Schmeling cursed yet again, then barked orders into the telephone.
Gerrit still had almost an hour’s delay to explain—the gunners at St. Aubin’s Fort would have noted the time of the explosion.
Schmeling slammed down the receiver, beckoned to Gerrit, and marched to the door. “Come along.”
Gerrit followed him out into the cool night. “I tried to stop him, Herr Oberbauführer. His boat was damaged in the explosion—I saw holes, saw Bernardus bailing water. I took a rowboat from the harbor and followed him.”
Schmeling gave him a disgusted look and jerked open the car door.
Gerrit climbed in on the passenger side. “He’s my friend. My oldest friend.”
“You had no warning that he was about to betray us? None at all?” Schmeling tore down the road.
Gerrit heaved a sigh. “He’s been despondent lately. He thinks Germany will lose the war, and he’s worried about what will happen to him afterward. Maybe he thought the Allies would look more favorably on him if he was a saboteur.” All of it true.
“A dead saboteur if we catch him.”
“He’s dead either way.” A longer sigh from deep in his gut. “Even if the boat wasn’t damaged, he couldn’t row all the way to France with his injuries. But the boatwasdamaged. I rowed for a while, but I never found him. I had to turn around—I was concernedabout our guns at Noirmont Point. Then I fought the tide on the way back.”
“The map of mines on the bay.” Schmeling swung a glare to Gerrit. “It’s missing. He must have taken it.”
Gerrit groaned. Now he’d have to burn the map. “How could he?”
Schmeling added yet another curse to the night. “Drowning is too good for him. Bleeding to death is too good for him. He deserves to hang.”
Bernardus still might die due to his injuries, during surgery, or if captured. And Gerrit added yet another sigh to the night.
chapter
26
St. Peter’s Parish
Saturday, September 18, 1943
“I’m here to treat Bernardus,” Ivy murmured as she knocked on the farmhouse door. Since she had an appointment in the surgery only an hour and a half from now, she should have visited Bernardus on Sunday afternoon. Yet she’d come on Saturday. And she’d taken more care than usual with her hair and had worn her favorite emerald-green blouse under her brown tweed suit.
Because Gerrit often visited Bernardus on Saturday afternoons.
When Charlie had told Ivy about the men’s involvement with the resistance, her intuition about Gerrit had been proven correct. However, Ivy hadn’t seen him since late on the night of Bernardus’s operation, when Gerrit had returned to coordinate stories with Charlie.
Aunt Opal opened the door. “Ivy! How lovely to see you, Ivy,” she called, informing Bernardus that he did not need to hide.
Ivy stepped inside. “How is our patient?”
“Physically, he’s improving, but his spirits are low. I’m glad Gerrit is here today drawing.”
A little trill ran through Ivy’s chest. “It’s good for him to have friends visit.”
After washing her hands in the kitchen, Ivy climbed the stairs. What could she say to Gerrit? Words had never been her strength.
At the top of the stairs, Ivy turned down the hall.
Gerrit was coming from the other direction, and he stopped short, his eyes wide.
Ivy worked up a smile. “Hallo, Gerrit.”
“Hallo.” He gestured toward the stairs. “I was just—I need to return to my billet. I must go out with the OT men tonight.”
