Chapter 32
chapter
St. Helier
The bright red rash covering little Joey Sanderson’s cheeks, his brilliant red tongue and tonsils, and his high temperature confirmed Ivy’s fears.
She smoothed the six-year-old’s sweat-dampened brown hair as he lay in his bed, and she glanced up to his mother. “It’s scarlet fever. No need for alarm, but I’d like him in Overdale Isolation Hospital. Please ring the ambulance.”
“Scarlet fever?” Alice Sanderson covered her mouth, and her brow creased. “Joe—my husband had scarlet fever—rheumatic fever. His heart—” Her voice broke.
“Joey’s heart sounds fine.” Ivy kept her voice low and reassuring, for the child’s sake as well as the mother’s.
“No need to fear. At Overdale, he’ll receive excellent care and extra rations.
” No one had died during the current scarlet fever epidemic, but Ivy didn’t want to take chances, not with the risk of complications and with other children in the home.
“Please don’t send him away. I’m being careful.” Alice gestured to the bottle on the bedside table. “I’ve quarantined him since you diagnosed him with strep throat last week, and I’ve given him the medicine you prescribed.”
Sulfapyridine from France, past its date of use, the only anti-infective the chemists’ shops had in stock.
Ivy understood Alice’s reluctance to part with her child, so she firmed her tone.
“You’ve cared for him to the utmost, but Overdale is the best place for him—and for the safety of your other children. ”
A deep sigh. “Very well.”
Ivy adjusted the blanket under the boy’s chin. “Joey, you’re going to have a grand adventure, riding in the horse-drawn ambulance, staying in hospital. Won’t your friends be jealous?”
Joey’s bleary eyes brightened. “Is it true? They give you chocolate in hospital?”
“It’s true. And extra milk.” Ivy packed her thermometer and stethoscope in her medical bag.
After the ambulance came for Joey, Ivy reassured Alice once more and left the Sanderson home above their shop on Queen Street, next door to Carter’s Chemist’s.
Joe Sanderson had little for sale in his shop, save for flowers, which he had in abundance, and Ivy bought a bouquet of daffodils for Easter.
The Sanderson family had remained loyal to the Picot medical practice since Ivy had exempted Joe from deportation a year and a half earlier.
Ivy headed home over streets slick from a spring rain.
April already, and yet no invasion. RAF planes frequently crisscrossed the Jersey skies and attacked shipping, which meant fewer trips to France for Charlie.
If only the Ormer could fly a Union Jack or the flag of Jersey to signal the ship’s allegiance.
At La Bliue Brise, Aunt Ruby typed at the receptionist’s desk. She gazed at Ivy over the rims of her glasses. “How’s little Joey?”
“Scarlet fever. He’s going to Overdale, a precaution more than anything.” Ivy peeked into the waiting room—empty. At least she’d have time for lunch before rounds.
She fetched a vase from her office, filled it with water, and set the daffodils on the desk in front of her aunt. “Pretty, aren’t they? How does my afternoon look?”
Aunt Ruby fingered the yellow blooms. “Four home visits, with two possible cases of scarlet fever. You’ll have a lovely ride along the coast—St. Clement, La Rocque, and Fauvic.”
Ivy had an escapee to visit in that area as well. She perched on the edge of Aunt Ruby’s desk. “How are the finances?”
Aunt Ruby crinkled up her mouth. “Tight. In Monday’s post, I’m sending out more bills for payment due.”
Ivy riffled through the envelopes, adorned with occupation postal stamps, designed by local artist Edmund Blampied and picturing sights like Corbière Lighthouse, Elizabeth Castle, and Mont Orgueil Castle. “Money is tight for everyone. So many people don’t have work, and costs are extraordinary.”
“Regardless.” Aunt Ruby pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter. “Our costs are extraordinary as well.”
If it weren’t for Charlie and Fern, the practice would have failed, and Ivy sighed. “I do wish we weren’t beholden to Charlie and Fern. Charlie should be saving for his future, and Fern—her money feels tainted.”
“In my opinion, she’s simply paying her dues. Finances wouldn’t be tight if it weren’t for her.”
Ivy didn’t want to dwell on it, so she raised a smile. “I’m excited to host Easter dinner tomorrow.” She’d miss seeing Gerrit, but it couldn’t be helped. She’d see him only from afar at church. No kisses, no long talks, no drawing together.
Aunt Ruby leaned back in her chair. “I do find it odd that Opal isn’t hosting. It’s her turn. She’s been rather—well, I hate to say this about my dear sister, but she’s been almost inhospitable lately.”
On the contrary, Aunt Opal had been extremely hospitable—to Bernardus and Gerrit. “They’re under a lot of strain, running a dairy farm with all the German regulations and inspections.”
