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“Of course you said inside.” Ruth wanted to kick herself for being so dense. She should’ve guessed what Lynn was up to; instead, she’d fallen right into her roommate’s petty hands. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”
A number of people were still watching them but Ruth didn’t care. She couldn’t stop looking at Paul. He seemed unable to break eye contact with her, too.
The hostess came forward. “Since your party’s arrived,” she said with a smile, “I can seat you now.”
“Yes, please.” Paul helped Ruth off with her coat and set the umbrella beside several others so it could dry. Then, as if they’d known and loved each other all their lives, he reached for her hand and linked her fingers with his as they walked through the restaurant.
The hostess seated them by the window, which overlooked the dark, murky waters of Puget Sound. Rain ran in rivulets down the tempered glass, but as far as Ruth was concerned it could have been the brightest, sunniest day in Seattle’s history.
Paul continued to hold her hand on top of the table.
“I was worried about what I’d say once we met,” she said. “Then when we did, I just felt so glad, the words didn’t seem important.”
“I’d almost convinced myself you’d stood me up.” He yawned, covering his mouth with the other hand, and she realized he was probably functioning on next to no sleep.
“Stood you up? I would’ve found a way to get here no matter what.” She let the truth of that show in her eyes. She had the strongest feeling of certainty, and an involuntary sense that he was everything she’d dreamed.
He briefly looked away. “I would’ve found a way to get to you, too.” His fingers tightened around hers.
“When did you last sleep?” she asked.
His mouth curved upward in a half smile. “I forget. A long time ago. Maybe I should’ve suggested we meet tomorrow instead, but I didn’t want to wait a minute longer than I had to.”
“Me, neither,” she confessed.
He smiled again, that wonderful, intoxicating smile.
“When did you land?” she asked, because if she didn’t stop staring at him she was going to embarrass herself.
“Late this morning,” he told her. “My family—well, you know what families are like. Mom’s been cooking for days and there was a big family get-together this afternoon. I wanted to invite you but—”
“No, I understand. You couldn’t because—well, how could you?” That didn’t come out right, but Paul seemed to know what she was trying to say.
“You’re exactly like I pictured you,” he said, leaning forward to touch her cheek.
“You imagined me drenched?”
He chuckled. “I imagined you beautiful, and you are.”
His words made her blush. “I’m having a hard time believing you’re actually here,” she said.
“I am, too.”
The waitress came for their drink order. Ruth hadn’t even looked at her menu or thought about what she’d like to drink. Because she was wet and chilled, she ordered hot tea and Paul asked for a bottle of champagne.
“We have reason to celebrate,” he announced. Then, as if it had suddenly occurred to him, he said, “You do drink alcohol, don’t you?”
She nodded quickly. “Normally I would’ve asked for wine, but I wanted the tea so I could warm up. I haven’t decided what to order yet.” She picked up the menu and scanned the entrées.
The waitress brought the champagne and standing ice bucket to the table. “Is there something special you’re celebrating?” she asked in a friendly voice.
Paul nodded and his eyes met Ruth’s. “We’re celebrating the fact that we found each other,” he said.
“Excellent.” She removed the foil top and wire around the cork and opened the bottle with a slight popping sound. After filling the two champagne flutes, she left.
Ruth took her glass. “Once again, I’m so sorry about what happened. Let me pay for the champagne, please. You wouldn’t have had a problem finding me if I’d—”
“I wasn’t talking about this evening,” he broke in. “I was talking about your Christmas card.”
“Oh.”
Paul raised his glass; she raised hers, too, and they clicked the rims gently together. “Do you believe in fate?” he asked.
Ruth smiled. “I didn’t, but I’ve had a change of heart since Christmas.”
His smile widened. “Me, too.”
Dinner was marvelous. Ruth didn’t remember what she’d ordered or anything else about the actual meal. For all she knew, she could’ve been dining on raw seaweed. It hardly mattered.
They talked and talked, and she felt as if she’d known Paul her entire life. He asked detailed questions about her family, her studies, her plans after graduation, and seemed genuinely interested in everything she said. He talked about the marines and Afghanistan with a sense of pride at the positive differences he’d seen in the country. After dinner and dessert, they lingered over coffee and at nine-thirty Paul paid the tab and suggested they walk along the waterfront. She eagerly agreed. Her umbrella was now merely an encumbrance because the rain had stopped, so they brought it back to her car before they set off.
