Ivy edged closer to her patient, lifting her stethoscope and agentle smile. The details of the ring—or whatever it was—that she now belonged to concerned her far less than the deep gash on the boy’s thigh. As filthy and malnourished as he was, the risk of sepsis was high. And tetanus as well.
Gerrit van der Zee’s face flashed in her mind. He and his friend had attended church the past three Sundays in a row, despite the cool reception from the congregation. When Ivy had overheard Gerrit chatting with Charlie, he’d sounded thoughtful and mild. But had he beaten young boys like the one before her? Or stood by whilst others did? Approved of depriving them of food, driving them to the dangers of escape and theft?
Ivy inhaled a quick breath to clear her mind. “Mrs. Bullard, please boil some water, add soap, and bring me cloth for bandaging.”
“Here you are.” She brought over a basin from the bureau. “I tried to bandage the wound myself, but he won’t let me near.”
The boy’s pale blue eyes still stretched wide, but he’d stopped pulling against his restraints.
Ivy moved up to the bedside and lifted the bell of her stethoscope. “May I?” She wasn’t worried about his heart, but she needed to establish trust.
His breathing quieted.
Murmuring softly, Ivy pressed her stethoscope to the boy’s thin chest. His heartbeat hammered her eardrums.
“Very good,” she said with a smile, and she pointed to his leg. “May I?”
Ever so slightly, he scooted his leg closer.
“Very good.” She shifted the remnants of his trousers away from the wound and examined it. After she tested the water temperature, she began cleansing the wound.
The boy grunted in pain, but he allowed her to work.
“Has he had anything to eat or drink?” Ivy asked.
“He won’t let us near,” Mrs. Bullard said.
“He may now. Mrs. Bullard, please bring him some food. Mr.Bullard, offer him something to drink and untie his restraints. Then he’ll know you mean him no harm.”
“But I’m the one who hurt him.” His voice choked off.
Ivy gave Mr. Bullard a reassuring smile. “It’s clear in any language how sorry you feel.”
He nodded rapidly. “I’ll fetch some tea.”
“Thank you.” Ivy resumed cleaning the wound. If they could hold off infection—and the Germans—the young man might stand a chance.
St. Helier
Tuesday, October 20, 1942
Ivy’s stomach growled after the meager dinner of limpet stew and rough rationed bread, and she set the last patient chart on the sofa beside her and stretched.
Most of the day had been spent visiting patients in Jersey General Hospital and Overdale Isolation Hospital. A diphtheria epidemic had taken hold, ravaging adults as well as children. Ghastly disease, and the doctors in Jersey hadn’t enough serum to treat the ill.
She’d also visited the Ukrainian boy the Bullards had nicknamed Henry. He was recovering well, even though two days had passed before he’d allowed her to inject tetanus antitoxin. Surely he had received more and better food from the Bullards than if he’d succeeded in killing their prized rabbit.
But how long could the Bullards keep him hidden?
Fern sat sewing in an armchair next to Ivy, and Charlie played the piano across the room.
It was good to have him home, even if foul weather was the reason for it.
Ivy lifted a sketch pad and pencil from her basket by the sofa. Evenings had always been her favorite, but the warm blanket offamily felt as thin and frayed as Ivy’s tweed skirt. She shivered in the cold as she sketched her sister’s profile.
For October, the Picot household received two hundredweights of wood and one of coal. Since the surgery on the ground floor needed to be kept warm for patient appointments, little remained to heat the family quarters on the first and second floors.
The piano music stopped, and Charlie put a record on the phonograph. Soon a lively tune filled the room.
