The Linen Queen

by Patricia Falvey

  I turned to face him. “Och, Gavin, Joel’s dead. He drowned on D-Day.”

  Gavin’s face turned paler than it already was. “I’m sorry, Sheila,” he whispered. “He was a good man.”

  A good man. That’s what Joel had called Gavin.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Hollywood was firing questions at Alphie like bullets from a rife. When she turned and saw Gavin walk in behind me, I thought she might faint. I grabbed the teapot from her before she dropped it. She threw up her hands and let out a wail.

  “My two boys,” she cried. “My two boys have come home.”

  I sat her down and pulled out a chair for Gavin. In the bright light of the kitchen he looked even worse than I had first thought. He was thin and frail as a ghost. His hands shook as he clutched the mug of tea I gave him. I wanted to burst into tears, but I held them back.

  “Shelled. Caught in the crossfire,” Alphie was saying, his words thick from the drink. “The blast lifted her clear out of the water. Flames from stem to stern. The fire hissed like the devil when it met the water. We lowered the jolly boats and rowed away from her. All the lads had made it into the boats, but one of ’em was caught by a shell and set on fire. The others in our boat either died from injuries or drowned. All I know is, Gavin here and me were the only ones who lived through it.”

  He took a gulp of his tea, while Mrs. Hollywood repeated, “Holy Mother, save us” over and over again.

  I looked at Gavin. He had yet to say a word.

  “When did you get in?”

  I spoke quietly, as if to a spirit. If I spoke too loudly, I was afraid the dream might dissolve. I realized my words sounded like matter-of-fact conversation, as if I were asking a casual question in a normal world.

  “Just a couple of hours ago,” Gavin said. “The lads on the Cedar Star that picked us up in Plymouth insisted we go to the pub with them. I’d say the news is all over the country by now that Alphie and I are home.”

  Mr. Carlson’s face drifted into my mind and I flinched. The minute he heard Gavin was home he’d be after him.

  “I’m glad you came here,” I said.

  Gavin shrugged and looked at the clock. “I can’t stay long. I have to go and see Ma.”

  I nodded.

  Alphie spoke up suddenly. “Where’s Patsy? I have presents for wee Sylvia.”

  Mrs. Hollywood and I exchanged looks. She took a deep breath.

  “She’s gone, love. Her soldier came back and married her. She’s gone to America.”

  Alphie’s big face crumpled. I thought he was going to cry. My heart went out to him. I knew he’d grown fond of Patsy. I had long suspected he might have been in love with her. Looking at his face now, I knew I’d been right.

  Gavin looked around then. “And where’s wee Grainne?”

  “She’s gone as well, love,” said Mrs. Hollywood. “Back to Belfast. We miss her something awful.”

  Alphie moved his chair back and stood up.

  “Where are you going?” his mother said. “Aren’t you staying the night?”

  “No, Ma. I’ll be away down to Moira’s. She’ll be delighted to know I’m safe.”

  Moira was the “fancy woman” Mrs. Hollywood complained about. Alphie stayed with her when he was in port. Poor Mrs. Hollywood. She had hoped as much as I had that Alphie and Patsy would get together. Gavin stood up.

  “I need to be going as well. Thanks for the tea, Mrs. H.”

  “But you’re not cycling all the way to Omeath at this time of night, surely?” Mrs. Hollywood protested.

  Gavin managed a smile. “You wouldn’t want me to keep my ma waiting, would you, Mrs. H.?”

  “No, of course not, love. Safe home.”

  I followed Gavin out into the street and closed the door behind me.

  “I need to talk to you, Gavin,” I began.

  “Och, it’s late, Sheila. Can’t it wait?”

  “No.”

  I took a deep breath and explained everything to him, beginning with what Sean had told me at O’Hare’s, the articles in the newspapers about the escape of the German prisoners, and finally my conversation with Mr. Carlson.

  “I don’t know what you did on this voyage, Gavin, but I will believe whatever you tell me. I know you wouldn’t lie to me. All I want you to know is that you could be in danger.”

  Gavin made a noise that sounded like a laugh deep down in his throat.

