The Linen Queen

by Patricia Falvey

  “Don’t think the worst of me, Sheila.”

  He had told me I would hear bad things about him. What kinds of things, I wondered? Deep down I knew that it had something to do with the men who had just walked into O’Hare’s. I ordered another drink and braced myself.

  “Well, if it isn’t wee Miss Stuck-up,” came a rough voice beside me. “Little Miss Yank Lover.”

  Sean beckoned to his mates. “It didn’t take long for her to come back out on the prowl. Maybe now her Yank has gone she might stoop to one of us.”

  My head shot straight up at him. What on earth was he saying?

  “News travels fast. Your lover boy got himself shot on D-Day, so I heard. Good riddance, I say.”

  His friends roared in agreement, “You’re right there, Sean.”

  I choked on my drink. “He’s not dead,” I said. “He’s missing in action.”

  “Go on, tell yourself that,” said Sean. “Convince yourself he’s coming back to you.” He spat on the floor. “You and all the other stuck-up northern tarts with your crying and whining and lighting candles, you make me sick. Even if they survived, there’s none of them coming back here to youse and that’s the truth. They used you and you used them. It’s over.”

  I wanted to cry out that he was wrong. But I held my tongue. Instead I shoved my half-empty glass towards the barman and stood up.

  “I’m sorry about Gavin,” the barman said as I passed.

  I stiffened, almost as if I had forgotten what he was talking about.

  “Aye. At least he died a patriot,” roared Sean.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “He went out on a job for us and sacrificed his life doing it. He died a patriot.”

  My knees weakened and I had to clutch the bar to stand up. I don’t know where I found the strength but I steadied myself and pulled Sean by the arm out into the hallway.

  “What are you talking about?” I whispered. “Gavin wanted nothing to do with the likes of youse.”

  He grinned. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  He leaned over me and I could smell his stale breath. He looked around to make sure no one was listening.

  “Ah, it was a bold plan all right,” he began. “We had made a deal with the Germans. Arms for prisoners. Gavin had a few passengers with him on this trip.”

  He paused and ran his tongue around his lips. He leaned closer to me.

  “German prisoners. All he had to do was bring them to France, to a place where their mates were waiting for them, and in exchange we were to get more guns and ammunition for our war here at home.”

  Sean’s narrow eyes shone with excitement in the lamplight.

  “Even though he was flying the Irish tricolor, he was to paint “Eire” in big letters on both sides of the Ashgrove the way many of the Irish boats did—just to remind them he was from a neutral country so as the Jerries wouldn’t fire on him. But it seems a German U-boat got to them anyway.” Sean shook his head and sighed. “I suppose when all hell broke loose on account of the invasion the Jerries were shooting at anything that moved. It was a brave effort just the same. God bless Gavin.”

  “You’re making it up,” I said. “You’re away with the fairies. Who in their right mind would believe a thing like that? How would you even have got German prisoners of war out? And why would you be telling me any of it?”

  Sean leaned in closer to me, his face inches from mine.

  “Believe it, girl. You know yourself the German camps in the South are more like holiday camps than prisons. And it wasn’t the first time Gavin did jobs for us. He hated the soldiers as much as we did. He was proud to do this for his country.”

  “He wouldn’t have done that!” I protested. “He would never have taken German soldiers back to the battlefield. He would never have gone that far to help Hitler.”

  My body and spirit were sick as I pedaled home. I had gone to O’Hare’s to find out if Gavin was alive or dead. But now I had a new question. Had he betrayed the Allies? Had he gone against everything Joel stood for? Gone against everything I now stood for? I wanted to set my thoughts alight and burn them to cinders.

  “Don’t think the worst of me, Sheila.” Gavin’s words echoed around me.

  “Och, Gavin, I won’t,” I whispered aloud.

