The Linen Queen

by Patricia Falvey

  I buttoned up my coat, wound my scarf around my neck, and pulled on my gloves. “You’ve a quare imagination, my girl,” I said.

  When we went outside we found the neighbors crowded around the motorcar. A car was a rare sight in our village. If it wasn’t for Tommy Markey’s da’s car, I would never have set foot in one myself. I shooed them away and waited for Joel to open the car door for me. I climbed in carefully, copying the way the women did this in the American films, and I waved at them through the window as we pulled away. You would have thought I was royalty.

  We drove down to Newry and out the Warrenpoint road that ran along the Clanrye River. It was a bright, dry afternoon, and perfect for sightseeing. I relaxed back in the seat, enjoying myself. We passed Narrow Water Castle on our left, which was no longer a castle but some rich chap’s estate. It was a beautiful sight standing where it did on the hill above the riverbank overlooking the Cooley Mountains across the water.

  “That’s my new home,” said Joel as we drove by.

  “You’re joking me,” I said. “Most of the fellas told me they’re staying in them brick huts up on the Burren road.”

  He looked pleased with himself. “Rank has its privileges,” he said.

  “It must be lovely in there, is it?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

  “Well, it’s a beautiful estate, that’s for sure. Of course the army has made a few changes. We don’t exactly get a room with a view all to ourselves. But the grounds are lovely and we do get to relax in the library of an evening. I’ll have to bring you over sometime.”

  “That would be grand,” I said.

  We drove on in silence. We passed through Warrenpoint. The square was quiet, and the funfair was shut down. The tide was still out, but waves lapped towards the strand. Joel pointed to our right.

  “Is it true that’s part of the Republic over there?”

  I followed his gaze. “Aye, that’s Omeath and Carlingford. They’re both in the Free State. Well, we still call it the Free State. A few years ago they changed the constitution to call it Ireland, or Eire. But, like I say, we still call it the Free State. After all, the whole island is Ireland as far as I’m concerned, not just the twenty-six counties.”

  I realized with surprise that I was sounding just like Gavin.

  “Gavin lives in Omeath,” I said, without thinking.

  “Gavin?”

  I could have kicked myself. I forgot I’d never mentioned Gavin to him.

  “Gavin O’Rourke. He’s just a friend of mine. He captains a cargo boat called the Ashgrove. His da and mine were great friends.”

  He nodded. “Merchant marine? Risky business these days. The Germans have been using them for target practice.”

  “Aye,” I said. “We’re coming into Rostrevor, now,” I continued, anxious to turn the subject away from Gavin. I didn’t want Joel to think he had any competition. Of course he didn’t as far as I was concerned, but I knew how men thought. “It’s a lovely wee village. Lot of history. Named after some oul’ fella by the name of General Ross. I think he fought in America. Some say he was among a crowd of boyos tried to burn down the White House.”

  “Really?” said Joel. “I’ll have to read up on him. I’m fond of history.”

  “Well you’ll find plenty of it in these parts.”

  We drove on through the village and out the Kilkeel road, still hugging the coast.

  “Turn left here,” I said. “We’ll drive up Kilbroney Mountain. There’s a grand view from the top. Then we can come back down and drive on up the coast road to Newcastle. There’s a lovely hotel there where we can have a meal.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Joel. “I put myself in your hands.”

  I liked the feeling of being in charge of things. I surprised myself with how much I knew about the area. I had spent so much time planning to get away from this place that I hadn’t realized how much a part of me it was. I had to admit it really was beautiful. Parts of it would take your breath away. I could hear Gavin’s words in my head—“There’s no place more beautiful than this, Sheila.” I took a deep breath. No matter, there was nothing beautiful about slaving at that oul’ mill every day.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Joel’s voice startled me.

  “Oh nothing,” I said sweetly. “Just admiring the scenery.”

  “It’s stunning,” he said.

