The Linen Queen

by Patricia Falvey

  “What’s got into you?” I said.

  He turned around. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “Oh, just give us a fag,” I said.

  He handed me a cigarette and lit it for me. I inhaled deeply and sighed. There was no point going into all of it again.

  “I should have known,” I said. “Nothing good ever happens to me. If I’m not careful I’ll be stuck in this bloody oul’ place for the rest of my life.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “I just told you. I got passed over for the Linen Queen competition.”

  Gavin turned to fully face me. He shook his head in disgust.

  “Is that all’s on your mind, Sheila? For God’s sake will you just forget about all that nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense,” I protested. “It’s the only way I can think of to escape from this bloody place.”

  “There’s worse places.”

  “Easy for you to say. You get away from here anytime you like. You’ve seen the world.”

  Gavin had inherited his da’s boat after he died. At twenty-two he was the youngest captain in the feet.

  “And yet I always come back. This is home. And to my mind there’s no place can beat it.”

  “It may be home to you, but it’s a prison to me.”

  “And you think escaping justifies you being the puppet of the English Crown?”

  “What in the name of God are you on about?”

  “You know fine well. Putting a crown on your head and parading around the country representing the English owners of the linen mills. You don’t think that’s selling yourself out to them?”

  “Och, Gavin, I think you’re astray in the head. It has nothing to do with the English.” I paused. “And anyway, I’d represent the devil himself for two hundred quid.”

  We lapsed into silence. The boat I had heard blowing its horn in the lough now appeared in the river. Gavin peered down at it.

  “There’s the Elm now. Danny’s made it back alive, thank God.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “At the rate the German U-boats are torpedoing the merchant ships it’s always a miracle when we arrive home in one piece. Look at what happened to the Athenia.”

  The Athenia was a passenger boat out of Belfast that had been torpedoed on the very first day of the war. I straightened up. “Is that what you’re thinking about every time you go out?”

  “Aye, it’s always at the back of your mind.”

  I shrugged. “Bloody morbid, so it is.”

  I looked at Gavin’s broad, open face, his hazel eyes, and the mop of unruly chestnut hair. He was the only real friend I had—someone I could talk to without having to put up a front. We could fight all we liked, but we were always honest with each other. I never let others see when I was frightened or lonely. To them I was Sheila McGee the belle of the ball, Sheila who’s full of the devil and sure of herself, Sheila who’ll get what she wants from this life. I chuckled at the thought of it. I had them all fooled, so I did.

  “D’you ever miss your da?” Gavin said suddenly.

  “Aye,” I said without thinking.

  “He always loved you, Sheila; anybody could see that.”

  “Fine way of showing it,” I muttered.

  I thought back, as I had done a thousand times before, to the day when Da had taken me into Newry with him. We often rode our bicycles down to the Sheila Rose before he went out on a voyage. Most of the boats around there were named after trees, like the Walnut and the Elm. Gavin’s da’s boat was called the Ashgrove. But my da had named his boat the Sheila Rose after me. I played on the boat, and the men gave me sweets and patted me on the head. Da would describe to me the places he was sailing to and promise to bring me back something special. But that one day was different. He wasn’t smiling the way he usually did. When it was time to sail and he lifted me off the boat and set me on the pier there were tears in his eyes. He knelt down beside me.

  “I won’t be back this time, Sheila love,” he whispered. “You see, I can’t live with your ma anymore. I suppose she can’t help the way she is, but I can’t stand any more of it. And she’s not going to change. I’m sorry, love. This isn’t your fault. I’ll always love you, Sheila Rose.”

  Terrified, I grabbed on to his arms. Tears stung my eyes. “Take me with you, Da,” I cried. “I’ll be good.”

  Da shook his head. “No, love. Your ma still needs you. I’ll try to send money when I can.”

  He reached into his pocket and took out a tiny carved mermaid. He had always called me his “wee mermaid,” saying I belonged on the sea, just like he did.

  “Here, love,” he said. “I made this for you—to remember me by. It’s a wee merrow. Here, take it.”

