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 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