  When we got to the top of Kilbroney we climbed out of the car and walked to the edge of the land and looked down over Warrenpoint and Rostrevor and Carlingford Lough.

  “Wow,” Joel said. “This is beautiful. I can’t imagine anyone born here would ever want to leave it.”

  I almost slipped and said I would go at the first chance. How could I tell him that my dearest wish since I was fourteen had been to leave this place? He would be onto my plan in no time. Everyone knew that the local girls were dying to find a soldier to marry them and take them away from their drudgery.

  “Aye, there’s many that feel that way.” I nodded. “I have a favorite place like this closer to home. It’s called the Flagstaff and you can see three counties from the top of it. I’ve been going there since I was young.”

  “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

  “I usually go alone.” I didn’t mean to sound abrupt, and I startled myself when I said that. “But I’ll take you if you’d like,” I added hurriedly to take the sting out of it.

  “That’s all right, Sheila,” he said. “We all have our favorite solitary places. There’s a country road near my house in Ohio where I love to go for quiet walks—just me and the birds.”

  “You live out in the country then?” I said, trying to sound off-hand.

  “What? Oh, no. I live in what we call a suburb outside a big city—Cleveland. My father ran a bakery there.”

  “Oh?” A bakery? A bank would have been better, but I passed no remarks. I remembered that he had said his da died. “Does your ma run it now, since your da passed away?”

  His jaw tightened, hardly as much as you’d notice, but something had bothered him just the same. I cursed myself for bringing up his da.

  “No, we had to sell it.” His gaze was far off now. He was looking down at the scenery spread out below us, but I could tell he was seeing something else.

  I shrugged. “Pity,” I said. Then, “Shall we go?”

  We walked to the car in silence and Joel drove back down the mountain.

  “Turn left here,” I said, “and we’ll go on down towards Newcastle.”

  “Aye, aye, skipper.” His mood had lightened again.

  I pointed out more sights along the way as we drove down into the fishing village of Kilkeel and then out on the road towards Newcastle, which was one of the bigger towns in the area, filled with tourists in the summer. It was late afternoon but there were still not very many people about. All sleeping it off, I supposed. Some families strolled along the beach. Children threw colored balls and laughed and ran. It was a very peaceful sight. Who would ever think there was a war on? We stopped to eat at a lovely old hotel on the water named the Railway Hotel. They gave us a window table with a view of the water. Joel ordered a beer and I had a shandy. He wasn’t much of a drinker; I could tell that. But that was all right with me.

  The beer seemed to relax him. He told me amusing stories from his childhood, about his family, his crazy aunts as he called them, and his extremely bright and ambitious younger brother. We did not speak of his da again.

  We drove home in easy relaxed silence through the mountains on an inland route through Hilltown and back down into Newry. When he stopped the car outside the house he turned to me. His eyes were warm and they creased up as he smiled.

  “Sorry I have to get back on duty. Maybe next time we can go to those places you pointed out across the lough. Carlingford and Omeath?”

  I nodded. “Surely,” I said.

  So we were to have another date. I tried to tone down the smile on my face—I didn’t want to look too eager. He r
eached out and took my hand and caressed it for a moment. Then he brought my face close to his and kissed me gently on the lips.

  When he had gone, I stood outside the house for a while touching my lips where he had kissed me. What was happening? I should have been delighted that my plan was working and that he was obviously taken with me. But it was not his feelings I was anxious about—it was my own. When he kissed me it had caused a reaction in me I could not explain. It was not the same as when Gavin had kissed me and left me trembling in fear of a wild thing unleashed. Joel’s kiss had been soft and without urgency, like a silken sheet enfolding me and making me safe. I shook myself and took a couple of deep breaths and promised myself I would not let my feelings run away with me. I was determined not to get involved with Joel Solomon.

  Chapter 12

  Nineteen forty-three dawned and the war went on with no end in sight. By now the community had settled into the way of wartime life: blackouts, sirens, rationing, soldiers everywhere.

