Ivy huffed. Those legs were encased in Nazi brown.
Parishioners gathered about, all eager to help their beloved Mrs. Galais.
“Such a fuss for nothing.” Mrs. Galais tutted her tongue.
Nothing felt amiss in the woman’s shoulder, so Ivy—and Charlie—helped her to sitting.
“I took most of the fall in my bum.” Mrs. Galais spoke low and close, with amusement in her hazel eyes. “Despite rationing, it’s still amply padded.”
Ivy chuckled. “You may have some bruising tomorrow, but don’t hesitate to ring for—”
“For any reason at all, precious Ivy.” Mrs. Galais sat taller and stretched out one hand. “Dearest Gerrit, will you and Charlie please help me to my feet? What a blessing to have strong young men at my beck and call.”
Ivy’s jaw dangled, but what could she do? The Dutch collaborator and Ivy’s darling brother helped the Jerseywoman to her feet.
Then Mr. van der Zee handed over the purse with a slight bow. “May I escort you home?”
“That would be—”
“Most unnecessary.” Ivy scrambled to her feet and hooked her arm through Mrs. Galais’s. “We thank you for your help, but Charlie and I will see her home.”
“I will too.” From behind, Fern brushed off Mrs. Galais’s coat.
“Very well.” Mr. van der Zee picked up Ivy’s own purse andBible—at least she’d thought to place her Bible on top of her purse—and handed them to her. “I understand.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ivy took her belongings.
Her hand brushed his. Her gaze locked with his.
Warmth. Connection.
Ivy screwed her eyes shut and wiped her hand on her coat. “Come along, Mrs. Galais.”
On Hill Street, the pavement allowed only two to walk abreast. Since Mrs. Galais’s gait and pace had returned to normal, Ivy dropped behind Charlie and Mrs. Galais.
“What happened in the churchyard?” Fern walked close to Ivy’s side with an inquisitive spark in her eyes.
“Mrs. Galais slipped on—”
“No, no. With you and Gerrit van der Zee.”
“With...?” Ivy’s jaw drifted open, and she snapped it shut. “Nothing. He insisted on helping, and I couldn’t stop him.”
A little laugh danced in the air. “Oh, sweet Ivy. Can’t you see? He’s smitten with you.”
“Smitten!”
Charlie and Mrs. Galais glanced back at her.
Ivy assumed an unassuming smile until they faced forward again. “That’s utter rubbish,” she whispered to her sister.
“No,thatis rubbish. He can’t take his eyes off you in church. Now, he may not be the handsomest of men and he’s rather ungainly, but he’d provide well for you.”
Ivy’s feet glued to the pavement. “Fern! He wears a German uniform.”
“Charlie thinks well of him. And isn’t it time we looked past the uniforms? The Germans are here to stay.”
In her mind, Ivy saw a veil of inky black descend over the oak-brown of Fern’s eyes.
