He was somewhere else. But where? How badly was he injured? Was he even alive?
Wölfle unbuckled the satchel and pulled out a pile of silk squares. “What are these?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured, not even a lie. Although she knew they were Gerrit’s sketches, she didn’t know what he’d sketched.
Fern fingered the maps. “It’s silk. Where did Charlie get silk?”
“I can’t imagine.” The words pulsed moist heat into Ivy’s fingers. In truth, she had no idea how Gerrit obtained the silk.
Wölfle’s gaze sliced back and forth between sisters. “We believe it’s a parachute from an English spy.”
“A spy?” Fern jutted out her chin. “I assure you, no Picot has any doings with English spies.”
Ivy could only shake her head in confusion.
Upstairs, furniture thudded and scraped.
“We will find your brother.” Wölfle stuffed the silk into the satchel. “When we do...”
Fern teetered, leaned back against the wall, and pressed her fingers over her mouth. “I read the notice in theEvening Posttheother day. Desertion to the enemies of the German forces shall be treated as espionage.”
“Correct.” Wölfle slid the bag off the desk, and the appointment book tumbled to the floor.
Ivy’s fingers dug into her cheek. If the Germans realized secret ink adorned that silk and they developed the maps, they’d discover both Charlie and Gerrit were truly guilty of espionage.
Footsteps descended the stairs, and two Germans marched down the hall, joined by their colleagues who had searched the ground floor, each holding armfuls of papers.
Ivy winced, but she’d never put any of her work for the ring down on paper. Surely Charlie hadn’t written about his exploits either.
Wölfle thrust a finger at Fern and Ivy. “Harboring spies will lead to severe punishment. If you hear anything about your brother, you must report it to us immediately.”
“Of course, Herr Hauptwachtmeister.” Fern hoisted her chin high. “I would never defy German orders.”
Ivy had already defied orders, and she’d do so again if it meant her brother’s life, but she nodded. “I understand, sir.”
The five men strode outside and slammed the front door.
“What did you do to Charlie?” Fern spun to Ivy. “What did you get him involved in?”
“Me?”
“Don’t play innocent.” Fern’s hands formed claws and shook in front of her. “You were lying to the Feldpolizei. I can always tell when you’re lying. This is your fault. You turned Charlie against me, turned him against the Germans, and now he’s breaking the law.”
Heat built in Ivy’s chest. With one sweep of her arm, she swiped away the blame. “Charlie has a mind of his own, eyes of his own. He sees the Germans for who they are. He’s seen them beat their workers. He’s seen his friends arrested for nothing more than listening to the BBC. Heaven forbid they hear the truth.”
“Your fault.” Fern’s mouth formed the words with precision, and her gaze seared. “Now he’s tried to desert to the enemy, and he’s hurt, bleeding. Where is he? Where would he go?”
Ivy closed her eyes to Fern’s accusations, to think. Where would he have gone? To the farm? St. Peter’s Parish was at least five miles from La Rocque, and Charlie would have passed through St. Helier on the way. He would have come home for care, for help hiding.
“Where is he?” Grief shredded Fern’s voice. “Where’s my little brother?”
“I don’t know.” Ivy pried wet eyelashes apart and met her sister’s gaze. “I don’t know, Fern.”
Fern’s chest heaved, and she brushed tears from her cheeks. “Thank goodness I have influence with the Germans. I’ll go to Helmut and smooth things over. I may not be able to save Charlie from prison, but I might be able to save his life.”
Fern stormed out of the house, leaving the front door wide open.
With halting steps, Ivy went to close the door.