  “You’re tripping over the bastards going up to Mass of a Sunday morning,” said Ma when she was in one of her bad moods.

  I didn’t bother reminding her that she liked the soldiers well enough when she got her cigarettes and nylons and all the rest of it from them. I had tried to stay clear of her when she went out with her cronies in search of soldiers, her skirts so tight her arse looked like an apple in a handkerchief. She never brought one home as far as I knew—Kate would never have stood for it. But sometimes she crept in late at night giggling to herself and tripping up the stairs.

  Other people welcomed the soldiers with open arms. Some of them even became like one of the family. They enjoyed home-cooked meals at a family’s table—particularly if there was a pretty daughter in the house. I would not have subjected any of the poor chaps to a dinner at our house, though. I think they would have preferred dinner at the barracks any day of the week. Between Ma’s odd behavior, Uncle Kevin’s drunkenness, and Aunt Kate’s piety they would have got a quare idea of the Irish.

  Since Joel was away on some mission, I went back to my rounds of the dances and pubs and the company of the enlisted men. I reasoned it was better than staying home nights and listening to Ma. Patsy and Kathleen had both pulled in their horns. Kathleen was seeing a wee Welsh soldier named Ollie—a lovely quiet chap. Kathleen was quiet herself, so he suited her much better than the loud Yanks. They’d been walking out since before Christmas, and even though he was Protestant, her family loved him. They would probably get married when the war was over. Patsy, on the other hand, had taken up with a soldier from New Jersey in America. His name was Sylvie, short for Sylvester, and he was great craic altogether. His family was Italian, he said, and he loved to sing opera and drink wine, which was, he said, what Italians did. Between himself and Patsy there was never a dull moment. I could see that he was just out for a good time and I didn’t blame him, but Patsy was out for something more. I knew it in the way she looked at him. I hoped she knew how to take care of herself, because this boyo would no more marry her than the man in the moon. But I said nothing, because it was none of my business. I didn’t envy either of the girls. I had my sights set on better things.

  Young Grainne had begun mitching from school.

  “I’m fourteen,” she said after the schoolmaster came to the house to look for her. “I’m too old to be going to school.”

  By all accounts she was bright enough, but she had a bad attitude and so her marks were low. I suspected there was more to it than just that, but it was hard to get any talk out of her.

  “You want to end up in the mill all your life?” I said to her one night. “Ma forced me out of school when I was your age and put me up there to work. It’s no picnic I can tell you. I’d stay in school as long as I could if I were in your shoes.”

  “Well you’re not!” Her old surly tone was back.

  “Suit yourself.”

  It was her life, I thought. She’d probably end up on the game like her ma. She must have read my mind.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said more quietly, “that I’ll be just like my ma. Well, it’s what I’m used to. I’ve had a good teacher over the years. And I can make more money than at the bloody oul’ mill youse are all slaving at. Anyway, what other choice would a girl like me have? I’m plain, and I have no education, and I’m poor. Could you see me working in a shop or an office?”

  “You could join the convent,” I said with a laugh.

  She grinned back, her mood lighter. “Or the bloody army.”

  “Aye, I met two sisters from Mullaghbawn last year who were off to join the WAAFs. I often wondered what happened to them.”

  “Probably bombed to smithereens by now,” said Grainne.

  We were silent for a while. I supposed Grainne was right. A girl like her didn’t have many choices. It made sense that she would fall back on something she knew, no matter how terrible it was. I thanked God again that at least I had been born with good looks. Without that I could well have been in the same boat as Grainne. Still, something inside me hurt when I thought of the girl going back to Amelia Street. For her sake I hoped the war would go on for a while so she could stay here.

  “By the time this bloody war’s over we could both be old women,” I said with a laugh, “too far gone to be worrying about our futures.”

