The Linen Queen

by Patricia Falvey

  I smiled. She made me feel old at twenty. “You’ve plenty of time yet,” I said, although for the life of me I knew she’d never win a beauty competition.

  She shrugged. “You’re pretty,” she said. “You must win a lot of things.”

  It was my turn to shrug. “Looks aren’t everything, so I’m finding out, but you have to use what you can in this world.”

  Grainne grinned. I noticed how yellow and uneven her teeth were. “I bet you can get anything out of the fellas though. Me ma’s the same way. She was very pretty once so I’m told—although she’s getting on now.”

  “How old is she?” I asked, curious.

  “She’s almost thirty.” Her wee face was solemn.

  I smiled. “Aye, that’s ancient all right.”

  I wondered what had made the girl suddenly so talkative. Maybe I had earned her trust because I hadn’t said anything more about her scars. Or maybe she was just lonely.

  “Do you miss her?” I said suddenly.

  She bowed her head. “Aye, sometimes.”

  “Have you no brothers or sisters?”

  “No, just myself. And Ma says I was a mistake.”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure every mother thinks that at times. My own ma says it often enough to me.”

  I was surprised how easy it was to talk to the girl. Gone were the sour looks and the sharp tone that usually greeted me. An unfamiliar feeling had crept over me. I found myself wanting to cheer her up and make her feel safe. It was an odd turn of events, so it was. I must be going soft in my old age, I thought. Or maybe it was just curiosity. I was dying to know more about her life in Belfast.

  “Does your ma work at one of the linen mills down in Belfast?”

  It was an innocent enough question and I did not expect the response I got from Grainne. She threw back her head and laughed aloud. I had never heard her laugh before. But somehow, this laughter had no lightness in it at all.

  “Work at the mill? Aye now, that’s a good one!” she said between chuckles. “We live on Amelia Street. What d’you think she does for a living?”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. “Amelia Street,” she said again, “the bloody red-light district. Have you never heard of it?”

  I shook my head. “You mean she’s a…” I could hardly get the word out.

  “A tart! A whore! On the game! Call it whatever you like.”

  My mouth fell open. I was not often left speechless. “But where’s your da?” I finally said.

  “Who’s my da would be a better question. I doubt if Ma even knows. There’s so many men come and go in that house. So far nobody’s claimed me—probably afraid they’d have to fork over money for my keep.”

  Slowly a picture of Grainne’s life in Belfast began to form in my mind. And I thought I’d had it bad. Now I understood the surly looks and that way she had of seeing through you. It was how she survived. And then I thought about the scars. I could hardly even bring myself to ask.

  “Who beat you, love?” I said softly. “Was it your ma? Or one of the men?”

  Grainne’s anger rose. “If it was only one of them I’d count myself lucky. Ma wasn’t bringing home any saints, I can tell you.”

  Another question occurred to me, but I could not bring myself to ask it. Had the men done more than beat her? I put the thought out of my mind.

  “The worst time was when the fella burned me.” Grainne was speaking so softly I could hardly hear her. I leaned closer, holding my breath. “His name was George. He was a big oul’ fella from Liverpool. He came in on one of the boats. You’d have choked from the smell of fish on him.” She paused and blinked as if blinking away a bad memory. “Anyway, when I wouldn’t do what he wanted he came up from behind and threw scalding water over me. I had to be rushed to hospital. They grafted skin, but the scars will never go away.”

  As I looked at her I saw a frail, innocent child. Without thinking I reached out my arms and hugged her against me. She said nothing. We sat like that for a few minutes and then, as if suddenly coming to, she pulled away. The defiance was back on her face. She stood up. “It’s nothing,” she muttered. “It’s over.”

  But how could it be over? The scars would be there for the rest of her life to remind her. I sat in silence for a long time after she went out of the room. I heard Ma talking to her, and Grainne answering with her usual one-word replies. As before, when I had first seen her scars, I understood that this new information was to remain a secret between us. Part of me wished she had never told me—that she had kept the horror to herself. I couldn’t waste my time feeling pity for her, now could I? I had myself to be concerned about. But even as I thought this, I realized that the girl had caused something to shift deep down inside me. It was an alien feeling, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I would have to shake it off as best I could.

