“Oh dear.” Ivy’s pretty mouth turned down. “Children can be cruel.”
Gerrit shrugged. “I didn’t know what to do. I was small for my age, and I’ve never been a fighter.”
“I can see that.”
Hardly a compliment to his manliness. “The boy caught my eye. I was the only one who could help him. How could I walk away and leave him? So I stepped in, tried to talk the boys out of it. They turned on me.”
The teakettle lowered to the table. “Oh no.”
Gerrit raised a sheepish smile. “At least I distracted them, and the little boy escaped. But I was beaten up. They stepped on my hand. Stomped on it.”
Ivy took a few steps closer, reached one hand toward his. Stopped. Withdrew her hand. “This reminds you of that.”
His breath—where was it? “Pardon?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been good with words. I noticed you flexing your hand. Does today’s decision remind you of that day?”
“I don’t know.” He stared at his own hand. “I do that when I’m thinking.”
“You needed courage that day.” She inclined her head, and soft curls swished to one side. “You need courage today.”
Gerrit restrained those fingers from touching those curls. “I do.”
“You wanted to protect the little boy that day. Today you want to protect Charlie and Bernardus and everyone in your network.” One corner of her mouth dimpled the roundness of her cheek. “That day, protection required action. Today, protection might mean inaction.”
Gerrit swallowed hard. “I thought you weren’t good with words.”
Brown eyes lifted to him, large and warm and wise. “Tell me about your maps. How do they help?”
This he could answer in his sleep, and he rested his hands on the sink behind him. “The maps show the locations of German fortifications—bunkers, gun positions, minefields, anti-tank walls, tunnels. Many are camouflaged so they can’t be seen by Allied aircraft. I also send diagrams of those fortifications, showing the entrances, the internal layout, the location of defensive gunnery, ventilation shafts, power lines—anything that could help.”
“I see.” Dark eyelashes fanned over those enormous eyes. “If the Allies had your maps, they could choose their landing sites well and take the positions more quickly. That would shorten the battle, wouldn’t it? Fewer soldiers killed, fewer civilians. You’d be protecting far more than Charlie and Bernardus.”
And Ivy. He wanted to protect Ivy. Perhaps helping bring this dreadful war to a quick end would be the best way to protect her and everyone else he cared about.
“You were courageous that day.” Ivy nodded at Gerrit’s left hand. “You acted to protect.”
Gerrit spread his hand before him. “Today I will be courageous again, protect again.”
A smile dawned on her face, sweet and strong and bright.
Gerrit had prayed for help making a decision, but he’d never dreamed that help would come through Dr. Ivy Picot.
chapter
28
St. Peter’s Parish
Sunday, November 21, 1943
If not for Bernardus Kroon’s build and gait, Ivy would never have recognized him.
Bernardus sat on a stool in the barn milking a cow as Uncle Arthur coached the city boy.
“Like one of your jazz men playing a trumpet.” Gerrit demonstrated with his fingers in the air.
“What do you know about milking cows?” Bernardus sent his friend a look as black as his dyed hair. In the three months since his injury, he’d grown longer hair and a mustache as part of his disguise. The ring had taken his photograph and was forging papers and ration cards for him.
