A week later, as she sat in her “Theories of Learning” class, taking notes, her determination faltered. She wanted to push all thoughts of Paul out of her mind forever; instead, he was constantly there.
What upset her most was the cold-blooded way in which he’d dismissed her from his life. It seemed so easy for him, so…simple. She was gone for him, as if she meant nothing. That hurt, and it didn’t stop hurting.
Ruth blinked, forcing herself to listen to the lecture. If she flunked this class, Paul Gordon would be to blame.
After class she walked across campus, her steps slow and deliberate. She felt no urge to hurry. But when her cell phone rang, she nearly dropped her purse in her eagerness. Could it be Paul? Had he changed his mind? Had he found it impossible to forget her, the same way she had him? A dozen more questions flew through her mind before she managed to answer.
“Hello?” She realized she sounded excited and breathless at the same time.
“Ruth.” The familiar voice of a longtime friend, Lori Dupont, greeted her. They talked for a few minutes, and arranged to meet at the library at the end of the week. Four minutes after she’d answered her cell, it was back in her purse.
She was too restless to sit at home and study, which was how she’d spent every night since her last date with Paul, so she decided to go out. That was what she needed, she told herself with strained enthusiasm. Find people, friends, a party. Something to do, somewhere to be.
Although it was midafternoon, she took the bus down to the waterfront, where she’d met Paul the first night. That wasn’t a smart idea. She wasn’t up to dealing with memories. Before she could talk herself out of it, Ruth hopped on the Bremerton ferry. A visit with her grandmother would lift her spirits in a way nothing else could. Besides, if Helen felt strong enough, she wanted to hear the rest of the story, especially the role her grandfather had played.
As she stepped off the foot ferry from Bremerton to Cedar Cove, it occurred to Ruth that she should’ve phoned first. But it was unlikely her grandmother would be away. Even if she was, Ruth figured she could wander around Cedar Cove for a while. That would help fill the void threatening to swallow her whole.
The trudge up the hill that led to her grandmother’s house seemed twice as steep and three times as long. Funny, when she’d been with Paul, the climb hadn’t even winded her. That was because she’d been laughing and joking with him, she remembered—and wished she hadn’t. Alone, hands shoved in her pockets, she felt drained of energy.
Reaching 5-B Poppy Lane, she saw that the front door to her grandmother’s duplex stood open, although the old-fashioned wooden screen was shut. The last remaining tulips bloomed in primary colors as vivid as the rainbow. Walking up the steps, Ruth rang the doorbell. “Grandma! Are you home?”
No one answered. “Grandma?”
Alarm jolted through her. Had something happened to her grandmother? She pounded on the door and was even more alarmed when a white-haired woman close to her grandmother’s age came toward her.
“Hello,” the older lady said pleasantly. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for my grandmother.”
The woman unlatched the screen door and swung it open. “You must be Ruth. I don’t think Helen was expecting you. I’m Charlotte Rhodes.”
“Charlotte,” Ruth repeated. “Helen’s spoken of you so often. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“You, too,” Charlotte said, taking Ruth’s hand. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance.”
Ruth nodded, but she couldn’t help blurting out, “Is anything wrong with my grandmother?”
“Oh, no, not at all. We’re sitting on the patio, talking and knitting. Helen’s counting stitches and asked me to get the door. She assumed it was a salesman and my job was to get rid of him…or her.” Charlotte laughed. “Not that I’m much good at that. Just the other day, a Girl Scout came to my door selling cookies. When I bought four boxes, she announced that every kid comes to my house first, because I’ll buy anything. Especially for charity.”
Ruth grinned. “I think my grandmother must be like that, too.”
“Why do you think she sent me to the door?” Charlotte joked. “Your grandmother’s decided to knit a Fair Isle sweater. It’s her first one and she asked me over to get her started.”
“Perhaps I should come back at a more convenient time?” Ruth didn’t want to interrupt the two women.
“Nonsense! She’d never forgive me if you left. Besides, I was just gathering my things to head on home. My husband will be wondering what’s kept me so long.” Charlotte led the way through the house to the patio.
As soon as Ruth stepped onto the brick patio, her grandmother’s eyes lit up with pleasure. “Ruth! What a welcome surprise.”
Ruth bent forward and kissed Helen’s cheek.
Charlotte Rhodes collected her knitting, saying she’d talk to Helen at the Senior Center on Monday, and left.
“Sit down, sit down,” Helen urged, motioning at the chair next to her. “Help yourself to iced tea if you’d like.” Strands of yarn were wrapped around both index fingers as she held the needles. One was red, the other white. “You can find a glass, can’t you?”
