Chapter 36 #2
“No, no.” If the Germans were watching the house, they were certainly listening to the telephone line. The code might be secure, but the fact that Ivy rang so soon after a raid would raise the alarm and place Joan under scrutiny. And using the Jouny name might lead them to unravel their codes.
“Oh, Lord.” A sob rent its way up Ivy’s throat. “Lord, what do I do?”
St. Peter’s Parish
“Oh, Gerrit.” Opal Jouny grabbed his arm, drew him into the farmhouse, and shut the door behind him. Red rimmed her eyes and stained her cheeks. “Charlie’s escaped.”
“Escaped?”
“By boat. We found a letter on the kitchen table this morning.” Opal dashed to the kitchen, and Gerrit followed.
She thrust a piece of paper into Gerrit’s hands.
Dear Uncle Arthur, Aunt Opal, and all,
By the time you read this, I’ll be in France! I’ve left with three of my friends from Victoria College. Now that we’re seventeen, we’re old enough to serve in the British forces. I’m no longer able to help the Allies in Jersey, but I can once I arrive in France.
My departure will also help Ivy, since she’ll no longer need to support me.
In addition, I’m taking Gerrit’s diagrams. After overhearing Gerrit’s argument with Ivy, I know how important it is that his new diagrams land in Allied hands.
By doing so in person, I’ll be able to verify the source of previous deliveries and assure them of Gerrit’s and Bernardus’s good work and loyalty.
I left one sample behind for Gerrit to show upon liberation.
Please show this letter to Ivy, Bernardus, and Gerrit, and then promptly burn it. You all have my deep love and affection, and I look forward to seeing you upon the liberation of this island.
By leaving now, I hope to hasten that day.
Yours sincerely, Charlie
Gerrit’s mouth flopped. What had Charlie done? Over the past few weeks, many young men and women had tried to escape. Some had succeeded. Some had been arrested when their boats blew back to Jersey. Some had drowned when their boats were dashed on rocks.
Opal stuck wood into the oven. “Radio-Paris announces the names of those who arrive in France. In the meantime, you need to leave straightaway. When men escape, the Germans always search homes of family members. They’ll certainly search the farm.”
“Bernardus.” Gerrit’s gaze sprang to the ceiling.
“He’s packing, destroying evidence.” Opal grabbed the letter from Gerrit and tossed it on the fire in the oven. “Arthur is asking a neighbor if he can hide Bernardus temporarily.”
Bernardus swept into the kitchen with a bag over his shoulder and a pile in his arms. He dumped the pile on the table. “Burn it all.”
Gerrit snatched out his civilian clothes and the last silk map. “I’ll keep this map. It’s our only proof in case . . .”
Bernardus’s gaze crept up to him, stark and gaunt. In case Charlie was arrested. In case he didn’t survive.
And if the Germans captured Charlie with Gerrit’s maps?
He’d heard hushed tales of torture at the field police headquarters at Silvertide in Havre des Pas. If the Germans suspected the use of secret ink, they could develop the images, and Gerrit, Bernardus, the Jounys—even Ivy—would be in great danger.
“I’ll do one more search, make sure I didn’t leave anything.” Bernardus set his bag on a chair and rushed out of the kitchen.
Opal fed the remaining evidence into the fire—the chemist’s box of secret ink crystals, Gerrit’s wooden ruler and T square, and the unused scraps of parachute silk.
“I need to run to the telephone box and ring Ivy, tell her about Charlie, warn her that the Germans will search her home, and tell her Bernardus must be moved straightaway.”
“Wait.” Thoughts careened through Gerrit’s head. “Ivy uses codes on the telephone in case the Germans are listening. If they know Charlie escaped—”
Opal gasped. “They’ll listen to her line. I’ll go in person.”
“No, I’ll go. Stay and help Bernardus.”
Opal squinted at him. “Change into your civilian clothes.”
“Yes.” He’d be less conspicuous, do less harm to Ivy’s fragile reputation.
“Quickly.” Opal shooed him out of the kitchen. “You mustn’t be here when the Gestapo comes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” In the washroom, he removed his jacket and slipped his civilian jacket over his uniform shirt.
What would he tell Ivy? She’d be overwhelmed with worry for her little brother. Until they heard his name on the radio, they’d live in uncertainty.
Gerrit wrenched off his boots, stuffed his uniform cap inside one and the silk map inside another, and changed trousers. What would Ivy say when he told her why Charlie had escaped?
Guilt smacked into his grief. Charlie had overheard Gerrit’s selfish rant about his maps, his work, his self-importance. Now Charlie had braved a beach planted with mines, a coast lined with guns, and a perilous crossing.
Gerrit couldn’t take the blame for Dirk’s death or Cilla’s, but if anything happened to Charlie, Gerrit could indeed take part of the blame.
“Lord, forgive me.” He rolled his uniform around his boots and stuffed the bundle into his satchel.
His chin fell to his chest. The Lord would forgive him, but Ivy never would. Even if Charlie arrived safely in France, he’d risked his life because of Gerrit’s foolishness.
Gerrit would lose the woman he loved.
Regardless, he would tell her the truth.
He gritted his teeth and strode back to the kitchen.
Bernardus was slipping on his jacket, and Opal was filling a basket with bread.
Arthur tossed papers into the fire. “Take my hat, Gerrit. You look too Dutch.” He gestured to a gray homburg on the table. “Give Ivy our love.”
“I will.” He clapped the hat on his head and shook Bernardus’s hand. Would he ever see his friend again? Then he shook Arthur’s hand and accepted Opal’s peck on his cheek. He wouldn’t return to the farm until liberation, and he strode out of the house, mounted his bicycle, and pedaled away.
For so long, he’d complained that he’d done the right thing and no good had come of it.
Now he’d done the wrong thing and something horrible had come of it.