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

even know I’d married Jean-Claude or changed my name.” She stared out at the water. “I don’t understand why I lived. It makes no sense that God would spare me when all my friends, all those I loved, were killed.”

      “Jean-Claude, too?”

      Her eyes filled and she slowly nodded.

      “Where was he when you were taken by the policeman?” Paul asked.

      Her grandmother’s mouth trembled. “By then, Jean-Claude had been captured.”

      “The French police?”

      “No,” she said in the thinnest of whispers. “Jean-Claude was being held by the Gestapo. That was the first time they got him—but not the last.”

      Ruth had heard about the notorious German soldiers and their cruelty.

      Helen straightened, and her back went rigid. “I could only imagine how those monsters were torturing my husband.” Contempt hardened her voice.

      “What did you do?” Ruth glanced at Paul, whose gaze remained riveted on her grandmother.

      At first Helen didn’t answer. “What else could I do? I had to rescue him.”

      “You?” Paul asked this with the same shock Ruth felt.

      “Yes, me and…” Helen’s smile was fleeting. “I was very clever about it, too.” The sadness returned with such intensity that it brought tears to Ruth’s eyes.

      “They eventually killed him, didn’t they?” she asked, hardly able to listen to her grandmother’s response.

      “No,” Helen said as she turned to face Ruth. “I did.”

      Five

      “You killed Jean-Claude?” Ruth repeated incredulously.

      Tears rolling down her cheeks, Helen nodded. “God forgive me, but I had no choice. I couldn’t allow him to be tortured any longer. He begged me to do it, begged me to end his suffering. That was the second time he was captured, and they were more determined than ever to break him. He knew far too much.”

      “You’d better start at the beginning. You went into Gestapo headquarters?” Paul moved closer as if he didn’t want to risk missing even one word. “Was that the first time or the second?”

      “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.”

      “So you weren’t really pregnant?” Ruth asked.

      “No, of course not,” her grandmother replied. “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 said, 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, 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 weren’t quite sure 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 wartime adventures. “I’m sure you were the one who prompted her.”

      “Me?” Paul asked. “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 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 said.

      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 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 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