Chapter 46
chapter
Southampton, England
Standing at the rails of the hospital ship, Ivy held on to her ratty old green hat and scanned the pier for Dad and Mum. A stream of ambulances awaited to transport the wounded soldiers and sailors from the ship to hospitals.
“Do you see them?” Charlie said from his wheelchair beside her. He would have a few more weeks in hospital, but his color had returned.
“Not yet.” Ivy peered through the morning haze. Telegrams had flown between Ivy and her mother in the past fortnight. In the telegram Ivy had received before the hospital ship sailed from Cherbourg, Mum said Dad had received leave and they’d both meet the ship.
The medical officers promised Charlie a half hour for the reunion, then they’d shuttle him away.
Hugh Collingwood had generously arranged for Ivy and her parents to stay overnight at his wife’s cousin’s house in Portsmouth. In the morning, Ivy and her mother would take the train to Ivy’s grandparents’ home, and Dad would return to duty with his regiment.
Charlie chuckled and stretched to see over the rails. “Won’t Dad and Mum be surprised to hear our story?”
“Most definitely.” In her telegrams, Ivy could communicate only the barest details.
“I’m glad I didn’t evacuate in 1940.”
“You are?” Ivy stared down at her brother, ill and wounded and malnourished.
Charlie lifted his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”
So much had happened. So many good people lost—Thelma Galais and Demyan Marchenko and too many others. So much oppression and deprivation and fear.
Yet she’d gained friendships and love, and she’d grown in confidence and capability and faith—even in discipline and punctuality. Most importantly, by remaining in Jersey, she’d been able to save lives and relieve suffering and provide a dose of humanity to the oppressed.
“I am,” Ivy said. “I’m glad I stayed.”
“Ivy!” Dad’s deep voice rose from the pier. “Charlie!”
“There they are,” Charlie said. “Dad! Mum!”
Dad stood on the pier in his officer’s uniform and Mum beside him in a dark blue coat and hat, both waving. “Ivy! Charlie!”
A joyous pain squeezed Ivy’s chest, and she waved too, even as the vision of the people she loved blurred before her. She’d longed for this day and dreaded it—dreaded disclosing the news she bore.
A crewman removed a gate at the top of the gangplank, and an orderly approached. “Welcome to Old Blighty, Mr. Picot. Half an hour with your family.”
“Half an hour is more than I’ve had in four years.” Charlie grinned at the orderly and wheeled toward the gangplank.
The orderly grabbed the wheelchair handles. “Not so fast.”
Ivy followed her brother and the orderly down the gangplank to free British soil.
Dad and Mum rushed over, both grayer, but alive and well, and they took turns crushing Ivy and Charlie in embraces.
“You’re so thin.” Mum took Ivy’s cheeks between her hands. “But so, so beautiful. My sweet girl.”
Ivy’s smile quivered beneath her mother’s warm hands. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Look how you’ve grown.” Dad shook Charlie’s hand and patted his shoulder, and his cheeks worked. “We missed your entire youth.”
Charlie smiled. “Most parents would pay for that privilege.”
Mum laughed and swiped away tears. “Your voice—I scarcely recognize it.”
“Wait until you see him standing,” Ivy said. “He’s taller than you, Dad.”
The orderly cleared his throat. “Let’s move this happy family.”
“Oh yes.” Ivy looped her arm through her mother’s and led the way down the pier to make way for the other patients to disembark.
“A crewman on a cargo boat,” Dad said without contempt.
“He did it for the family,” Ivy said. “To support the practice.”
“It was entirely my idea,” Charlie said. “Ivy tried to talk me out of it. My education, you know.”
“We know.” Mum glanced at Ivy with resignation and sadness in her medium-brown eyes, so like Fern’s. So unlike Fern’s.
“You needn’t fear,” Charlie said. “I am determined to return to school and join the long line of Doctors Picot.”
Ivy spun to her brother. “You are?”
“You shan’t dissuade me.” Charlie waved her along. “I’ve spent the past fortnight in hospital, watching what doctors do, watching what penicillin does. That’s what I want for my life. I want to join the family practice.”
In the infrequent and short Red Cross messages, Ivy hadn’t been able to convey the damage to the medical practice. Her smile wavered. “If we have a practice to return to.”
“Nonsense. We shall be absent only a few months more.” Dad gestured to an open spot on the docks. “The war shall be over by Christmas.”
