The Linen Queen

by Patricia Falvey

  I sat for a long time lost in thought. Voices outside the window startled me and I stiffened. But the voices drifted away. At least there were people alive in the bloody place, I thought, or maybe they were ghosts. God, I was getting jumpy. I got up at last and went to the front door. I peered around it, but nobody was in sight so I stepped out. There was no point staying here. There was nobody about who could tell me anything. With an odd sense of relief I raced across the courtyard towards the trees.

  “Sheila? Sheila, is that you?” A familiar voice behind me stopped me in my tracks. I swung around. There stood Sylvie. I hadn’t seen him in a dog’s age—not since the night he had accosted me and Mary McTaggart in Newry. Now he leaned on a crutch in front of me. I looked quickly down at his right leg. There was nothing below the knee.

  “Hello, Sylvie,” I said.

  I had a thousand questions. Had he been involved in the landing? What was he doing back here? Had he news of Joel? If he was back, why wasn’t Joel back? But I could not bring myself to utter a word.

  “Got shot,” he said. “Gangrene set in. They had to take it.” Then he grinned. “Didn’t really need two anyway.”

  He held out his crutch and pointed to a stone bench. “Want to sit down? Ain’t too comfortable standing for long.”

  I nodded and followed him over to the bench. I was trembling inside.

  “Anyway, I’m lucky to be here. Lot of my buddies, well, they weren’t so lucky.” His eyes filled up with tears and he brushed them away with the back of his hand. “Drowned, most of ’em.”

  I nodded again. “So I heard,” I managed to say.

  I stiffened. I bit my lip so hard I could taste the blood. Then madness overtook me. I reached over and grabbed Sylvie by his two arms and shook him. “What happened to Joel?” I yelled. “Where is he?”

  I knew I sounded like a madwoman but I didn’t care. Sylvie stared at me in fright. He let me shake him until I had no energy left to do it, and no breath left to shout.

  “I’m sorry, Sheila,” he whispered. “I don’t know. He was there at the landing, but I blacked out after I was shot.”

  “You’re lying! You’re saying this just to get even with me. You never liked me. Now you’re trying to make me suffer.”

  “I’m not, Sheila,” Sylvie said. “If I knew, I’d tell you. All I know is that he’s on the missing list.”

  I rode back to Newry in a daze. My brain and body were numb. When I reached Walker’s Row I went straight to the lavatory in the backyard and vomited until there was nothing left inside me.

  Chapter 26

  The next Sunday I went up to the Flagstaff. My first instinct after D-Day had been to rush there, as I always had when I craved refuge. But I had been afraid to go. Flagstaff was the place where ghosts appeared. I thought about the time I had seen my da there, just before his letters had stopped coming. I had always protested to Gavin that it was my girl’s imagination. But now I wasn’t so sure. What if I saw Joel’s ghost?

  I finally plucked up the courage to go. I wheeled my bicycle up to the big, flat stone and sat down on the grass. I looked out over the summit, tracing the flow of the Clanrye River down into Carlingford Lough. The water sparkled under the midday sunshine. My eyes landed on Narrow Water Castle, but I turned away quickly. Even at this distance, I could not bear to look at it. Instead I stared at the point where the three counties of Louth, Down, and Armagh all met. I smiled remembering how Gavin and I used to argue over the exact point where this happened. I found myself wishing Gavin were with me now. I desperately needed him to talk to. I missed him.

  I lit a cigarette and leaned back against the stone. A loud rustle sounded behind me and I swung around expecting to see Gavin walking towards me. But it was only a squirrel. And anyway, Gavin was away on a voyage. I inhaled deeply on the cigarette. Images of the night Joel and I had sat up here on the big stone drifted into my head. I heard the beautiful, mournful music of his fiddle and saw his kind, solemn face as he lost himself in the tune. I saw Gavin’s face too, dark and smoky, filled with jealousy towards Joel. How full of myself I had been then, enjoying playing one man off against the other. How foolish. How young.

  I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the caress of the soft breeze. I felt Joel’s fingertips on my cheek wiping away tears that had begun to flow. I put up my hand to touch them, but I felt only my own wet cheeks. I saw Gavin standing at a distance, watching me, his face filled with sorrow. My eyes shot open. There was no one there.