  Chapter 27

  By late July it began to rain, and it rained every day after. People complained, but I was glad of it. The wet, miserable weather matched my mood. I would have gone mad if the sun shone every day demanding joy. As it was, I could hide myself by day under the cover of the clouds, and at night I could weep along with the rain.

  In time my anger exhausted me and a physical pain took over. Every morning when I awoke the pain assaulted me. When I tried to get up, every movement hurt, every step was labored, and every gesture such an effort that all I wanted to do was lie back down and never get up again. I walked among others like a ghost. I listened to others talk but I did not hear what they said. There was no comfort anywhere. The pain never left me—not for a moment.

  I was no wiser about what happened to either Gavin or Joel than I had been a month ago. I still didn’t believe a word that IRA boyo had told me. I had asked Mary McAteer to look at the list again for Joel, but she shrugged and said Mr. Carlson had it locked up. I didn’t know whether to believe her or not. She was all smiles now that her George was safe. I suppose she wanted to forget all about the day she’d been so scared she’d wanted me to look at the list with her. Kathleen had heard from Ollie’s family that he was safe, and I was glad for her. But even so, a pinprick of jealousy seized me when I heard the news. So God had sent Sylvie, Ollie, and George home from the battle. But he had not sent Joel. Nor had he sent Gavin home from the sea.

  I could think of only one other place I could go to find out more about Joel. The following Sunday I boarded a bus from Newry to Newtownards. I had to see Rabbi Hurwitz. I rubbed my sleeve against the bus window, making a small clear patch on the glass, which was misted from the rain. I looked out. There wasn’t much to see. Rain drenched the streets and grass and houses, wrapping them all in a gray web. I waited an hour at the depot for the local bus to Millisle. The other passengers eyed me as they would any stranger. I had made an effort to look my best. I was dressed in the blue frock I often wore to Linen Queen ceremonies, along with my best shoes and a bright white handbag. I looked out of place among the local people in their drab overalls and long skirts. At one time I would have been delighted to stand out in a crowd. Now it meant nothing.

  The bus dropped me at the bottom of the hill that led up to Magill Kinderfarm. Across the street the Irish Sea was gray and wild, the waves charging the shore like roaring warriors. I thought back to the year before when Joel and I had looked out across that same sea, calm and blue and welcoming. I turned and walked up the hill. I should have dressed more warmly, I realized, as I huddled against the wind. I opened the gate to the farm and stood for a moment. The fields were empty. No children were about on account of the rain. I had a fleeting feeling that the place was in mourning, but I shook it off. I walked towards the building where Joel and I had gone before, my heels sinking into the mud as I went. Suddenly a little girl came running up to me. She looked up at me with a solemn face and took my arm. It was the wee girl I had seen last year crying by the wall. She had haunted my dreams so often—I would have known her anywhere.

  We walked through the garden and into the kitchen. I put the bag of sweets I had brought up on the counter. I had traded ration coupons with Mrs. Hollywood and Patsy in order to buy them. The girl murmured a thank-you and disappeared. I was standing alone wondering where I would find Rabbi Hurwitz when I heard his voice behind me.

  “Fraylin!”

  I turned around as he approached me with open arms and the familiar, kind smile on his face. He hugged me, looking me up and down.

  “Welcome, fraylin. It is good to see you. Come.”

  He led me down the corridor and into a small office crammed with boo
ks and papers and photographs. He pulled out a chair from the corner and quickly dusted it off. I sat down and he pulled up a chair opposite me. He bent forward, his hands on his knees.

  “You have come to hear about Joel,” he said. It was not a question.

  I swallowed hard and nodded.

  Rabbi Hurwitz sighed. “I think you already know what has happened. Yes?”

  I swallowed again, fighting back tears.

  He leaned over and patted me on the arm. “I’m sorry, liebchen. But he died a brave man.”

  There it was! The truth that I had known deep down but had fought with everything I had to deny. I let the tears flow.

  “We are all so sad here,” Rabbi Hurwitz went on. “We miss him. But we are grateful that we knew him.”