  Chapter 11

  Christmas Day 1942 was as grim as any of the previous ones at the house. Aunt Kate didn’t believe in trees and festivity. She said only pagans carried on like that and good Christians should observe it as a holy day for prayer and contemplation. So after Mass we all came home, ate dinner, and sat around staring at one another. Kevin slept in the upstairs room, his snores the only sound breaking the silence.

  I could stand it no more. I had to get out. The tram to Newry was not running, so I crept out of the house and jumped on my bicycle. I pedaled down to Newry and caught a train for Warren-point. I had a sudden overwhelming need to be near the sea.

  I walked along the near-empty strand throwing pebbles into the water. There was hardly anybody about. Ahead of me an old man walked his dog. Up on the main road a bright red tinker caravan pulled by two sorry-looking horses stopped and a crowd of dark-haired children spilled out and ran onto the strand whooping and laughing. Their parents followed them, calling after them in Irish. White gulls wheeled overhead crying out and swooped down looking for crumbs. The sea was gray and restless. It reflected how I was feeling at that minute. I thrust my hands deep in the pockets of my coat, glad for once I had been smart enough to wear my old boots for warmth and comfort.

  A tall, dark-haired figure walking towards me from way down the strand caught my eye. At first I thought it might be Joel Solomon. But what would he be doing out here on Christmas Day? You’re seeing things, Sheila, I thought to myself, just the way Gavin sees ghosts. The tinker children ran towards the stranger. He bent down to greet them, and I saw him take coins out of his pocket and give some to them. The children ran on, and the stranger came closer, and my heart did a little dance. It was Joel after all. He smiled broadly when he saw me.

  “Hello,” I said, smiling back. “You shouldn’t be giving them money, you know. Wee tinkers, they’ll pester you every time they see you.”

  “They’re only children,” he said.

  Sudden nervousness kept me talking. “So, are you walking off your Christmas dinner too? Seems like we both took the same notion. Did they have a big do at the base?”

  He shook his head. “So I heard, but I wouldn’t know.”

  “So you heard? Didn’t you go?”

  “No. I’m Jewish, remember. We don’t celebrate Christmas.” His tone was pleasant.

  I stopped in my tracks and stared up at him. “You don’t? Sure everybody celebrates Christmas, even the Protestants.”

  He smiled down at me. “We have our own holidays.”

  I waited.

  “Around this time of year we celebrate Hanukkah, the festival of lights. At Easter we celebrate Passover, and our New Year is Rosh Hashanah.”

  I stood there fascinated. I loved the sounds of the words he was saying. They sounded foreign and exotic. I’d never met the likes of him.

  “D’you mean you don’t have a tree or anything like that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Jesus. I wonder if Aunt Kate might be Jewish?” I said without thinking.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh nothing. Are there many Jews in your battalion?”


  “Not many. We’re few and far between.”

  “So you’re a rare bird then,” I said with a smile.

  He smiled back. “I guess so.”

  He turned around the way he had come and walked with me farther down the strand. The evening was drawing in. Lights appeared in the terraced houses that lined the shore road. I wondered idly what was going on inside them. I imagined parents and children and grandparents all gathered round big warm fires, laughing and talking. I pulled my coat tighter around me.

  “It’s much cheerier here in the summer,” I said to Joel. I didn’t know why I thought it was important for him to know that. “The sea is blue and calm, and wee boats sail back and forth between here and Omeath, and people come from all around to swim and have picnics.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  We walked on.

  “I haven’t seen you around since that night,” I said, trying to sound casual.

  “I’ve been going back and forth to London. I’ll be going again in the New Year, and then probably for a longer period.”