  I stayed until the sun slid low in the sky. There was no need to stay longer. I had come to see if there were any ghosts and I had found none. A voice whispered in my head that ghosts only come out at night. Everybody knew that. I shivered. Well, I wasn’t staying here all night. Only an eejit would do that. I got up and lifted my bicycle from where it lay. I took one last look out over the lough and turned away. As I walked down the slope, wheeling my bicycle beside me, a white, wispy form blew across the path in front of me. At first I thought it was a stray piece of paper or cloth, but as I stopped and watched it, the form turned into that of a woman in a cloak. I shuddered.

  “Get a hold on yourself, Sheila,” I muttered out loud.

  “That was the White Lady you saw,” said Patsy, her eyes wide. “I heard tell of her appearing many a time when there was death coming. Me da said he saw her once not long before the Connemara sank in 1916.”

  “It was my imagination,” I said. “I don’t know why I mentioned it.”

  I had mentioned it because I was frightened. All the way home I could not put the sight out of my mind. I must have been the color of chalk when I arrived because right away they all knew something was wrong. Patsy had finally coaxed it out of me. Now I was sorry I had said anything.

  “Well, if it was the White Lady, it means somebody’s dead,” whispered Patsy, making the sign of the cross.

  I had told Patsy that Sylvie was alive and was back at the base. She had reacted with anger. How dare he come back to Newry? Hadn’t he caused her enough pain? Why hadn’t he just gone back to America where he belonged? I had let her talk. She never once said she was relieved he was alive.

  Grainne cut into my thoughts. “Will youse all shut up!” she shouted. “All you people around these parts are astray in the head with your ghosts and superstitions. Youse are full of shite.”

  None of us knew what had got into Grainne. She had been acting angrier than usual these past days. Something was scaring her, but she would never tell us. She was too stubborn.

  “Believe what you want,” retorted Patsy. “But it’s true. Sheila saw a sign.”

  But a sign of what, nobody could be sure. Maybe it had been my imagination. I had gone to the Flagstaff half expecting to see something, and maybe I had conjured the vision up in my own head. I was too weary to say any more.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said.

  Later that night I was awoken from a deep, dark, dreamless sleep. Someone was pounding on the front door. I sat straight up in bed. Grainne reached over and switched on the lamp. She looked terrifed. I held my breath as Mrs. Hollywood opened the door. I heard a male voice, slow and deep and full of agitation. Then a loud cry pierced the air. I leapt out of bed and ran downstairs, Grainne behind me. We collided with Patsy as we all made for the front door. Mrs. Hollywood stood holding on to the latch, her face ashen in the dim light.

  “He’s gone,” she wailed.

  My heart lurched.

  “Our Alphonse, the Ashgrove, all disappeared.”

  A loud buzzing filled my ears and drowned out the cries of the women. Sweat poured off my head and neck. My heart squeezed tight. My mouth opened and a cry came out of me that would have wakened the dead.

  “No! Not Gavin. Ah, Jesus, no!”

  I sank to my knees. The sobs I had been holding in for weeks erupted.

  “Not Gavin,” I whispered. “Please God, not Gavin too.”

  I didn’t even remember how I got to the mill the next morning. The day passed in a b
lur. Everyone talked about the Ashgrove. But how was I to join in? I hadn’t the room inside me to think about Gavin. I put the news out of my head as if it had just been a dream. That evening as I dragged myself home from the tram I saw Sylvie Sartori in front of me turning the corner into Walker’s Row.

  I arrived at the house just as Patsy came into the kitchen and saw him. She stared at him, and then down at the stump of his leg, and burst into tears.

  Sylvie was at a loss for words.

  “I went to your house to find you,” he began. “And your father took a shovel to me. Believe me I got out of there as fast as I could go with this.” He waved his crutch. “But your ma caught up with me and told me where you were living.” He paused. “She said to tell you she’s been praying for you.”

  Patsy shrugged.

  Sylvie eased himself into a chair Mrs. Hollywood pulled out for him.

  He looked at Patsy. “How are you?” he whispered.

