“I think so.” Paul cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough. “She said Jean-Claude had begged her to kill him. He spoke to her in English, which the Germans weren’t able to understand.”
Ruth pictured the terrible scene. Helen and Jean-Claude arguing. If Helen swallowed the pill, she’d be dead and the Gestapo would lose their bargaining chip. Even knowing that, Jean-Claude couldn’t bear to see his wife die. It truly would have broken him.
“Speaking in another language added enough confusion that she had the opportunity to do what he asked,” Ruth speculated.
“Last time she told us about being driven by fear instead of courage,” Paul reminded her. “I’m sure she didn’t stop to think about what she was doing—she couldn’t. Nor could she refuse Jean-Claude.”
Ruth wanted to bury her face in her hands and weep.
“Jean-Claude thanked her,” Paul added.
“She would have refused.” Ruth could see it all in her mind, the argument between them.
“I’m convinced she did refuse at first. She loved Jean-Claude—he was her husband.”
Ruth couldn’t imagine a worse scenario.
Paul’s voice dropped slightly. “She said Jean-Claude had never begged for mercy, never pleaded for anything, but he told her he couldn’t bear any more pain. Above all, he couldn’t bear it if they killed her. He begged her to let him die.”
“He loved her that much,” Ruth said in a hushed whisper.
“And she loved him that much, enough to spare him any more torture, even at the risk of her own death.”
“They didn’t kill her, though,” Ruth said, stating the obvious. “Even though they must have figured out that she was responsible for his death?”
Paul’s eyes widened as if he couldn’t explain that any more than she could. “She didn’t say what happened next.”
Ruth stood, anxious now to see her grandmother before they left. “I’d better check on her.”
Ruth went to her grandmother’s room to find her resting fitfully. Helen’s eyes fluttered open when Ruth stepped quietly past the threshold.
“Have I shocked you?” Helen asked, holding out her hand to Ruth.
“No,” Ruth told her grandmother, who had to be the bravest woman she would ever know. She sat on the edge of the bed and whispered, “Thank you, Grandma—for everything you did. And for doing Paul and me the honor of sharing it with us.”
Helen smiled and touched her cheek. “You’ve been crying.”
Taking her grandmother’s hand between her own, she kissed the old woman’s knuckles. A lump filled her throat and she couldn’t find the words to express her love.
“When did you meet Grandpa?” she finally asked.
Helen smiled again and her eyes drifted shut. “Two years later. He was one of the American soldiers who came with Patton’s army to free us from the concentration camp.”
This was an entirely different aspect of the story.
“When it was learned that I was an American citizen, I was immediately questioned and given priority treatment to be sent home.”
“Two years,” Ruth said in a choked voice. “You were in a camp for two years?” Just when she was convinced there was nothing more to horrify her, Helen revealed something else.
“Buchenwald…I don’t want to talk about it any longer,” Helen muttered.
It was little wonder her grandmother had never spoken of those years. The memories were far worse than the worst Ruth had been able to imagine.
Her grandmother brushed the hair from Ruth’s brow. “I want you to know I like your young man.”
“He reminded you of Jean-Claude, didn’t he?”
Her smile was weak, which told Ruth how drained this afternoon’s conversation had left Helen. “Not at first, but then he smiled and I saw Jean-Claude in Paul’s eyes.” She swallowed a couple of times and added, “I wanted to die after Jean-Claude did. I would’ve done anything if only the Germans had put me out of my living hell. They knew that and decided it was better to let me live and remember, each and every day, that I’d killed my own husband.” A tear slid down her face. “I can’t speak of it anymore.”
Ruth understood. “I’ll leave you to rest. Try to sleep.”
Her grandmother’s answering sigh told Ruth how badly she needed that just then.
“Come back and see me soon,” she called as Ruth stood.
“I will, I promise.” She bent down to kiss the soft cheek.
Paul was waiting for her in the living room, flipping through the Cedar Cove Chronicle, but he got up when Ruth returned. “Is she all right?”
Ruth shrugged. “She’s tired.” Her eyes were watering again, despite her best efforts not to cry. She couldn’t stop thinking about the pain her grandmother had endured and kept hidden all these years.
Paul held open his arms and she walked into his embrace as naturally as she slipped on a favorite coat. Once there, she began to cry—harsh, broken sobs she thought would never end.
Eight
Once again Ruth and Paul spoke little on the ferry ride back to Seattle.
Ruth’s entire perspective on her grandmother had changed. Until now, she’d always viewed the petite, gentle woman as…well, her grandmother. All of a sudden Ruth was forced to realize that Helen had been young once, and deeply involved in events that had changed or destroyed many lives. She’d been an ordinary young woman from a fairly privileged background. She’d been a student, fallen in love, enjoyed a carefree existence. Then this ordinary young woman had been caught up in extraordinary circumstances—and risen to their demands.
