Chapter 35
chapter
St. Helier
“If sketching outdoors was still allowed, I’d have plenty of time for it.” Ivy set her afternoon timetable back on the receptionist’s desk.
“True.” With a rueful smile, Aunt Ruby rose from the desk and gathered her purse. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Ivy walked her aunt to the front door.
She had no afternoon appointments in the surgery, only two home visits, and no visits to treat fugitives.
With most of the foreign workers evacuated to France, no new escapes had occurred, and the men in hiding were medically stable.
Although another round of arrests in a wireless case had sent islanders into hiding to avoid prison, none of them needed medical care.
If only the Germans let the Jersey doctors help in their portion of Jersey General Hospital.
Then Ivy would have something to do, a way to help the suffering.
Since D-day, hundreds of wounded German soldiers had been evacuated from France to Jersey, but the Germans had run out of anesthesia and refused all assistance.
The cries of the wounded haunted the halls.
At the door, Ivy waved goodbye to Aunt Ruby. A quartet of aircraft roared past to the south, over the harbor most likely.
Few ships braved the trip to France lately, and Charlie complained of boredom. However, that particular danger had kept Gerrit in Jersey.
Ivy closed the door and hung up her white coat, now yellowed from the lack of good soap. For the first fortnight after Gerrit’s evacuation ship had been damaged, he had rejoiced to stay. He even had work to do, with the Germans constantly shifting guns around the island.
But yesterday at the farm, Gerrit had been troubled.
Ivy unlocked the supply room and slipped the key back into her skirt pocket.
The Allies pressed forward in Normandy, slowly, ponderously, unstoppably, but they hadn’t come to the Channel Islands. The exhilaration in Jersey had disintegrated into bewilderment, Gerrit’s joy into frustration.
Ivy sorted through her dwindling stock of medications, bandages, and supplies. Little to nothing came from France anymore, and even if supplies became available, how could Ivy afford them? Fern no longer contributed her wages, and Ivy’s income fell lower each day.
A few weeks earlier, Gerrit had offered to help, but she’d dismissed the idea. Taking money from a Todt would drive away her remaining patients, who saw Ivy as above reproach.
She locked the supply room and went to the kitchen to prepare lunch. She’d had to let the housekeeper go, but at least Ivy had time to cook and clean.
After she chopped up a small potato and a carrot, she lit the stove and cooked them without butter or salt. If nothing changed, the island’s supply of gas for cooking would run out by September. Each household had registered to use communal kitchens.
Pressure built behind her temples, and Ivy rubbed them. Yesterday, Gerrit had been preoccupied by his problems, and she’d failed to comfort him. And how she’d longed for comfort herself.
Ivy turned off the gas, scraped her bland lunch onto a plate, and sat at the table.
How could she continue to live with a sister who despised and blamed her? Ivy had hoped for some wisdom from Gerrit, some understanding, some support. She’d received none.
Perhaps Gerrit was an imperfect foundation. Not a sandy foundation like Fern, but more like Dad and Mum.
Ivy bowed her aching head over her tiny meal and prayed for God’s rock-solid foundation, his wisdom, and his comfort.
Footsteps pounded down the hall and into the kitchen. Charlie grabbed the loaf of bread on the cabinet and sawed off a slice. “I lost my job.”
“No! What happened?”
“The Ormer was damaged in yesterday’s air raid. They don’t have the supplies to repair her, and it isn’t safe to sail anyway. They let the whole crew go.” The knife shook in Charlie’s fist. “All morning I’ve looked for work. Nothing.”
“Oh, Charlie. I’m so sorry.”
He thumped the knife down onto the cabinet. His head bowed, and his shoulders hunched. “I’ve failed you.”
Ivy stood and took a step toward her brother, but he wasn’t a little boy in need of a hug. “You haven’t failed me. You never could.”
“What am I to do?” He braced his hands on the cabinet. “I can’t find work. I can’t go back to school. We couldn’t afford the fees, and I don’t want to go to school anyway. I want to help. I need to help. How will we make do?”
How would they indeed? “I don’t know, but we will.”
“How?” Charlie wheeled around, his eyes wild. “Fern’s being selfish and petty. Your patients can’t pay their bills, so we can’t pay ours. How will we buy wood this winter so we don’t freeze? How will we buy food?”
