Sunday, March 7, 1943
In a shed at Charlie’s uncle’s farm, Charlie handed his work jacket to Gerrit. “Why do you want to see? It’s poor quality.”
“Is it lined?” Sitting cross-legged, Gerrit turned the jacket inside out. “Yes, thank goodness.”
“Fern insisted I buy lined jackets, even for work. They last longer, she said. She also made me buy two, in case one gets wet.”
Fern had her flaws, but she’d unwittingly aided Gerrit’s plan. He laid the latest silk diagram across the jacket back—it fit. “If we opened the lining, we could insert the diagram, maybe pin it from the shoulders so it doesn’t bunch.”
Charlie’s eyes lit up in the dimness of the shed. “No one could see it.”
Bernardus jabbed a finger toward Charlie. “You said you have two jackets. Are they the same color? Same cut?”
“Yes.”
Bernardus slapped his knees. “Excellent. You can exchange jackets. One in Jersey, one in France. Your cutout will remove the map and send the jacket back in your next visit.”
“That’s brilliant,” Charlie said.
It would work well. “Do either of you know how to sew? I don’t.”
“No,” Bernardus and Charlie murmured in unison.
Gerrit inspected the seam. “The stitching is so small, I can hardly see it. Even if I could open it, how would I close it again so it looks like this?”
“We’ll find someone who sews,” Charlie said.
“No.” The word shot from Bernardus’s mouth. “We can’t involve anyone else.”
“Ivy sews,” Charlie said. “I trust her. But Fern might see.”
“No.” Gerrit mashed his lips together. He refused to involve Ivy.
“Aunt Opal.” Charlie sprang to his feet. “I’ll ask her.”
“No!” Gerrit said.
Bernardus grabbed for the boy’s arm. “Absolutely not.”
“She can be trusted.” Charlie glared at the men. “Uncle Arthur has a wireless, and the Germans have never found it, never even searched their property.”
Gerrit laid the jacket and silk diagram in his lap. “This would put them in danger, and adding someone new would endanger everyone in the network.”
“No one else.” Bernardus’s voice grated like gravel. “We’ll learn how to sew.”
“Oh?” Charlie set his hands on his hips. “Who’ll teach you? What will you tell them?”
What indeed would they tell them? Gerrit fingered the rough wool and smooth silk. “Oh well. It was a good idea.”
“It’s an excellent idea.” Charlie crossed his arms. “In fact, I refuse to serve as your courier unless you enact it. Carrying the maps in my bag is too dangerous. If you want me to be your courier, you’ll march over to the farmhouse and ask my aunt.”
Gerrit met Bernardus’s skeptical gaze. The plan to sew the maps inside the jackets was good. Sending the maps to the Allies was good. And if it was good, he had to act. “You’re always telling me to trust the Lord, Bernardus.”
“I trust the Lord. I don’t trust the Nazis.”
“Exactly,” Charlie said. “This would protect me from the Nazis.”
“It violates every rule.” Bernardus groaned and pushed himself to standing. “But what choice do we have? Show us the way, Charlie.”