  In Ireland we have legends about sea creatures that are half human and half seal. Some call them selkies. Others call them merrows. “Merrow” was Da’s pet name for me. He thrust the tiny figure into my hands and pushed me away from him. “Go on home, now, there’s a good girl.”

  He jumped back on the boat. He never turned around to look at me, but disappeared below the deck. I sank down on the pier, confused, tears blinding me. I sat there until the sailors untied the ropes and the Sheila Rose pulled away from the dock. Eventually a sailor, a neighbor of ours who had just come off another boat, reached down for me and pulled me to my feet.

  “Come on, daughter,” he said kindly. “It’s time to go on home. Your da’s boat is long gone. Your ma will be worried about you.”

  In the years that followed I came to understand that Ma, when in her high moods, spent all our money and, worse, flirted with men when Da was out to sea. She’d said having to marry Da because she was pregnant with me had spoiled her chances with other, richer men. No wonder Da left her. No wonder I wanted to leave her too.

  Money came sometimes in envelopes with foreign stamps, and Ma managed to spend it all. Eventually the money stopped coming, and we never heard from Da again. Word came later that he had drowned when the Sheila Rose sank in a storm somewhere off the coast of Africa. I often thought about how Da had said I belonged on the sea. He told me stories of how the merrows used to come up on shore and shed their skins to sun themselves. If a human stole a merrow’s skin and hid it, she could not go back to the sea. When Da left me, I thought, he stole my skin too and left me marooned on dry land.

  Gavin’s voice brought me out of my trance. “I miss my da too,” he said as if he knew what I had been remembering. “Today’s the fourth anniversary.”

  Of course, I thought. That’s what had him in the strange mood. Gavin’s da had been shot and his body brought to the doorstep of their house when Gavin was just eighteen. I didn’t know the circumstances of his da’s death. My ma said he had been with the Irish Republican Army and it was Unionists killed him in reprisal for things he had done during the Uprising. It seemed to hit Gavin hard. He was changed after that in ways I never understood. That’s when the dark moods started, and the anger at the British, and all the rest of it. Gavin gave up all plans to train as a teacher, took over his da’s boat, and moved away.

  “I won’t live in the North,” I recalled him saying, “after what those bastards did to my da.”

  I looked at him now. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I forgot.”

  I felt awful blathering on about my own problems. No wonder he was in no mood to hear them. He stood up and put on his cap and tightened his muffler around his throat.

  “Time to go,” he said. “It’s getting cold.” He studied me. I was blowing on my hands, which were suddenly freezing. He grinned. “Forget your gloves again, miss?”

  “I don’t suppose you have an extra pair, do you?” I said.

  He removed his own and handed them to me. “I suppose some things never change.”

  He lifted his bicycle and began to walk it back down the hill. He looked over his shoulder. “Coming?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ll stay a wee bit longer.”

  “Don’t be too h
ard on your ma,” he said, “nor on yourself either. If you’re meant to leave here, another chance will come along.”

  I watched him disappear down the hill. I shivered. An odd feeling came over me as it always did when I watched Gavin leave me—a tiny fear, like the prick of a needle. “Safe home,” I whispered.

  Chapter 3

  If I’d thought the mill fever was bad during the early days at the mill, it was nothing compared to the torture I suffered during the two weeks following Mrs. McAteer’s announcement of which girls had qualified to enter the Linen Queen competition. If anyone else had been disappointed about not being chosen, they didn’t seem to show it. Instead, everyone joined in the enthusiasm of the qualifiers. The talk was of nothing but frocks and shoes and hairstyles—and, of course, the prize money. The list of rules had been handed out and was the cause of great merriment.

  “Skin must be covered at all times! For God’s sake you’d think we were competing to join the convent!”

  “Did you ever hear the likes of it? Judges’ questions must be answered in a polite and modulated tone! Well, that’s the end of the road for Patsy!”

  “All entrants will show each other courtesy and respect.”

  “In other words we’re not to be tearing the frocks off them nor calling them whores!” crowed Patsy in delight. “Och, it’s going to be a great night altogether!”

