With a little huff, Fern returned the timetable. “Considering how few home visits you have nowadays, you spend an inordinate amount of time on your rounds.”
Ivy folded the timetable and tucked it in her skirt pocket. “I give all my patients the time they need.” Including the patients not listed on the timetable. And she’d made a habit of using the kitchen timer to stay on schedule.
“I certainly hope you aren’t drawing on your rounds. It’s illegal, you know.”
“I know.” How could she forget with Fern reminding her almost daily? In late February, the Germans had banned drawing out of doors, to prevent islanders from sketching fortifications and sending intelligence to the Allies.
Ironically, that very thing was happening under their noses, and Ivy smiled.
Fern gave her a strange look and stroked the appointment book.“If only it had been banned from the start, we might have saved the practice.”
A year ago, such a statement would have devastated Ivy, but now Fern’s hypocrisy amused her. “I’m sure that’s how you see it.”
Fern drew back her chin. “For a failing doctor, you’ve been rather lighthearted lately, almost giddy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love.”
Indeed she was, but her love for Gerrit was too precious a thing to sully before Fern—and how her sister would gloat to know Ivy loved a man in a German uniform.
Ivy let her giddiness lift the corners of her mouth. “It’s spring. Haven’t you noticed? Everyone’s in good spirits. Liberation is coming.”
“Liberation? You mean war.”
“War came four years ago.”
Fern waved a hand east. “When the Germans came, they came as gentlemen. Not a soul was killed.”
Eleven had been killed in Jersey in a Luftwaffe attack, but none during the actual landings. “Because the island surrendered.”
“And the Germans honored that surrender as gentlemen. But when the English come, they’ll come as thugs. How many civilians will die?”
“None, if the Germans surrender—as gentlemen.”
Fern shook her head and gazed to the ceiling. “You’ve been blinded by English propaganda.”
And Fern by German propaganda. “Hitler has declared the Channel Islands as fortresses to be held to the last man. If any civilians die, it’s the Germans’ fault.”
“Don’t be naïve.” Fern strode past Ivy toward the kitchen, then turned back. “You don’t know what the English do. English and American bombers are obliterating German cities.”
Ivy tipped her head. “As the Luftwaffe did to English cities.”
“It isn’t the same.” Brittle fire flashed in Fern’s eyes. “Last summer, the Allies turned Hamburg into an inferno. Helmut’s entirefamily was killed—women, children, the elderly—incinerated. You don’t know what he’s endured, what millions of decent Germans have endured. The English don’t care. They’ll do the same here.”
Yet fear lashed below the surface of Fern’s anger. Someday soon, Helmut would retreat to the continent or be captured—and Bill and the boys would come home.
Last week a Red Cross message had arrived from Dad, stating“Bill hopes to hear from Fern soon.”He wouldn’t have wasted seven of his twenty-five permitted words unless Bill had serious concerns. And when Bill returned to Jersey, the truth would surface, as it always did.
For a woman who was a stranger to remorse, what would it be like for Fern to be held to account?
Sympathy coursed through Ivy’s chest. “I’m sorry. Liberation will be difficult for you.”
“Sorry for me?” Fern’s face twisted in disgust. “You’ve always been odd.”
Fern saw that as Ivy’s weakness, but Ivy smiled. “Perhaps that is my strength.”
St. Peter’s Parish
Saturday, May 27, 1944
Gerrit traced the plan for a Type 606 searchlight bunker at Corbière while Bernardus kept watch by the window at the top of the stairs. Gerrit still wasn’t accustomed to Bernardus’s shaggy black hair and mustache.
