Ivy’s gaze bounced between mother and daughter, who faced no good nor pleasant paths. Mrs. Galais could stay in her home, but alone, with worsening living conditions. Or she could leave with her daughter, but to unknown—perhaps horrific—conditions. At eighty years of age.
Edna raised hazel eyes like her mother’s, now rimmed with red. “Mum? I’ll let you decide.”
“How long?”
“Tomorrow at four o’clock. We must report to the garage at the Weighbridge.” Edna rubbed her temple. “I need to find Frank. The shop. He’ll have to—Oh dear. It’s already five o’clock. We need to pack. Only what we can carry. Oh my.”
Mrs. Galais drew in a long breath, and her gaze cleared andsteadied. “I’ll stay here in my home. You needn’t worry about me. I have everything I need. I have friends to keep an eye on me, keep me out of mischief.”
“And me,” Ivy said in a soft voice. “You have me.”
“See, I’ll be fine.” Mrs. Galais pushed herself to standing. “Find Frank. I’ll start gathering your belongings.”
Edna stood and flung the order down to her chair. “If only Frank and I weren’t so healthy. We could get a medical exemption.”
Medical exemption? Ivy rose. If all the Englishmen in Jersey had received deportation orders, how many might be seeking exemptions? “I need to return to the surgery.”
“Oh my. Yes, you do.”
Ivy said goodbye, dashed outside, and cycled home. The streets prickled with anxious activity. A pair of German soldiers knocked on a door a few houses up from La Bliue Brise.
She shoved her bicycle through the garden, through the back door, and into the supply room.
Fern ran to her. “Where have you been? The Germans—”
“I heard.” Ivy strode down the hallway.
“Dr. McKinstry rang—the Medical Officer of Health himself.” Fern kept pace with Ivy. “A board of doctors will meet at the Weighbridge garage tomorrow to decide on exemptions. They want you to write brief but thorough reports.”
“Thank you.” What would Ivy do without her efficient sister?
A dozen patients filled the waiting room. So many dear and familiar faces, and she gave them each a soothing look. “Good evening. I’m so sorry to hear about the orders. I’ll see you as quickly as possible.”
A middle-aged man rose with a lift to his square chin. “You’ll see me first.”
Mr. Sanderson huffed. “I was here long before him. We all were.”
“Mrs. Le Corre?” Ivy sent a taut smile to her sister, who recorded who came and when.
Fern nodded to the square-jawed gentleman. “Come on through, sir.”
“Fern,” Ivy said in a fierce whisper.
“He’s important,” she whispered back.
Ivy snatched her white coat from a hook. “His chart?”
“He doesn’t have one. He isn’t one of our patients.” She whisked an empty folder from her desk as they passed. “His name is Anthony Sloan-Huntington. Yes,theAnthony Sloan-Huntington.”
Ivy didn’t know the name, but she hadn’t time to set things to rights. She had a full waiting room. Those who qualified for exemptions deserved relief from their fears. Those who didn’t qualify needed time to pack and make provisions.
In the examination room, she straightened her white coat, greeted Mr. Sloan-Huntington, and motioned him to the examination table. “I understand you’re new to our practice. Who is your usual physician?”
Gray-blue eyes narrowed. “Dr. Tipton will no longer be my physician. He refused to write a medical exemption for me, but you will, young lady.”
Of all the doctors in Jersey, he’d chosen Ivy. Did he assume a young lady would be easier to intimidate? With a mild smile, she motioned again to the table. “Please be seated.”
“An examination is most unnecessary. But an exemption is most necessary.”
