Why did the Germans destroy everything good and beautiful?
“Ivy!” About fifty feet ahead, Charlie flagged her down. “Ivy! I thought it was you.”
Ivy coasted up to her brother and hopped from her bicycle. “Hallo, there. What brings you up this way?”
“Gerrit is showing me the new sixty-centimeter gauge railway line. It’ll soon connect Gorey to St. Helier. Isn’t it fantastic?”
Twenty feet off the road, Gerrit van der Zee stood in his Todtuniform, his face pinched, and he edged away. “Good afternoon, Dr. Picot.”
At least he had the grace to know his company wasn’t wanted, so she washed some of the starch from her tone. “Good afternoon, Mr. van der Zee.”
“Don’t leave, Gerrit.” Charlie shielded his eyes from the sun. “We can ask Ivy.”
“Ask me what?”
Gerrit’s face turned pink. “Let’s not.”
“No, no.” Charlie waved him closer. “You see, Ivy, Gerrit’s going home on leave next week, and he offered to bring us items.”
Ivy’s hands tightened around the handlebars. How often had she told Fern she didn’t want the food and soap and silk stockings sent home by her German employer? How then could Ivy accept a gift from someone in German uniform?
Gerrit’s lips pressed together, and he stepped closer. “I understand your reluctance. But each occupied nation faces different conditions. In Jersey, you have fruit and vegetables and potatoes.”
“Potatoes are rationed.” Her words came out clipped.
“You receive five pounds weekly, more than my family receives. But in Amsterdam, I may find items that are scarce here.”
“A kind offer.” Charlie’s words carried a challenge.
Kind indeed, but the shortages and rationing existed only because Germany, which Gerrit supported through his labor, occupied most of Europe. So much suffering, so much illness, so much death.
She took Charlie’s challenge and directed it at Gerrit. “Insulin.”
Two blond eyebrows lifted toward the brown forage cap. “Insulin?”
“To treat diabetes. We have none on the island, and our patients are dying. We’ve placed them in hospital to control their diet and activity, but it isn’t enough. Another died yesterday.”
Those golden eyebrows bunched together over sea-blue eyes, and compassion rolled like surf through that sea.
Ivy climbed back onto her bicycle. “The only item I would accept from you would be insulin. Good day, Mr. van der Zee. Goodbye, Charlie.”
“Ivy...” Charlie’s voice followed as she coasted downhill.
Dr. Tipton had referred to Fern’s and Charlie’s unfortunate associations. Of all the men in Jersey, why did Charlie choose to befriend two collaborators?
Saint-Malo, France
Tuesday, April 27, 1943
Gerrit climbed the gangway onto the SSOrmer, his uniform harsh and unwelcome on his limbs. Although required to wear his uniform on leave, Gerrit had changed into a civilian suit upon arrival at the Amsterdam train station and hadn’t changed back until the return trip.
His family knew he was working for an engineering firm in Jersey, but not that the firm was contracted to Organisation Todt. How could he explain?
On deck, Charlie Picot coiled a line around his arm.
Gerrit raised a hand and a smile in greeting. “Good afternoon, Charlie.”
“Good afternoon.” Charlie’s smile seemed flat. “Back from leave?”