Charlie tucked in a dragging corner of blanket. “After Jersey is liberated, the truth will come out about Ivy and what she’s done, and the patients will return.”
“Truth?” Mum frowned at Ivy.
Oh dear. She hadn’t wanted to discuss this on their first day together, and she smoothed the front of her threadbare green coat, bearing fresh scars from the escape. “I told you about Fern’s job.”
“With the Germans?” Dad clucked his tongue. “What was she thinking?”
“She thought her wages would help the family.” Ivy drew in a long breath. “But her reputation as a collaborator tarnished me and drove patients away.”
“You two aren’t getting on,” Mum said.
Ivy’s throat swelled, and she shook her head.
“We’ve been quite worried about her,” Dad said. “Even before the Channel Islands were cut off, Bill hadn’t received a Red Cross message from her in over a year.”
Ivy might never tell her parents about her final confrontation with Fern. Honesty mattered, but so did her parents’ love for their eldest daughter. Knowing Fern had denounced Ivy to the secret police . . . it would wreck them.
Instead, she raised a watery smile. “This isn’t a day for worry. Haven’t we all done enough of that?”
“Indeed.” Mum hugged Ivy’s arm. “This is a day to rejoice.”
Dad gripped Charlie’s shoulder as if he never wanted to let go. “Tell us how we came to receive an invitation from none other than Hugh Collingwood of the BBC. To stay with—who was it, dear? A cousin?”
“Of his wife’s, I believe.” Mum gave Ivy a quizzical look. “And a friend of yours?”
Despite her own resolution, a fresh wave of worry crashed over her. Where was Gerrit? Would the British ever believe him?
“Yes,” Charlie said. “She’s a cousin of Gerrit van der Zee.”
Ivy nodded. “The man I love.”
Portsmouth
In the waning light, Gerrit and Bernardus stood outside their hotel in brand-new clothes. Gerrit’s dark blue suit needed tailoring in the waist and sleeves, but it was far better than his much-abused gray suit.
Bernardus had shaved off the mustache that so offended Cilla and had gotten a haircut, but the black dye would take weeks to grow out. “Free men in a free country.”
“At last.” In the morning, Gerrit and Bernardus would depart to visit the War Office in London for yet more questioning—but as free men.
Behind the scenes over the past week and a half, the competing British intelligence agencies had exchanged notes until a picture of Gerrit’s and Bernardus’s work had emerged from the mist.
Leaning on his crutch, Bernardus adjusted the rim of his new homburg. “We can’t go home yet.”
“Not yet.” In German-occupied Amsterdam, their families considered them the worst sort of collaborators and believed Bernardus and Cilla were dead. If only the Allied offensive north into the Netherlands in September had succeeded. It had not.
A black car pulled to the curb, and Cilla bounded out of the car and hugged Gerrit and Bernardus. Again.
A naval officer stepped out from behind the driver’s seat, a tall man with red hair and a cane.
“My husband, Lachlan,” Cilla said. “Lachlan, my cousin Gerrit and friend Bernardus.”
“It’s an honor to meet you.” Lachlan spoke with a Scottish accent. “Cilla told me what you did in the Netherlands and Jersey. But is it true? Was Cilla actually in the resistance?”
Cilla spun to him, her blond hair flying about her shoulders. “Lachlan Mackenzie!”
Her husband laughed and pulled her to his side. “Welcome to Portsmouth, lads.”
After everyone climbed into the car, Lachlan drove away. “Now that you are free, what are your plans?”
“Plans?” For the past fortnight, Gerrit hadn’t thought beyond escape and release.
“We can’t go home yet,” Bernardus said. “Who knows how long?”
Gerrit had only one plan established. “I’ll return to Jersey after liberation.”
Bernardus chuckled. “With the fair Ivy.”
“Oh?” Cilla glanced over the seatback with delight in her eyes. “Tell me more.”
In the afternoon, Gerrit had sent a telegram to the address Ivy had provided. Perhaps he could see her in a few days. “Later.”
“Later?” Cilla huffed. “Men being men, it’s a wonder marriage ever happens.”
“Aye, lass.” Lachlan smirked. “A wonder indeed.”
“Excuse me, Lachlan.” Bernardus leaned forward. “I can’t help but notice that you use a cane, and yet you serve in uniform. Is there any hope for me? I want to serve.”
