“The maps would be out of sight.” Bernardus clasped his hands together. “Even if the silk were detected, Charlie could claim he’d added another layer of fabric for warmth. And remember, the maps are invisible.”
Mrs. Jouny stretched one hand to Gerrit. “May I see?”
“Opal!” her husband said.
Charlie shrugged. “If Aunt Opal can’t help, I’ll keep carrying the maps in my bag, using my flimsy cover story.”
Gerrit clamped off a laugh. Charlie had told Gerrit and Bernardus he refused to carry them in his bag anymore—and told his aunt the opposite. Perhaps the boy had a future in politics.
He handed the jacket to Mrs. Jouny.
“Opal...” Mr. Jouny said, but with a note of resignation.
“Hush, Arthur. I’m only having a look.” She opened a hinged wooden box beside her chair and pulled out a tiny metal hook. Two little pokes. “Oh yes. That would be simple.”
“Opal...” And now full resignation.
“This could save Charlie’s life.” She picked at stitches. “You know what we Picots are like. He’ll keep carrying those maps and putting himself in danger.”
Mr. Jouny’s head lolled back. “I had to marry a Picot.”
A smile tugged at Gerrit’s lips. Other than Fern, he liked every Picot he’d met.
Mrs. Jouny kept jabbing with her little hook. “You always say you wish we could do something for the Allies. Well, Charlie is doing just that. Now I can do my bit.”
Mr. Jouny huffed out a breath, now with mock aggravation. “Where does that leave me? I’m still not doing my bit.”
“Ah, but you could,” Charlie said. “I have another idea.”
Gerrit snapped his gaze to the youth. What idea?
“Gerrit lives in a hotel with the Todt men. Most are rabid Nazis. One of them almost caught him drawing. He needs a place to work.”
“No, no.” Gerrit waved one hand. “I’m fine. I’m locking my door now.”
“Hmm.” Mrs. Jouny frowned at her work. “Our boys are away fighting for Britain. They have a nice big desk in their room upstairs.”
“Yes.” Mr. Jouny’s eyebrows gathered over his dark eyes. “And a large wardrobe. If an agricultural inspector comes, you’d have a place to hide.”
“But why would I be here?” Gerrit motioned around him. “I’d be seen coming and going. What excuse could we give?”
Mrs. Jouny lifted the jacket and a smile. “Many of the soldiers hire local women for laundry and mending.”
Gerrit closed his eyes, and the ideas tumbled in his mind, tumbled into place.
Tumbled into trust.
Beside him, Bernardus groaned. “This is most unwise.”
“It is.” Gerrit opened his eyes. “Let’s do it.”
chapter
18
Gorey
Monday, April 12, 1943
