Chapter 39
chapter
St. Helier
Ivy removed her stethoscope from Mr. Whistler’s stocky chest. “You gave us a scare with that heart attack last week, but you’re recovering well.”
“Too well.” The nursing sister pulled the blanket back into position. “He won’t stay in bed.”
“How can I when there’s work to be done?” He gave Ivy a significant look. He was sheltering an escaped Russian worker.
“I’m sure your wife can manage.” Ivy maintained a breezy manner. “From now on, you mustn’t let yourself run out of digitalis. The chemists can make it from the foxglove on the island, so you have no excuse.”
Unlike patients who needed other medications, like insulin. Before the siege, occasional shipments of insulin had arrived from the continent, but none since June. All but one of the diabetics in hospital had died.
The shortages grew worse each day. Recently the Department of Public Health had printed appeals in the Evening Post for thermometers and for materials that could be used as bandages.
Heaviness pressed on her lungs, so she drew a long breath, smiled for her patient, and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Whistler.”
“She’s a good doctor, our Dr. Picot.” He patted the nursing sister’s arm with the back of his hand. “No one could ever tell me otherwise. Now everyone knows.”
Ivy’s smile faltered, and she left the ward. The news of Charlie’s escape attempt had been printed in the Evening Post, along with a German demand for information on the fugitive. She would have rather remained a pariah and have her brother home safe and sound.
Although she came to Jersey General Hospital to see Mr. Whistler and her other patients, her reason for daily visits now stemmed from her thirst for information on Charlie.
She peeked into the surgical ward and caught Dr. Tipton’s eye, and he jerked his head to the side, toward the physicians’ office.
At the end of the hallway, Ivy entered the small room used by several doctors as an office. Thank goodness no one else was present, because she hadn’t been able to meet with Dr. Tipton for several days.
Charlie was healing well from the surgery for his gunshot wound, but he’d lost a lot of blood. Since he’d hidden in the ocean under the pier and medical care had been delayed, the risk of infection loomed large.
The window looked toward Gloucester Street and the prison next door, full to overflowing. Those convicted of minor infractions now had to wait to serve their sentences. At least no one could be deported to prisons or concentration camps on the continent anymore.
Ivy crossed one arm over her empty stomach and pressed one hand to her empty heart. The danger to Charlie and Gerrit hadn’t diminished. The Germans could still execute prisoners, especially those guilty of espionage.
She missed Gerrit. She’d stashed his sketch with the concealed letter in the apothecary jar he’d given her, high on the office bookshelf. How could she burn something of such great beauty? How could she destroy the only token she had of his love?
The door opened, and Dr. Tipton entered.
“How is he?” she asked.
Dr. Tipton rounded the table in the center of the room and leaned against the wall by the window. A frown crinkled his freckled face. “I’m afraid infection set in. He isn’t responding to sulfapyridine.”
“Do you need more? I have some in my bag. It’s past its date of use, but—”
“He’s receiving the maximum dosage. He isn’t responding, Dr. Picot.”
Ivy clutched at the fabric of her white coat. “He’s young. He’s strong.”
“Yes.” Doubt flooded his light eyes.
“No, no, no.” Ivy clapped her hands over her eyes. How could this happen to her brother, her brilliant, tenderhearted, funny little brother?
“Charlie has made a suggestion. To escape to France.”
“Escape?” Ivy peered over the tops of her fingers. “That’s how he was injured in the first place. He could have been killed.”
“Many have succeeded in escaping.” Dr. Tipton spoke in measured tones.
“The British and Americans have a broad array of anti-infectives, including new drugs we can only dream of. But if Charlie is to escape, it must be soon. The more the infection progresses, the less likely he’ll survive the journey. ”
“He might not survive the journey anyway.” Her voice rose, and she tamped it down. “He could be shot again or he could drown or be arrested.”
Dr. Tipton kept a steady gaze on Ivy. “If he stays in Jersey . . .”
He would definitely not survive. Her chest contracted, curled her shoulders in, expelled a groan.
Dr. Tipton scooted over a chair and guided Ivy into it.
Then he squatted in front of her. “Charlie has the name of the man who helped with his previous attempt. He’s known in our circles and trusted.
But Charlie is too weak to go alone. He’ll need help.
He wants you to accompany him, as well as Benny and Gary. Benny, I know, but not Gary.”