  “I’m a citizen of the Free State. They can’t touch me.”

  “But they can touch me,” I whispered.

  Gavin drew closer. “And what do you believe, Sheila? What do you think I did?”

  “Jesus, Gavin, how in God’s name would I know? I told you it doesn’t matter.”

  “Aye, but it matters to me what you believe about me.”

  I took a deep breath and faced him. “I believe in my heart that you could never have done what they said.”

  He put down his kit bag and pulled me close to him. His breathing was ragged as he kissed my hair and face. His frail body shook so much I feared it would shatter into pieces.

  “I’m back because of you, Sheila,” he whispered. “It was your face that kept me going in the freezing water that night. It’s what kept me going for the weeks we were hiding out in Guernsey. And it’s what led me all the way across the Channel, and then across the Irish Sea.” He stopped and kissed me hard on the mouth. “I prayed you would still be here.”

  He pulled away at last and lifted his bicycle from against the wall. As I watched him disappear into the darkness I wondered if it had all been a dream.

  “Safe home, Gavin,” I whispered.

  Chapter 30

  The next day news of the return of Gavin and Alphie commanded banner headlines in all the newspapers. The return of the two men who’d been given up for dead was a miracle, people said, and they thanked God. With their homecoming, Gavin and Alphie had brought a slender thread of hope to everyone. Good news was possible, even in the midst of such sorrow and death. God did listen to prayers. The girls at the mill talked of nothing else. They harped at me to introduce them to Alphie. Any one of them would have been delighted to marry such a lucky man as himself. But poor Alphie’s heart was broken.

  “I suppose you’ll be marrying Gavin now,” they said.

  I didn’t answer.

  Within days of their return new headlines shouted out from the newspapers.

  “Local men heroes!” they proclaimed. “Jerry prisoners turned over to Allies!”

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I bought every newspaper I could find and read the accounts line by line. The story was the same in all of them. The escaped German prisoners had stowed away aboard the Ashgrove and tried to force Gavin and his men to bring them to the French coast where they could rejoin the battle. Instead, Gavin and his men had subdued the prisoners and had deliberately sailed into the middle of the D-Day chaos to turn them over to an Allied ship in the English Channel. In doing so they had put their lives in danger. They had been caught in the crossfire between an American warship and a German surface battleship and the Ashgrove had been set on fire and sunk along with one of its escaping lifeboats. The other lifeboat had headed for the Channel Islands, but only Gavin and Alphie had made it safely to shore. They had been hidden by an old friend whose brave son had eventually brought them in his boat to the safety of Portsmouth on the English coast. The story had been confirmed by the English captain who had taken the prisoners aboard his ship.

  I didn’t know what to think. Was it true? All I was sure of was that Gavin would not have given them the story—it was not his way to draw such attention to himself. It was Alphie. I could picture him, his chest swelled with pride, telling the story and adding details here and there to make it more dramatic. Still, the Allied captain had confirmed it. There must be some truth in it.

  That evening Gavin came to the door of number 6 and asked me to go for a walk. We strolled down to the docks and sat looking out over the water. It felt odd to be here witho
ut the Ashgrove tied up in her usual berth. I wondered if Gavin were thinking the same thing. He lit two cigarettes and gave one to me.

  “It’s only half true,” he said.

  Sudden anxiety rose in me. “What?” I said.

  “It’s true I turned the prisoners over to the Allies. But they didn’t stow away. I took them on board because Sean and his mates threatened to harm you and Grainne if I didn’t.”

  I nodded. What he said made more sense to me than the newspaper stories. “Did Alphie know that?”

  Gavin clucked his tongue. “I love Alphie like a brother, but he’s got a big mouth on him, so he has. I wish he’d never gone to the papers. All this praise makes me feel like a bloody fraud.”

  Gavin paused and took a long pull on his cigarette. “As far as Alphie and the other boys knew, they were stowaways. Sean and his mates and I had taken them on board the night before and hid them in a cabin. They agreed they would act as if they’d stowed away.” He looked directly at me. “The truth is, Sheila, when I started out I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with them. We dropped off our regular cargo at Liverpool, and I told the lads we were going on down to Cherbourg to pick up some French cargo. We’d done it before, so they weren’t suspicious.”

