Chapter 42
chapter
Fauvic
She was too late.
A cry built in Ivy’s lungs, and she swallowed it, absorbed it, so she wouldn’t endanger the men at sea.
To avoid leading the police to the Bertrams, Ivy had abandoned her car a mile from Fauvic amongst some trees, and she’d run to the beach, unsure of the actual embarkation point.
Her chest heaved from the run, from the terror.
She’d missed them. They couldn’t see her.
By now, the police would have released Fern and realized Gerrit wasn’t in his hotel room—but his uniform was. They’d be searching for both of them.
Clamping her mouth shut so she wouldn’t scream, Ivy waved again. Even if they’d seen her, they couldn’t turn back, could they? The moon was edging over the French coast, and the boat needed to get far from land, far from sight.
Everything in her strained toward the boat, toward Gerrit, toward her brother. She plopped onto the sand, untied her shoes, stuffed her socks in her medical bag, and tied her shoelaces to the handle of her bag.
She’d swim to them. But how could she catch a boat rowed by grown men, in the dark, in the cold water? She’d have to leave her coat behind, her bag. When found, her belongings would point to her actions as surely as Charlie’s bag had.
A sob ripped up her throat, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to contain it.
If she swam, she might incriminate Deputy Bertram and his family by her proximity.
If she stayed, she’d be captured and might incriminate the Bertrams and numerous others.
To go into hiding would require contacting Joan or Dr. Tipton—in St. Helier, where the German field police were searching for her.
“Oh, Lord.” The words pummeled her fingers.
What had her father told her the day he evacuated to England? “In times of peace, we choose amongst many good and pleasant paths, but in times of war . . .”
Ivy had replied, “No path is good or pleasant.”
“Not pleasant, no. But you can still choose the good. You must.”
Sitting on the damp sand, with a chilly breeze ruffling the hair at the nape of her neck, Ivy stifled another sob. “There is no good path. None.”
Her only path was to evade arrest as long as possible and to bear up under interrogation and torture. “Lord, help me stay silent. Protect Charlie. Protect Gerrit. Protect Bernardus.”
The boat’s silhouette appeared larger, and she frowned. Between rowing and the tides, they should be moving farther away each minute. They weren’t. They were coming to shore.
For her!
She sprang to her feet and stifled a cry—of joy this time, of relief, of life.
When the boat pulled closer, Ivy sloshed into the water to meet them. She clambered over the side, and Gerrit helped her, embraced her, kissed her.
“No time for that,” Bernardus said in a low, sharp voice. “Get down.”
Ivy crouched low, and Gerrit shoved off, the oar scraping the sand below.
Gerrit passed the oar over Ivy’s head to a dark-haired stranger, and the stranger and Bernardus rowed hard.
The waves bumped beneath her, and Ivy knelt beside Charlie and smoothed his hair. “Hallo,” she murmured.
“Missed me so much, you couldn’t stay away?” A teasing tone lit his feeble voice.
She pressed a kiss to her brother’s burning forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. When they were farther out to sea, she’d give him some aspirin.
“Oh no.” Gerrit squatted in the stern with his hand on the tiller. A black cap covered his fair hair. “A patrol.”
A curse from the stranger, and the pace of oars on water quickened.
Shouts arose to the west. Pops—gunfire?
“They spotted us,” Gerrit said. “Ivy—take the tiller. I’ll start the motor.”
“Not until we’re three miles out,” the stranger said.
Bernardus pulled hard on his oar. “Doesn’t matter anymore. They’ve spotted us. They’ll sound the alert.”
Ivy crawled to the tiller and held it firmly.
Gerrit stretched one arm over the stern—a pistol in hand.
Ivy clapped her free hand over her ear and ducked her other ear to her shoulder.
The shot slapped her eardrums.
“What did you do that for?” The stranger cussed again.
“To make them take cover,” Gerrit said.
“To delay them.” Bernardus dug the oar into the water. “Show them we’ll fight back.”
“We don’t have much time.” Gerrit dragged over the outboard motor. “The nearest resistance nest is a kilometer away—they’ll have heard the gunfire.”
More gunfire from shore, and Ivy kept her head down, not that the wooden hull would protect her.
“Let go, Ivy.” Gerrit removed the tiller and clamped the outboard motor in place.
“Stay low, darling.” Ivy scooted back and curled up beside her brother.
A bright light arced overhead.
“Get down!” Gerrit said.
“No, don’t!” Bernardus said. “Row. Start the motor.”
Ivy peered up. A beam of light swung back and forth above them.
The outboard motor coughed. Coughed again. Hiccupped. Roared.
The boat surged forward.
“Thank you, Lord,” Ivy whispered.
Bernardus and the other man drew in their oars and lay flat in the boat.
A deep boom to the northwest. Another. Another.
“Hold on.” Gerrit crouched by the motor.
Loud splashes in the distance, each louder than the first. The boat rocked. Water sloshed inside.
“They’re getting their range,” Bernardus said.
Gerrit shifted the boat’s course a bit to the south. “I’ll zigzag, throw them off.”
More booms, more splashes, more rocking, more course changes, and Ivy hunkered low, one arm across Charlie’s chest, praying hard.
In time, the booms receded. Stopped.
Ivy’s respiration and heart rate settled down, and Bernardus and the other man sat up.
“How are you doing, Charlie?” Ivy asked. “Would you like some aspirin?”
Charlie murmured his agreement, and Ivy rummaged in her medical bag—in great disorder from the night’s mistreatment.
“Why’d you come, Ivy?” Charlie asked in a weak voice.
She chewed on her lips as she slipped two tablets from a bottle and into her brother’s mouth.
Only the truth could explain her actions, but the truth would inflict pain.
“Fern found out about Gerrit and me. She saw the connection between Gerrit and Bernardus and your escape attempt. She decided we’re all traitors. ”
“Traitors?” Charlie huffed. “We’re loyal to the Allies.”
Ivy’s gaze slid to Gerrit. “She denounced me to the secret police. You too, Gerrit. The police were on their way to my house—and to your hotel. Fern and I—we fought. I locked her in the supply room and escaped by car.”
Gerrit’s jaw dangled.
Ivy’s gut heaved, over and over, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Her sister. Her own sister.
“Ivy.” From his position manning the motor, Gerrit reached for her.
She sagged into his embrace, and sobs released, freeing, cleansing.
“I was right,” Gerrit said in a fierce tone. “I knew you wouldn’t risk our escape unless it was vital. I saw, Ivy. I saw.”
“He fought for you.” Charlie’s voice strengthened. “They didn’t want to go back.”
“With good reason.” The stranger huffed, his eyes dark. “We could have been blown to pieces.”
“No, Jack,” Bernardus said. “Gerrit was right.”
“You should have heard him, Ivy,” Charlie said. “‘Think of the names Ivy knows,’ he said. ‘Deputy Bertram, Uncle Arthur, Aunt Opal, Dr. Tipton, all the people who helped Bernardus hide.’”
“You saved my life that night I was injured.” Bernardus gave Ivy a sheepish look. “Gerrit said I owed it to you to go back. You risked your life to save mine. The least I could do was risk my life to save yours.”
Ivy wiped her eyes with her coat sleeve and twisted to see Gerrit’s face better. He’d fought for her, and she pressed a kiss to his chin. “Far better than poetry.”