Although Ruth hadn’t understood a word, she started crying, too, and gently wrapped her arms around her grandmother’s thin shoulders. Hugging her was the only thing she could do to ease this remembered pain.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Ruth cooed over and over. “You don’t need to tell us any more.”
Paul agreed. “This is too hard on her—and you,” he said.
They stayed for another hour, but it was clear that reliving the past had exhausted her grandmother. She seemed so frail now, even more than during the previous visit.
While her grandmother rested in her room, Ruth cleared the table. As she took care of the few dishes, her eyes brimmed with tears again. It was agonizing to think about the horrors her grandmother had endured.
“When she was speaking French, she must’ve been reliving the day Jean-Claude died,” Ruth said, turning so her back was pressed against the kitchen counter.
Paul nodded. “She was,” he answered somberly.
Ruth studied him as she returned to the kitchen table, where he sat. “You said you speak French. Could you understand what she was saying?”
He nodded again. “At the Metro that day, Jean-Claude was picked up in a routine identity check by the French police. Through pure luck, Helen was able to get on the train without being stopped. She had to stand helplessly inside the subway car and watch as the police hauled him to Gestapo headquarters.” Paul paused long enough to give her an odd smile. “The next part was a tirade against the police, whom she hated. Remember last week when she explained that some of the French police were trying to prove their worth to the Germans? Well, apparently Jean-Claude was one of their most wanted criminals.”
“They tortured him, didn’t they?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.
“Yes.” Paul met her eyes. “Unmercifully.”
Ruth swallowed hard.
“Helen tried to save him. Disregarding her own safety, she went in after him, only this time she went alone. No sympathetic priest.” Paul’s face hardened. “They dragged her into the basement, where Jean-Claude was being tortured. They had him strung up by his arms. He was bloody and his face was unrecognizable.”
“No!” Ruth hid her eyes with both hands.
“They taunted him. Said they had his accomplice and now he would see her die.”
Ruth could barely talk. “They...were going to...kill Helen—in front of Jean-Claude?”
“From what she said, it wouldn’t have been an easy death. The point was for Jean-Claude to watch her suffer—to watch her die a slow, agonizing death.”
“Dear God in heaven.”
“She didn’t actually say it,” Paul continued. “She didn’t have to spell it out, but Jean-Claude obviously hadn’t been broken. Seeing her suffer would have done it, though, and your grandmother knew that. She also knew that if he talked, it would mean the torture and death of others in the Resistance.” Paul looked away for a moment. “Apparently he and his friends had helped a number of British pilots escape German detection. At risk was the entire underground effort. Jean-Claude knew more than anyone suspected.”
“Helen couldn’t let that happen,” Ruth said.
“No, and Jean-Claude understood that, too.”
“Remember when she said she was the one who killed him? She didn’t mean that literally, did she?”
“She did.”
This was beginning not to make sense. “But...how?”
Paul braced his elbows on the table. “Her voice started to break at that point and I didn’t catch everything. She talked about a cyanide tablet. I’m not sure how she got hold of it. But I know she kissed him.... A final kiss goodbye. By this stage she was too emotional to understand clearly.”
The pieces started to fall together for Ruth. “She gave him the pill—you mean instead of taking it herself?”
“That’s what it sounded like to me,” he said hoarsely.
“Was this when he asked her to kill him? And then she kissed him and transferred the pill?”
“I think so.” Paul cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough. “She said Jean-Claude had begged her to kill him. He spoke to her in English, which the Germans couldn’t understand.”
Ruth pictured the terrible scene. Helen and Jean-Claude arguing. If Helen swallowed the pill, she’d be dead and the Gestapo would lose their bargaining chip. Even knowing that, Jean-Claude couldn’t bear to see his wife die. It truly would have broken him.
“Speaking in another language added enough confusion that she had the opportunity to do what he asked,” Ruth speculated.
“Last time she told us about being driven by fear instead of courage,” Paul reminded her. “I’m sure she didn’t stop to think about what she was doing—she couldn’t. Nor could she refuse Jean-Claude.”
Ruth wanted to bury her face in her hands and weep.
“Jean-Claude thanked her,” Paul said.
“She would have refused.” Ruth could see it all in her mind, the argument between them.
“I’m convinced she did refuse at first. She loved Jean-Claude—he was her husband.”
Ruth couldn’t imagine a worse scenario.
Paul’s voice dropped slightly. “She said Jean-Claude had never begged for mercy, never pleaded for anything, but he told her he couldn’t bear any more pain. Above all, he couldn’t bear it if they killed her. He begged her to let him die.”
“He loved her that much,” Ruth said in a hushed whisper.
“And she loved him that much, enough to spare him any more torture, even at the risk of her own death.”
“They didn’t kill her, though,” Ruth said, stating the obvious. “Even though they must have figured out that she was responsible for his death?”
Paul’s eyes widened as if he couldn’t explain that any more than she could. “She didn’t say what happened next.”
Ruth stood, anxious now to see her grandmother before they left. “I’m going to check on her.”
Ruth went to her grandmother’s room to find her resting fitfully. Helen’s eyes fluttered open when Ruth stepped quietly past the threshold.
“Have I shocked you?” Helen asked, holding out her hand to Ruth.
“No,” Ruth told her grandmother, who had to be the bravest woman she’d ever know. She sat on the edge