Bernardus and Gerrit, and Ivy nodded. “I know both men and trust them completely. They’ll take good care of Charlie.”
“Benny would be a tremendous catch for the Germans. I assume Gary is as notorious? At times when Charlie is feverish, he mentions losing maps, worries about them falling into German hands.”
Ivy winced. Charlie might be able to withstand torture, but not delirium.
Dr. Tipton pushed up to standing, and he paced the length of the room and back to Ivy.
“We don’t mind aiding escaped workers. They’re only trying to survive.
We don’t even mind fugitives wanted for infractions that weren’t illegal before the occupation.
But saboteurs? Spies? Harboring them, helping them could land us in far greater trouble than a prison sentence. ”
“Then allowing Benny to leave the island might benefit the ring.”
Dr. Tipton huffed, but in a resigned way, and he crossed his arms. “We suggested sending Charlie with other men trying to escape, but Charlie refuses to go with anyone but Benny and Gary.”
Her brother might be gravely ill, but his spirit remained strong. “Would it be any worse for Charlie if he were caught with Benny and Gary than with someone else?”
Another resigned huff. “Probably not.”
“I can’t think of anyone I trust more to accompany Charlie. Benny and Gary are good men who have risked their lives to aid the Allies. They’re fond of Charlie, and I know they’ll take good care of him.”
Dr. Tipton raised one eyebrow. “As will you.”
Outside the window, the blue sky stretched over Jersey and France and England.
What would it be like to live in freedom again?
To not live in constant dread of arrest?
The Germans hadn’t returned to La Bliue Brise or arrested anyone in connection with Charlie’s disappearance, but they were still watching her. Following her.
If she escaped to France, she’d have plenty to eat, and she wouldn’t be separated from Charlie and Gerrit. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?
“Dr. Picot?”
A sad smile rose. “I can’t leave. My patients need me. You understand.”
“I do. Charlie will too.”
“What next?”
Dr. Tipton pulled up a chair and sat. “Do you know how to reach Gary?”
“Yes.”
“Then we must both make arrangements with the gentlemen Charlie named. I know where Benny and Charlie are hiding. You do not, nor should you, nor should I know how to contact Gary.”
Ivy frowned. “I can’t go to this man. The secret police are following me.”
“I’m aware. I brought my car. I’ll pull behind the hospital, and you’ll lie down on the backseat. We’ll drive to the gentleman’s home and back. Then you’ll leave the hospital for home as always. We should go at once.”
“Now?”
“The sooner we can arrange an escape, the better. If we wait too long . . .”
Not even the most modern medications would save Charlie’s life.
St. Peter’s Parish
Sunday, October 8, 1944
Gerrit shouldn’t have come. He cycled down a quiet lane on the far side of the Jouny farm in case the Germans were watching Arthur and Opal or had followed Ivy.
Tension had defined the past two weeks. Although he hadn’t been interrogated again and a search of his room had yielded nothing, Schmeling didn’t trust him.
Claiming that he no longer required Gerrit’s engineering skills, Schmeling had assigned him to manual labor with the few dozen volunteer workers remaining in Jersey, ripping up a railway line along St. Ouen’s Bay for firewood for the coming winter. Ironically, a railway line laid by OT.
After looking in all directions, Gerrit dismounted, hoisted his bicycle over the hedgerow, and clambered over into the pasture. His arms and legs ached from twelve hours of labor a day, six days a week.
A pair of Jersey cows chewed their cud and eyed him.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” He rolled his bicycle toward the farmhouse, thankful as always for the hedgerows and granite walls that shielded the farm from sight of the main road.
The note from Ivy crinkled in his uniform pocket. After church, she’d passed his pew, and a piece of paper had fluttered down beside him.
A sketch of a puffin with a note concealed in the shading, telling him to meet her at the farm at one o’clock on a most urgent matter.
Urgent indeed if she’d risked writing to him and meeting with him. Was it news about Charlie? Gerrit had no way of learning of his welfare.
In case the secret police watched the front door, Gerrit went to the back and knocked.
Arthur threw open the door and pulled Gerrit and his bicycle inside, and then he left the kitchen.
Drawing the curtains at the kitchen window, Ivy looked pale and haggard, not unexpected after a fortnight of worry for Charlie and scrutiny by the Germans.