  Joel came back in February. He appeared at the house on Valentine’s Day, which fell on a Sunday. When I opened the door, I was delighted to see him. He carried a bunch of red roses. I snatched them off him before Ma could grab them.

  “Come in,” I said.

  He grinned as he looked around the parlor. “Where’s your mom?”

  “She’s up the stairs, still sleeping I hope. Sit down. Let me get these flowers in water before she gets her mitts on them.”

  He looked a bit disappointed. He pulled a red box out of a paper bag he was carrying and set it on a table. It was heart shaped and I knew it was chocolates.

  “Oh, Joel,” I began, but he waved his hand.

  “Sorry, these are for your mom. I think all mothers deserve something nice on Valentine’s Day.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it again. I bit back the words I was going to say. I didn’t want him to see how jealous I was.

  “That was nice of you,” I said.

  “My pleasure.”

  “What happened to your civvies?” I said, looking at his uniform.

  “I’m due back on duty this afternoon. But I thought we’d have time to go for a ride and have lunch before I report back.”

  I got my coat and he stood aside and let me out the door. I was pleased that he’d been so keen to come and see me. I didn’t quite know what to make of the flowers, but I put it down to his being a Yank. Maybe everybody gave everybody roses over there for Valentine’s Day. Maybe it didn’t mean the same as it would here. Anyway, if he was taking a notion for me, so much the better; I would worry about letting him down easy later when I was landed in America.

  I thought about taking him up to the Flagstaff but it was Sunday and I was worried that Gavin might be there. I didn’t want the two of them meeting up. So we followed the coast on down towards Omeath and on into the little town of Carlingford, which stood between the lough to the east and Slieve Foy to the west. We parked the car and got out to walk. It was freezing cold, and a strong wind blew, but I didn’t mind it. I was enjoying being with him and telling him all about the history of the place. I was surprised again by how much I knew. Carlingford was a lovely old medieval town, built in the thirteenth century and dominated by King John’s Castle and lovely stone walls. A big iron gate called the Tholsel led into the heart of the town. Joel was captivated. He had to stop and examine every plaque on the walls. His questions tumbled over one another. What I didn’t know I made up rather than disappoint him.

  When we had walked in a circle around the town we were almost numb with the cold.

  “C’mon,” I said. “Let’s go in here and warm up. I’m foundered.”


  I led him in to P. J. O’Hare’s pub, which claimed to be one of the oldest pubs in Ireland. There was a wee sweet and tobacco shop at the entrance, as was the custom in many of the old rural pubs, and a door led into a long, narrow room with dark wood and a roaring fire. We settled ourselves at a small corner table. It was only after I noticed the stares of the customers and the glare of the barman that I remembered Joel was in his uniform. I leaned over and whispered to him.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot. We’re in the South. You might not be too popular here. So we shouldn’t be staying too long.”

  Joel gave me a confused look. Then the penny dropped.

  “I’ll try to be as discreet as I can be in this getup,” he whispered back.

  The barman served us drinks and sandwiches without a word. The other customers went back to their own conversations.

  “I suppose I’d be more welcome in a German uniform,” Joel said after a while.

  “Maybe.”

  His face turned darker. He reminded me of Gavin when he went into one of his bad moods.

  “If they only knew what those bastards are really like they’d not be harboring them.”

  “Oh, I don’t think they harbor them,” I said, trying to deflect his anger.

  “Sure they do. When they capture them they don’t turn them over to the British, do they? They set them up in holiday camps for the remainder of the war.” His tone was bitter.

  He was right of course. Sometimes German planes crashed on Irish soil, and more times their boats wrecked on the coast. The authorities in the South never turned them over but put them in prisoner of war camps. I’d heard from many that the camp rules were very slack and the prisoners could come and go as they liked as long as they signed in and out—and no doubt paid off the guards. I’d never paid much attention to the stories. I couldn’t understand why Joel was so upset about it.

  “Why do you hate the Germans so much?” I said as we walked back to the car.