Ivy blew out a breath and strode after Charlie and Mrs. Galais.
Why was she suddenly seeing darkness in her own sister and light in the enemy? Perhaps Ivy was the one who needed eyeglasses.
chapter
10
St. Peter’s Parish
Sunday, November 15, 1942
Uncle Arthur greeted them at the farmhouse door, wearing his good suit from attending church in St. Peter. “Happy birthday, Ivy.”
“Thank you.” She stepped inside to see Leo and Ruby Bissell. “Uncle Leo! Aunt Ruby! I’m so happy to see you.”
Aunt Ruby, Dad’s youngest sister, gave Ivy a hug. “We see each other every day, silly goose. Where’s Fern?”
Ivy leaned closer to lower her voice. “Occupation Disease.” The increased roughage in the rationed diet brought frequent bouts of dysentery, even as it reduced cardiac disease and gout.
“Poor Fernie.”
Ivy murmured her sympathy. Her sister’s misery was compounded by the arrival of Billy and Freddy’s birthday, which they shared with Ivy. The boys were now ten years old, and Fern couldn’t hug them or bake for them or tease them about how tall they were. Only twice-yearly messages from Dad, Mum, and Bill informed her of the boys’ growth.
Ivy hung her coat on a peg. The Jouny farmhouse was as coldas all Jersey homes nowadays, but heat radiated from the kitchen. “Is Aunt Opal in the kitchen?”
“She’s running behind.” Aunt Ruby settled into a wooden chair and adjusted her glasses. “But she won’t let me help.”
Aunt Opal peeked out of the kitchen, her cheeks flushed. “I won’t let you help either, Ivy.” Her voice rasped a bit. “What a pretty dress.”
“Thank you.” Ivy fingered the burgundy wool gabardine. “It’s Fern’s birthday gift. She remade one of Mum’s old dresses she found in the attic. She’s so talented.”
“Want to hear the latest news?” Uncle Arthur gestured for Ivy and Charlie to sit on the sofa with Uncle Leo, and he sat in an armchair.
“I would.” Charlie’s eyes gleamed. “TheEvening Postisn’t allowed to publish much, but it’s clear the British and the Americans are sweeping the Germans out of North Africa.”
Uncle Leo chuckled. “The Huns here are as skittish as newborn calves.”
“They should be.” Uncle Arthur leaned forward. “The Vichy French surrendered in Morocco and Algeria, and our boys are chasing the Germans back through Libya.”
“Remember not to repeat this on the docks. There are informers everywhere.” Uncle Leo stabbed a finger in Charlie’s direction. “If you must tell your friends, speak in Jèrriais. It confounds the Germans.”
Ivy creased the gabardine in her fingers. The prison on Gloucester Street, next door to the General Hospital, teemed with men and women arrested for owning a wireless set or for spreading news from the BBC. “Do be careful, especially around those Todt men.”
Charlie kept his chin low. “Bernardus and Gerrit aren’t what you think.”
A slow sigh leached from her lungs. They weren’t what Charlie thought either, despite Gerrit’s chivalry to elderly women.
“They feed the Todt workers. The Russians. On the sly.” Charlie lifted his chin, and the disappointment or frustration Ivy had observed the past fortnight washed away in a sea of conviction.
They fed the workers? That seemed unlikely. Why would men in an organization that beat its workers show kindness to them? Ivy had now treated two men who had escaped Nazi deprivation and abuse. “Regardless, don’t—”
“I don’t. I know better.” An edge crept into his voice, a reminder to all that he was no longer a child. Then he brightened. “But it’s your birthday. I have presents.”
“You shouldn’t have done.” The shops were practically empty, and any remaining goods were dear. “Having all of you together is the best present I could receive.”
“Good.” Uncle Arthur clapped his hands on his knees. “That’s all we’re giving you.”
Ivy joined in the laughter.