Ivy didn’t know, and words wouldn’t come.
Charlie groaned and brandished his piece of bread. “I’m not helping the Allies, not supporting my family. I’m a useless mouth. That’s all I am.”
“You—you’re not.”
Charlie tossed the bread back onto the cabinet and stomped out of the kitchen.
Ivy sank into her chair. She couldn’t help Gerrit, couldn’t help Charlie. They couldn’t help her either. “Lord, help us all.”
St. Peter’s Parish
Sunday, August 20, 1944
Gerrit poked at the vegetables in the soup Opal Jouny had prepared for Sunday lunch.
Beside Gerrit, Charlie sagged back in his chair, his own soup untouched. “Even if it were safe for ships to sail, they have nowhere to go. We’re completely cut off.”
Grim nods circled the table. Three days earlier, the Allies had taken Saint-Malo. From Jersey, Gerrit had seen the fires in the port city.
“The war will be over soon.” Arthur sipped his blackberry leaf tea. “The Allies are almost in Paris, they’re sweeping through Brittany, and they landed in southern France last week.”
Opal frowned as she stirred her soup. “It seems cruel to pass us by.”
“It’s sound military strategy.” Bernardus tapped the table. “The Channel Islands are essentially serving as an Allied prisoner of war camp for over twenty thousand German soldiers. The entire 319th Infantry Division is trapped here, plus all the naval forces.”
Ivy swallowed a spoonful of soup. “But if they’d left, we’d be free.”
“Bernardus is correct.” Arthur nodded in a confident way. “If the division had left, the Allies would have had to fight them in France. This hastens the end of the war.”
Gerrit’s rations had been reduced, along with those of all the besieged civilians and German soldiers, but he had no appetite. “Please excuse me.”
He rose and left through the back door. The heaviness of coming rain pressed in the air, pressed his raw heart.
“Gerrit?” Ivy said from behind him. “What’s wrong?”
Hadn’t she heard the conversation? “We’re cut off.”
“It was coming.”
“Now it’s final.”
Standing two meters away, Ivy clasped her hands in front of her stomach. “You’re frustrated because you can no longer help the Allies.”
By the open kitchen window, Gerrit rapped his fist on the granite wall. “I never helped.” His voice climbed and sharpened. “What good are maps of Jersey if the Allies never come here? And the diagrams I sent—they were for structures we modified from the standard models. They’re unique to Jersey.”
“I’m sure—”
“They’re useless.” Gerrit whacked the wall again. “Lately I’ve drawn diagrams of standard structures—structures found throughout France and Germany. Those would be useful. But they’re stuffed in your aunt’s scrap bag. I have no way to send them to France.”
“I know, but . . .”
In the open window, the kitchen curtains fluttered in the breeze. “All my work is in vain, a mist in the wind. Why—why hasn’t God done anything?”
A look crossed Ivy’s face—a look he’d never seen before.
A twitch near her nose, a furrow in her brow, a tightening of her mouth.
“My sister is a notorious collaborator. My brother lost his job. My medical practice is failing. I have no idea how I’ll pay for medical supplies or food or wood.
But I’m trying—I’m determined to remember God’s goodness.
He is good, and he’s good to me. He’s helping me through.
Thank goodness, because he’s all I have. ”
She’d left him out. Because he’d left her out, and his mouth and heart fell open.
She folded her arms across her well-worn dress, and she blinked too many times. She looked so small, so thin. So alone.
“Ivy . . .” His voice grated over his throat.
She shook herself and pulled tall. “I don’t understand. The Allies are winning. Isn’t that enough for you?”
It should have been. Why wasn’t it? Was he working for Allied victory? Or Gerrit’s victory?
A groan ripped through him. “I’m sorry.”
He shoved his feet toward her and gathered her in his arms. She stood stiff in his embrace, and he kissed her hair. “It is enough. It will be. I’ll get through this. I’m sorry, mijn geliefde.”
Ivy relaxed, and her arms wound around him. “What does that mean?”
“‘Mijn geliefde’ means ‘my beloved.’ That’s what you are.” He kissed her hair again and rocked her. “I’m sorry I didn’t treat you that way. I’ll never leave you alone again.”
She pressed her face to his chest and rubbed circles on his back. “Nor I you.”