  “What’s it to you?” Patsy said. “You didn’t give a tinker’s curse before; why would you care now?”

  Sylvie looked helplessly at me and Mrs. Hollywood. “I suppose I deserved that,” he murmured.

  “I’d say you did, young chap,” said Mrs. Hollywood. “But it looks like you’ve paid your price for whatever wrong you’ve done.”

  Sylvie looked down at his stump and shrugged. He fixed his eyes again on Patsy. “Can we go somewhere to talk—in private, I mean?”

  Patsy shrugged. “Whatever you have to say to me you can say it in front of these ones. These are my friends.”

  Sylvie drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Patsy. I was scared and confused. And I had a girl back stateside that my family expected me to marry. Can you understand at least?”

  “All I understand is that you ran away with your tail between your legs and you didn’t fecking care what happened to me, or the baby. You’ve some neck on you coming here now and expecting understanding.” She sneered as she said the last word.

  She stood and towered over Sylvie, her hands on her hips. “Where were you when my da threw me out on the street? Or when I was sacked from the mill? If it wasn’t for Sheila here I’d be lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  Sylvie swallowed. “You’re being a bit dramatic…”

  “Dramatic my arse!” roared Patsy. “Go on, get out. I never want to set eyes on you again.”

  Patsy’s shouts wakened wee Sylvia and she began to wail. Patsy rushed into the back bedroom to get her. Sylvie looked from Mrs. Hollywood to me helplessly.

  “I came to tell her I want to marry her,” he said. “She won’t even give me the chance.”

  “Give her time, love,” said Mrs. Hollywood.

  Sylvie slumped in his chair. “I learned a lot in that bloody battle,” he said.

  I sat down at the table. A strange feeling was gathering inside me as I looked at him. Patsy returned carrying the child. Sylvie couldn’t take his eyes off them.

  “My memory’s beginning to come back. After I was shot I sank down under the water more than once. I knew I was drowning. And—well you know how they say your whole life passes in front of you at a time like that—well, it’s true. And the face I saw was yours, Patsy. And I saw the baby too, even though I’d never actually seen her. And I said a prayer for forgiveness.”

  Sylvie’s eyes misted over as he spoke.

  “And, then,” he continued, his voice choking, “then somebody put out his hands and lifted me up out of the water. And I thought it was God. I thought I was dead.” He paused and we waited. “I found out later it was Joel. He must have heard me screaming and he came back for me. He loaded me up onto his back and ran with me—well, stumbled more like—to safety. He threw me down behind a temporary barricade of sandbags and went back into the water.” Sylvie inhaled a deep breath. “I don’t know how many guys he saved that day. It could have been dozens.”

  Mrs. Hollywood reached over and touched my knee as Sylvie was talking, but I was rigid, my eyes riveted on his face. I saw everything he was describing as if a film reel were playing in my head. I saw Joel’s face, dark and intense, as he stumbled towards the water. I saw his arms reach out to drowning men. I heard his soft voice reassuring them that they were safe. I saw the exhaustion that set in on him after a while, and the burning in his eyes.

  “He saved my life, Sheila,” Sylvie was saying to me. “Mine and God knows how many more. They’ll give him the Silver Star.”

  It was then the strange feeling erupted into anger. I stood up.

  “They can give him a thousand Silver Stars and it won’t matter to me. He broke his promise to me. He had said he would let go of that awful death wish and would fight to stay alive so that we could be together. But he lied to me. If he cared about me, then how could he have put himself in danger—not once, but over and over again? How could he have done that to me? How?”

  I realized I was shouting. Mrs. Hollywood and Patsy took me by the shoulders and tried to settle me. But I shook them off. I wasn’t finished.

  “He used the war as an excuse to get away from me. He’s probably gone home to Ohio and abandoned me just like my da.”

  Sylvie shook his head. “Now, you know that’s not true, Sheila. I don’t think—” he began.

  I rounded on him. “And who cares what you think! You have no right to be here when Joel could be lying wounded somewhere on a battlefield. Where’s God’s justice?”

