A chance to say goodbye.
chapter
35
St. Helier
Monday, July 24, 1944
“If sketching outdoors was still allowed, I’d have plenty of time for it.” Ivy set her afternoon timetable back on the receptionist’s desk.
“True.” With a rueful smile, Aunt Ruby rose from the desk and gathered her purse. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Ivy walked her aunt to the front door.
She had no afternoon appointments in the surgery, only two home visits, and no visits to treat fugitives. With most of the foreign workers evacuated to France, no new escapes had occurred, and the men in hiding were medically stable. Although another round of arrests in a wireless case had sent islanders into hiding to avoid prison, none of them needed medical care.
If only the Germans let the Jersey doctors help in their portion of Jersey General Hospital. Then Ivy would have something to do, a way to help the suffering. Since D-day, hundreds of wounded German soldiers had been evacuated from France to Jersey, but the Germans had run out of anesthesia and refused all assistance. The cries of the wounded haunted the halls.
At the door, Ivy waved goodbye to Aunt Ruby. A quartet of aircraft roared past to the south, over the harbor most likely.
Few ships braved the trip to France lately, and Charlie complained of boredom. However, that particular danger had kept Gerrit in Jersey.
Ivy closed the door and hung up her white coat, now yellowed from the lack of good soap. For the first fortnight after Gerrit’s evacuation ship had been damaged, he had rejoiced to stay. He even had work to do, with the Germans constantly shifting guns around the island.
But yesterday at the farm, Gerrit had been troubled.
Ivy unlocked the supply room and slipped the key back into her skirt pocket.
The Allies pressed forward in Normandy, slowly, ponderously, unstoppably, but they hadn’t come to the Channel Islands. The exhilaration in Jersey had disintegrated into bewilderment, Gerrit’s joy into frustration.
Ivy sorted through her dwindling stock of medications, bandages, and supplies. Little to nothing came from France anymore, and even if supplies became available, how could Ivy afford them? Fern no longer contributed her wages, and Ivy’s income fell lower each day.
A few weeks earlier, Gerrit had offered to help, but she’d dismissed the idea. Taking money from a Todt would drive away her remaining patients, who saw Ivy as above reproach.
She locked the supply room and went to the kitchen to prepare lunch. She’d had to let the housekeeper go, but at least Ivy had time to cook and clean.
After she chopped up a small potato and a carrot, she lit the stove and cooked them without butter or salt. If nothing changed, the island’s supply of gas for cooking would run out by September. Each household had registered to use communal kitchens.
Pressure built behind her temples, and Ivy rubbed them. Yesterday, Gerrit had been preoccupied by his problems, and she’d failed to comfort him. And how she’d longed for comfort herself.
Ivy turned off the gas, scraped her bland lunch onto a plate, and sat at the table.
How could she continue to live with a sister who despised and blamed her? Ivy had hoped for some wisdom from Gerrit, some understanding, some support. She’d received none.
Perhaps Gerrit was an imperfect foundation. Not a sandy foundation like Fern, but more like Dad and Mum.
Ivy bowed her aching head over her tiny meal and prayed for God’s rock-solid foundation, his wisdom, and his comfort.
Footsteps pounded down the hall and into the kitchen. Charlie grabbed the loaf of bread on the cabinet and sawed off a slice. “I lost my job.”
“No! What happened?”
“TheOrmerwas damaged in yesterday’s air raid. They don’t have the supplies to repair her, and it isn’t safe to sail anyway. They let the whole crew go.” The knife shook in Charlie’s fist. “All morning I’ve looked for work. Nothing.”
“Oh, Charlie. I’m so sorry.”
He thumped the knife down onto the cabinet. His head bowed, and his shoulders hunched. “I’ve failed you.”