The clouds had drifted away and the moon was glowing, its light splashing against the pier as they strolled hand in hand. Although she knew Paul had to be exhausted from his long flight and the family gathering, she couldn’t deny herself these last few minutes.
“You asked me to keep the weekends free,” Ruth murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.
“Did you?”
She sighed. “Not tomorrow.”
“Do you have a date with some other guy?”
She leaned back in order to study his face, trying to discern whether he was serious. “You’re joking, right?” she said hesitantly.
He shrugged. “Yes and no. You have no obligation to me and vice versa.”
“Are you seeing someone else?”
“No.” His response was immediate.
“I’m not, either,” she told him. She wanted to ask how he could even think that she would be. “I promised my grandmother I’d visit tomorrow.”
“Your grandmother?” he repeated.
“She invited you, too.”
He arched his brows.
“In fact, she insisted I bring you.”
“So you’ve mentioned me to your family.”
She’d told him in her letters that she hadn’t. “Just her. We’ve become really close. I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting her.”
“I’m sure I will, too.”
“You’ll come, won’t you?”
Paul turned Ruth into his arms and gazed down at her. “I don’t think I could stay away.”
And then he kissed her. Ruth had fantasized about this moment for months. She’d wondered what it would be like when Paul kissed her, but nothing she’d conjured up equaled this reality. Never in all her twenty-five years had she experienced anything like the sensation she felt when Paul’s mouth descended on hers. Stars fell from the sky. She saw it happen even with her eyes tightly closed. She heard triumphant music nearby; it seemed to surround her. But once she opened her eyes, all the stars seemed to be exactly where they’d been before. And the music came from somebody’s car radio.
Paul wore a stunned look.
“That was…very nice,” Ruth managed.
Paul nodded in agreement, then cleared his throat. “Very.”
“Should I admit I was afraid of what would happen when we met?” she asked.
“Afraid why? Of what?”
“I didn’t know what to expect.”
“I didn’t either.” He slid his hand down her spine and moved a step away. “I’d built this up in my mind.”
“I did, too,” she whispered.
“I was so afraid you could never live up to my image of you,” Paul told her. “I figured we’d meet and I’d get you out of my system. I’d buy you dinner, thank you for your letters and emails—and that would be the end of it. No woman could possibly be everything I’d envisioned you to be. But you are, Ruth, you are.”
Although the wind was chilly, his words were enough to warm her from head to foot.
“I didn’t think you could be what I’d imagined, either, and I was right,” Ruth said.
“You were?” He seemed crestfallen.
She nodded. “Paul, you’re even more wonderful than I’d realized.” At his relieved expression, she said, “I underestimated how strong my feelings for you are. Look at me, I’m shaking.” She held out her hand as evidence of how badly she was trembling after his kiss.
He shook his head. “I feel the same way—nervous and jittery inside.”
“That’s lack of sleep.”
“No,” he said, and took her by the shoulders. “That’s what your kiss did to me.” His eyes glittered as he stared down at her.
“What should we do?” she asked uncertainly.
“You’re the one with reservations about falling for a guy in the service.”
Her early letters had often referred to her feelings about exactly that. Ruth lowered her gaze. “The fundamental problem hasn’t changed,” she said. “But you’ll eventually get out, won’t you?”
He hesitated, and his dark eyes—which had been so warm seconds before—seemed to be closing her out. “Eventually I’ll leave the marines, but you should know it won’t be anytime in the near future. I’m in for the long haul, and if you want to continue this relationship, the sooner you accept that, the better.”
Ruth didn’t want their evening to end on a negative note. When she’d answered his letter that first time, she’d known he was a military man and it hadn’t stopped her. She’d gone into this with her eyes wide open. “I don’t have to decide right away, do I?”
“No,” he admitted. “But—”
“Good,” she said, cutting him off. She couldn’t allow their differences to come between them so quickly. She sensed that Paul, too, wanted to push all that aside. When she slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him, he hugged her back. “You’re exhausted. Let’s meet in the morning. I’ll take you over to visit my grandmother and we can talk some more then.”