  I realized I was out of control but I didn’t care. My anger at Joel for having risked his life to save Sylvie was raw. And my anger at God for allowing it to happen was even greater. Eventually, Patsy walked outside with Sylvie. He carried their daughter in his arms. As I watched them, I thought my heart would burst from the pain. A loud noise made me swing around. Grainne stood banging the kettle as hard as she could on the stove and muttering to herself.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I said.

  She turned. The look on her face was so dark it scared me.

  “All you can think about is Joel !” she said. “What about Gavin? Does anybody care that he’s missing too?”

  She began to sob. “I spent all day down at the docks looking for news of him. I tried to talk to the sailors. But nobody would answer me.” She swallowed hard. “I had a feeling something bad was going to happen to him. I just knew it. And now it has, and nobody cares but me.”

  “Now that’s not true, love. We all care,” said Mrs. Hollywood. “But there’s not much we can do except wait and pray. You forget my Alphonse is with him.”

  Grainne pointed at me. “She’s the one who should care, and she doesn’t give a tinker’s curse what happened to him. The only one she cares about is that soldier. She never cared about Gavin.”

  I wanted to tell the girl that I had no room for any more sorrow. I was almost paralyzed with grief as it was. But it would have done no good. I wanted to put my arms around her and comfort her. But she would have pushed me away. Up until that moment I thought I wasn’t capable of bearing any more pain, but as I watched Grainne’s anguish my heart opened as a new weight lodged itself within.

  The death of sailors is seen as a death in each and every family in a community that makes much of its living from boats. My community was in double mourning: sorrow for the soldiers who had lived among us and who had perished on D-Day, and sorrow for the sailors on the Ashgrove.

  Gavin’s boat had disappeared in the English Channel, close to the French coast. Reports came in that a boat the size of the Ashgrove had been seen in flames in the general area where it had disappeared. It must have been torpedoed, they said, by a German U-boat. Gavin had often warned about such dangers. Royal Air Force cover, which should have been available to the merchant ships, had been diverted, it was said, to cover the Allies on D-Day, and thus the merchant ships had been left vulnerable and unprotected. People shrugged and accepted this as truth. What else could it be? The boat had disappeared—lock, stock, and barrel. Boats didn’t just disappear without a reason. But I refused to accept what t
hey said. I would not accept that Gavin was dead until his body washed up on some foreign shore and was brought home to be waked. To accept the alternative was more than I could bear.

  I stopped every sailor who disembarked from other boats, but they shook their heads and passed by silently, just as they had done with Grainne. It was bad luck to talk about such things. Rumors few about ghosts of Ashgrove sailors that had been seen up on the Flagstaff. Many of them had lived on the Upper Fathom Road near the Flagstaff where Gavin and I had lived as children. I thought again of the time I had seen Da’s ghost the night his ship sank.

  I decided to go to O’Hare’s pub. If there was anybody at all who knew something more about the Ashgrove they would be at O’Hare’s. It was a favorite haunt of seamen from both North and South. The place was crowded as it always was on Friday nights. I wondered how things were across the lough at the Castle ballroom. I’d had some good times over there along with Patsy. I thought about her now. I’d hoped that she would hold out to see if Alphonse came home, but she seized the chance in front of her. She and Sylvie planned to marry after his discharge from the army. She never told Sylvie about the problems with the baby when she was born, afraid he would change his mind. The wedding would be in a registry office since the church would refuse to marry them. Afterwards, they would move to America. I tried not to let jealousy poison me as I thought about how it was Patsy who was going to escape this place. It was supposed to have been me.

  I sat up at the bar and ordered a shandy. The bartender was pleasant enough, but the glares of the male customers brought back memories of the old Sheila. And just as the old Sheila would have done, I smiled sweetly and nodded, and they turned away, cheeks blazing. I tried to listen to their conversations. They talked about the Ashgrove, but there was nothing said that I had not heard before. I had resigned myself to the fact that there was nothing new to learn. I finished my drink and was getting ready to leave when the pub door opened and in came the group of IRA boyos I remembered from Christmas night. The big, burly one named Sean was in front. He was the one I had refused to dance with. The one that had charged at Joel, threatening to kill him. I froze, remembering Gavin’s words to me last time I had seen him.