“All right, then. What is?”
Ruth dragged in a deep breath. “Like I said before, I was visiting Grandma.”
“With this marine you’re seeing,” he reiterated.
“Yes.” Ruth didn’t dare look at Paul a second time. Nervously, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Grandma was in France during World War II. Did you know that?”
Her father paused. “Yes, I did.”
“Were you aware that she was a member of the French Resistance?”
Again he paused. “My father said something shortly before he died, but I never got any more information.”
“Didn’t you ask your mother?”
“I tried, but she refused to talk about it. She said some things were better left buried and deflected all my questions. Do you mean to say she told you about this?”
“Yes, and, Dad, the stories were incredible! Did you know Grandma was married before she met Grandpa Sam?”
“What?”
“Her husband’s name was Jean-Claude.”
“A Frenchman?”
“Yes.” She tried to recall his surname from the poster. “Jean-Claude... Brulotte. That’s it. He was part of the movement, too, and Grandma, your mother, went into a Gestapo headquarters and managed to get him out.”
“My mother?” The question was loud enough for Paul to hear from several feet away, because his eyebrows shot up as their eyes met.
“Yes, Dad, your mother. I was desperate to learn more, but she got tired all of a sudden, and neither Paul nor I wanted to overtax her. She’s taking a nap now, and Paul and I are on the ferry back to Seattle.”
Ruth heard her father take a long, ragged breath.
“All these years and she’s never said a word to me. My dad did, as I told you, but he didn’t give me any details, and I never believed Mom’s involvement amounted to much—more along the lines of moral support, I always figured. My dad was over there and we knew that’s where he met Mom.”
“Did they ever go back to France?” Ruth asked.
“No. They did some traveling, but mostly in North America—Florida, Mexico, Quebec...”
“I guess she really was keeping the past buried,” Ruth said.
“She must realize she’s getting near the end of her life,” her father went on, apparently thinking out loud. “And she wants us to know. I’m grateful she was willing to share this with you. Still, it’s pretty hard to take in. My mother...part of the French Resistance. She told me she was in school over there.”
“She was.” Ruth didn’t want her father to think Helen had lied to him.
“Then how in heaven’s name did she get involved in that?”
“It’s a long story.”
“What made her start talking about it now?” her father asked.
“I think it’s because she knows she’s getting old, as you suggested,” Ruth said. “And because of Paul.”
“Ah, yes, this young man you’re with.”
“Yeah.”
Her father hesitated. “I know you can’t discuss this with Paul there, so give us a call later, will you? Your mother’s going to want to hear about this young man.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, thinking with some amusement that she sounded like an obedient child.
“I’ll call Mom this evening,” her father said. “We need to set up a visit ourselves, possibly for the Memorial Day weekend.”
After a quick farewell, she clicked off the phone and put it back in her purse.
Paul, still sipping his coffee, approached her again. She picked up her own cup as he sat down beside her.
“I haven’t enjoyed an afternoon more in years,” Paul said. “Not in years,” he added emphatically.
Ruth grinned, then drank some of her cooling coffee. “I’d like to believe it was my company that was so engaging, but I know you’re enthralled with my grandmother.”
“And her granddaughter,” Paul murmured, but he said it as if he felt wary of the fact that he found her appealing.
Ruth took his hand. “We haven’t settled anything,” he reminded her, tightening his hold on her fingers.
“Do we have to right this minute?”
He didn’t answer.
“I want to see you again,” she told him, moving closer.
“That’s the problem. I want to see you again, too.”
“I’m glad.” Ruth didn’t hide her relief.
Paul’s responding smile was brief. “Fine. We’ll do this your way—one day at a time. But remember, I only have two weeks’ leave.”
She could sense already that these would be the shortest two weeks of her life.
“By the time I ship out, we should know how we feel. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
He nodded solemnly. “Do you own a pair of in-line skates?” he asked unexpectedly.
“Sure, but I don’t have them in Seattle. I can easily rent a pair, though.”
“Want to go skating?”
“When?”
“Now?”
Ruth laughed. “I’d love to, with one stipulation.”
“What’s that?”
Ruth hated to admit how clumsy she was on skates. “If I fall down, promise you’ll help me up.”
“I can do that.”
“If I get hurt...”
“If you get hurt,” Paul said, “I promise to kiss you and make it better.”
Ruth had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t going to mind falling, not one little bit.
Six
Helen Shelton
5-B Poppy Lane
Cedar Cove, Washington
April 23
Dearest Charlotte,
Forgive me for writing rather than calling. It must seem odd, since we’re neighbors as well as friends. It’s just that sometimes writing things out makes it easier to think them through....
I have some news, by the way. You haven’t met my granddaughter, Ruth, but you’ve heard me speak of her. Well, she was over last week with a soldier she’s been writing to, who’s on leave from Afghanistan. He’s a delightful young man and it was easy to see that her feelings for him are quite intense. His name is Paul Gordon. When Ruth first introduced us, I’m afraid I embarrassed us both by staring at him. Paul could’ve been Jean-Claude’s grandson, the resemblance is that striking.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been remembering and dreaming about my war experiences. You’ve encouraged me for years to write them down. I’ve tried, but couldn’t make myself do it. However... I don’t know if this was wise but I told Ruth and her young man some of what
