“Too well.” The nursing sister pulled the blanket back into position. “He won’t stay in bed.”
“How can I when there’s work to be done?” He gave Ivy a significant look. He was sheltering an escaped Russian worker.
“I’m sure your wife can manage.” Ivy maintained a breezy manner. “From now on, you mustn’t let yourself run out of digitalis. The chemists can make it from the foxglove on the island, so you have no excuse.”
Unlike patients who needed other medications, like insulin. Before the siege, occasional shipments of insulin had arrived from the continent, but none since June. All but one of the diabetics in hospital had died.
The shortages grew worse each day. Recently the Department of Public Health had printed appeals in theEvening Postfor thermometers and for materials that could be used as bandages.
Heaviness pressed on her lungs, so she drew a long breath, smiled for her patient, and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Whistler.”
“She’s a good doctor, our Dr. Picot.” He patted the nursing sister’s arm with the back of his hand. “No one could ever tell me otherwise. Now everyone knows.”
Ivy’s smile faltered, and she left the ward. The news of Charlie’s escape attempt had been printed in theEvening Post, along with a German demand for information on the fugitive. She would have rather remained a pariah and have her brother home safe and sound.
Although she came to Jersey General Hospital to see Mr. Whistler and her other patients, her reason for daily visits now stemmed from her thirst for information on Charlie.
She peeked into the surgical ward and caught Dr. Tipton’s eye, and he jerked his head to the side, toward the physicians’ office.
At the end of the hallway, Ivy entered the small room used by several doctors as an office. Thank goodness no one else was present, because she hadn’t been able to meet with Dr. Tipton for several days.
Charlie was healing well from the surgery for his gunshot wound, but he’d lost a lot of blood. Since he’d hidden in the ocean under the pier and medical care had been delayed, the risk of infection loomed large.
The window looked toward Gloucester Street and the prison next door, full to overflowing. Those convicted of minor infractions now had to wait to serve their sentences. At least no one could be deported to prisons or concentration camps on the continent anymore.
Ivy crossed one arm over her empty stomach and pressed one hand to her empty heart. The danger to Charlie and Gerrit hadn’t diminished. The Germans could still execute prisoners, especially those guilty of espionage.
She missed Gerrit. She’d stashed his sketch with the concealed letter in the apothecary jar he’d given her, high on the office bookshelf. How could she burn something of such great beauty? How could she destroy the only token she had of his love?
The door opened, and Dr. Tipton entered.
“How is he?” she asked.
Dr. Tipton rounded the table in the center of the room and leaned against the wall by the window. A frown crinkled his freckled face. “I’m afraid infection set in. He isn’t responding to sulfapyridine.”
“Do you need more? I have some in my bag. It’s past its date of use, but—”
“He’s receiving the maximum dosage. He isn’t responding, Dr. Picot.”
Ivy clutched at the fabric of her white coat. “He’s young. He’s strong.”
“Yes.” Doubt flooded his light eyes.
“No, no, no.” Ivy clapped her hands over her eyes. How could this happen to her brother, her brilliant, tenderhearted, funny little brother?
“Charlie has made a suggestion. To escape to France.”
“Escape?” Ivy peered over the tops of her fingers. “That’s how he was injured in the first place. He could have been killed.”
“Many have succeeded in escaping.” Dr. Tipton spoke in measured tones. “The British and Americans have a broad array of anti-infectives, including new drugs we can only dream of. But if Charlie is to escape, it must be soon. The more the infection progresses, the less likely he’ll survive the journey.”
“He might not survive the journey anyway.” Her voice rose, and she tamped it down. “He could be shot again or he could drown or be arrested.”
Dr. Tipton kept a steady gaze on Ivy. “If he stays in Jersey...”
He would definitely not survive. Her chest contracted, curled her shoulders in, expelled a groan.
Dr. Tipton scooted over a chair and guided Ivy into it. Then he squatted in front of her. “Charlie has the name of the man who helped with his previous attempt. He’s known in our circles and trusted. But Charlie is too weak to go alone. He’ll need help. He wants you to accompany him, as well as Benny and Gary. Benny, I know, but not Gary.”