  “Oh, and here I thought you were away rescuing more damsels in distress,” I said quickly, afraid that maybe he thought I was accusing him of ignoring me.

  “No, I try to limit that to one a year,” he said.

  We both laughed, and I felt the tension go out of me.

  “Well, it’s grand to see you again just the same,” I said.

  “And it’s grand to see you too.” He laughed, imitating my accent.

  I punched him on the arm. “Stop that!”

  “I wrote to my mother about you,” he said, after a while.

  “Jesus! What did you tell her?”

  “Oh, it was all good. My mom’s very curious to know what the Irish are like. She’s concerned they won’t treat me well here after what they did to the Jews in Belfast.” He stopped and looked at me and must have realized I had no idea what he was on about. “A boatload of Jewish refugees trying to escape Hitler were turned away from Belfast port and sent back into the middle of the war. And it seems many of the Jews that have been in Belfast for generations are being harassed.” He sighed. “I wish people would understand how important this war is—how evil Hitler is and what he’s doing to our people. We have to stop him.”

  I really didn’t want to talk about the war. I’d had enough of that with Gavin. But something in Joel’s voice stopped me from trying to change the subject.

  “Is that why you joined up, then?”

  He nodded.

  “Your ma must be worried sick about you.”

  “I guess so.”

  “What about your da?”

  I saw his face tighten. “My dad died some time ago,” he said. It was obvious he was not going to say more.

  I shrugged. “My own da left when I was ten. He died later, at sea.”

  “I’m sorry,” murmured Joel.

  Eventually we turned around and walked back up the deserted strand towards the town center. The Castle ballroom was closed, but soon other pubs would open up and people would emerge for an evening get-together. The young people, especially, would be anxious to escape their families. Sure enough, as we walked, the shore road began to fill up with cars and bicycles.

  “Shall we go somewhere for a drink?” I said. “I’m freezing out here. It would be nice to get in somewhere and get warm.”

  He said nothing, but walked up with me to the sea wall and climbed over onto the pavement. We walked down to the square. The Prince of Mourne pub was open. It was one of my favorite haunts.

  “Let’s go in here,” I said, anxious to lift the mood. “You’ll see plenty of mad Irish that you can write to your ma about.” Without waiting for an answer I took his sleeve and dragged him through the door with me.

  The warmth of the blazing fire met us at the door. The old pub was strung with streamers, mistletoe, and holly wreaths. A big statue of Father Christmas stood at the entrance to the main bar. A ceiling-high tree stood beside the fireplace, covered with lights and glittering ornaments. In the corner an old man played Christmas carols on the piano. A few enlisted soldiers sat in clusters, drinking beer and laughing. They nudged one another when they saw Joel, and then saluted him when he walked by. He nodded in their direction. We found a table near the fire and ordered a beer each.

  “Cheers,” Joel said, as he lifted his glass.

  “Sláinte,” I said.

  We relaxed into the evening and the company. Soon Joel was singing Christmas carols along with the crowd in a soft, mellow voice. I looked at him curiously. He grinned.

  “What? I love carols.”

  Patsy and Kathleen and some other girls from the mill came in. They had come down with Tommy Markey. Tommy was seeing another girl now and his jealousy of me had passed. We greeted one another, and Patsy nodded towards Joel and winked at me behind his back. I was delighted to be seen with him. Now they knew I hadn’t imagined him.

  Eventually, Joel took out a silver watch from the inside pocket of his jacket and looked at it. It looked like an antique and had some engraving on it. I was about to ask him about it when he stood up. “I’m sorry; I have an early start in the morning. This has been fun, Sheila.”

  I stood up with him.

  “Can I see you to the train?” he said, as he put on his coat.

  I shook my head. “Last train is long gone. I’ll get a lift with Tommy.”

  “Be careful. He doesn’t look too steady on his feet. Maybe you should drive.”

  I burst out laughing and Joel looked bewildered. “Me, drive? You must think I’m Lady Muck!” But I was secretly pleased. He obviously had no idea of my station in life, but he’d shown respect.

