“Opal!” Uncle Arthur called. “You can’t miss this.”
Aunt Opal rushed in and leaned over Uncle Arthur’s shoulder.
“Under the command of General Eisenhower,” the announcer said in polished tones, “Allied naval forces supported by strong air forces began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France.”
“The northern coast of France,” Ivy murmured.Brittany? Normandy? The Pas de Calais?The Channel Islands lay in the gulf between Brittany and Normandy.
The announcer continued: “No details have yet come in from the Allied side of the progress of the operations. The Germans, who have been broadcasting news of the attack on all their services except their own home service, say that the points assailed extend from Cherbourg to Havre, with the main weight of the attack in the area of Caen.”
“Normandy,” Uncle Arthur said.
So close. Ivy’s eyes tingled, and she blinked away tears of hope and grief. The hope of everyone living under Nazi occupation—of prisoners in concentration camps and forced labor camps, and of civilians in the constant strain of scrutiny and scarcity. All soon to be free.
And grief for the cost. What were those soldiers enduring today?
Charlie bolted to his feet and whooped for joy, and Ivy laughed and wiped her eyes.
Her brother pulled her to her feet and swung her around the kitchen floor. With much laughter, Uncle Arthur and Aunt Opal joined them in their dance, whilst Bernardus clapped in time to the imaginary music.
As they danced, Ivy studied Charlie. At almost seventeen, he stood several inches taller than she. His labor had added breadth and depth to his shoulders, and his resistance work had added breadth and depth to his character.
Charlie whirled her past the stove, his mouth wide with laughter. He had grown in character more—far more—than if he’d spent the past two years at Victoria College.
If he should return to school or remain on a ship’s crew, he would be better for it all.
Her throat thickened, but a smile loosened her words. “I’m proud of you, Charlie.”
His dark eyes glinted. “And I’m proud of you.”
“You threw a party?” A woman’s voice came from the doorway to the kitchen. “And you forgot to invite me?”
Fern. Smiling, but in a stiff sort of way.
Ivy and Charlie froze.
Uncle Arthur clicked off the wireless.
“Extchûthez-mé,” Bernardus said in Jèrriais, and he hobbled out the back door, his head low. His cover as a local farmworker would be blown if Fern recognized Bernardus Kroon behind the black mustache.
Uncle Arthur and Aunt Opal stood blocking Fern’s view of the wireless, their faces long.
Fern’s gaze flicked amongst the four of them. Her mouth puckered, and hurt swam in her brown eyes. “Do you think you’re in danger—from me?”
“Fern...” Aunt Opal said, apologetic and soothing.
Fern hugged herself, and her eyelashes fluttered. “I’ve always known about your wireless. I—I’ve never said a word.” Her voice cracked.
“We thank you,” Uncle Arthur said.
“You think...” Fern clapped one hand over her mouth. “Do you honestly think I’d denounce my own family?”
“Of course not.” Ivy stepped closer to her sister. “You simply startled us.”
Charlie let out a little huff. “And we know where youraffectionslie.”
“Charlie.” Ivy gave him a stern look. She might agree, but he wasn’t helping.
Fern sniffed, lowered her hand, and raised her chin. “I came to hear the English side. The German broadcasts say the Allies are landing near Caen with heavy casualties. We expect to throw them back into the sea.”