Ruth rested her head against his shoulder again and Paul kissed her hair. “You’re making this difficult,” he said.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Me, too,” he whispered.
Ruth knew they’d need to confront the issue soon. She could also see that settling it wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.
Four
Paul met Ruth at the Seattle terminal at ten the next morning and they walked up the ramp to board the Bremerton ferry. The hard rain of the night before had yielded to glorious sunshine.
Unlike the previous evening, when Paul and Ruth had talked nonstop through a three-hour dinner, it seemed that now they had little to say. The one big obstacle in their relationship hung between them. They sat side by side on the wooden bench and sipped hot coffee as the ferry eased away from the Seattle dock.
“You’re still thinking about last night, aren’t you?” Ruth said, carefully broaching the subject after a lengthy silence. “About you being in the military, I mean, and my objections to the war in Iraq?”
He nodded. “Yeah, there’s the political aspect and also the fact that you don’t seem comfortable with the concept of military life,” he said.
“I’m not, really, but we’ll work it out,” she told him, and reached for his free hand, entwining their fingers. “We’ll find a way.”
Paul didn’t look as if he believed her. But after a couple of minutes, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. He brought her hand to his lips. “Let’s enjoy the time we have today, all right?”
Ruth smiled in agreement.
“Tell me about your grandmother.”
Ruth was more than willing to change the subject. “This is my paternal grandmother, and she’s lived in Cedar Cove for the past thirty years. She and my grandfather moved there from Seattle after he retired because they wanted a slower pace of life. I barely remember my grandfather Sam. He died when I was two, before I had any real memories of him.”
“He died young,” Paul commented sympathetically.
“Yes…My grandmother’s been alone for a long time.”
“She probably has good friends in a town like Cedar Cove.”
“Yes,” Ruth said. “And she’s still got friends she’s had since the war. It’s something I admire about my grandmother,” she continued. “She’s my inspiration, and not only because she speaks three languages fluently and is one of the most intelligent women I know. Ever since I can remember, she’s been helping others. Although she’s in her eighties, Grandma’s involved with all kinds of charities and social groups. When I enrolled at the University of Washington, I intended for the two of us to get together often, but I swear her schedule’s even busier than mine.”
Paul grinned at her. “I know what you mean. It’s the same in my family.”
By the time they stepped off the Bremerton ferry and took the foot ferry across to Cedar Cove, it was after eleven. They stopped at a deli, where Paul bought a loaf of fresh bread and a bottle of Washington State gewürz-traminer to take with them. At quarter to twelve, they trudged up the hill toward her grandmother’s duplex on Poppy Lane.
When they arrived, Helen greeted them at the front door and ushered Paul and Ruth into the house. Ruth hugged her grandmother, whose white hair was cut stylishly short. Helen was thinner than the last time Ruth had visited and seemed more fragile somehow. Her grandmother paused to give Paul an embarrassingly frank look. Ruth felt her face heat as Helen spoke.
“So, you’re the young man who’s captured my granddaughter’s heart.”
“Grandma, this is Paul Gordon,” Ruth said hurriedly, gesturing toward Paul.
“This is the soldier you’ve been writing to, who’s fighting in Afghanistan?”
“I am.” Paul’s response sounded a bit defensive, Ruth thought. He obviously preferred not to discuss it.
In an effort to ward off any misunderstanding, Ruth added, “My grandfather was a soldier when Grandma met him.”
Helen nodded, and a faraway look stole over her. It took her a moment to refocus. “Come, both of you,” she said, stepping between them. She tucked her arm around Ruth’s waist. “I set the table outside. It’s such a beautiful afternoon, I thought we’d eat on the patio.”
“We brought some bread and a bottle of wine,” Ruth said. “Paul got them.”
“Lovely. Thank you, Paul.”
While Ruth sliced the fresh-baked bread, he opened the wine, then helped her grandmother carry the salad plates outside. An apple pie cooled on the kitchen counter and the scent of cinnamon permeated the sunlit kitchen.