  I tried to smile and join in, but I couldn’t. I was sick over the whole affair. I just wanted the competition to be over and done with. Despair threatened to drown me when I thought about the future. Was I to be stuck here in this place for the rest of my days? The monotony of the work was enough to drive you astray in the head. How long would it take for the brains to be sucked out of me altogether? It had been years since I’d read a book, even though I had loved to read, particularly stories of adventure and faraway places. I loved to imagine sailing away to foreign lands with my da on his boat. I sighed. How long would I be able to keep my dream alive?

  On Friday morning—the day before the competition—I stood at my spinning frame thinking about what Ma had said about finding a husband. I was beginning to think it was my only alternative. I had no time at all for the lads in the mill—most of them hadn’t the sense they were born with. Gavin O’Rourke’s face floated in front of me. I loved Gavin like a brother—but marry him? It wasn’t like that between us. Ma was always harping about him. I gritted my teeth. Well, that was reason enough not to marry him. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  “Miss McGee!” Miss Galway’s voice shocked me so much I dropped the yarn I was holding. “You’re wanted in the office.”

  The spinning frames around me slowed down as girls turned to see what was happening.

  “Now, Miss McGee!” Miss Galway shouted. “Mr. Carlson is not to be kept waiting.”

  I pulled the handle on my frame to stop it and wiped my hands on my apron. By the look on Miss Galway’s face I could see she was in no mood to be answering questions. So I backed away from my machine and walked down the aisle towards the office.

  When I opened the office door I was met by glares from Mrs. McAteer and her daughter, Mary.

  “Mr. Carlson is waiting,” said Mrs. McAteer through tight lips.

  My heart began to pound. What now? What in the name of God did they want?

  I knocked on Mr. Carlson’s door and opened it when I heard him grunt.

  He sat behind a big, cluttered, dusty desk. He was a grim-faced man with features like the rocks in the Queensbrook quarry. I’d hardly ever seen him since I’d come to work at the mill. I stood, my knees threatening to give way under me.

  He stared at me as if he were inspecting me, and I felt uneasy, and embarrassed by my bare feet.

  “Sit down,” he said at last.

  He leaned back in his chair. “I have called you in, Miss McGee, because I have just discovered that my sister, Mrs. McAteer, may have erred in her selection of the girls for the competition.”

  I waited. I had no idea what he meant. He cleared his throat.

  “I have seen you from time to time about the mill and the village,” he said.

  I stiffened. Had the oul’ bugger been spying on me?

  “And now that I have taken a good look at you, I know I am right in my assumptions.”

  He sat forward, gazing at me with pale blue eyes and stretching his mouth in what I supposed was a smile. I thought I might faint. I gripped the seat of the chair with both hands.

  “The Linen Queen competition is very important to our industry, Miss McGee. The mill that is represented has the opportunity to promote its products all over Northern Ireland, and sometimes beyond. And since we at Queensbrook are the hosts, it seems ft-ting we should do everything we can to win.”

  I sat rooted to the chair. My heart began to race.

  “It is in our best interests, therefore, to put forward those girls who stand the best chance of winning.” His smile faded. “You, Miss McGee, are the most attractive girl in the spinning mill and you should have been chosen.”

  I found my tongue. “Mrs. McAteer said it wasn’t based on looks.”

  “She was wrong,” he said sharply. He stood up. “Come with me.”

  My heart was hammering to beat the band as I followed him to the outer office. Could it be true? Had my prayers been answered? Hannah and Mary McAteer stood there, along with Patsy, Kathleen, and the other girls who had been picked to enter the competition. Only Kathleen smiled.

  “Hannah, please add Miss McGee to your list.”

  “But, Charles,” she began, her face crimson, “there is no time. The girls have already been chosen, and the competition is tomorrow evening—”

  Her brother held up his hand to stop her. “I said add her to the list. Did I not make myself clear?”

  He turned and went back into his office and banged the door behind him. The rest of us stood stock-still. Mrs. McAteer’s bosom heaved up and down as she fought for words.

