But as she approached a few minutes later, walking across what appeared to be a cornfield, the front door of the house opened, and a man emerged, holding a lantern. “Wer ist da?” he called into the night. Ruby cowered in the darkness, hoping he wouldn’t see her, but her clothing must have caught the moonlight, for a moment later, he came striding directly toward her, barking a string of threats. Or she thought they were threats, anyhow; they sounded just like the tirades the guards went on at Ravensbrück just before they pulled prisoners out of line to beat them.
Ruby considered running, but she was so weak, and she knew the man would overtake her quickly. So she stumbled backward a few steps and then began to cry, her hands raised. “I mean no harm!” she said in English, switching to German to add, “Ich werde dich nicht verletzen,” which she thought meant roughly the same thing.
And then, before she could say another word, the man was standing a foot away, shining his lantern in her eyes. She shielded her face from the light.
He asked her something in German, and although she couldn’t understand the words, she realized he sounded less aggressive now. He had a head of bushy red hair and a full beard and mustache to match, and he was huge—easily more than six feet tall with broad shoulders and a thick neck. He asked her another question in German, more gently this time, and she answered in English, “I don’t speak German,” and then repeated the same words in French.
The man stared at her for a moment more before replying. “You speak French?” he asked in French.
She blinked, weak with relief, and replied in French, “Yes. I live in France. You speak French too?”
“Yes. We are not so far from the French border here.” He paused and looked her up and down. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“I’m . . .” She trailed off, unsure of how to answer. What if he was in collusion with the Nazis?
“Don’t worry,” he said a moment later, as if reading her mind. His tone was gentle, and there was something about him that reminded her of Herr Hartmann. “I will not hurt you. Are you running from the Nazis?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You will come inside, then. You must rest. I think perhaps you have come a very long way.”
“Yes.” But she hesitated, not sure if she could trust him.
“Come.” He placed his hand on her arm. The motion was gentle, supportive. “My name is Fritz. My wife is just inside.”
Ruby finally relented, letting the farmer lead her toward the house.
Inside, she found a fire blazing in the hearth and a woman about her age with long, dark hair and big, brown eyes cutting a piece of meat in the kitchen. The woman turned as she entered and said something in German, but Fritz spoke quickly, and the woman changed effortlessly to French.
“You are an escapee, no?” the woman asked, and Ruby glanced at the man and then back at the woman. Was this a trap after all? But before she could reply, the woman added, “Don’t be frightened. We want to help you. We do not believe in the same things the Nazis believe in.” The woman exchanged looks with her husband. “We are, how do you say, fighters for freedom.”
Ruby blinked back unexpected tears. She didn’t know whether the woman was telling the truth, but her instinct was to believe the words.
“And you, the Nazis have done much to hurt you?” the woman asked.
Ruby nodded, wordless.
The woman’s eyes filled. “We are so very sorry. Please, have some food, and get some rest here. We will figure out tomorrow how to help get you to safety.”
“Why?” Ruby whispered. “Why would you help me?”
“Because no one deserves what has happened to you. Now come. Sit. Eat. Tonight, you worry about nothing.”
AFTER FEEDING RUBY A SMALL dinner of sausage, bread, and ale, Fritz’s wife, who introduced herself as Eva, showed Ruby to a small bedroom that looked as if it had belonged to a child. Ruby awoke some time later with a sharp pain in her abdomen. When she blinked into the unexpected daylight, she realized Eva was there beside her, holding her hand.
“You are pregnant?” the woman asked gently, and Ruby struggled to sit up. Doing that made her hurt even more, and her heart thudded. What had she gotten herself into by coming here?
“Why do you say that?” Ruby wanted to get up, to run away, but the sharp pain in her abdomen was back, and she cried out, inadvertently squeezing Eva’s hand. The woman held tight to her.
“Because you are in labor,” Eva said gently. “The baby is coming now.”