They chatted throughout the meal; the conversation was light and friendly as they lingered over their wine. Every now and then Ruth caught her grandmother staring at Paul with the strangest expression on her face. Ruth didn’t know what to make of this. It almost seemed as if her grandmother was trying to place him, to recall where she’d seen him before.
Helen had apparently read Ruth’s mind. “Am I embarrassing your beau, sweetheart?” she asked with a half smile.
Ruth resisted informing her grandmother that Paul wasn’t her anything, especially not her beau. They’d had one lovely dinner together, but now their political differences seemed to have overtaken them.
“I apologize, Paul.” Helen briefly touched his hand, which rested on the table. “When I first saw you—” She stopped abruptly. “You resemble someone I knew many years ago.”
“Where, Grandma?” Ruth asked.
“In France, during the war.”
“You were in France during World War II?” Ruth couldn’t quite hide her shock.
Helen turned to her. “I haven’t spoken much about those days, but now, toward the end of my life, I think about them more and more.” She pushed back her chair and stood.
Ruth stood, too, thinking her grandmother was about to carry in their empty plates and serve the pie.
Helen motioned her to sit. “Stay here. There’s something I want you to see. I think perhaps it’s time.”
When her grandmother had left them, Ruth looked at Paul and shrugged. “I have no idea what’s going on.”
Paul had been wonderful with her grandmother, thoughtful and attentive. He’d asked a number of questions during the meal—about Cedar Cove, about her life with Sam—and listened intently when she responded. Ruth knew his interest was genuine. Together they cleared the table and returned the dishes to the kitchen, then waited for Helen at the patio table.
It was at least five minutes before she came back. She held a rolled-up paper that appeared to be some kind of poster, old enough to have yellowed with age. Carefully she opened it and laid it flat on the cleared table. Ruth saw that the writing was French. In the center of the poster, which measured about eighteen inches by twenty-four, was a pencil sketch of two faces: a man and a woman, whose names she didn’t recognize. Jean and Marie Brulotte.
“Who’s that?” Ruth asked, pointing to the female.
Her grandmother smiled calmly. “I am that woman.”
Ruth frowned. Helen had obviously used a false name, and although she’d seen photographs of her grandmother as a young woman, this sketch barely resembled the woman she knew. The man in the drawing, however, seemed familiar. Gazing at the sketch for a minute, she realized the face was vaguely like Paul’s. Not so much in any similarity of features as in a quality of…character, she supposed.
“And the man?”
“That was Jean-Claude,” Helen whispered, her voice full of pain.
Paul turned to Ruth, but she was at a complete loss and didn’t know what to tell him. Her grandfather’s name was Sam and she’d never heard of this Jean or Jean-Claude. Certainly her father had never mentioned another man in his mother’s life.
“This is a wanted poster,” Paul remarked. “I speak some French—studied it in school.”
“Yes. The Germans offered a reward of one million francs to anyone who turned us in.”
“You were in France during the war and you were wanted?” This was more than Ruth could assimilate. She sat back down; so did her grandmother. Paul remained standing for a moment longer as he studied the poster.
“But…it said Marie. Marie Brulotte.”
“I went by my middle name in those days. Marie. You may not be aware that it was part of my name because I haven’t used it since.”
“But…”
“You and Jean-Claude were part of the French Resistance?” Paul asked. It was more statement than question.
“We were.” Her grandmother seemed to have difficulty speaking. “Jean-Claude was my husband. We married during the war, and I took his name with pride. He was my everything, strong and handsome and brave. His laughter filled a room. Sometimes, still, I think I can hear him.” Her eyes grew teary and she dabbed at them with her linen handkerchief. “That was many years ago now and, as I said, I think perhaps it’s time I spoke of it.”
Ruth was grateful. She couldn’t let her grandmother leave the story untold. She suspected her father hadn’t heard any of this, and she wanted to learn whatever she could about this unknown episode in their family history before it was forever lost.
“What were you doing in France?” Ruth asked. She couldn’t comprehend that the woman she’d always known as a warm and loving grandmother, who baked cookies and knit socks for Christmas, had been a freedom fighter in a foreign country.
