at the door of number 6 watching the girl walk up the street for the last time, carrying her suitcase with her. She was escaping into her future just as I had hoped to do three years before. But what I saw was not a girl skipping excitedly towards new adventures, but a vulnerable and frightened waif trudging bravely into the unknown. Pirate, the cat, nuzzled against me, as Grainne disappeared around the corner.

  “Let her be safe,” I whispered aloud. “Let her be safe.”

  Chapter 29

  Life at the mill was more punishing than before. The girls hardly ever sang. A collective depression hung over us all. If we’d never known the excitement and hope of the war we would never have missed it. But we had known it, and now it had been taken away from us. How could we ever go back to the innocent way we had lived our lives before we knew there was something better?

  One morning I was waiting for a doffer to change the bobbins on my spinning frame when Mr. Carlson’s secretary, Miss Johnson, came up to me.

  “You’re to come with me, Miss McGee.”

  “We’re in the middle of changing the bobbins—” I began.

  “Now, Miss McGee.”

  She turned without another word and marched towards the office. I followed her, dread sinking into me. I remembered the time when I had been summoned to the office and put on probation. I’d not had a bit of trouble since that. I had no idea what he wanted. I shrugged; maybe it was a new Linen Queen assignment. Mary McAteer looked up at me as I entered the outer office. She said nothing.

  Mr. Carlson did not invite me to sit down. Instead he leaned back in his chair and stared at me, a frown on his craggy face. As before, I was aware of my naked feet, and I moved behind a chair.

  “Do you remember the last time you were here, Miss McGee, when you were placed on probation?”

  I nodded.

  “At the time, I recall, the problem had to do with your involvement with a Mr. Gavin O’Rourke.”

  The mention of Gavin’s name sent chills through me.

  He tapped a newspaper on his desk. “Have you been reading the papers?”

  I froze. There had been more stories in the newspapers about the German prisoners of war. New details had emerged. The theory now was that the prisoners had been smuggled aboard a boat in Newry Harbor. Neither Gavin nor the Ashgrove had been named, but I became more and more nervous every time I picked up a paper.

  “I don’t know, sir,” I said.

  “Surely you’ve heard of the German prisoners who escaped?”

  The big grandfather clock behind him ticked louder than a bomb. I nodded.

  “And you will know, then, it appears the prisoners were taken on board a boat in Newry Harbor. My own investigators tell me it was the boat owned by your friend Gavin O’Rourke.”

  He paused, waiting for my reaction. What was I to say? My knees threatened to buckle under me and all the blood ran out of my legs. I held on to the back of the chair for support.

  “Tell me what you know about this, Miss McGee.”

  “Nothing, sir,” I blurted out, almost too quickly. “I haven’t seen Gavin in months,” I went on. “And now he’s dead.”

  The words cut through me.

  “Be that as it may, Miss McGee, you were seen talking to some IRA men in O’Hare’s pub just recently. They are known cohorts of Mr. O’Rourke.”

  A flush rose up my face and there was nothing I could do to stop it. There was no point denying it. “I went to O’Hare’s because that’s where the sailors in these parts go. I thought I might find out something about the Ashgrove. I didn’t go to meet the IRA men. They were the ones came up and annoyed me.”

  “Aiding and abetting the enemy is treason, Miss McGee. If you are withholding any information you are guilty of such a charge. I hope this is not the case. But if there is anything you know you must tell me now.”

  “I don’t know anything other than Gavin’s dead!” I couldn’t stop myself from talking. “And even if he did something, you could never prove it. And besides, he’s a citizen of the Free State, and so even if he was still alive youse couldn’t put a finger on him.”

  “But you are a citizen of the United Kingdom, Miss McGee. And that is a very different matter.”

  “I’ve told you. I don’t know anything!”

  I was exhausted. I felt my shoulders droop as I waited for Carlson to speak.

  “You are right, Miss McGee; we have no proof as yet. But we will get it. And if it turns out Mr. O’Rourke had involvement, then I would advise you to think carefully about what I have said. You are on very thin ice. Now go back to work.”

  I could hardly walk straight as I trailed out of his office. Mary McAteer looked up but again she said nothing. I went back to the spinning floor, ignoring the looks of the other girls. I tried not to let anything show on my face. I didn’t even look at Kathleen, who studied me with concern. There was nothing to talk about. Gavin was dead. Why couldn’t they let him rest in peace?

  The night after the meeting with Mr. Carlson, I sat in the kitchen with Mrs. Hollywood. We said little to each other these days, but we took comfort in each other’s presence. Sylvie had received his discharge and Patsy had become Mrs. Sylvie Sartori. She and the baby had moved into a hotel with Sylvie until they could book their passage to America. Only Mrs. Hollywood and I were left in the Walker’s Row house. The emptiness hung heavily over us. I told her nothing about what had happened at the mill. What was the point? There was no proof of anything, and there was nothing Carlson could do to me. But deep down I was frightened. Treason? The word overwhelmed me. It must be a bad dream.

  I was draining the last of my tea before going up to bed when a thump came at the front door. Mrs. Hollywood and I looked at each other. Who could that be at this hour of the night? Grumbling, Mrs. Hollywood got up from her chair and went out into the hallway. Maybe Patsy had forgotten something, I thought. But a queer foreboding came over me just the same.

  Mrs. Hollywood screamed and I rushed to the front door. She had sunk to her knees and raised her arms up to heaven. Towering over her was Alphie. My hand few to my mouth and I stood rooted to the spot. Was I seeing ghosts? Mother of God, it couldn’t be true. Alphie bent over and raised Mrs. Hollywood to her feet and then wrapped his big arms around her. She sobbed into his chest, saying his name over and over. I made the sign of the cross. Alphie looked at me and grinned.

  “Come on over here, love, and give me a kiss.”

  I could tel
l he was drunk, but I didn’t care. I rushed to him and he pulled me into him alongside his mother, holding us so tight we were nearly smothered. Mrs. Hollywood recovered first. She backed off and looked him up and down.

  “Alphie, son. Come in. I’ll make some tea.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. Only Mrs. Hollywood, the lovely, sweet Englishwoman, would offer tea at a time like this. Alphie followed his ma into the kitchen and I turned to shut the front door. As I did, I noticed a shadow outside. I peered out into the darkness. The shadow moved again and I held my breath. Had a ghost followed Alphie home? Was it waiting to reclaim him the minute he left the house? Was the Alphie I’d just seen alive at all? Hurriedly I stepped backwards into the hall and tried to push the door closed. But a force pushed back against it and I dropped the latch in terror.

  “Sheila. Sheila, it’s me.”

  The door opened wide and there under the hall light stood Gavin. A scream caught in my throat. My head went light and the world spun around me.

  “Sheila, it’s me,” he said again. “I’m not a ghost.”

  Trembling, I put my hand out and touched his sleeve. His arm felt solid beneath the rough material. He stood very still.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he whispered.

  Slowly I focused my eyes on his face. It was as gaunt as a scarecrow and black shadows hung beneath his eyes. Tiny wisps of hair, light as feathers, covered his scalp. Och, what had happened to his lovely, thick waves? I looked down at the rest of him. He had lost a stone weight and his clothes hung loosely on him. My heart burned in my chest. I threw my arms around him, crushing him against me.

  “Thank God,” I whispered. “Thank God.”

  I stepped back and looked at him again. “What were you waiting out there for?” I said. “You put my heart crossways with the fright.”

  “I thought his ma should see Alphie first,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “And, well, I didn’t know if you’d even be here. I thought maybe you’d be gone to America by now.”