Opal fed the remaining evidence into the fire—the chemist’s box of secret ink crystals, Gerrit’s wooden ruler and T square, and the unused scraps of parachute silk. “I need to run to the telephone box and ring Ivy, tell her about Charlie, warn her that the Germans will search her home, and tell her Bernardus must be moved straightaway.”
“Wait.” Thoughts careened through Gerrit’s head. “Ivy uses codes on the telephone in case the Germans are listening. If they know Charlie escaped—”
Opal gasped. “They’ll listen to her line. I’ll go in person.”
“No, I’ll go. Stay and help Bernardus.”
Opal squinted at him. “Change into your civilian clothes.”
“Yes.” He’d be less conspicuous, do less harm to Ivy’s fragile reputation.
“Quickly.” Opal shooed him out of the kitchen. “You mustn’t be here when the Gestapo comes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” In the washroom, he removed his jacket and slipped his civilian jacket over his uniform shirt.
What would he tell Ivy? She’d be overwhelmed with worry for her little brother. Until they heard his name on the radio, they’d live in uncertainty.
Gerrit wrenched off his boots, stuffed his uniform cap inside one and the silk map inside another, and changed trousers. What would Ivy say when he told her why Charlie had escaped?
Guilt smacked into his grief. Charlie had overheard Gerrit’s selfish rant about his maps, his work, his self-importance. Now Charlie had braved a beach planted with mines, a coast lined with guns, and a perilous crossing.
Gerrit couldn’t take the blame for Dirk’s death or Cilla’s, but if anything happened to Charlie, Gerrit could indeed take part of the blame.
“Lord, forgive me.” He rolled his uniform around his boots and stuffed the bundle into his satchel.
His chin fell to his chest. The Lord would forgive him, but Ivynever would. Even if Charlie arrived safely in France, he’d risked his life because of Gerrit’s foolishness.
Gerrit would lose the woman he loved.
Regardless, he would tell her the truth.
He gritted his teeth and strode back to the kitchen.
Bernardus was slipping on his jacket, and Opal was filling a basket with bread.
Arthur tossed papers into the fire. “Take my hat, Gerrit. You look too Dutch.” He gestured to a gray homburg on the table. “Give Ivy our love.”
“I will.” He clapped the hat on his head and shook Bernardus’s hand. Would he ever see his friend again? Then he shook Arthur’s hand and accepted Opal’s peck on his cheek. He wouldn’t return to the farm until liberation, and he strode out of the house, mounted his bicycle, and pedaled away.
For so long, he’d complained that he’d done the right thing and no good had come of it.
Now he’d done the wrong thing and something horrible had come of it.
chapter
37
St. Helier
With her hands pressed to her cheeks, Ivy wandered in circles in the hallway.
She couldn’t help Charlie. Not at all. Even if she knew where he was, she couldn’t go to him, couldn’t treat him, or she’d lead Wölfle to him.
She couldn’t warn her aunt and uncle, couldn’t tell the ring to move Bernardus. “I can’t do anything, Lord.”
And Dad and Mum—with Red Cross messages now cut off, she had no way to tell them.
Her wooden-soled shoe bumped the appointment book on the floor, and she picked it up. She had three appointments this morning, and the office was in disarray.