  “What made you change your mind?” I whispered.

  He sighed. “One night I was up on deck and I looked out in the water and I saw Joel’s face. I swear to God, Sheila, it’s true. And he was smiling at me. And I knew there and then what I had to do.”

  This time I didn’t laugh at Gavin and his ghosts. This time I believed him. We sat in silence for a while and then another thought struck me.

  “Jesus, Gavin. What will Sean and his boys do to you now the word is out?”

  Gavin shook his head. “Don’t worry. Turns out he wasn’t acting under orders. He’d taken on this business without permission, and the IRA head men don’t like that. And the British police are going to be looking for them too. I’d say Sean and his boys are going to be lying low for a while.”

  “And what if you’re asked to smuggle guns again?”

  Gavin laughed hoarsely. “Hard to do it without a bloody boat!”

  “Still, you put your men in danger by taking the Germans on board the Ashgrove in the first place, no matter why you did it.” I couldn’t disguise the accusation in my voice.

  Gavin looked at me. “And that’s something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life, Sheila. God bless them, they all agreed we should get the prisoners to the Allied ship even though we knew the invasion had started and the Channel was crawling with warships. But it was me put them in the situation to begin with. And that’s something I’ll never forgive myself for.”

  He turned his back to me, brushing away tears. I reached out and put my hand on his arm. As we sat looking out at the moonlit water I felt something warm surround us, and I knew it was Joel’s spirit.

  Almost immediately word went out that Fisher and Sons, the biggest owner of coal boats in Newry, was throwing a celebration for the returning heroes at the harbor. The whole town was invited, and of course Alphie and Gavin were to be the guests of honor. And on top of that, Fisher’s had requested that the Linen Queen be there to make a special presentation. Miss Johnson, Carlson’s secretary, brought the word; I would be expected to be there.

  It was a mild Saturday evening in late September when I joined the crowd at the docks. The boats in port were lit up and the place looked like a fairyland. Townspeople, strangers, sailors, children, mill workers, and farmers mingled together like old friends. Everyone from three counties must be here, I thought. I had never seen the likes of it. It reminded me of the carnival down at Warrenpoint Beach. Stalls of food and ice cream had been set up, and there was lemonade for the children and beer for the adults. I smiled to myself. Sober oul’ Carlson wouldn’t approve of the alcohol. A stage had been set up near the water. When I arrived a band was playing traditional music. I saw Eileen O’Neill with her fiddle, along with her two daughters, Aoife on the tin whistle and Saoirse on the mandolin. An image flashed into my head of Joel playing his fiddle on the big rock at the Flagstaff, and I pushed away the sadness that threatened to well up in me.

  As I made my way through the crowd to the stage, people called and nodded to me. I wore the same blue frock I had worn the night of the Linen Queen competition. That frock had seen some times over the years. I waved to Kathleen and Ollie, who were standing nearby. Sweet Kathleen, who had given up her place so that I could enter. I wore Ma’s blue and silver necklace again and I wore my sash over the dress: “Linen Queen, 1941.” I had arranged my hair carefully so that it fell in waves to my shoulders, and I wore a new, bright red lipstick that Alphie had brought home for Patsy. I carried my coat and the bag containing the linens I was to present to Gavin and Alphie. I climbed onto the stage. Gavin and Alphie were already there. Alphie was dressed in a suit and tie his ma had made him wear. His face was bright red, and he looked as if he were choking on the collar. Beside him, Moira, his fancy woman, wearing a bright red dress, clung to him like a leech. She reminded me vaguely of Ma. Gavin, on the other hand, looked relaxed in dark trousers and a fisherman’s pullover. I knew he was embarrassed by all the show, but he hid it well. He had put on weight already. His ma must be feeding him, I thought, and smiled.

