Chapter 33
chapter
St. Helier
Mrs. Le Huquet and Ivy sipped parsnip coffee in a drawing room crammed with stacks of books and papers.
Since Mrs. Le Huquet’s leg had been mangled in the accident a year ago, walking to La Bliue Brise with a cane was difficult for her, but Ivy didn’t mind visiting her charmingly cluttered home and listening to the widow describe the novels she was reading.
Mrs. Le Huquet needed company more than care, but company was a form of care Ivy had the luxury of providing nowadays.
“Do you think this is it?” Mrs. Le Huquet stared up at her ceiling.
Airplanes droned overhead as they had without stop since late the night before. Hundreds of aircraft bound for France.
A mixture of excitement and fear raced through Ivy’s chest. “It must be. The Germans shut down the telephone services this morning, and they’ve posted guards throughout town.”
Mrs. Le Huquet fingered the coil of silvered black hair at the nape of her neck. “Finally this nightmare will come to an end.”
“Yes, finally.” Much of the danger to the men she loved had already come to an end. After the German field police raided Uncle Arthur’s home the week before, Gerrit had stopped drawing maps and Charlie had stopped sending them.
If the invasion had indeed come, it was too late to provide the Allies with more intelligence. Gerrit had only to avoid evacuation and lie low until the Allies came. Somehow.
The rumble of aircraft engines spoke comfort to her.
Ivy’s kitchen timer dinged, and she gave Mrs. Le Huquet an apologetic smile and packed her timer in her bag.
Thank goodness, her patients had accepted her new habit as an eccentricity.
“I’m afraid I must be on my way, but it was lovely visiting with you.
I would love to borrow that book when you’ve finished. ”
“I’ll set it aside for you.” Mrs. Le Huquet scooted forward in her chair.
Ivy held up one hand. “Please don’t rise. I’ll see myself out.”
Mrs. Le Huquet settled back with a relieved smile. “Happy Liberation Day.”
“We can hope.” Outside, Ivy mounted her bicycle and pedaled up Roseville Street under a cloudy sky throbbing with airplane engines.
Her next appointment was one she’d made herself—at the farm for the BBC news broadcast at noon. Surely Uncle Arthur had been listening to his wireless set since dawn. When listening to the BBC was no longer a crime, the secret of how he hid his set so well could emerge.
Elation overrode fear. A laugh erupted, and she pedaled faster. All around, people waved to each other, wearing red or blue—although not enough of both to incite German ire.
Along Hill Street, German soldiers behind sandbag barriers guarded States buildings with machine guns, and on the Esplanade, two German ambulances parked in front of the Pomme d’Or Hotel, ready for casualties.
Soon the hotel would no longer be German naval headquarters, adorned with a swastika flag, but would return to hosting sunburnt English tourists on holiday.
“Oh, the joy,” she said. She couldn’t help herself.
A familiar auburn-haired woman approached along the Esplanade, and Ivy waved. “Good day, my friend!”
Joan swept her hand skyward with the biggest smile Ivy had ever seen on the chemist’s face. “A magnificent day, my friend.”
More laughter flowed, and she stood on the pedals to gain speed. Soon to have open and honest friendships.
And an open and honest love. No more meeting Gerrit clandestinely on the farm, and he could burn his detested uniform. Wouldn’t he be handsome in a civilian suit? Dark blue to bring out his eyes, a homburg at a slight angle.
What must he be feeling today, knowing the Allies would soon use his maps? Yes, he’d be interrogated after liberation, but he’d be interrogated by the Allies with civilized methods. The truth would quickly surface.
Gerrit had hidden his last dozen or so silk maps in Aunt Opal’s scrap bag. Once the Allies developed the maps and compared them to those he’d sent earlier, Gerrit’s story would be validated.
When Ivy arrived at the farm, she knocked. “It’s Ivy.”
Aunt Opal flung open the door and wrapped Ivy in a giant, laughing hug.
“It’s true, then?” Ivy said. “The Allies—”
“They call it D-day, but there’s been little in the way of news yet.” Aunt Opal shut the door behind her. “Your uncle and Bernardus and Charlie have been listening to the BBC all morning. The Germans sent the ship and dock workers home.”
They feared invasion and rightly so.
“They’re in the kitchen. Go on through. I’m on sentry duty.” Aunt Opal snapped up a military salute.
Ivy laughed and opened the kitchen door. “Good—”
“Hush!” Three hands raised in her direction. Three heads tucked in close to the wireless set on the kitchen table.
Ivy pulled up a chair.
“D-day has come,” the BBC announcer said. “Early this morning the Allies began the assault on the northwestern face of Hitler’s European fortress.”