  “I’ll walk out with you.” I turned to Patsy. “Save my place.”

  Outside, we stood on the pavement looking out over the dark sea lit up by a bright moon.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” Joel said. Then he turned to me. “I understand tomorrow is another holiday. Box Day?”

  “Boxing Day.” I laughed.

  He hesitated. “I was wondering—er, I’ll be done around noon. If you’re free could I pick you up? I have a car at my disposal. I would love to drive up into the mountains around here. You could be my guide.”

  He waited. He could not have known that my heart did a somersault at that minute.

  “Aye,” I said, trying not to sound too keen.

  I gave him my address and directions to my house. He leaned over and gave me a hug. Then his soft fingers caressed my cheek and I held my breath. His brief kiss was like a whisper—soft and warm.

  “Good night, Sheila.”

  I sailed back into the Prince of Mourne on a cushion of air.

  As I climbed into bed that night I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Joel Solomon was interested in me and he was a fine catch. I put aside in my mind all the palaver about his being Jewish and his mother not liking the Irish and all the rest of it. He was single, good-looking, and he was an officer. That meant he must have some money behind him—enough to pay my fare to America anyway. I intended to find out more about his family. I hoped he was very wealthy. America! I was giddy at the thought. I’d have been well satisfied with England, but America? Now that was a different kettle of fish altogether. I could go far on my looks there—plenty of the enlisted boys had said so. All I needed was to get Joel to take me there and I’d be set. California, maybe? Or New York? I’d drop him as gently as I could and be on my way. But even as I thought these things I felt like a stranger to myself. Yes, it was me, Sheila McGee, following my plan. But deep down somewhere inside me there was another voice whispering. I turned over and pulled the four sacks up over my head. Whatever that other voice was trying to say, I did not want to hear it.

  The next morning, Boxing Day, a knock came at the door at exactly twelve o’clock. I raced out of the scullery, but Ma beat me to it. She was in one of her high moods. She had dolled herself up even though it was still early in the day. Maybe she had a date, I thought, and I rolled my
eyes. Joel Solomon carried a bunch of flowers and before he could get a word out Ma had snatched them out of his hand.

  “Aren’t these lovely!” she said, her voice tinny and a bit hysterical.

  “They’re not for you, Ma,” I muttered from behind her, but Joel smiled at her and winked at me.

  “I’m glad you like them, Mrs. McGee.” He put out his hand to shake hers. “I’m Joel Solomon. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  She looked him up and down. He was wearing his civvies—black trousers, a polo-necked white jumper, and a lovely brown suede jacket. He looked more handsome than I remembered.

  “He’s a captain in the army,” I said. “I’m going to show him the sights.”

  Ma’s hands fluttered over her dress, smoothing it out, and she smiled up at him. “You’re very welcome, Captain Solomon. My daughter has many friends actually, but she’s not mentioned you. Keeping you to herself I suppose.”

  Ma had put on the strange accent she used when she wanted to sound posh. She never used the word “actually” in everyday conversation. My cheeks grew hot. I hoped she wasn’t going to disgrace me before I could even get my plan off the ground. But Joel seemed not to notice anything. He followed Ma to the best armchair beside the fire and sat down. He looked around the house and made polite comments about how cozy and quaint everything was. I excused myself to go to the granny room and get my coat.

  “Who’s yer man?” said Grainne as I came into the bedroom.

  “A Yank!” I said. “An officer. And we’re going to be very thick together if Ma doesn’t manage to ruin things.”

  Grainne chuckled. “I think she has a notion for him, Sheila. You’d better watch out.”

  I clucked my tongue. “Will you whisht, Grainne. Just the same, I’d better get him out of here before she gets her hooks into him. Have you seen my scarf and gloves?”

  “Jesus, they’re staring you in the face over there, Sheila,” Grainne said, pointing to a pile of clothes in the corner. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you have a mighty notion on him yourself. You seem awful distracted all of a sudden.”