Ruby blinked up at her. “No. No, that cannot be. I must keep the baby inside.” Images of her tiny dead son in the Dachers’ apartment flooded back, and she was terrified. The urge to protect the child in her womb was the only thing that had gotten her this far. If she failed now too, how would she go on? What was there to live for?
“Relax,” Eva said calmly. “Your baby is strong. I will help you. I have helped deliver many babies in this town.”
Ruby blinked a few times, losing herself to another contraction. “Please, you must make sure my baby stays safe,” she murmured when she could speak again. “Please, promise me.”
“I promise. Now, will you tell me your name? And the name of the baby’s father?”
Ruby could feel her own expression freezing in horror.
“Don’t worry,” Eva said quickly. “I will never betray you. But in case something happens to you, I need to know where the baby should go.”
Ruby thought about this for a few seconds and nodded. Of course. She didn’t want her child to wind up in an orphanage in Germany. “My name is Ruby Benoit.” She didn’t mention Thomas, because she didn’t want to endanger him. “If something happens to me, you must contact my parents. They are in America.”
“America?” Eva’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She beckoned to her husband and said something in German. He appeared by her side a moment later with a piece of paper and a pen, which Eva handed to Ruby. “Here. Please write their information here. But this is only in case of an emergency, Ruby. I know you will be fine.”
Ruby still wasn’t entirely sure she was doing the right thing, but what harm could there be in giving this woman her parents’ address? She scribbled it out and then looked Eva in the eye. “Make sure the baby stays safe,” Ruby said as another contraction overtook her. “Please. It’s the only thing that matters.”
Eva squeezed Ruby’s hands tightly. “Ruby, you can make sure of that yourself. Now relax. Breathe with me. The baby is coming.”
The last thing Ruby was aware of before drifting off into a dreamless sleep was the feeling of a great weight slipping from her body, followed by the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard: a baby’s piercing wail. Ruby began to sob, and as she looked up, Eva entered her blurry field of vision cradling a tiny, squirming bundle.
“It’s a girl,” Eva said, smiling. “A beautiful baby girl.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
August 1944
“Do you think Ruby knows?” Charlotte asked as she and Lucien pushed through a crowd of people singing “La Marseillaise” on the Champs-Élysées on the last Tuesday in August. The world had changed once again, and after a week of fighting, of tanks rolling through the streets, of gunfire ringing out in the night, Paris was free. The Allies had arrived, and now, a victory parade was moving toward the Place de la Concorde. The French flag flew from the Arc de Triomphe, and American flags snapped in the breeze as U.S. servicemen grinned and blew kisses to French girls from their procession of military trucks. Parisians rushed forward with bottles of wine for the soldiers, who swigged from them, laughing.
“About the liberation?” Lucien kept his eyes on the parade, as if he couldn’t quite believe it, as if he expected something terrible to happen at any moment now. After all, just a few days earlier, the day after de Gaulle had moved into the war ministry, German snipers had fired on a celebrating crowd just like this. Lucien’s shoulders were tense, his jaw set. “I hope so. Any little piece of faith
will help sustain her.”
“It won’t be long until the camps are liberated too, right? Ruby will be home soon.”
Lucien squeezed her hand. “I don’t know. There is still a lot of fighting to be done, Charlotte. It will take the Allies a while to move farther into Germany, I think. And if we’re right about her being sent to Ravensbrück, she’s very far east.”
Charlotte didn’t reply. He wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know, of course. It was just that she needed words of hope and inspiration today. “I would know if she was dead, wouldn’t I?”
Lucien looked down at her. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I believe it of my parents. I feel it in a way I can’t explain. But I don’t believe it of Ruby. She’s still alive. She must be. I just know.”
“Then we will believe in that. She is strong and brave, and I believe she would do anything in the world to get home to you.”
“And the baby?”
Lucien shook his head. “My love, I can’t imagine the baby has survived. It’s better for Ruby, in fact, if it hasn’t.”
