The Room on Rue Amélie(8)

“Charlotte,” she said warmly, relieved to see her. The girl and her parents hadn’t appeared in the shelter during the air raid, and Ruby thought perhaps they had fled. There were reports coming in of cars bombed to pieces while snarled in traffic on country roads, and Ruby had had the terrible feeling that something had happened to the Dachers. Even with Charlotte in front of her now, Ruby couldn’t erase her sense of foreboding.

“Good evening, Madame Benoit,” Charlotte said formally.

“Please. Call me Ruby, or you’ll make me feel old.”

“That is an American thing, I think,” Charlotte said after a long pause. “Calling adults by their first names.”

Ruby smiled into the darkness. “Yes, perhaps it is. Or perhaps it’s simply a neighbor thing. Times are too dark now for us to be anything but friends, don’t you think?”

“Well . . . all right.” Charlotte hesitated. “Can I ask you a question, Madame? Er, Ruby?”

“Anything.”

“Why are you still here?”

Ruby laughed at the girl’s bluntness.

“Here in France, I mean,” Charlotte clarified, a hint of embarrassment in her tone now. “Since you’re American. Maman and Papa said you should have left months ago. Why didn’t you?”

Ruby sighed. “Maybe because I’m stubborn. Or maybe because I don’t feel that anyone—German or otherwise—should force me into fleeing. I think that’s part of it, Charlotte. But I also think it’s because once I make a decision, I try to stick to it. I made Marcel a promise to be his wife, to join my life to his. And so here I will stay.”

“You’re loyal. And brave.”

Ruby thought of Marcel’s words, hating how much they wounded her. “Some would say foolish.”

“But staying makes you French, doesn’t it? All of those people who would judge you, they didn’t have a choice. But you did. And you chose Paris.”

“I chose Paris,” Ruby repeated slowly. “Well, maybe I am French after all. Thank you, Charlotte. You’ve just made me feel lots better.”

Charlotte went inside soon after, but Ruby stayed on the terrace, lost in thought. When she finally stepped back inside, shutting the doors softly behind her, Marcel was sitting in the darkness of the kitchen, staring at her.

“What were you doing out there?” he asked her, an edge to his voice.

“Just getting some air,” she said, feeling suddenly guilty, though she’d done nothing wrong.

“I heard you talking.”

“Yes, to the Dacher girl.”

Marcel lit a cigarette, the match flaring for a second in the darkness. Ruby watched as he exhaled a mouthful of smoke, obscuring her view of him. “You talk too much, I think.”

Ruby’s heart sank. An hour ago, she’d felt that things between them might be changing for the better, but now he was in another one of his moods. “She’s a nice girl, Marcel. I think she feels very alone right now. I’m just trying to help.”

“There are lots of nice people who are alone in the world.” He took another long draw from his cigarette. “It’s very American, you know, this need to talk to anyone and everyone. If you were truly as French as you’d like to be, you’d know when to keep to yourself.”



“MARCEL, MON AMI!”

Marcel’s old friend Aubert—a short, bespectacled man around forty with a receding hairline, hooded eyes, and a flat, wide nose—approached the table outside the Café Ciel where Ruby and Marcel sat. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and they were playing at being normal, pretending that Paris wasn’t about to be occupied, that life could still go on as it had before. The Germans hadn’t reached the capital yet, but they would be here any day now. The French government had departed for Vichy the day before, and the streets were filled with injured soldiers telling tales of horrors at the front.

Aubert embraced Marcel and leaned down to kiss Ruby on both cheeks. “You are looking radiant, my dear.” He sat and beckoned to a waiter. “Champagne, my boy! Champagne for my friends!”

Marcel looked amused, but Ruby was troubled. The café—one of the few in their arrondissement that had actually stayed open—was nearly deserted, but the other customers were staring at them. “What is there to celebrate, Aubert?” she whispered. “Life as we know it is about to end.”

“Ah, but it’s not over yet, is it?” Aubert lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Paris is still ours. And if you want to know, Ruby, I’m toasting to the future. I can see it already. We’ll defeat them yet.”

“Surely you’re joking. Things couldn’t possibly be bleaker right now.”

Aubert smiled. “But it’s only a matter of time. The Huns may be here for a little while, but with the help of the Brits, we’ll push them out. Isn’t that right, Marcel?”

Ruby glanced at her husband, expecting him to share her doubt, but he was staring at Aubert, his eyes gleaming. “Do you two know something about the invasion that I don’t?” Ruby asked.

The waiter arrived then, popping the cork on their champagne and pouring the bubbly for them. Aubert didn’t reply until they’d clinked glasses. “No, Ruby, of course not. I’m only saying there’s hope if we band together. But it’s nothing for you to worry about, dear. Things like this are better left to the men, don’t you think?”