“Yes, of course, but I’m fine,” Ruth assured her, enjoying the sunshine and the sights and sounds of Cedar Cove. The earth in her grandmother’s garden smelled warm and clean—the way it only smelled in spring. Inhaling deeply, Ruth sat down, staring at the cove with its sparkling blue water.
“Where’s Paul?” her grandmother asked, as if noticing for the first time that he wasn’t with her.
Ruth’s serenity was instantly destroyed and she struggled to disguise her misery. “He went to the marines camp in California.”
“Oh.” Her grandmother seemed disappointed. “I imagine you miss him.”
Ruth decided to let the comment slide.
“I liked him a great deal,” her grandmother said, rubbing salt into Ruth’s already wounded heart. Helen’s focus was on her knitting, but when Ruth didn’t immediately respond, she looked up.
Ruth met her eyes and exhaled forcefully. “Would you mind if we didn’t discuss Paul?”
Her request was met with a puzzled glance. “Why?”
Ruth figured she might as well tell her. “We won’t be seeing each other again.”
“Really?” Her grandmother’s expression was downcast. “I thought highly of that young man. Any particular reason?”
“Actually,” Ruth muttered, “there are several. He’s in the military, which you already know.”
Her grandmother carefully set her knitting aside and reached for her glass of iced tea, giving Ruth her full attention. “You knew that when you first met, I believe.”
“Yes, I did, but I assumed that in time he’d be released from his commitment and return to civilian life. He told me that won’t be the case, that the military’s his career.” In for the long haul, as he’d put it. Granted, she’d known about his dedication to the marines from the beginning, but he’d known about her feelings, too. Did her preferences matter less than his?
“I see.” Her grandmother studied her.
Ruth wondered if she truly did. “What really upsets me is the heartless way he left. I told him I wasn’t sure I could live with the fact that he’d chosen the military.” The memory angered her, and she raised her voice. “Then Paul had the audacity to say that I wouldn’t be hearing from him again and he…he just walked away.” Ruth hadn’t planned to spill out the whole story minutes after she arrived, but she couldn’t hold it inside a second longer.
Her grandmother’s response shocked her into silence. Helen smiled.
“Forgive me,” her grandmother said gently, leaning forward to give Ruth’s hand a small squeeze. “Sam did something similar, you see.”
The irritation died instantly. “I wanted to ask you about my grandfather.”
A peaceful look came over Helen. “He was a wonderful man. And he saved me.”
“From the Germans, you mean?”
Helen shook her head. “Technically, it was General Patton and the Third Army who saved us. Patton knew what Buchenwald was. He knew that a three-hour wait meant twenty-thousand lives because the Germans had been given orders to kill all prisoners before surrendering. Against every rule of caution, Patton mounted an attack, cutting off the SS troops from the camp. Because of his decisive move, the Germans were forced to flee or surrender. By that time, the German soldiers knew they were defeated. They threw down their guns and surrendered. Sam was with Patton on the march, so, yes, he contributed to my rescue and that of countless others. But when I say your grandfather saved me, I mean he saved me from myself.”
“I want to hear about him, if you’re willing to tell me.” Ruth straightened, perching on the edge of her seat.
Her grandmother closed her eyes. “I cannot speak about the years in Buchenwald, not even to you.”
Ruth reached for Helen’s hand, stroking the soft skin over the gnarled and prominent knuckles. “That’s fine, Grandma.”
“I wanted to die, wished it with all my heart. Without Jean-Claude, it was harder to live than to die. Living was the cruelest form of punishment.” Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked them away.
“When the Americans arrived,” Helen continued, “the gates were opened and we were free. It was a delicious feeling—freedom always is—but one never appreciates it until it’s taken away. The soldiers spoke English, and I went to them and explained that I was an American. I had no identification or anything to prove my claim, so I kept repeating the address where my parents lived in New York. I was desperate to get word to them that I was alive. They hadn’t heard from me in almost five years.
“One of the soldiers brought me to their headquarters. I was completely emaciated, and I’m sure the stench of me was enough to nauseate anyone standing within twenty feet. The young man then took me to his lieutenant, whose name was Sam Shelton. From that moment forward, Sam took care of me. He saw that I had food and water, clothes and access to showers and anything else I needed.”
Ruth shuddered at the thought of her grandmother’s physical and mental condition following her release.
Her grandmother paused to take a deep breath, and when she spoke again, it was in another language, what Ruth assumed was German. Pressing her hand on Helen’s, she stopped her. “Grandma, English, please.”
Her grandmother frowned. “Sorry.”
“Was that German?”
She shrugged, eyes wild and confused. “I don’t know.”
After all those years inside a German camp, it made sense that she’d revert to the language. In her mind she’d gone back to that time, was reliving each incident.
“Go on. Please,” Ruth urged.
Helen sighed. “I don’t remember much about those first days of freedom.”