Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(13)

“Both. The first time, in April 1943, I rescued him. I pretended I was pregnant and brought a priest to the house the Gestapo had taken over. I insisted with great bravado that they force Jean-Claude to marry me and give my baby a name. I didn’t care if they killed him, I said, but before he died I wanted him to give my baby his name.” She paused. “I was very convincing.”

“You weren’t pregnant, were you?”

“No, of course not,” her grandmother snapped. “It was a ploy to get into the house.”

“Was the priest a real priest?”

“Yes. He didn’t know I was using him, but I had no alternative. I was desperate to get Jean-Claude out alive.”

“The priest knew nothing,” Ruth repeated, meeting Paul’s eyes, astounded by her grandmother’s nerve and cunning.

“The Father knew nothing,” the older woman concurred, smiling grimly. “But I needed him, and so I used him. Thankfully the Gestapo believed me, and because they wanted to keep relations with the Church as smooth as possible, they brought Jean-Claude into the room.”

Ruth could picture the scene, but she didn’t know if she’d ever possess that kind of bravery.

“Jean-Claude was in terrible pain, but he nearly laughed out loud when the priest asked him if he was the father of my child. Fortunately he didn’t have to answer because our friends had arranged a distraction outside the house. A firebomb was tossed into a parked vehicle, which exploded. All but two Gestapo left the room. I shot them both right in front of the priest, and then Jean-Claude and I escaped through a back window.”

“Where did you find the courage?” Ruth asked breathlessly.

“Courage?” her grandmother echoed. “That wasn’t courage. That was fear. I would do anything to save my husband’s life—and I did. Then, only a few weeks later, I was the one who killed him. What took courage was finding the will to live after Jean-Claude died. That was courage, and I would never have managed if it hadn’t been for the American soldier who saved my life. If it hadn’t been for Sam.”

“He was my grandfather,” Ruth explained to Paul.

“I want to know more about Jean-Claude,” Paul said, placing his arm around Ruth’s shoulders. It felt good to be held by him and she leaned into his strength, his solid warmth.

Her grandmother’s eyes grew weary and she shook her head. “Perhaps another day. I’m tired now, too tired to speak anymore.”

“We should go,” Paul whispered.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Ruth insisted.

“Nonsense. You should leave now,” Helen said. “You have better things to do than talk to an old lady.”

“But we want to talk to you,” Ruth told her.

“You will.” Helen looked even more drawn. “Soon, but not right now.”

“You’ll finish the story?”

“Yes,” the old woman said hoarsely. “I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

While her grandmother went to her room to rest, Ruth and Paul cleaned up the kitchen. At first they worked in silence, as if they didn’t know quite what to say to each other. Ruth put the food away while Paul rinsed the dishes and set them inside the dishwasher.

“You didn’t know any of this before today?” he asked, propping himself against the counter.

“Not a single detail.”

“Your father never mentioned it?”

“Never.” Ruth wondered again how much her father actually knew about his mother’s war adventures. “I’m sure you were the one who prompted her.”

“Me?” Paul asked with a frown. “How?”

“More than anything, I think you reminded her of Jean-Claude.” Ruth tilted her head to one side. “It’s as if this woman I’ve known all my life has suddenly become a stranger.” Ruth finished by wiping down the counters. She knew they’d need to leave soon if they were going to catch the ferry.

“Maybe you’d better check on her before we go,” Paul suggested.

She agreed and hurried out of the kitchen. Her grandmother’s eyes opened briefly when Ruth entered the cool, silent room. Reaching for an afghan at the foot of the bed, Ruth covered her grandmother with it and kissed the papery skin of her cheek. She’d always loved Helen, but she had an entirely new respect for her now.

“I’ll be back soon,” Ruth whispered.

“Bring your young man.”

“I will.”

Helen’s response was low, and at first Ruth didn’t understand her and strained to hear. Gradually her voice drifted off. Ruth waited until Helen was asleep before she slipped out of the room.

“She’s sleeping?” Paul asked, setting aside the magazine he was reading when Ruth returned to the kitchen.

Ruth nodded. “She started speaking to me in French. I so badly wish I knew what she said.”

They left a few minutes later. Caught up in her own thoughts, Ruth walked down the hill beside Paul, neither of them speaking as they approached the foot ferry that would take them from Cedar Cove across to Bremerton.

Once they were aboard the ferry, Paul went to get them coffee from the concession stand. While he was gone, Ruth decided she had to find out how much her family knew about her grandmother’s war exploits. She opened her purse and rummaged for her cell phone.