  “How…,” I began. But I could get no more words out.

  The rabbi sighed. “He went back into the water one time too many and a German gunner shot him and the man he was trying to save. They both drowned. I pray he did not suffer long.”

  So Joel had returned to the sea. He once said the sea might claim us all.

  “I was angry with him, Rabbi,” I said, feeling like a small girl in confession. “For leaving me. For putting others’ lives above our happiness.”

  “It was never his choice. God had a plan for him. Besides, did he ever promise he would come back?”

  Rabbi Hurwitz looked at me with clear, gray eyes.

  I shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “He said he would do his best.”

  The old man nodded. “ Fraylin Sheila, Joel brought you gifts. He talked to me often about you—how he wanted you to know yourself, to see yourself as special. He said you were stronger than you thought. He tried to teach you that. He was a messenger, Sheila, that is all. He was never meant to stay in your world.”

  We sat in silence for a while. Outside I heard the cattle lowing as the rain eased its patter on the windowpanes. Children’s shouts and footsteps echoed up and down the hallway outside the door.

  “There is a part of Joel’s soul in you now, Sheila,” Rabbi Hurwitz spoke again. “I have always believed that when a person dies his soul melts into tiny pieces and lodges in the hearts of those he loved. He loved you, Sheila, and now he is a part of you. He will give you the strength to go on and find happiness.”

  He stood up and I stood with him.

  “Wait a moment, fraylin.”

  He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a package. He came back towards me, opening the package as he walked. Then he pulled out a silver watch and handed it to me. I recognized it immediately. It was Joel’s father’s watch—the one I had seen him take out so often when we were together.

  “Joel’s mother sent it to me for safekeeping. She said Joel had written to her some time ago that he wanted you to have it should something happen to him.”

  I held the watch in my left palm, tracing my fingers over the initials engraved on it. Joel, I thought, always conscious of time. He was always aware he didn’t have that much of it.

  Rabbi Hurwitz smiled and his eyes crinkled. “You see, Joel knew you would come here.”

  I bit my lip and tried to smile back. “Thank you, Rabbi,” I said.

  The little man hugged me again. “Go now, Sheila. Go back to your own world. You are stronger than you know. Cherish the time you had with Joel, and respect his memory.”

  “I will,” I whispered.

  I walked back down the corridor and into the kitchen. The small girl who had greeted me smiled but said nothing. I nodded at her and went on out the door. The rain had stopped and my senses were filled with the smell of wet grass and crops. Shouts in the distance made me turn. A group of boys from the farm were playing Gaelic football in a field. They had settled into Ireland well, I thought. I smiled in spite of myself and I felt Joel smiling beside me.

  Over the next weeks, Joel’s image haunted me. When I woke in the morning he greeted me, smiling. When I arrived at my spinning frame he was already there. When I climbed into bed at night, he was waiting for me, whispering. At first I sank into my sadness, as if sinking deep into sand. I memorized our conversations, our kisses, our tears. All of the memories were shrouded, as if wrapped in gauze. I floated towards them, seeking comfort, ignoring the world around me. I forgot to eat or speak—in Joel’s world I had no need of either.

  Eventually, I had to let him go. I recalled Rabbi Hurwitz’s words.

  “He was a messenger, Sheila, that is all. He was never meant to stay in your world.”

  My journey out of the hole in which I had buried myself was slow and painful, but in time I was able to crawl up to the rim and peer over the edge. The outside world had not changed, but my view of it had changed utterly. My sadness was replaced with pride—pride in the man I had known. I knew I could never rise to his level of strength and sacrifice, but I would do my best to honor it. Joel had come to me as an angel to help me find my own strength and purpose. He came to teach me to recognize my own value. He had seen something in me that I was not able to. And now I had to let him go. But his memory would be with me forever.