“Constantly changing regulations too.” Aunt Ruby gave Ivy a sheepish look. “I shouldn’t think that way about my own sister. But I miss her.”
Ivy wasn’t one to cast blame for thinking ill of one’s sister. She’d encourage Aunt Opal to visit the Bissells in town more frequently.
The front door opened. “Hallo!” Fern called in a merry voice.
“Hallo, Fern.” Ivy smiled at her sister’s good cheer.
Aunt Ruby rose and gathered her handbag. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow for Easter.”
“Thank you for your help today.” Ivy saw her aunt to the front door. Like Fern, Aunt Ruby had finished her Saturday half day.
When Ivy returned to the receptionist’s desk, Fern was peering at the appointment book. “Dear, oh dear. So few appointments. Perhaps now you see how vital I was to the practice.”
“I never said otherwise.” Ivy closed the book to maintain her patients’ privacy.
Fern picked up Ivy’s timetable for the afternoon and studied it.
“May I?” Ivy held out her hand.
With a little huff, Fern returned the timetable. “Considering how few home visits you have nowadays, you spend an inordinate amount of time on your rounds.”
Ivy folded the timetable and tucked it in her skirt pocket. “I give all my patients the time they need.” Including the patients not listed on the timetable. And she’d made a habit of using the kitchen timer to stay on schedule.
“I certainly hope you aren’t drawing on your rounds. It’s illegal, you know.”
“I know.” How could she forget with Fern reminding her almost daily? In late February, the Germans had banned drawing out of doors, to prevent islanders from sketching fortifications and sending intelligence to the Allies.
Ironically, that very thing was happening under their noses, and Ivy smiled.
Fern gave her a strange look and stroked the appointment book. “If only it had been banned from the start, we might have saved the practice.”
A year ago, such a statement would have devastated Ivy, but now Fern’s hypocrisy amused her. “I’m sure that’s how you see it.”
Fern drew back her chin. “For a failing doctor, you’ve been rather lighthearted lately, almost giddy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love.”
Indeed she was, but her love for Gerrit was too precious a thing to sully before Fern—and how her sister would gloat to know Ivy loved a man in a German uniform.
Ivy let her giddiness lift the corners of her mouth. “It’s spring. Haven’t you noticed? Everyone’s in good spirits. Liberation is coming.”
“Liberation? You mean war.”
“War came four years ago.”
Fern waved a hand east. “When the Germans came, they came as gentlemen. Not a soul was killed.”
Eleven had been killed in Jersey in a Luftwaffe attack, but none during the actual landings. “Because the island surrendered.”
“And the Germans honored that surrender as gentlemen. But when the English come, they’ll come as thugs. How many civilians will die?”
“None, if the Germans surrender—as gentlemen.”
Fern shook her head and gazed to the ceiling. “You’ve been blinded by English propaganda.”
And Fern by German propaganda. “Hitler has declared the Channel Islands as fortresses to be held to the last man. If any civilians die, it’s the Germans’ fault.”
“Don’t be na?ve.” Fern strode past Ivy toward the kitchen, then turned back. “You don’t know what the English do. English and American bombers are obliterating German cities.”
Ivy tipped her head. “As the Luftwaffe did to English cities.”
“It isn’t the same.” Brittle fire flashed in Fern’s eyes.
“Last summer, the Allies turned Hamburg into an inferno. Helmut’s entire family was killed—women, children, the elderly—incinerated.
You don’t know what he’s endured, what millions of decent Germans have endured.
The English don’t care. They’ll do the same here. ”
Yet fear lashed below the surface of Fern’s anger. Someday soon, Helmut would retreat to the continent or be captured—and Bill and the boys would come home.
Last week a Red Cross message had arrived from Dad, stating “Bill hopes to hear from Fern soon.” He wouldn’t have wasted seven of his twenty-five permitted words unless Bill had serious concerns. And when Bill returned to Jersey, the truth would surface, as it always did.
For a woman who was a stranger to remorse, what would it be like for Fern to be held to account?
Sympathy coursed through Ivy’s chest. “I’m sorry. Liberation will be difficult for you.”
“Sorry for me?” Fern’s face twisted in disgust. “You’ve always been odd.”
Fern saw that as Ivy’s weakness, but Ivy smiled. “Perhaps that is my strength.”
St. Peter’s Parish
Saturday, May 27, 1944
Gerrit traced the plan for a Type 606 searchlight bunker at Corbière while Bernardus kept watch by the window at the top of the stairs. Gerrit still wasn’t accustomed to Bernardus’s shaggy black hair and mustache.
On either side of the fireplace in the bedroom, Arthur Jouny had constructed a false wall. To one side, a wardrobe with a sliding back panel concealed a doorway through the false wall.