  Besides the Fisher family, the mayor, the local bishop, and other dignitaries I recognized from my other outings as Linen Queen sat on chairs arranged across the stage behind the musicians. Mr. Carlson sat with them. I avoided his eyes. As usual Hannah McAteer was there glaring at me as she prepared to place the tiara on my head. Mary stood beside her. Mrs. McAteer shoved the tiara roughly down on my hair and secured it with clips. It’s a wonder she hadn’t taken the scalp off me all these years. I climbed up onto the stage and took a chair at the end of the row.

  A mild breeze blew in off the water, and I inhaled the mingled smells of salt and fish and oil. An image of my da flashed in my mind. In the distance I saw Ma on the arm of Shane Kearney. Mary McTaggart, in her ARP uniform, walked by and waved. I hoped there’d be no sirens tonight. I wanted nothing to spoil this. Eileen O’Neill and the band stopped playing and stepped down off the stage to loud applause. The elder Mr. Fisher got up to greet the crowd. He gave a short speech about how much we should admire and respect all the seamen in our community and honor the sacrifice of those who had died. People clapped politely, but I could tell they hoped he didn’t blather on too long. They had come to celebrate and dance, not to listen to long speeches.

  Mr. Fisher’s speech was followed by short speeches from several of the others on the platform. The bishop called for a prayer and then took out his holy water and shook it three times in the direction of the boats, blessing them. Mr. Carlson was not called upon to speak. It was not his night, I thought. This night belonged to the sailors.

  At length Mr. Fisher stood up again and called on Alphie and Gavin to join him at the front of the stage. The cheer that went up from the crowd could have been heard in Belfast. I clapped until my hands were sore. When the noise died down, Mr. Fisher handed an envelope to Gavin.

  “A token of our appreciation,” he said. “And maybe enough to buy a new boat.” He turned to the crowd and chuckled. “I can give the lad a good price,” he said, referring to the fact that he sold more boats than anybody else in the country.

  Gavin held the envelope and stepped forward. Again a cheer went up. I watched him from behind. He stood erect, and his voice carried over the crowd like a soft breeze.

  “Alphie and I have discussed it,” Gavin was saying. “And we’d like to donate this money to the families of our comrades who went down with the Ashgrove. They were brave men all. And we will miss them.”

  The crowd murmured its approval.

  It was time for me to make my presentation, and Mr. Fisher introduced me. There were cheers as I picked up the linens, stood up, and walked to the front of the stage. The old feeling of pride washed over me as camera bulbs flashed and me
n whistled and the mill girls cheered. I smiled and waved at the crowd just as I had done the night of the competition. Never had I felt so special, or so confident. I was in my element. I presented the linens to Alphie and Gavin, who in turn handed them to their mothers. When I turned back to the crowd, the words that had been building inside me roared to the surface. I walked up to the microphone.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” I began. “Tonight is my last night as your Linen Queen.”

  A few in the crowd booed, but the rest stood in silence, waiting.

  “I have enjoyed representing Queensbrook Mill all these years. I know no other Linen Queen has reigned so long.” I smiled and people laughed. “But it is time for me to pass the honor to someone else. I can’t thank you enough for the support and respect you have given me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. God bless you.”

  As I spoke, a lightness I had never known before came over me. I heard my voice as if from far away. The voice belonged to me and no one else. It was not Joel’s voice, or Gavin’s, or Rabbi Hurwitz’s or Ma’s—it was mine.

  With that, I raised my hand and waved as I made my way down off the stage for one last time. I removed the tiara and the sash and held them out to a stunned Hannah McAteer.

  “Go ahead, take them,” I said. “It’s what you’ve been dying for.”

  She grabbed them from me and clutched them to her breast as if afraid I might change my mind. But I had no intention of it. I had never been as sure of myself as I was now. I felt a tap on my shoulder and I swung around. It was Mr. Carlson.

  “Miss McGee!” he exclaimed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am, Mr. Carlson. And I thought you’d be relieved. You wouldn’t want a traitor representing your mill, now would you?”

  He stuttered, as if he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth quickly enough. “You’re the most popular Linen Queen we’ve ever had,” he said. “Won’t you reconsider? You can have the title for as long as you wish.”