Charlotte nodded. They had talked of this before. And while she knew Ruby’s chances of survival would be much higher if the pregnancy had ended, she also knew that losing a second child might just destroy her.
“But chin up,” Lucien said after a moment, giving Charlotte a sad smile. “This is the beginning of the war’s end. Can’t you see? If the Germans have surrendered Paris, it’s only a matter of time until we take Berlin too.”
Looking around at the jubilant crowd, and at the weary, smiling soldiers, Charlotte knew he was speaking the truth.
“This is a big day for us, for France, for the war.” Lucien leaned down and gave her a kiss. “It’s not a day for sadness, my love.”
“I know.” Of course he was right. But the sun looked brightest when it was emerging from the darkest clouds. And today, Charlotte feared, the storm wasn’t quite over.
“I love you,” Lucien said.
“I love you too, Lucien.”
And together, with all the voices of Paris, they joined in the singing of the national anthem.
Arise, children of the homeland.
The day of glory has arrived!
THE NEXT MORNING, CHARLOTTE AWOKE shortly after dawn to a beautiful sunrise just outside the window of the apartment she shared now with Lucien. She had been living with him since the day the police picked Ruby up in April, and although Lucien had been back to the old building a handful of times to check on things and to meet with Monsieur Savatier, Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to go. This was her life now—until Ruby returned, at least—and looking forward was easier than looking back. It was just that the past had a strange way of haunting you, even when you didn’t want to think about it.
If someone had told Charlotte three years ago that she’d be living with a boy she loved, she would have laughed out loud and then turned bright red. It simply wasn’t what proper young ladies did. But things were different in wartime, and although Charlotte was only fifteen, she might as well have been twenty-five. She and Lucien had seen too much, done too much to ever go back to childhood. Even after Ruby had been arrested, they had continued to work for the Resistance, and that was the kind of thing that changed a person forever. Now that Paris was liberated, that work was done, and there was nothing left to do but wait.
Lucien rolled over and wrapped his arms around Charlotte, pulling her closer and burrowing his face into the warm space between her neck and shoulder. He was most affectionate when he was sleeping, when his guard wasn’t up, when he wasn’t worrying about the things that could go wrong. She loved these moments before the world was awake, when she could pretend for a short while that she was nothing more than a girl in love with a boy.
As she gazed out at the coming morning, she wondered whether Ruby could see the same sky. Were the colors of dawn—pinks, oranges, blues—as brilliant where she was as they were in Paris? Or was the sky here celebrating the liberation along with the rest of the city while the sky to the east remained stubbornly gray?
Beside her, Lucien stirred, murmuring her name as he often did upon waking. She turned and kissed his cheek and then looked out the window again.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly, burying his face in her hair.
“Just that maybe somewhere out there, Ruby can see the same sky,” Charlotte said, closing her eyes. “Maybe one of these days, the sun will rise, and as it makes its way west, she will follow it home.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
August 1944
On the same morning, some twelve hundred miles farther south, Thomas was watching the sunrise too. He was in the cockpit of a Spitfire, his heart pounding as he waited for takeoff.
He was heading back to France. To the land where Ruby lived. To the country the Allies were in the midst of reclaiming. Now that the good guys were in control again, it no longer mattered to his superiors if he returned to France; there was no escape line to betray, no danger of being shot from the sky.
His job was simply to deliver the Spit to an airfield near Ramatuelle that had, until a month ago, been an olive grove. When the Allies had arrived, the U.S. Army had bulldozed the area to create a makeshift landing strip for deliveries. This was to be a staging spot from which to wage the remainder of the war to the east.
Thomas took off just past dawn, marveling, as he often did, at the glorious colors of the world at both ends of the day. Dawn and dusk were like beautiful bookends, and though the color often leached from the sky as noon approached, the day always began and ended with the same magnificent hues. Thomas smiled to himself that morning, thinking of how, when the war was over, he would take Ruby for a flight through the sunrise sky. Would the colors near the horizon—the oranges, the reds, the yellows—remind her of the poppies she’d told him about? Did the sunrises look the same over California?