But beautiful. So beautiful. “Ivy?”
“Oh, Gerrit.” She dashed into his arms and kissed him.
Never had they kissed with such fervency, such hunger, and he longed to keep kissing her that way forever.
But he couldn’t. He pulled back. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Charlie.” Her brown eyes shimmered with worry. “He’s developed an infection, and he isn’t responding to treatment. He needs medications we don’t have in Jersey.”
“Oh, darling.” His chest constricted, and he gathered her closer.
“His only hope for treatment is to escape to France.”
“France?”
“It’s all been arranged, and he wants you and Bernardus to come too.”
He drew back his chin so he could look her in the eye. “Me?”
“He’s weak. He must be carried. Bernardus may be strong, but he needs a crutch to walk. He can’t carry Charlie alone. And Charlie is worried about you, about the maps. How long until the Germans figure out what’s on them?”
Behind Ivy’s back, Gerrit’s hand worked. “I need to think.”
“It’s tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“It must be tonight. The helper has a boat and an outboard motor, and he says the moon and tides favor an escape. And Charlie—his doctor doesn’t know how long—” Ivy’s face crumpled, and she leaned her head against Gerrit’s chest.
His hand and his mind worked in tandem. What remained for him in Jersey? Manual labor, no ability to aid the Allies, and a possible appointment with a noose.
Escape would be exceedingly risky and a declaration of guilt. If he were captured, he’d be executed.
But helping his friend was the right course of action, regardless of what happened. Charlie’s injury might not have been his responsibility, but Gerrit would take responsibility for helping him survive.
“I’ll go,” he said, his voice rough. “I have my satchel, everything I need.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a sweet little kiss, a tender look, and then she stepped back and removed a scrap of paper from her skirt pocket. “This is a map to the embarkation point in Fauvic in the southeast corner of the island. You need to memorize the directions, then I’ll burn this.”
Gerrit studied the hand-drawn map. The location was well chosen. Since the Germans had expected an Allied invasion on the broad, gentle beaches to the west and south, the east coast was poorly fortified.
The Germans had coastal artillery three kilometers north at Gorey and resistance nests one kilometer south at La Rocque and one kilometer north at Fort Henry, but near Fauvic only an “action point” at Le Hurel, which was manned only during alerts. And no mines or barbed wire protected the beach.
Ivy pointed at two squares on the coastal road.
“You’ll see an attractive white two-story house.
Directly north is a one-story granite barn, your meeting place.
Please arrive at nine o’clock tonight. Charlie and Bernardus will arrive separately.
The Bertram family will help you. Tell them your name is Gary. ”
“Gary?”
“Yes, and Bernardus is Benny. You must wear your civilian suit. We told the Bertrams you and Bernardus are Dutch, but they don’t know you’re in Organisation Todt. We told them you were Dutch only to explain your accents.”
Gerrit murmured and memorized the sequence of turns. La Grande Route de Saint-Clément to Rue de Fauvic to La Grande Route des Sablons.
“Take your pistol,” Ivy said in a soft voice.
To protect her little brother, and Gerrit gave her a solemn nod. But how could he leave her? Why should he have to? “You should come too. They’re investigating you, and the food shortages grow worse each day. It isn’t safe here.”
Ivy gazed down at her clenched hands, and her cheeks twitched. “I thought about it. I could help Charlie on the journey. But my patients need me as well. The health of the islanders is in great peril, and the doctors are spread so thin.”
Gerrit’s throat clamped shut, and he gripped her forearm. “How can I leave you? If you escaped, we could be together.” He could propose to her, marry her.
Her face turned red, and she shook her head and let out a little sob. “Oh, this is just like at Oxford. I’m choosing Jersey over love. Again.”
Gerrit stilled. Her boyfriend had forced her to choose. Gerrit didn’t want to do that, not at all. “This is temporary, mijn geliefde. When all this is over, I’ll come to you, to Jersey.”
“Oh, Gerrit.” She wobbled. “I’ll miss you so much.”
He pulled her hard into an embrace and kissed the top of her head. “I love how you care for your patients. I love your conscientiousness. I love your loyalty to your family and community. I would never ask you to choose me over all that.”
Her shoulders shook, and he rocked her until the shaking stopped.
How long until he could hold her again? Would he ever?