  “There are still only six places,” she said. “One of you will have to drop out to make room for her.” She sneered the word “her” as she looked at me.

  A sigh of protest went up. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. I had wanted to be chosen more than anything in the world, but not like this. I hated Mrs. McAteer at that moment more than I had hated anyone in my life.

  “It’s all right,” I murmured. “None of you should have to give up her place. Besides—it’s too late to get ready, and,” I finished lamely, “I have no money for a frock.”

  Each of the girls looked from me to Mrs. McAteer and back again. Patsy’s face was dark with fury. She was my friend, but she wanted the chance as much as I did. I couldn’t blame her for her anger. The room was silent.

  “Well hurry up,” Mrs. McAteer said. “We don’t have all day!”

  “You can have my place, Sheila.” Kathleen’s solemn face peered into mine. Before I could answer, she went on, “I don’t stand a chance, anyway. We all know that. Just look at me. And besides, I’d be so nervous I’d probably make an eejit of myself in front of the whole county.”

  “No, Kathleen,” I began. “It’s not fair.”

  I threw a daggers look at Mrs. McAteer. How could she have put us all in this position? If she hadn’t resented me so much she would have picked me in the first place and we would have been spared all this.

  “You can have my frock, Sheila,” Kathleen was saying. “I’ll go home at the dinner break and get it. It’s not much, but the material’s a lovely blue that’ll match your eyes.” She paused and smiled. “You’ll have to make some alterations on it. It’s big enough to drown you. But I know you’re handy with a needle…”

  I put my hand on Kathleen’s arm. I fought back tears that pricked at my eyes. “No, Kathleen,” I whispered. “It’s not fair,” I said again.

  “It’s settled,” Mrs. McAteer’s sharp voice cut in. “I will strike Kathleen’s name from the list and substitute yours. I hope you are satisfied, miss!
”

  Satisfied? How could I be satisfied? The oul’ bitch was making it sound like it was my fault. But I hadn’t asked for it. I gave Patsy a pleading look, but she turned away. I sighed. I supposed all the spinners would get the wrong end of the stick. They would think I had deliberately gone to Carlson and ended up getting Kathleen disqualified. The brief sweetness I had tasted when Carlson told me I was picked turned sour. This was not how I had wanted it.

  I worked until all hours Friday night and most of Saturday altering the frock Kathleen had given me. Poor Kathleen—she had followed the rules so strictly that the frock would have better suited a nun than a beauty queen. It fell down to my ankles and was cut so high on the collar that it could have choked me. She was right about the color, though. It was a lovely shade of deep blue that matched my eyes exactly. The material was flimsy and needed lining in order for it to sit well. Its only adornment was a row of shiny glass buttons down the front and a wide, stiff belt covered in the same material with a shiny buckle. It would have looked a show on Kathleen. It was merciful, I thought, that she had given it to me and spared herself the embarrassment.

  Ma had heard the news.

  “Disgraceful!” she pronounced when I walked in the door. “Pushing that lovely wee girl aside so you could have your own way. And then taking her frock off her. I don’t know how I’m going to hold my head up at the mill.”

  “I didn’t push her out,” I protested. “It was Carlson ordered that I be entered, and Mrs. McAteer said somebody had to give up her place for me.”

  “You could have acted like a lady and refused,” said Ma. “But you were too selfish.”

  She sat back in her armchair and lit a cigarette. “Well, no matter. You’ll never win anyway. Once people find out what happened they’ll all be against you—even the judges. Your pretty face will do you no good, miss.”

  “We’ll just see about that.” I walked on into the granny room and banged the door shut behind me.

  I didn’t really expect Ma to be happy for me, but still her words hurt. I stooped down and dragged the old sewing machine out of the cupboard. I hadn’t touched it in years and it was covered with dust. I prayed it would still work. As I hauled it out into the parlor and set it on the table, I thought about Mulcahy the baker. It might be easier to go and see him early on Saturday and get the money to buy a dress. I knew Ma would be harping at me all night, but when I imagined Mulcahy’s lips slobbering over mine I shook my head. I’d take Ma’s insults over that any time of the day.