Debbie Macomber - Christmas In Cedar Cove - 5-B Poppy Lane

“I’ll be back soon,” Ruth promised.

“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 talking to me in French. I so badly wish I knew what she said.”

They left a few minutes later. Absorbed 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 to Bremerton.

Once they were aboard, 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.

Paul brought the coffee and set her plastic cup on the table.

Ruth glanced up long enough to thank him with a smile. “I’m calling my parents.”

Paul nodded, tentatively sipping hot coffee. Then, in an obvious effort to give her some privacy, he moved to stand by the rail, gazing out at the water.

Her father answered on the third ring. “Dad, it’s Ruth,” she said in a rush.

“Ruthie! It’s nice to hear from you.”

Her father had never enjoyed telephone conversations and generally handed the phone off to Ruth’s mother.

“Wait—I need to talk to you,” Ruth said.

“What’s up?”

That was her dad, too. He didn’t like chitchat and wanted to get to the point as quickly as possible.

“I went over to see Grandma this afternoon.”

“How is she? We’ve been meaning to get up there and see her and you. I don’t know where the time goes. Thanksgiving was our last visit.”

How is she? Ruth wasn’t sure what to say. Her grandmother seemed fragile and old, and Ruth had never thought of her as either. “I don’t know, Dad. She’s the same, except—well, except she might have lost a few pounds.” Ruth looked over at Paul and bit her lip. “I…brought a friend along with me.”

“Your roommate? What’s her name again?”

“Lynn Blumenthal. No, this is a male friend.”

That caught her father’s attention. “Someone from school?”

“No, we met sort of…by accident. His name is Paul Gordon and he’s a sergeant in the marines. We’ve been corresponding for the past four months. But Paul isn’t the reason I’m phoning.”

“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.”