  One evening I sat in my bedroom at Walker’s Row. Beside me on the bed I had laid out Joel’s watch, the wee carved mermaid Da had given me, and my Linen Queen sash. I ran my fingers over each article in turn, allowing the associated memories to food through me. The sea had taken Joel and Da. Had it taken Gavin as well? Two months had passed and no further news had come of the Ashgrove. Rumors of sailors’ ghosts seen up on the Flagstaff still persisted. A memorial service was planned at Newry Cathedral for the following Sunday. I had yet to accept that Gavin was dead, but hope was fading.

  I turned to my Linen Queen sash. I smiled, remembering the night I won the crown. How triumphant I had been. How excited and innocent and full of hope. I smoothed out the sash, lifted it, and put it on. I went over to the mirror. Where had that young Sheila gone? The person who looked back was not a pretty, naïve girl, but a woman—a woman who had known pain and sadness and loss. And yet as I turned back and forth in front of the mirror, a familiar comfort and pride took hold of me. God may have taken away everything else, but he couldn’t take away the special feeling I had every time I wore it. Slowly I removed the sash, folded it, and put it to my lips and kissed it. As I did so, I ignored Joel’s voice telling me I no longer needed it.

  As I lay in bed that night listening to Grainne’s soft breathing, I dared for the first time in months to think about my future. What was left for me here? Everyone I loved was gone. No matter how much good I had tried to do, God had still punished me. A wave of self-pity overcame me and I wept quietly, my knees curled up to my chest like a child.

  Chapter 28

  The memorial Mass for the sailors of the Ashgrove was said at noon on the first Sunday in September. The cathedral had not been so full since the night of the blitz, when the missionary priest came to speak. This time was different, though. Gone were the excitement and anticipation that greeted the missionary that night. Today a weary sadness hung over the congregants, even the children. Sailors with sunburned faces and watchful eyes filled the pews at the back of the church. Their calloused hands, more suited to pulling on thick ropes, threaded worn rosary beads as they murmured prayers.

  I sat near the front, Mrs. Hollywood and Patsy on one side of me and Grainne on the other. Mrs. Hollywood wept quietly. She had not said much since Alphonse had disappeared, but a shadow had fallen across her lovely, bright spirit. Sylvie had stayed home minding the baby so that Patsy could come with us. She let her tears flow freely for Alphonse now that she no longer had to guard them in front of Sylvie. Grainne stared straight ahead. If I hadn’t known the girl better, I would have said she was a cold wee bitch who didn’t care about anyone but herself. But I knew that was not true. She was suffering like the rest of us. She loved Gavin, we all knew that. And he had been taken away from her. My heart went out to her. I knew how it felt to be abandoned.

  As for myself, I cried no tears. Maybe I had non
e left after Joel. I’d had no anger towards Gavin for leaving me. I’d exhausted my anger on Joel. And there’d been no point in begging God to return him. God had already shown me he didn’t care how much I prayed. More and more I had become willing to accept Gavin’s death. How could it be otherwise? It had been over two months since the Ashgrove had been torpedoed. Surely if there’d been survivors, they’d be home by now. The one thing I would not accept was Gavin’s treachery. The newspapers had reported that several German prisoners of war had escaped and crossed the border into the North. There had been no further details. In spite of the fact that the reports seemed to confirm some of what Sean had told me, I refused to believe Gavin was capable of such a thing. But even if it turned out to be true, I would forgive him. I had learned through Joel’s death that men have their own reasons for the decisions they make—reasons that are bigger than my happiness. If Gavin had helped the German soldiers escape, he would have had his reasons for doing so.

  Father Flynn strode to the altar, tall and splendid in his vestments. Patsy muttered something under her breath. I knew she was remembering the cruel way he had treated her when she went to him for help. I felt Grainne stiffen beside me. I put my hand on her arm, but she shook it off. I had expected the older, kinder Father Toner to be the one saying Mass. I looked up at the ornate ceiling. Another one of God’s cruel tricks, I thought.