Ruth was curious about the connection between her grandmother’s life during the war and her life afterward. Clearly the link was her grandfather, whom she’d never had a chance to know.
Paul stood with Ruth at the railing as the ferry glided through the relatively smooth waters of Puget Sound. The rain had stopped, and although the sky remained cloudy and gray, the air was fresh with only the slightest hint of brine.
“Every story I hear leaves me amazed that this incredible woman is my grandmother,” Ruth said fervently, grateful that Paul was beside her.
“I know. I’m overwhelmed, and I just met her.”
They exchanged tentative smiles, and then they both sighed in appreciation, Ruth thought, of everything Helen Shelton had been and done.
“I wish I’d known my grandfather,” she said. “He seems to have been the one who gave my grandmother a reason to live. He loved her and she loved him.” Ruth knew that from every word her grandmother and her dad had said about Sam Shelton.
“How old were you when he died?” Paul asked.
“Two or so.” She turned so she could look directly at Paul. “When I saw my grandmother in her bedroom, she said he was with a group of soldiers who freed the inmates in the concentration camp.”
“She was in a concentration camp?”
Ruth nodded. “She was there at least a couple of years.”
Paul frowned, obviously upset.
“I can’t bear to think what her life was like in one of those obscene places,” Ruth said.
“It would’ve been grim. You’re right—they were obscene. Places of death.”
Ruth didn’t welcome the reminder. “I’m so glad you’ve been with me on these visits,” she told him. Paul’s presence helped her assimilate the details her grandmother had shared. He’d given her a feeling of comfort and companionship as they’d listened to these painful wartime experiences. Ruth genuinely believed there was something about Paul that had led Helen to divulge her secrets.
After the ferry docked, Paul and Ruth walked along the Seattle waterfront, where they ate clam chowder, followed by fish and chips, for dinner. Their mood was somber, and yet, strangely, Ruth felt a sense of peace.
The next day, after her classes, she hurried back to her rental house and ran into Lynn. As much as possible, Ruth had avoided her roommate. Her relationship with Lynn had been awkward ever since the argument over Clay. Lynn’s lie, which she’d told in an effort to keep Ruth from meeting Paul, hadn’t helped.
Lynn was coming out just as Ruth leaped up the porch steps. Her roommate hesitated.
Ruth did, too. She’d never said anything to Lynn about her intentional mix-up that first night she was meeting Paul. Her classes would be over at the end of May and she was more than ready to move out.
“Hi,” Lynn offered uncertainly.
Ruth’s pace slowed as she waited, half expecting Lynn to make some derogatory remark about Paul. Because Ruth had been with him so often lately, she’d had very little contact with her roommate.
“Are you seeing Paul again?”
The question lacked the scornful tone she’d used when referring to him previously. She seemed more prompted by simple curiosity than anything else.
“We’re meeting some friends of his later. Why?” Ruth couldn’t help being suspicious. If he’d phoned with a change of plan, she needed to know about it. She knew from experience that Lynn couldn’t be trusted to relay the message.
Lynn shrugged. “No reason.”
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Ruth’s voice was calm.
Her roommate had the grace to blush. “He didn’t call, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Like I could believe you.”
“You can—okay, maybe what I did that night was pretty stupid.”
“Maybe?” Ruth echoed.
“All right, it was. I was upset because of Clay.” She didn’t meet Ruth’s eyes. “I thought Clay was really hot and you dumped him for soldier boy, and I thought that was just wrong.”
“I don’t need you to decide who I’m allowed to date.” Ruth couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice. What Lynn had tried to do still rankled. If her cell phone battery hadn’t been low, she and Paul might have missed each other completely. That thought sent chills down her spine.
Lynn released a long sigh. “I’ll admit it—you were right about Clay.”
“How so?”
“He’s…he’s stuck on himself.”
Ruth suspected that meant he wasn’t interested in Lynn.
“I…I like Paul,” her roommate confessed.
Ruth wasn’t even aware that Lynn had met him and said so.
“He stopped by one afternoon when he thought you were back from classes, only you weren’t and I was here. We talked for a bit. Then he left to look for you at the library.”
Funny that neither had mentioned the incident earlier. “I had the impression you were dead set against him.”
“Not him,” Lynn said. “I’m against the war in Iraq…. I thought you were, too.”
“I don’t like war of any kind. This war or any war. Still, the United States is involved in the Middle East, and no matter what, it’s our young men and women who are fighting there. Politics aside, I want to support our troops.”