He thought of Ruby as he flew, wondered what she was doing right now. He’d seen the newsreel footage of the liberation of Paris, and he’d searched the jubilant crowds for her face, knowing that the odds of seeing her were slim. Still, he imagined her—with Charlotte and Lucien by her side—dancing victorious down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. He felt a great sense of relief; she would no longer have to put herself in danger by sheltering pilots. If Paris was free, then so was Ruby. The end of the war was in sight, and one day soon, he’d be able to return to her. As he flew north, he imagined that he could see all the way to the French capital, could see the French flags flying triumphant over the city once again.
In what felt like no time, the French coast was upon him. Beneath the Spit, the water gleamed a perfect topaz blue. Ramatuelle, a fingernail of a village carved out beneath Saint-Tropez, seemed to rise from the edge of the sea, its rooftops glowing sherbet orange in the morning light as they crawled up the cliffs away from the water. He could make out a church tower, a forest beyond that, a few boats bobbing serenely in the water. He could see the airstrip in the distance, and he began to prepare for landing.
And then, everything went wrong.
It started with a shudder, an abrupt rat-tat-tat in the engine that felt unfamiliar and strange. Frowning, Thomas checked his instrument controls, but he didn’t need them to tell him the most pressing problem: he was losing altitude, and fast. Had he been hit? Had something happened to the fuel line? Was there an electrical problem? He was usually an ace at diagnosing problems and reacting calmly, but right now, he was at a loss. Everything had been fine one moment, and the next, his plane had gone haywire for no apparent reason at all.
He radioed Ramatuelle with a distress call. “Can you hear me? I’m losing altitude. Need to attempt emergency landing.” The only response was a faint crackle. He could see the coastline, but he wouldn’t reach it, not at the rate he was falling. His mind spun as the plane continued to descend. Could he save the aircraft? To lose a Spitfire now, on an errand like this, seemed foolish.
On the other han
d, if he couldn’t bring her in closer to the coast, he was out of luck. Spits weren’t designed to float, and neither were the pilots enclosed in their cockpits. So that was it. He’d have to eject. The Spit was headed for the sea, and he didn’t want to go with her.
Quickly, fighting a wave of disappointment, he went into survival mode, ripping off his oxygen mask and radio plug and detaching his safety harness. For a frozen second, he thought of the last time he’d gone down over France, when he’d parachuted in over Saint-Omer. He thought of the things that had happened after that, the way Ruby had felt in his arms, the sense that he was living his destiny, the feeling that his life was forever tied to hers.
And then, he reached for the release toggle, but nothing happened. The canopy hood didn’t open. He tried again, desperately, and when the switch remained stuck, he began to claw at the hood, doing his best to force it open.
But the hood was jammed, and as the sickening realization hit, Thomas’s heart sank. His only option was reaching the small strip of sandy, rocky beach that he could see in the distance, but he knew that it was impossible. He’d been flying Spitfires for years now, and he understood exactly what this plane was capable of—and what she couldn’t do.
He slammed his hands against the canopy again and again, knowing that his only chance of survival now would be to break the seal and pray that the plane’s plunge into the water was gentle enough not to knock him unconscious. But the Spit was descending too quickly. As the sea rose up to meet him, he knew with a terrible certainty that this was the end.
Thomas closed his eyes, and the world Ruby had painted with her words came alive. In the distance, he could see the house with the white picket fence, the one where they would raise their children together. But before he could get there, he had to make it through the brilliant sea of poppies. The flowers gleamed beautiful, magical, just like the sunrise, and as they danced in the breeze all around him, he could feel himself smiling. They were welcoming him home.
The Room on Rue Amélie Page 29