“Opal!” Uncle Arthur called. “You can’t miss this.”
Aunt Opal rushed in and leaned over Uncle Arthur’s shoulder.
“Under the command of General Eisenhower,” the announcer said in polished tones, “Allied naval forces supported by strong air forces began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France.”
“The northern coast of France,” Ivy murmured. Brittany? Normandy? The Pas de Calais? The Channel Islands lay in the gulf between Brittany and Normandy.
The announcer continued: “No details have yet come in from the Allied side of the progress of the operations. The Germans, who have been broadcasting news of the attack on all their services except their own home service, say that the points assailed extend from Cherbourg to Havre, with the main weight of the attack in the area of Caen.”
“Normandy,” Uncle Arthur said.
So close. Ivy’s eyes tingled, and she blinked away tears of hope and grief. The hope of everyone living under Nazi occupation—of prisoners in concentration camps and forced labor camps, and of civilians in the constant strain of scrutiny and scarcity. All soon to be free.
And grief for the cost. What were those soldiers enduring today?
Charlie bolted to his feet and whooped for joy, and Ivy laughed and wiped her eyes.
Her brother pulled her to her feet and swung her around the kitchen floor. With much laughter, Uncle Arthur and Aunt Opal joined them in their dance, whilst Bernardus clapped in time to the imaginary music.
As they danced, Ivy studied Charlie. At almost seventeen, he stood several inches taller than she. His labor had added breadth and depth to his shoulders, and his resistance work had added breadth and depth to his character.
Charlie whirled her past the stove, his mouth wide with laughter. He had grown in character more—far more—than if he’d spent the past two years at Victoria College.
If he should return to school or remain on a ship’s crew, he would be better for it all.
Her throat thickened, but a smile loosened her words. “I’m proud of you, Charlie.”
His dark eyes glinted. “And I’m proud of you.”
“You threw a party?” A woman’s voice came from the doorway to the kitchen. “And you forgot to invite me?”
Fern. Smiling, but in a stiff sort of way.
Ivy and Charlie froze.
Uncle Arthur clicked off the wireless.
“Extch?thez-mé,” Bernardus said in Jèrriais, and he hobbled out the back door, his head low. His cover as a local farmworker would be blown if Fern recognized Bernardus Kroon behind the black mustache.
Uncle Arthur and Aunt Opal stood blocking Fern’s view of the wireless, their faces long.
Fern’s gaze flicked amongst the four of them. Her mouth puckered, and hurt swam in her brown eyes. “Do you think you’re in danger—from me?”
“Fern . . .” Aunt Opal said, apologetic and soothing.
Fern hugged herself, and her eyelashes fluttered. “I’ve always known about your wireless. I—I’ve never said a word.” Her voice cracked.
“We thank you,” Uncle Arthur said.
“You think . . .” Fern clapped one hand over her mouth. “Do you honestly think I’d denounce my own family?”
“Of course not.” Ivy stepped closer to her sister. “You simply startled us.”
Charlie let out a little huff. “And we know where your affections lie.”
“Charlie.” Ivy gave him a stern look. She might agree, but he wasn’t helping.
Fern sniffed, lowered her hand, and raised her chin. “I came to hear the English side. The German broadcasts say the Allies are landing near Caen with heavy casualties. We expect to throw them back into the sea.”
“General Eisenhower is being more circumspect,” Uncle Arthur said. “He said we are landing with strong forces.”
Ivy held her breath, and Fern’s mouth tightened. Surely she noticed her “we” referred to the Germans, and Uncle Arthur’s to the Allies.
“This is good news, dear Fern,” Aunt Opal said. “The war will soon be over.”
“And our family will come home.” A challenge lit in Charlie’s eyes.
Fern’s gaze swept the room and drilled into Ivy. “This is your doing. You’ve poisoned my family against me.”
Like a kick to Ivy’s chest. “I—”
“Fern!” Uncle Arthur said. “That isn’t—”
“You have.” Fern sharpened the drill. “All this time, I’ve been supporting the medical practice, contributing my wages, and you’ve been spreading poison behind my back. Well, no longer. Since you don’t appreciate my contributions, I’ll keep my money for myself.”
Ivy gasped for breath. “I never . . .”
Fern spun for the door, then waved toward the wireless. “Don’t worry, Uncle Arthur. Unlike some people, I don’t betray my family.”
As Fern stomped out of the house, Aunt Opal put her arm around Ivy’s shoulder. “Don’t mind her. It isn’t true.”
“I know.” Ivy breathed hard, and with each breath, the pain reduced to a sting.
Fern used words to her advantage. But now the pit she’d dug herself into was collapsing upon her, and she had nothing to shore it up but words.
Words weren’t enough.