Lachlan exchanged a glance with Cilla. “Aye, I’ll make inquiries.”
Cilla waved toward the scenery around them. “If not, look at the bomb damage. Surely a geologist and a civil engineer could find employment.”
“True.” Gerrit frowned at a vacant lot they passed. Jersey had endured many calamities in the past few years, but not the devastating bombing seen in Britain and continental Europe.
On the outskirts of town, Lachlan pulled up to a modest but handsome house of red brick. A blond woman flung open the front door and waved.
“Aleida!” Gerrit ran up the walkway and swung his cousin into his arms. How long since he’d seen her? He gripped her shoulders. Her face had changed, but she still had the same gentle smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you.” Tears filled her blue eyes, and she turned to Bernardus. “And Bernardus. How good to see you.”
“It’s been many years.”
“Too many.” Aleida ushered them into a sitting room. “Come, meet the children. My son, Teddy.”
A blond boy of about seven approached with a shy smile, and he extended his left hand to shake. He kept his right hand stuffed deep in the pocket of his little jacket.
Not wishing to embarrass the boy by calling attention to the error, Gerrit extended his own left hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Teddy.”
“That’s my sister, Caroline.” Teddy pointed to a little blond girl toddling toward a baby sitting on a blanket. “And my baby cousin, Magsie.”
“Her name is Margaret.” Cilla scooped up the baby and kissed her cap of strawberry-blond hair.
Gerrit met Aleida’s teary gaze. “What fine children. And your husband? Will he be joining us?”
“Oh yes.” A squawk from the toddler, and Aleida swung the child up to her hip. “Hugh will want to interview both of you. He’s with the BBC. That’s how he—”
“Aleida!” Cilla nudged her.
Gerrit frowned. “That’s how he what?”
Both ladies turned huge, fake smiles to him.
Gerrit groaned, rolled his eyes, and sank onto a sofa.
The front door opened and shut, and a man with brown hair entered the sitting room, followed by a middle-aged couple. They looked familiar, reminded him of—
“Ivy!” Gerrit stumbled to his feet.
It was her. It was his own beloved Ivy.
She stopped in the doorway, her brown eyes huge, and she edged forward. “Gerrit? Gerrit! You’re free!”
He dashed toward her, banged his ankle on a chair leg, pulled her into his arms, kissed her, hugged her, kissed her, hugged her.
“I knew they’d believe you,” she said between kisses. “I knew it.”
“Charlie?” He kissed her again. She was too sweet not to kiss. “How is he?”
“He’s fine. He’ll finish his recovery here in England.” She laughed, turned to the side so his kiss landed on her soft cheek, and righted her hat. “Gerrit, I’d like to introduce my parents.”
The parents of the woman he was mauling with kisses.
His face warmed, and he turned to the couple he recognized from Ivy’s drawings.
But they were smiling, and her mother looked misty-eyed.
Her father extended his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Gerrit. Ivy has told us many wonderful things about you.”
His right hand accepted the handshake, while his left opened and flexed in absolute certainty. “Dr. Picot, may I have your daughter’s hand in marriage?”
“Gerrit!” Ivy gasped and clutched his arm. “You might want to ask me!”
He might indeed. His jaw hung open. His cheeks flamed.
Her eyebrows lifted high above her big brown eyes, and her mouth hung open too.
Was it too soon? What if she didn’t want to marry him at all?
Ivy shut her mouth and gave the slightest of nods. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” A glow built in her gaze, a glow of hope and joy and forever.
“You will?” He gathered her close and reaped another crop of kisses.
Her parents! Gerrit sprang back, one arm about Ivy’s waist, and he addressed her father. “May I?”
The elder Dr. Picot laughed, big and hearty. “You don’t seem to need my permission to kiss her.”
“To marry her, sir, ma’am.” Gerrit held Ivy close to his side. “I love her dearly, and I want to make a home with her for as long as the Lord gives us. In Jersey.”
“In Jersey?” Ivy’s eyes rounded even more.
“Where else?” Gerrit gave her a teasing smile. “You belong there, and I belong with you.”
A soft sigh, and Ivy leaned her head on his shoulder. “And I with you.”
Her love was a result he hadn’t tried to obtain and hadn’t earned, which made it all the more beautiful.