“I was attending the Sorbonne when the Germans invaded. You may recall that my mother was born in France, but her own parents were long dead. I was studying French literature. My parents were frantic for me to book my passage home, but like so many others in France, I didn’t believe the country would fall. I assured my mother I’d leave when I felt it was no longer safe. Being young and foolish, I thought she was overreacting. Besides, I was in love. Jean-Claude had asked me to marry him, and what woman in love wishes to leave her lover over rumors of war?” She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “France seemed invincible. We were convinced the Germans wouldn’t invade, convinced they’d suffer a humiliating defeat if they tried.”
“So when it happened you were trapped,” Paul said.
Her grandmother drew in a deep breath. “There was the Blitzkrieg…. People were demoralized and defeated when France surrendered after only a few days of fighting. We were aghast that such a thing could happen. Jean-Claude and a few of his friends decided to resist the occupation. I decided I would, too, so we were married right away. My parents knew nothing of this.”
“How did you join the Resistance?” Paul asked as Ruth looked at her grandmother with fresh eyes.
“Join,” she repeated scornfully. “There was no place to join, no place to sign up and be handed a weapon and an instruction manual. A group of us students, naive and foolish, offered resistance to the German occupation. Later we learned there were other groups, eventually united under the leadership of General de Gaulle. We soon found one another. Jean-Claude and I—we were young and too stupid to understand the price we’d pay, but by then we’d already lost some of our dearest friends. Jean-Claude and I refused to let them die in vain.”
“What did you do?” Ruth breathed. She leaned closer to her grandmother.
“Whatever we could, which in the beginning was pitifully little. The Germans suffered more casualties in traffic accidents. At first our resistance was mostly symbolic.” A slow smile spread across her weathered face. “But we learned, oh yes, we learned.”
Ruth was still having difficulty taking it all in. She pressed her hand to her forehead. She found it hard enough to believe that the sketch of the female in this worn poster was her own grandmother. Then to discover that the fragile, petite woman at her side had been part of the French Resistance…
“Does my dad know any of this?” Ruth asked.
Helen sighed heavily. “I’m not sure, but I doubt it. Sam might have mentioned it to him. I’ve only told a few of my friends. No one else.” She shook her head. “I didn’t feel I could talk to my sons about it. There was too much that’s disturbing. Too many painful memories.”
“Did you…did you ever have to kill anyone?” Ruth had trouble even getting the question out.
“Many times,” Helen answered bluntly. “Does that surprise you?”
It shocked Ruth to the point that she couldn’t ask anything else.
“The first time was the hardest,” her grandmother said. “I was held by a French policeman.” She added something derogatory in French, and although Ruth couldn’t understand the language, some things didn’t need translation. “Under Vichy, some of the police worked hard to prove to the Germans what good little boys they were,” she muttered, this time in English. “I’d been stopped and questioned, detained by this pig of a man. He said he was taking me to the police station. I had a small gun with me that I’d hidden, a seven millimeter.”
Ruth’s heart raced as she listened to Helen recount this adventure.
“The pig didn’t drive me to the police station. Instead he headed for open country and I knew that once he was outside town and away from the eyes of any witnesses, he would rape and murder me.”
Ruth pressed her hand to her mouth, holding back a gasp of horror.
“You’d trained in self-defense?” Paul asked.
Her grandmother laughed. “No. How could we? There was no time for such lessons. But I realized that I didn’t need technique. What I needed was nerve. This beast of a man pulled his gun on me but I was quicker. I shot him in the head.” She paused at the memory of that terrifying moment. “I buried him myself in a field and, as far as I know, he was never found.” She wore a small satisfied look. “His mistake,” she murmured, “was that he tightened his jaw when he reached for his gun—and I saw. I’d been watching him closely. He was thinking of what might happen, of what could go wrong. He was a professional, and I was only nineteen, and yet I knew that if I didn’t act then, it would’ve been too late.”
“Didn’t you worry about what could happen?” Ruth asked, unable to grasp how her grandmother could ever shoot another human being.
“No,” Helen answered flatly. “I knew what would happen. We all did. We didn’t have a chance of surviving, none of us. My parents would never have discovered my fate—I would simply have disappeared. They didn’t even know I’d married Jean-Claude or changed my name.” She stared out at the water. “I don’t understand why I lived. It makes no sense that God would spare me when all my friends, all those I loved, were killed.”